#the wanderer in my brain is sad and wants to stare at a cliff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lloydskywalkers · 4 years ago

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heLLO i’m so sorry this took so long!! tumblr did not, in fact, eat your ask this time, i just took five years with the response T-T i did very much want to write something about Jay and Cliff (because that’s a criminally underused relationship), but unfortunately season 12 has come out since i wrote All I’m Asking For and kind of...made things...a lot angstier :’( so this leans much more on the angst side than the fluff, but!! there is some in there, i promise

It happens mid-battle, which is never a good time for anything to happen, really, other than a spontaneous victory. If it had happened at any other time, Jay would’ve gone with him. Any other time, he tells himself, he would’ve found the time to talk.

But it’s mid-battle right after Sensei Wu’s gone missing in time, and ironically enough, time is the last thing Jay has on his hands.

It’s not even the worst of battles — just some jerks who actually happen to have too much time and advanced high-grade weaponry on their hands — but it’s enough to send the city’s civilians screaming for cover as another chunk of building comes raining down toward them. Normally Cole would take this kind of thing, since Jay’s more about the agile, dynamic stuff (not because his arms are a whole lot like half-cooked spaghetti noodles next to Cole’s, not at all). But Cole’s on the other side of the city running collateral damage watch with Zane, so Jay’s the only one around to snatch the poor man out of harm’s way before a chunk of concrete squashes him.

“Whoo, that was close,” he breathes out, as dust mushrooms out from the impact nearby. Jay carefully sets the man down, coughing briefly and tugging his mask into place. “You alright?”

The man doesn’t reply, staring at Jay with wide, eerily familiar eyes. “You,” he breathes, as if Jay is some miraculous apparition — which, sure, Jay just saved his life, but like, he’s Jay. He’s a whole two or three inches shorter than this guy, he’s not super impressive.

“You’re the lightning ninja,” the man continues. “You’re — Jay?”

Caught between being pleased he’s recognized and being slightly creeped out, Jay opens his mouth to reply. Then he looks at the guy, actually looks at the guy, and immediately shuts it. And a good thing, too, because Jay’s mouth suddenly goes so dry it kinda feels like a dust vacuum.

“Y-you’re Cliff Gordon,” he manages, on a wheezing kind of whisper. “H-hi. Hi, hello, it’s—”

An honor? Jay’s half-hysterical mind throws at him. What is he supposed to say? Hello, long-lost father who gave me up as a baby, I figured that out, by the way? Does Cliff even know Jay’s his son? Does he even know his name’s Jay? Oh, why oh why has Jay put off acknowledging anything that happened with Nadakhan for this long, just because the entire thing’s a minefield worth of trauma and it makes him wildly nauseous to think about it at all, it doesn’t mean—

“Jay,” Cliff Gordon repeats, his eyes wide and shiny, and Jay’s stomach drops like he’s on a roller coaster. Because the way he says his name — it’s like he knows, it’s like he cares—

“You, uh,” Jay swallows, utterly oblivious to the exploding building two blocks back. “I think…you knew my mom?”

Alright, points for Jay for the lamest segue into this possible, but the beaming, almost-painful smile that splits Cliff’s face at least drowns part of the shame out.

“You could say that,” he murmurs, looking part-overjoyed, part-terrified. “If you know that, then — you must know I’m your — I never meant to lose—”

Cliff cuts off painfully, dragging a hand through his graying hair. Jay vaguely notes the puffs of dust that go drifting off from it, before the awkward silence gets too heavy and his mouth kicks back into action.

“Yeah, kinda…figured that out,” Jay laughs, nervously. “I don’t, um, I’m not mad…? If that’s what you’re worried about, but it’d be uh, nice to…”

“Of course,” Cliff nods fervently, as if he’s somehow psychic and can mind-read the ten thousand words’ worth of questions barraging across Jay’s brain. “Of course, we should talk, there’s so much I need to explain, I—”

Jay’s radio interrupts him in a bursting screech of static, leaving them both wincing.

“Jay, any day you wanna get back in the game, we could use a little help here!”

Kai’s voice is strained, and Jay glances from the battle to his — Cliff — with wild eyes. Cliff shakes his head, waving toward his teammates.

“Go on, go on,” he says, something like pride in his voice. “You’ve got a much more important job to do.” He pauses, his eyes bright and painfully hopeful. “But you’ll — you’ll come and visit me sometime, will you?”

“Yeah,” Jay nods, feeling oddly shaky. “Of course, I’d — I’d really like that.”

Cliff Gordon’s face splits into full smile, and Jay takes that as his cue to leave before he does something hideously embarrassing, like run his mouth or try to — to hug the guy. His eyes catch the bright flash of the Destiny’s Shadow, and he jumps up as Lloyd tilts the plane, Zane reaching a hand out to snag Jay and haul him in.

“Nice timing,” Jay gasps in thanks as he finds his seat, fumbling once with the tight squeeze. “Sorry about the wait.”

Zane simply squeezes his shoulder briefly. “I am merely glad to see you in one piece,” he says, wincing briefly as another explosion goes off. Jay cringes as his eyes rake over the smoking flames. Man, they’re gonna be stuck doing repairs here forever—

“Who was that?”

Jay startles back to himself at Lloyd’s voice, blinking rapidly. He opens his mouth, prepared to unleash a floodgate’s worth of “you’ll never believe this”—

Then stops dead as Zane and Lloyd stare curiously at him, awaiting answer. Jay shuts his mouth, and swallows.

How is he supposed to announce he’s met his father — his second, whole father, in addition to the super great one he already has — to them? To Zane, who barely got any time with his only parent before he died? To Lloyd, who's still actively grieving having lost his only dad for like, the third time? How’s that gonna go over, huh, motormouth?

So Jay shakes his head, forcing an easy laugh instead. “Just some random fan.”

************

He means to follow up right after. He does, really, but everything goes to hell in a handbasket so quickly Jay barely even has time to breath. First it’s the months of searching for Sensei, then it’s guarding the royal family, then they’re on the run, then they’re watching Garmadon brutalize their baby brother on live television and he’s dying on a table and the city’s being destroyed by a giant and the Bounty’s being crushed with them on it and they’re running for their lives in the First Realm and Sensei Wu’s a teenager and—

They’re kind of busy, that’s the point he’s trying to make.

Eventually, there’s a brief spot of time he could go, maybe. It’s right after they’ve returned from the First Realm, though, and that’s...not a great time.

The city’s still stumbling back to its feet, for one, and the loss of the emperor and empress doesn’t exactly help. Their little family’s left stumbling back to its feet even slower, as beaten down and utterly exhausted as they are. The four of them had their own run of it in the First Realm, but Lloyd and Nya didn’t have it any better back in Ninjago, and the whole thing’s just — just a big mess. And sure, maybe reuniting with his long-lost biological father now could like, actually benefit Jay’s half-shredded mental state, since the guy seemed pretty happy to see him, but…

But fathers.

Lloyd still wanders their apartment like a ghost at night, his eyes dull and haunted from whatever night terror he’s been graced with now. He wanders a little bit like that in the day, too, eyes glazing over and hands trembling at times. Jay knows why, of course — they all know, it’s not a secret. Not with the high-definition TV footage that keeps circulating. And they — they try to help, of course, they do their very best, but there are some things only time can fix.

Jay watches Lloyd’s eyes shutter at the mention of his father, and wonders if his entire life is enough to fix whatever’s been broken with his own.

In other words, Jay decides to be a coward.

Ironically enough, however, it ends up being Lloyd that encourages him to go. Not that he realizes that.

“Don’t bother making extra for dinner tonight, Zane,” Lloyd announces wearily, as he trudges through the kitchen. “My mom’s on the road again.”

Zane blinks at that, then frowns. “Where is she off to now?”

“Don’t know,” Lloyd says shortly, before promptly stalking off toward the rooftop exit. Jay and Zane stand there in silence for a moment, Zane still methodically stirring the rice. Then he turns to Jay, and fixes him with a look.

“Grumpy-about-parents Lloyd is normally Nya’s job, you know,” Jay huffs, but he relents, following Lloyd’s quiet footsteps to the roof. Lloyd’s curled up in his usual spot, close enough to the edge that it frightened the life out of Kai the first time they found him. Jay doesn’t exactly get why, because Lloyd’s sad, yeah, but he’s not—

Well, maybe Kai’s just scared Lloyd’ll trip and fall off the roof. That’s what Jay’s choosing to believe, for his own sake.

Either way, Lloyd looks pretty sad now, so Jay plops himself right down next to him with a huff, neatly startling Lloyd so badly he almost does trip right off the roof.

“Woah, hey, it’s just me,” Jay says quickly, throwing his hands up. Lloyd glares at him, and Jay makes a face. “Don’t give me that, you’re the one that’s supposed to have ninja reflexes.”

“Hmph,” Lloyd grumbles, wrapping his arms back around his knees, but he looks slightly less likely to zap Jay’s nervous system full of energy, so he takes that as a go-ahead.

“So, your mom, huh,” Jay starts, with all the intent of comforting Lloyd and comforting Lloyd alone. “Hey, random question, but how did, um, why’d you decide to let her back into your life, in the first place?”

“What?” Lloyd stares at him. Jay cringes. Oops, that wasn’t supposed to come out. Classic Walker, he’s brought his own issues right into the middle of it, like an absolute selfish—

Great, now he wants to throw himself off the roof.

“Sorry, sorry, forget I said that,” Jay babbles, desperately trying to re-route the conversation. “Just — forget I opened my mouth, okay? Please?”

Lloyd shakes his head, looking more concerned than sad now. He’s even unfolded from his tight little Lloyd-angst-ball, which Jay would count as a victory if it weren’t for all the wrong reasons. “Jay, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Jay blusters. Lloyd stares at him. Jay gives him a bright smile back. Lloyd continues to stare.

“Okay, fine, not really, but — that’s not why I came up here,” Jay admits, cheeks flushing.

Lloyd’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “Is everything…okay with your parents?” His voice is tentative, as if he’s almost scared of Jay’s response, and Jay can’t have that.

“My parents are fine,” he replies, firmly. “But, uh, thanks for asking. I’m just…” Jay trails off, abruptly realizing that explaining this is going to require mentioning Cliff Gordon, which is going to require mentioning that he’s adopted, which is going to require explaining why he hasn’t told the rest of his team this. None of which are options Jay wants to explore at the moment, so he desperately tries to backtrack.

Lloyd, faithfully caring brother that he is to the bitter end, beats him to it. “Well, even if they are fine, um. To answer your question, I guess I…I needed to know.” He blows his breath out, glancing out over the skyline, half-broken buildings forming dark silhouettes against the setting sun. “I needed to know why she - she left me. If it was me, or if it was her, or…whatever, you know?” Lloyd bites his lip, and Jay suddenly feels like a horrible person for putting him through the mother thing right after the father thing’s been blown to smithereens.

And yet.

“Yeah, I get that,” Jay says quietly, letting it sink in. And he does, really. More than he thought he would, and this is probably a big glaring sign from the heavens, huh.

“But I don’t know,” Lloyd continues, sounding small as his hands tug on a frayed thread from a torn spot in his gi. “Maybe sometimes it’s better to cut people out entirely, too.”

He looks terribly worn when he says that, too young and too old for his age all at once, and Jay decides he hates the expression on his youngest brother.

“I’ll remember that, next time you steal the last of my coffee stash,” he says.

Lloyd gives a startled huff of laughter, before jabbing him in the side with his elbow. “That’s not what I meant,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile edging his mouth now — not quite the Lloyd smile he’s used to, but it’s not as frail as it’s been, either. Lloyd doesn’t look so much like porcelain that’s been stepped on anymore, and the proud spark of joy Jay feels from that is enough to convince him that it’s a good idea.

He did promise Cliff Gordon he would, after all, and besides — knowing can’t be that bad, and Jay’s a firm believer in the wisdom of knowledge, and all that.

He’s also a firm believer of closure, but he’s stopped claiming to be one, since it probably comes off pretty hypocritical lately.

************

Jay doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going. He doesn’t even tell them he’s going at all, he just…waits for a convenient opportunity to slip out when no one will notice.

He wishes he had. He wishes he’d told Cole, told Nya or - or anyone he was going, and at the same time he’s glad he told no one at all. He’s not quite sure he could bear anyone else seeing whatever look’s on his face right now, on top of everything else.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” the woman at the estate tells him, her eyes teary. “Cliff Gordon passed away a month ago.”

That…doesn't make sense, at first. It takes a minute, to sink through the odd roaring noise in Jay’s ears, and finally reach his brain.

“Passed…away,” he repeats, blankly.

The lady nods, looking at him with so much pity Jay kind of wants to kick her shins. “It was his heart, poor man. He hasn’t been so well the last few years, you know.”

“Right.” Jay feels a little like he does when he’d used to jump off his dragon, except this time he’s been tossed from it and he’s free-falling to a short and sudden stop.

“Did you know him?” she asks, curiously.

Jay tries to make some form of response, like “I was his son”, except all that comes out is a whole bunch of nothing. Nothing, just like what’s left in Jay’s head. He blinks rapidly, trying to banish the image seared into his brain.

Cliff Gordon’s eyes, bright and painfully hopeful.

You’ll come visit me sometime, will you?

Jay swallows thickly. “Sorry, if you’ll, uh — excuse me, I think lunch was bad.” Then he ducks for the nearby bushes, and proceeds to be horribly sick.

He tells himself, through heaving gasps, that the hot tears are only reflexive.

************

And that’s that. Jay, stupid, selfish Jay, waited too long and now he’s lost his chance forever. Because he was — what, scared? Nervous?

He’s not scared now. He kind of just hates himself, which isn’t the newest thing in the world, but this time it burns like the worst of scrapes and crawls up on him in the middle of the night, screaming what-if’s into his brain until Jay’s biting down on his pillow before he starts screaming himself.

It hurts, but he’s got no one to blame but himself. Jay messed this up all his own and he sure as heck doesn’t deserve any sympathy from his team for it. So he’s not going to even give them the chance, because they’ll never know. Jay will take this secret to the grave, because imagining the looks on everyone else’s face when he tells them he ruined this makes him want to put himself in the grave.

How long did he wait for Jay, how long did he—

Jay’s just going to drive himself insane with his own stupid brain and that’s that.

Well, that’s supposed to be that. It would’ve been that, except Cole is perceptive and Cole knows him too well, and Cole spots the look on his face when he’s telling him everything he’s found out about his mother, since Jay can’t even hide that from him.

And maybe Jay’s just weak, or so desperate for some form of reassurance or - or attention that he cracks, and spills the whole sorry thing to Cole. To his undying credit, Cole doesn’t even look like he despises Jay once. Instead, he looks at him with all this sympathy and kindness and oh, if Jay was a crier—

Well, actually, Jay is a crier, and ends up bawling into Cole’s gi at two in the morning, but what else is new.

The important thing is that Cole is Jay’s very best friend and possibly favorite person in the whole entire world, and Jay is going to murder him in cold blood for dragging him to Cliff Gordon’s estate and forcing their way in.

“If he cared enough to want to meet you, he’ll have cared enough to leave you in his will,” Cole reminds him, staunchly. “He knows how busy your life was, so I’ll bet you anything he understood.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better,” Jay hisses, as Cole manhandles him down the mansion’s — the mansion’s! — hallways. “I don’t deserve it.”

“For the love of—” Cole cuts off with an exasperated huff. “It is not your fault this happened. This is not on you. How many times are we going to have to do this, Jay.”

“Until the time you let me wallow in miserable peace,” Jay mutters. What does Cole know, it’s not like he totally bailed on his parent and then let them die. Not that Jay could do anything about that last part, sure, but the rest of it.

Cole stops them in one of the massive living rooms, finally fixing Jay with one of those stares. Uh oh.

“At least read the letter,” Cole says, suddenly pleading. “You don’t have to look at anything else if you don’t want to, but please read the letter. For me?”

Oh, Jay hates him. He tells him so, even as his glare falters in the face of Cole’s stupid puppy eyes.

“Is that a yes?” Cole replies hopefully, offering the letter they were handed with the estate key. Jay gives him a last, withering glare before snatching the letter from him.

“You’re the worst,” he mutters, as he tears open the envelope with shaky fingers. He hesitates for a beat, before mustering whatever pathetic courage he has and tugging the paper out, unfolding it as his eyes find the carefully scrawled words.

My dear Jay—

He promptly bursts into tears.

“Jay wha — Jay what’s wrong, is it that bad?” Cole is frantic as he hovers over him, his hands half-caught between reaching for Jay and reaching for the letter in his hands. Jay shakes his head, trying to stifle the sudden waterfall’s worth of tears that decided to make an appearance, and clutches the paper tighter.

Cole makes an anxious sound. “Jay, you know he’s — if he’s said something bad, it’s — he doesn’t know anything, right?”

Oh no, now Jay wants to cry harder. Cole sounds desperately concerned, kind and caring and genuine like Cole always is, and Jay feels like the worst person in the world.

Stupid, Jay, he scolds himself hotly, swiping angrily at his eyes. Stupid, selfish Jay. He’s got nothing to be crying about. Zane only had one dad, and he doesn’t go around whining about it. Lloyd’s got one dad who’s died three times, and may as well be dead now ‘cause he’s such a jerk. Kai and Nya didn’t even have any parents until last year. And Cole lost his mom who he loved, he loved so much, and he’s still here supporting Jay — stupid, selfish Jay, who’s got two entire stable parents who he’s never once doubted love him, and yet here he is, crying over the one he never really knew.

“Jay,” Cole tries again, quieter this time. “Jay, you’re allowed to be sad about your dad. It’s not a contest.”

Stupid, perceptive Cole.

“He said he loves me,” Jay finally croaks, swiping at the tears all over his face. “He didn’t even know me, Cole, how was he supposed to know that?”

Cole’s eyes soften, all melty and gross. “You’re his son, Jay, he knew you.” His lips quirk up in a smile. “Besides, he talked to you once, right? You make some pretty impactful first impressions, motormouth.”

Jay can’t decide whether to be insulted or more flattered than he’s been in the last six months. He decides to punch Cole weakly in the shoulder, before crying harder. Cole doesn’t even flinch at the hit, built like a rock as he is, and simply snatches Jay’s arm and tugs him close, wrapping his arms around him tightly. And oh, Jay wants to pull away, he doesn’t want to break down in his dead father’s mansion like this, Jay doesn’t have a lot of dignity but he’s at least got his shreds, but—

Cole gives the best stupid hugs in the world, and what’s Jay gonna do, deny such instant love and comfort? The risk of hurting Cole’s feelings far outweighs Jay’s tattered dignity, he tells himself. That’s why he clings to Cole like an overgrown barnacle and wails into his shoulder like a broken faucet. That’s the only reason, obviously.

“It’s okay to cry, you big moron,” Cole says after he’s calmed down, briefly squeezing tighter. “I get it. But you really should read more than the first lines of that thing. I think…I think it’ll help.”

“This is all I’ve got, though,” Jay sniffles. “I don’t — I lost any other connection I’ve got to him.”

“Sometimes you just gotta work with what you have,” Cole says gently, a little bitter, a little sweet. “And somehow, you have to make it enough.”

Jay pauses at that, thinking back to the statue miles and miles beneath a mountain, the delicate locket Cole had turned over in his fingers. He looks back to the letter in his hands, the lines and lines of all the words his father left for him, and remembers Lloyd’s words about knowing.

His fingers tighten on the edges of his letter. Jay, he decides, is done being scared. He’s got Cole at his side — what’s he got to be afraid of, anyways?

“Okay,” he says, swiping once more at his eyes, and giving Cole a watery smile. “Okay. Help me read through the whole thing?”

“I wore my old sweatshirt for a reason,” Cole replies, making a show of wringing his sleeve out. Jay whacks him with the envelope, but the laugh he shudders out feels real, this time. He gently spreads the letter out atop his lap, focusing on the words again.

It’ll be enough. It’ll sting, but…it’ll be enough.

Like Lloyd’s tattered photograph, like Cole’s mother’s last words — it has to be.

#lego ninjago #ninjago #jay walker #cole brookstone #lloyd garmadon #since they're both...fairly present at points gdnkfgj #i just have many feelings about jay apparently T-T #my fic #answered

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sebbytrash · 4 years ago

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Through His Eyes - Part Nineteen

Summary - Bucky arrives at the compound to start afresh but you and him have a somewhat colorful past, colorful being that you met him once before as The Winter Soldier and it did not go well. New beginnings, yeah? If you can learn to forgive.

Pairing - Bucky x Reader

Warnings - self reflection, sad bucky, probably swearing

A/N - HERE. I FIX. This is it my pals, buckle tf up.

HUGE thank you to my other half @manawhaat for her exceptional Betaing as always

Through His Eyes Masterlist

It was a cold day, a sharp day. One of those ornery spans of time that climbs inside your skin and lets it’s roots take your bones. The sky is everywhere and nowhere, a borderless open canvas without the depth of sun or the vitality of night. The trees are brittle, breakable and the drying leaves are skittish.

The world around you holds its collective breath, waiting and watching and wondering. The leather of the steering wheel groans in protest as your fingers tighten in time with your inhales. Your thunderous heartbeats reverberate inside the car, the one borrowed from Clint after nearly wearing away the soles of your shoes just to get to his house in the first place, or maybe just inside your bones, shaking you from the inside out. There’s still miles between you and home, still plenty of time to arrange your thoughts, still time to run.

You won’t. Not this time, and not any other future times that voice in your head might say it, that seductive cowerdess with a honeyed voice.

Clint’s words were razor-sharp, cutting away those strings of guilt and doubt, the sudden and impossible realisation that perhaps, just maybe, happiness was for you after all. The ghost of the words you’d last said to Bucky came carried on the wind of regret, were all too happy to remind you that, actually, you had discarded that happiness and had no real right to hope for it. So you didn’t hope, you held the prequel to hope gently in your heart, the soft stretch of winds before hope’s flight.

You left without a plan, nothing but the need to lessen the distance between you and him, no longer ready for his eyes to become a memory or your sheets to lose his scent. It feels like a race, like he’ll be whisked away by the bitter winds that hammer so persistently against the side of the car. But as the miles pass and the sound of your heart slows to a steady gallop, you think and overthink about what you might say, how you might explain your outburst and the following drama but more importantly, how you might say it, those words, how you will admit how you feel.

Impossible, the coward whispers again, he won’t want you now.

He might not, you think, but at least you will have tried. At least you won’t have that to regret, too. Simply add the others to a long list of what-ifs and could-have-beens, a pile of chances never taken and moments unlived. This chance, this hopeful not-hope, is the biggest risk you’ve taken in a long time. The thought alone lets you measure just how much you’ve changed, how much he’s changed you. The hollowed out, broken man who quietly put himself back together right under your nose. Even the you from before would have scoffed at the thought of being changed by a man, any man, but it’s true. He changed you then and he's changed you now.

And, perhaps, the pieces you’ve so diligently stitched back together are better than the whole you were before. Maybe not better...but more undeniably you, real and honest. Honest forgiveness, and then, honest love. The word itself is still a weight in your mouth, tongue and teeth unable to cooperate to let it escape.

You check your phone at the next set of lights, clear a bunch of useless notifications and find a text from Sam.

“You can do this.”

He knows, then. You wonder if Clint told him but more likely, Sam just knows like he always does. Sentient Sam. Well, with the company you keep it’s probably more surprising if he isn’t harbouring some sort of preternatural ability.

The rest of the journey passes in a blur of colour, faded bits of brightness that dull when you look at them too long or too quickly, all the spare spaces in your brain just eaten up by the word you can’t form and yet, the words you need to say. When you arrive, the shared spaces are mercifully empty and you make it to your room without so much as glimpsing another soul, not entirely unexpected given that day had again turned to night somewhere in the miles you’d gone. You shrug off the travel induced grime in a hot shower, as hot as you can stand it, let your tongue gather a few drops like it might loosen it, set those words free.

It doesn’t.

Now you sit, perched on your bed, water still dripping from your hair down your neck and back. Ready, but not.

Without thinking, you lay back, head on the pillow you never use and try not cling to the soft wisps of his cologne, the one he started wearing for your moonlit visits, like a raft against the sea of your own thoughts. A hand clasped gently over your chest, bruised and tender from the furious beats of your furious heart, the other thumb running gently over those scars again. They no longer hold the same power over you they once did, angry raised flesh that shackled grief to your soul, no, now they are just another page in your story. Not the final chapter you once believed them to be. You take a steadying breath, and then another, and think finally, it’s time for the next book to begin.

His door is the same, and it’s not. It doesn’t loom with darkness, instead it stands like the space between stars, dark and filled with potential. You eye it from afar, still hovering on the edge of that hopeful-not-hope and wonder if you stare hard enough you might see within. It remains stubbornly solid, much to your dismay, and so you urge your feet forward, one step and then another until you reach it. You forcibly unclench your teeth and knock, soft enough that you barely feel the scrape of the wood on your knuckles but it swings inwards anyway and reveals a very exasperated Bucky. He stills immediately, mid sentence, face falls off a cliff and lands somewhere between shocked and confused. You want to laugh, and cry, the relief of finally seeing him again threatens to claim your voice from your throat and derail this whole thing before you can utter a single word. You look at him with those fresh, unburdened eyes and marvel, not for the first time, at how very not-soldier he is.

“Hi,” you say, voice still under siege. He says nothing, simply stares like he’s not sure you're real and so you continue. “Can we talk?”

“Uh…” He blinks a few rapid blinks and comes back to himself. “Yes. Yeah, come in.” He gestures towards the room but when you take a step inside he gives you a wide berth, feet shuffling clumsily to put the coffee table between you. A barrier, a shield.

Your bruised heart aches with every step and the hope flutters a little in protest. It feels awkward as you hover over the couch like you don’t deserve to sit, all the air in the room suddenly prickly, like there's too much air or not enough space between the molecules and you hate it. You hate this distance that’s between you again. The one you created with your panic and denial.

“You’re back.” He states, eyes wandering over your face like he's checking over those bruises again and you wonder if he’s dreamed of you since, if he’s had a night without you behind his eyelids like you haven’t since this dizzying new world opened up and swallowed you whole.

The fear gains a foothold, your hope is the oxygen and his quiet apprehension is the flame. “Yeah, like an hour ago.” Say something else, your mind begs, say anything else, your heart joins. But you can’t. Cold dread eats up all the heat in your bones like a slow moving frost, stealing and taking whatever muster you have left.

“Steve said you went to Clints.” His eyes finally meet yours, ocean filled and storm tempered, simply unable to blink away the rough shores and instead they pour out of him, beating waves against you that make your knees wobble. He looks at you with the same uncertainty he did all those months ago when he first arrived, filled to the brim with those sloth like emotions. If melancholy had a face, it would be his in this moment.

You expect it, the guardedness and the caution, but it still throws you off when you see it written so clearly on his face, still whittles away at your nerve until the words you need to say are taken hostage in your mouth and instead, “I needed some time,” you begin, fingers picking away at a loose thread on the couch, “Well, uh, perspective, actually.”

“Right.” He says plainly, clearly unsure what to make of that answer or why you are here in his room saying nothing important with an important looking face.

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” You admit, finally, choking on the words as you do and stifling the need to take them back, or say them again. It’s a desperate feeling, dry mouthed and aching jaw, frantically turning you in circles to find a whole and complete sentence you might say to ease the look on his face.

Agony turns down the corners of his mouth and he whispers, defeated but defiant, “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Your lungs protest, sudden and sharp, all of your fears leap and dance inside your chest. This is it, the shoe finally dropping. Run,run,run.

“Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry for us.” He begs it, quietly but earnestly, frown deepening as he does. “I’m not, and if you came here just to drive the point home...” He looks away like he can’t bare it another second, eyes shut tight to protect or contain.

You take a quick, pointed second to delight in his response, “No, Bucky, I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I said that.” He looks at you, cautiously, guarded, and you ache to smooth the frown from his face with your fingertips or your lips. “I don’t regret it... us. Not at all.” He sinks into the couch, deflating as he does like he expected a fight or a blow and isn’t sure what to do now that it’s neither.

“I was scared. Shit, I still am. I didn’t know if your feelings were real, if they could be real, or if it was just some leftover need to make up for something that was never your fault in the first place. Or maybe I did it, you know? Maybe I took it and made it into something else. I didn’t trust it.” Now that you’ve started speaking, the words tumble and pour from your mouth, a river of feelings rushing at him faster than he can take and faster than you can say.

“And then, the dream happened and it just felt like I was hindering your progress. And you were too nice or I was too selfish to do something about it.” The frown deepens again and you can tell he wants to fight you, that he thinks this is something else and so you raise a hand. “Please...just let me finish?” His mouth twists like he's bursting to say something, anything, but he nods anyway.

“I should never have made that decision for you. I know that now. I didn’t see it for what it was. Not until Clint verbally slapped me in the face, I guess.” You smile, a small tilt of the lips and watch him fight to contain his in response, like even now when he has no idea how you feel he still has to smile back so the curve of his lips match your own. “So, I’m sorry. Sorry for taking that choice from you, sorry for doubting you, sorry for leaving, but mostly…” runaway tears slip down your cheeks, the unsettling overspill of regret and longing, “I’m sorry for not telling you I love you, too.”

“You--” Bucky’s mouth crumples and his face goes tight, eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows bunched up beside each other, he stays that way for several seconds, long enough for your hope to vanish and your gut to roll like you were going to meet your lunch again.

“Buck?” You take a step towards him and then stop, wondering if that step should have been towards the door instead. If he no longer wanted this version of you who ran and came back, but instead the one who hid behind walls inside her own heart.

“I want it too much.” He says, finally, and looks at you with the same ocean eyes he always has, a lifetime's worth of hope drowning inside. He smiles your smile and reaches a hand for yours, tentative, soft fingers sliding around your wrist and your skin bounces.

“Me, too.” You let yourself be guided into his lap, his fingers sweeping away the tears that loosen at the sheer weight of your relief, foreheads pressed together and shaking hands clutching onto shaking bones. Your grip on his shirt turns painful, aching to be near and his is just as tight, yet, somehow gentle, balancing all that love on the edge of his smile.

Cool fingers cup your neck, a thumb pressing gently along your jaw and then he kisses you, his lips fitting together with yours like they did before, his ribs fitting under your hands the same way they did before. Fingers and hands and thighs all fitting together, exactly like they did before.

The butterflies wreck havoc in your belly, like they did before.

He kisses you, again, and again, lazy lips and eager tongues, losing minutes to the flush of heat inside your blood and the way the stars sing. You let his lips chase away the fear and let it be replaced with something else, something new but familiar, such a weightlessness that you might float right off the couch if he wasn't holding you like his anchor to the earth. You laugh in between kisses, faces wet and sore from all the smiling and kissing, and smiling.

After, seconds or hours, you push back just enough to say, hushed against the stubble of his jaw, “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want me.”

“Not possible.” His answer is immediate, without consideration, his thumb trails along your bottom lip and his eyes follow, then he pauses in thought, a shadow passes across his face in an instant but he stays quiet.

“What was that?” You ask, letting your fingertips find the edges of his frown, fascinated and terrified by how you long for him even while holding him.

“It’s just... I can’t promise I won’t have any more nightmares. Or that there won’t be bad days, you know?” He says it like it’s an admission of guilt, or like it might change your mind. Your heart twinges at the thought that you put those very particular worries inside his head, that he still doesn’t know what he is to you, the way it reaches marrow-deep.

“I know. And I’ll be there when you do.” You smile sadly, “I’m not going anywhere. I want this, with you, for real this time.” You try to carve your intentions into those words, try to say it so it pours straight into his veins and is carried right to his heart.

He nods, still unconvinced or maybe contemplating, something still waiting to be said and you see him consider it, see him turn it over in his mind a few times before he says. “And I don’t wanna be....I don’t want us to be a secret anymore.”

That does it, the simple, quiet admission that lets you feel exactly all the ways you’ve hurt this broken-not-broken man without even knowing you were. He’s loved you in ways you can’t even count and all you’ve done is poke at his wounds with oblivious hands and poison coated kisses. It knocks the wind clean out of you for a few short moments, empty lungs grasping at your jagged ribs, before you collect yourself, let every ounce of feeling show on your face and say, “No more secrets. I’m in this, Bucky. I’m in it with you.”

Stay, stay, stay.

Divider by the super talented @writeyourmindaway (You should really check them out, there’s something for everyone!)

#through his eyes #kale writes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic

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sandysmoved · 4 years ago

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(Happy Valentine’s Day gay ppl Beffica is sad and I for one think if she fell in love with my OC maybe she wouldn’t be so sad LETS GO LESBIANS)

“Isn’t it SO sad that I call you Bestie?”

Saffi glared at her journal like a mean eye would make the words write themselves, chewing on the end of her pencil harshly. Then, she thought about how long it had been since she’d had more than sauce and foraged plants to eat, and hastily switched to nibbling on her candy necklace, lest she end up developing a taste for wood.

“Haha, I, like, barely know you.”

Behind her, Sprout continued to chant his muffled little babbling, running in circles on the cot like a cat getting ready to settle down. It would be adorable (oh hell, it WAS adorable), if it wasn’t just another distraction bouncing around in her head.

The notes. The maps. The tracks. A missing explorer, and her not-so-missing girlfriend. That thing standing on the cliffs, watching from the treeline. What did it all mean?

“And if I DID get to know you, you’d probably hate me for it.”

Okay Saffi. Deep breaths. You’re smart. You’re good at mysteries. Misplaced mascots aside. Keep it together.

Her pencil refused to cooperate though, continuing to idly shade strands of a violet ponytail in a graphite monochrome.

“Oh well, enjoy it while it lasts, Beffy.”

“UGH.”

Saffi slammed her head on the desk, the pounding in her brain drowning out the concerned chattering of the captive Strabby skittering around the floor.

“This sucks. This sucks so big.”

She wasn’t gonna get any work done like this. She could barely even sit still, her foot tapping out an idle tune (get up everybody, come on and do the wiggle with meee) as she slammed her journal shut. Saffi hummed around her pencil (god, she really WAS going to acquire a taste for it at this point) as she leaned back in her chair and pulled her hair back up into her scrunchie. It wasn’t too terribly late, only a half hour or so after sunset maybe. Surely someone in town would have a request, or maybe she could try hunting down that annoying Noodler for Floofty again. Nothing burned off manic energy like actually getting set on fire accidentally.

“Isn’t it SO sad that I call you Bestie?”

...no. That could wait. Saffi had something more important to do right now, and she had an idea how she was going to do it. She spun in her chair, kicking open the box under her cot, and slid off onto the floor to dig through its contents, tugging an old, worn album from underneath a tangle of useless stuff.

“Haha, I, like, barely know you.”

Well then. Time to fix that.

~*~

Beffica sighed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes as she idly traced lines in the dirt with a stick. This sucked. This sucked REALLY BIG, actually. It would probably suck a little smaller if she wasn’t sitting on a cold hard stone threshold, but like hell was she gonna join the others by the fire when Cromdo was over there, being all...loud. And old. And Cromdo. The squeeb. She probably would’ve gone and wandered idly around the huts, maybe looked at Wiggle’s records again, but she wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at if she came back early.

Or she could go up to the airship, but...no. After that...super uncool moment she’d let slip earlier, she wouldn’t be surprised if Saffi wasn’t too interested in hanging out. Hell, she’d rather go back to the stupid cave right now, than-

Grass crunched underfoot, and Beffica glanced up, blinking in surprise at the sunset orange grumpus standing at her door. Saffi glanced down at her, her expression...odd, in the flickering firelight across the way. Her fingers drummed a bit (nervously?) on the surface of the book she was holding, before they stilled, and she took a deep breath, blinking.

Beffica opened her mouth to say...well, she didn’t know, and she didn’t have the chance to know, because Saffi beat her to it.

“I know...I know it’s...scary.”

She paused, like she was trying to remember the meaning of the words her brain had shoved out prematurely, and for once, Beffica didn’t have a response. Instead, she sat up a bit straighter, watching Saffi find the thread to explain. Patience wasn’t exactly a virtue that came naturally to her. Maybe that’s why she had been so bad at her job, in the end. Maybe that’s why she’d been so bad at a lot of things. But for some reason, in this particular instance? She was willing to wait a lifetime to find out what Saffi had to say.

“It’s scary, being known. Letting yourself be known. And that’s okay! It’s okay to be afraid. But…”

Here it comes.

Beffica flinched without meaning too, and she hoped Saffi didn’t see it. She didn’t need to look any more pathetic than she already had earlier.

Did you enjoy it, Beffy? Was it fun while it lasted? Would you do better if you could do it all over again? Not like it matters, you can’t-

“But, if I’m your bestie…and I really, REALLY like being your bestie, for the record...then maybe...I think you should at least know me.”

Beffica froze, staring up at Saffi with eyes so wide she felt like they’d pop out and roll away. What? Pardon, what?

Saffi looked down at the book, cracking it open and tracing some of the dusty contents with her eyes, suddenly very aware of how known she was offering to be.

“If. If you want to,” she murmured, suddenly looking very, very small.

And Beffica still had no words. What could she say? What could she possibly say in response to something like this? She hadn’t rehearsed for this moment (and clearly, neither had Saffi), she’d never had any preparation for this. This wasn’t a tasty morsel of information hiding under someone’s bed, a secret to be uncovered hiding behind a tree in the middle of the night. This was knowledge offered. This was someone being vulnerable, and willingly. This was sharing.

With Beffica, of all grumps.

She didn’t know what to say.

So instead, she scooted over, patting the empty space next to her in the doorway, and Saffi’s doubts visibly melted from her posture like snow from a rooftop. She plopped down unceremoniously, cracking the old album open on her knee, and Beffica didn’t hesitate to lean in close to watch her fingers trace the page to tap an old photo. “See, that’s me when I was a toddler, I spent the summer with my grandparents, and-“

Beffica couldn’t tell what the sound that escaped her throat at the sight was; kinda groan and kinda laugh. “Oh my GRUMP, bestie, no offense, but who in the world let you leave the house with your hair chopped up like that?”

“I know, right? My grandmother, bless her cotton socks but that woman should NOT have been legally allowed with ten yards of kitchen scissors-“

Saffi launched into the story like it was the easiest thing in the world, like she was reading off the latest big scoop, instead of inviting someone she’d only known a few weeks into the treasure chest of her life. Every story was like that, every explanation for why her clothes were so oversized and mismatched, or who gave her that particular stuffed animal. And not once, not once did she try to prod Beffica to contribute her own anecdote, back her into a conversational corner that could only end in an unwanted revelation, or a total shutdown.

It was...nice. Comfortable. Listening to her talk. Getting to know Saffironica Snakattak (“Only my granny calls me that, though. Granny and Floofty. The rest of you should all call me Saffi.”) as more than just the bright-eyed journalist who fell out of the sky and started pulling everyone back together in her orbit.

And if Beffica leaned in a little more with each tale? For a closer look? To hear better? To rest her head against Saffi’s arm as the night grew chilly?

Who had to know?

#bugsnax #beffica winklesnoot #bugsnax buddy #bugsnax journalist #bugsnax beffica #OC #my writing #they’re lesbians Cromdo

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inscribed-in-asteroids · 4 years ago

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AN: Here’s chapter two!

Title: The Ripple Effect

Characters: Hordak, Entrapta, Odessa, features original characters

Pairing: Entrapdak, features other canon couples (and some fanon)

Rating: M

Read on AO3. It’s always posted there first.

Evaluation

“You want us to help you… find your dad’s… home planet?” Hydrangea questions.

“Not necessarily that,” Odessa replies. “I’ve been mulling over this the last couple of years. Wandering through space, it’s apparent that my father’s species has predominantly settled into Etherian life. But when I ask my father where we are from, he has no answer.”

“Not in the withholding information way,” Tristan clarifies.

“Exactly. In the sense he has no answer to give. Period. I’ve discussed it with my mother, and she believes it could be an exciting chance to find out where he’s from!” Odessa claps her hands together. “We know about the biology, physiology, mental health, behavior of one person. My father has been studied thoroughly for years, but his makeup can only tell us so much.”

They nod in understanding. It does make sense. He has been genetically manufactured over and over, thousands of versions of him co-existing among species that still have yet to see anything like him before. Hordak has lived among Etherians, has explored world upon world, but they know he is an anomaly. They all do.

Odessa looks down at her hands, an anomaly herself. Her parents have always been supportive of her intellectual pursuits, and this could very well be one of the greatest. She has filled a medical textbook composed of both Entrapta’s research, Hordak’s explanations, and her own observations, theories and notes about how his species operates. But what good is it if it simply applies to a single individual; that’s not applicable to how science or medical practice works.

Hydrangea pours them tea. She knows how determined Odessa can be once she sets her mind to something. There’s no stopping her once her brain gains traction on an idea. Tristan’s set face comprehends this as well.

Tristan speaks first, “When would you like us to begin?”

Odessa smirks, “Soon as you’re done with your drink.”

“Hm, of course you’d say that.”

“Damn right,” Odessa answers.

Hydrangea places her hands on her hips, “Alright, Des. We’ll get going soon as we’re done!”

“Or you could chug your chamomile in one go.”

“No.”

Dryl is etched further into rocky cliffs, its labyrinth excavated deep inside the mountain. Its residents welcome their princess, happy to see her return. Entrapta’s kingdom had been left to its own devices for years, even prior to Entrapta’s departure; yet they view Odessa as the rightful heir, and treat her as such. She supposes it's something to be grateful for, as it does leave them with a place to rest and organize without much interference.

Though she could do without the large paintings of herself lining the walls.

“I never get over how cute you were as a baby,” Hydrangea says, giggling. “Look how chubby you were!”

“You were so adorable,” Tristan gushes. “So innocent.”

“The sweetest little baby,” she continues. “I still want to pinch your itty bitty face!”

“Shut up,” Odessa pouts, blushing. Curse these portraits… and curse their laughter...

“Odessa! Hello, hello!”

Relieved, she turns, smiling at the friendly face, “Hi, Uncle Wrong-Man.”

Crushing her to his chest, he presses their cheeks together, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen my most favorite niece in the world!”

“You’re going to make all the other nieces jealous,” she says. Then smiles, “But it’s true.”

“I can’t help it, you were the first niece I had!”

Back on her feet, Odessa glances at the vicinity. Normally, there’s more of her uncles wandering through the halls. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they’re working outside or in the kitchens. We heard you were back and we felt a welcoming party would be fun!”

“You don’t have to throw one every time we come back.”

His eyes turn watery, a sad, morose frown on his features, “Oh… I see… You don’t… like my parties anymore…”

“No, no, that’s not it!” Odessa says, trying to cheer him back up. “I just meant you don’t need to go through all the trouble each visit.”

He looks up at her, ears drooping lower, “Do you like them?”

“Yes, Uncle Wrong-Man, I love your parties,” she insists. “You’re the best at it!”

In seconds, his bubbly personality returns, “Excellent! I look forward to giving you another party suited to your tastes!”

Tristan leans toward Odessa, hand held up to his mouth, “Wow, for a minute I thought I heard violins.”

“He has that dramatic flair to him,” she agrees.

“How have your parents been? I haven’t seen them yet!” W.H. asks.

“Mom and Dad are fine,” Odessa tells him, following him through the halls. The maze has been modified to be easier to map out. The first time she had come here, they had gotten lost since Entrapta couldn’t quite recall where all the secret entrances were. Odessa took it upon herself to make her own layout, and added to it whenever a change had been made. “They went to Beast Island to see how it is there.”

His ears fall for a moment, “Aw, I hope they’ll visit soon!”

“I’m sure they will,” she assures him. “They had some business to conduct over there.”

“In the meantime, what brings you to Dryl?”

“I wanted to talk to you and some of the others regarding your past,” she explains.

W.H. enters the closest kitchen, walking toward the oven. Tucking on mitts, a perplexed expression crosses his features, “Our past? My dearest niece… have you been afflicted by amnesia?”

“No, my memories serve me right,” Odessa says, patient. “I am asking for information regarding where we had come from, as a whole species. What world we originated from, what our culture was like. I had spoken with father about the matter, but he said he didn’t know due to being younger than the rest of you.”

W.H. crosses over to the countertop, removing the cookies onto a cooling rack. He is silent for a few moments, and it is clear he is choosing his words carefully, trying to understand what she’s asking. He turns, a serious mien about him, unusual on his face. “I… I’m not sure, either.”

Odessa walks over to him, “Is it because you were separated from the hivemind?”

“I don’t believe so,” he replies. Folding his arms over his chest, the fact they’re all one person reveals itself in his posture and tone. “We had been created to serve Horde Prime. Nothing more or less. And I do think that I myself had been cloned after your father. He had been Horde Prime’s general as well, and if he didn’t know, one of our elder brothers might have the knowledge you seek.”

Odessa glances at Hydrangea and Tristan, then back to her uncle. “Do you know who would?”

W.H. ponders for a minute. “Hm, no one here, I am certain. The residents of Dryl are like myself—of the younger group, since we have more people skills to associate with the Etherians.”

Hydrangea says, “I always wondered how that worked. Where you were designated and why.”

W.H. nods, “Oh, yes, we put thought into what our new purposes would be. After I helped my brother and sister with Beast Island, I came here to demonstrate how to function with Etherians!”

Tristan walks over to the counter, “Where do you recommend we go, then? Also, can I have one?”

W.H. beams, nodding enthusiastically, “Please do! I am going to make much more. But in regards to your first question, I would suggest visiting family in Mystacore or Beast Island.”

Odessa takes a cookie off the rack as well, munching. Mystacore is closer, so it would be prudent to try there before traveling to Beast Island. There are portals stationed throughout Etheria, but it’ll be worth stopping by Mystacore. She hasn’t seen anyone there at all yet. Although, it’s not as if there are many who live in the clouds, visiting her family there is always exciting.

“Thank you, Uncle Wrong-Man,” Odessa says, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “We’ll head there now!”

“Take some food with you to go,” he insists. In a flash, he’s bagging the cookies into a cellophane sack, tying it with a pink ribbon that shapes into a butterfly. “Healthy meals are important, but so are treats! Otherwise, you get moody.”

Hydrangea and Tristan are handed their own bags, much to their surprised delight. Before Odessa can accompany them out the door, W.H. stops her, giving her another, “Would you mind taking this with you for your cousin?”

Odessa smiles, “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Hordak and his brothers were categorized not by their clothes, or hair dye choices, but by their eyes. Odessa and her mother had noted the various shades of eye color, their teeth matching them the most; however, inside of their mouths, it adjusts to mimic the change as well, affecting the tongue and beneath it, gums, hard and soft palates, uvula, even extending down to the oropharynx. All her uncles are in good health, and with none of them dead, she can only assume that the change continues down the esophagus. She got it in writing several years ago that, should any be willing to be dissected for scientific purposes, she has a few choices for her study.

Their eye colors are fascinating: while they all reflect light to glow, which is meant to intimidate opponents, she has observed the change serves as behavioral distinction. The lighter the color, the more mellow and passive the personality; the darker or more intense, the more independent and aggressive. A chameleon-like feature, reflecting mood. And, in turn, signifying mental and physical health, as peppier individuals tend to be less plagued by feelings of inadequacy, anger, and low self-esteem. W.H. had his eye color eventually become the joyful chartreuse yellow she’s known since birth, and her father’s returned to their fiery red sometime after the war. This is the one true variation that doesn’t need attire or fanciful hair styles and dyes to show that no matter how alike they are by DNA, they are their own separate people.

So when she teleports to Mystacore, and she finds dark blue eyes staring at her from above, she remembers, quite immediately, that sometimes, darker eye colors don’t indicate low self-esteem but rather, an egregious amount of confidence.

Her uncle jumps down from his perch, landing daintily on his feet. He narrows his eyes, leering, “Odessa… it has been ages since you’ve arrived on Mystacore.”

“Hi, Talon,” Odessa says.

He looks at her friends, “You two are faring well, I hope.”

Hydrangea smiles, “Yes, thank you for asking!”

Tristan nods, “You look good, too, Talon.”

“Indeed,” Talon answers. “It would be a shame if I lost my abilities.”

With that, he throws knives out from his sleeve. Tristan dodges the attack by barreling to the side, somersaulting along the ground. Hydrangea calls up plants from underground, knives embedding into the sides. Odessa leaps into the air, reaching behind her to draw out a handheld bar. With a click, it extends to a staff, and another morphs it quickly into a pilum.

Reeling back her arm, she launches it with full ferocity at Talon. He avoids it, jumping to the left and pulling out more knives, but he aims them at Tristan, who runs toward the nearest fountain to pull water out from its containment. Tristan moves his arms upward, pushing out enough water to create a vertical depth, the knives slowing down as they pierce its surface and float inside.

Odessa tugs her spear out from the dirt, cornering her uncle at the right. Hydrangea pulls plants forward, fingers splayed in the air. From her fingertips, electricity strings across her exoskeleton. Tristan rushes to their side, water sloshing around them, encasing Talon in its center, creating a barrier.

Talon sneers, then bursts out laughing. His stance loosens, standing upright, “Your senses haven’t weakened. Good. I’d be vexed if you squandered my generosity to teach you combat.”

Odessa smirks, minimizing her staff and settling it behind her back, “We wouldn’t do that.”

Hydrangea grins, “Tristan and I do practice on our own.”

Tristan shifts the water back toward its source, then rubs the back of his neck, “Which is great, since there was no holding back from that attack.”

“Enemies don’t show mercy,” Talon says. Adjusting his collar, he nods his head, “But tell me, what brings my niece and her companions to Mystacore?”

Odessa speaks, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Me?” he replies, curious.

“Yes. It’s about your origins. Uncle Wrong-Man said it might be beneficial to come to Mystacore and question my relatives here.”

Talon raises a brow. He looks up at his home, then addresses the trio, “Are you intending to stay for longer than an hour?”

“Most likely.”

“I will invite you to my home, then. Come. Dinner will be prepared soon, and we may discuss the topic during.”

Accepting this, they head in the direction of his home. An impressive, ornate building that’s three stories high; they tread up wide steps, where one can overlook the weigela bushes lined around the vicinity’s front entrance, a fountain spouting water in the garden’s center, surrounded by lilacs and roses. Cool air wafts over their bodies, welcome from the heat outside. Odessa remarks that the decor has only slightly changed, the furniture taking on silver, blue, and white qualities, polished until they gleam.

Going to the stairs, Talon nods at them, “Make yourselves at home. As usual, do not break anything. I will see you at dinner promptly.”

Once he’s gone, Hydrangea chuckles, “He’s still intense.”

“He’s gonna kill us one day,” Tristan sighs.

Odessa pats his shoulder, “Only if we let him.”

He lips thin out, “Not reassuring, Des.”

Climbing the steps, they decide to wait until they are called, and opt to entertain themselves by bothering someone else.

Magic radiates within the room, energy felt even behind the door. Odessa carefully pushes it open, seeing a slim figure move around. Putting a finger to her lips, she leads her friends into her cousin’s quarters. His face is stern, staring at the spell hovering over the ground at shoulder height.

Hydrangea sits quietly on a cushion on the floor, and Tristan does the same. Odessa leans against the wall, and they all watch. Eon is her cousin, and their similarities begin and end with their fathers having chosen Etherian women as their partners. He differs from her, and any other potential cousin, by having the capability to do magic. Real, Etherian magic.

Eon takes measured breathing, focusing on the spell. It elongates toward the ceiling and floor, then narrows to a thin line. Reaching for it, he plucks it with his forefinger. It snaps, and a discordant sound follows, uncomfortable and shrill. Hydrangea and Tristan cover their ears, as Odessa winces.

Eon looks at them, brow raised. He grins, “Did you all enjoy the show?”

“We did, until that,” Hydrangea complains, glaring at him. She frowns, lightly slapping her ears, “Aw no, there’s some ringing!”

“It’ll pass in a few moments,” Eon explains. “Besides, you three coming into my room unannounced and unwelcome deserves a bit of retribution.”

“By popping our eardrums?” Tristan asks, deadpan.

“Exactly,” Eon says, one hand on his hip. He turns to Odessa, and smiles. “You’re here sooner than expected.”

“I believe we arrived on time,” she answers, grinning back. She hasn’t seen him for a while, but he has gotten taller since then. He takes after their species' propensity for large heights, but she knows he’s grown a few inches and might continue to grow for the next couple of years as well.

Eon begins putting away his spellbook and notes, arranging them neatly, “What are the three of you doing here? With you on Etheria, you normally visit me later on your returns.”

“I came to ask your father some questions, but then he invited us to dinner.”

“He can be standoffish, but oddly enough, never when it comes to hosting meals.”

Hydrangea sits up, “We got into a sparring session with him right away too.”

Eon joins them on the floor, one knee bent to prop up an arm, “I had mine early this morning. You know him, he’s never done with training.”

Crossing outstretched legs, Tristan reclines against the wall, “Your parents don’t let up, huh?”

“No, but I head to my place at Bright Moon later in the month. I check in biweekly to continue my sparring and magic training, then head back and repeat.”

“That’s a lot of back and forth,” Hydrangea adds, holding a pillow to her chest.

Shrugging, Eon says, “I don’t mind. Keeps me busy.”

Odessa chuckles lightly, taking a seat beside Tristan, “For being super busy, Uncle Wrong-Man said to give you this.” Pulling out the bag, she tosses it to him.

Eon catches it deftly, a quiet ‘yes’ of triumph leaving his lips. His diet is strict when he’s with his parents, for optimal nutrition and betterment. But he has a sweet tooth that rivals Odessa and Entrapta, thus any opportunity to consume sugar is taken. Using a levitation spell, he has it placed atop his desk, and an invisibility spell follows after, keeping it from view.

“Won’t your parents find it? It’s not like you can’t smell cookies,” Odessa states.

“I’ll say it was one of you.”

Hydrangea laughs, “I don’t think they’ll be entirely fooled by that.”

“If not, that’s fine by me too,” Eon says. “I let them think they’re savvier than myself.”

Tristan smirks, “How often has that worked?”

“More than for you,” Eon says, smirking back.

Odessa and Hydrangea whoop at Tristan, who laughs in good humor.

Stretching his arms up and to the side, Eon turns to his cousin, “How did the last journey go?”

“It went as planned. We went to Pilan, and my parents found what they needed for research.”

“And you two?” he asks, addressing the others.

Hydrangea lays on her stomach, drawing circles on the pillow, “Hm… my moms have started taking me to council meetings, which is interesting. We had a gathering with some of the leaders in Plumeria that are helping to manage its growing space. And New Chelicerata has been thriving for years now, since we removed all the machinery in the Fright Zone and expanded it into the Flower Field.”

“Not all the toxins have been removed, I’m assuming.”

“Some of the groundwater had been too polluted, and it leaked into larger bodies of water, but, as a whole, we started seeing real progress six years ago.”

“I’ve been helping the residents there by removing water too far gone,” Tristan adds. “We’ve been separating them into larger containers as instructed, and we’re hoping that newer technology from Entrapta and Hordak will yield positive results in another decade or so.”

“Even if it’s slow, progression is always good.”

Odessa glances to her left, letting her mind drift. Time doesn’t pass by the same when traveling through space. She watches her mother age, while her father stays the same, and that’s the extent of how often she pays attention to the changes happening around her. It’s not from ignorance, but from not giving too much thought to it, even with the years she has spent returning to Etheria to evaluate and aid her people here.

Settling against Tristan, Odessa yawns. He keeps his body still as she falls asleep, finding their chatter relaxing. Dinner will arrive sooner if she’s napping. Even closing her eyes is enough for her body to rest, breathing quietly as she listens to them discuss any topic they happen upon.

Her friends are interrupted mid-conversation, a knock at the door grabbing their attention. Odessa opens an eye. The housekeeper bows her head, addressing Eon, “Your parents are waiting for you in the dining room. Please, follow me.”

Odessa knows her uncle, Talon, is a force to be reckoned with in combat, but her aunt, Nyxia, is a woman with severe features and a severer personality. If there was ever given a choice between fighting him or her, they may have to weigh their options a little more carefully.

She is seated next to Eon, with Hydrangea and Tristan placed across from them. Odessa leans toward her cousin, “Did Nyxia poison the food this time?”

Eon shakes his head, “Maybe Tristan’s.”

Tristan bawks, “Hey!”

Waving his hand, Eon smiles, “I’m teasing. It’s more than likely Hydrangea.”

“What?!” she demands, worried.

“You two are making this easy,” Eon grins, shaking his head. “Really, after all this time, you continue to doubt my parents’ hospitality.”

“I haven’t seen your mom in a while, okay? I wouldn’t know if I offended her last time,” Hydrangea breathes out, leaning back in her chair.

Ear twitching, Odessa catches the sound of footfalls, her aunt coming into view from the corridor, chin-length, violet hair framing lithe, dark features, gown flowing behind her. Definitely not a person to be out of line around.

But that only applies to non-relatives.

Nyxia smiles warmly at her niece, “Odessa! My charming girl, how have you been?”

“Wonderful, Aunt Nyxia, thank you,” Odessa replies, nodding her head in respect.

“Excellent. I heard all of you did well in your impromptu session with my husband earlier,” she says, making her way to the other end of the table. Standing beside her chair, she looks at her son’s other friends, “Talon remarked that you’ve improved considerably.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hydrangea and Tristan reply at once.

Talon comes from the opposite corridor, walking toward Nyxia. Pulling out the chair for her and sliding it beneath, he moves to the other end and takes his place at the head. The staff bring out their meal: roasted pheasants and potatoes, slathered in its drippings, with baked seasoned vegetables on the side. Wine is served to all of them, as Nyxia and Talon are lax in this department of child-rearing, though the option to have different beverages is always available. Odessa requests her usual fizzy drink, as Hydrangea asks for lemon water. Tristan and Eon have no qualms with the choice displayed in front of them.

“Smells delicious, Miss Nyxia,” Hydrangea compliments.

“Thank you, my dear,” she answers, laying a cloth on her lap. “When I heard you three were in Mystacore, I chose to make this instead.”

Odessa and Eon twiddle each other’s fingers under the table, a silent ‘fuck yeah’ to the change in menu. Nyxia is a phenomenal chef, but she abhors cooking. The usual staff do lovely work, except they are meant to keep things simple, clean, and balanced. Nyxia, despite agreeing with her husband on meal preparation, manages to create rich, satisfying food each time. Normally, when Odessa and her family are visiting.

Relishing this opportunity, Eon cuts into his pheasant, stabbing a portion of potato with it, melting on his tongue. Trying not to pretend-weep. Or actually weep.

“What was your question, Odessa?” Talon asks, swirling the wine in its glass. “It’s not like you to come without your parents.”

Dabbing her mouth, Odessa looks at him, “I wanted to ask you questions about your time serving as a soldier for Prime.”

He doesn’t break the smooth motion of his wrist, not minding that part of his life, “Yes?”

“I was told that older clones might have information regarding our origins. A life before Prime sought out to conquer the universe. My father and W.H. are too young to remember, or were never privy to it. You’re one of the eldest, so I figured to come here before heading to Beast Island.”

Talon sets down his glass, lifting his fork and knife. He takes a bite of his food, chewing quietly. Swallowing, he says, “I will be blunt: it is not possible to know such a thing. Our purpose, our life, was to do Prime’s bidding.”

“There isn’t anything you can think of?”

Talon mulls the question, glancing up at his wife, then back to the plate. He narrows his eyes, and they flicker to an even darker shade of blue for a fraction of a moment. He gives a minute shake of his head, imperceptible to all but his wife.

Odessa waits for him to speak, slipping out her recorder with a strand of hair.

“I… cannot remember a time before Horde Prime. There was only war. Ravaged lands, and screaming,” he leans forward. He meets his niece’s gaze, “You might have to go to Beast Island for your answers, though I do not trust they will know more. Many of us have been alive for decades, but not millennia.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Tristan wonders. “The hivemind was the source of connection. Did you lose memories once it left?”

“No, it doesn’t seem to be that way,” Talon answers, sipping his drink. “It’s more… you have recollections, starting from the present. And it continues backwards until it stops. A wall in your head, which is the moment of when we, for lack of a better word, are ‘born.’ From what I’ve gathered, raising Eon, and observing all of you growing up, an infant that develops naturally can have memories that are faint—both in sensation and imagery, and the mind’s eye develops scenarios of what could’ve happened. Piecing puzzles in your memory banks. Attempting to make sense of your childhood and surroundings, and it even causes you to feel certain emotions into adulthood on a subconscious level. For us, and my brothers, there is no guesswork. There is the instant of emerging from the vitrine, and from there it goes on. Our memories are crystal clear, and gaps do not occur. If we feel emotion, it’s from direct experiences, not preconceived ideas of maybe how we experienced living. The hivemind being removed made us how we are now, but its absence didn’t seem to affect anything else.”

“Fascinating,” Odessa says, forgetting her meal. “So, you remember everything?”

“Yes. It would seem my brothers and I recall memories at greater capacities than most.”

“Would you say you have photographic memory?” Hydrangea asks, leaning forward.

“Our superior intellect allows us to retain knowledge quicker, and we remember things for longer, but a true photographic memory isn’t an aspect we have considered.”

Nyxia cuts into her pheasant, “It’s not unlikely. Your brothers and you have shown an uncanny ability to remember things more greatly than Etherians. It might be prudent to research it further, wouldn’t you say?”

Nodding in agreement, Odessa would not rule it out. She’ll discuss it with her mother for an unbiased opinion later.

Dinner finishes with chiffon cake and fruit, leaving guests and hosts satisfied. Talon and Nyxia wave at the door, as Eon walks them to the portal.

“It was good to see you all,” Hydrangea says, turning to Eon. She clasps his hands, “You should visit more!”

Eon blushes slightly, still not used to open demeanors, “I’ll try to make an effort.”

Tristan pats his shoulder, “You have to get out more. Between you and Odessa, I don’t know who’s more of the hermit.”

“It’s definitely me,” Eon replies. “Odessa’s too needy.”

Punching him in the arm, Odessa gives a side-hug right after. She and her friends step onto the portal, “I’ll drop by again soon! And visit my parents sometime, dumbass.”

He flips her off, smirking.

Hopping through the portal, they arrive in Plumeria, where she bids goodbye to her friends. Then, she heads to Beast Island.

“Odessa! My little cupcake, how was your trip to Mystacore?” Entrapta asks. Imp, crawling around on the walls, chirps his greetings with Emily beeping at her return.

“It was very interesting,” Odessa says, pulling out her recorder. “Would you like to listen with me?”

“You bet!” Entrapta shouts, sidling over to sit on her hair. Odessa takes a proffered seat before playing back the conversation at dinner. She listens with rapt attention, the two of them quiet. Afterward, Entrapta grins, “That was fascinating! I had noticed that your relatives tend to be more affluent with recollection than most, but this requires more study.”

“Do you think there is a possibility that they have photographic memory?”

“We won’t know unless we test the hypothesis,” Entrapta turns to her daughter, grinning wide. “You know what that means!”

Odessa grins wide too, saying it with her.

“Time to experiment!”

Odessa and Entrapta had to decide what and how to measure. The test is simple on paper, but part of the reason memory tests can be difficult is due to fallibility of nature. Recalling a memory does not equate accuracy. They also had to take into account that Etherian children were more susceptible to false memories, which could affect them as adults, hence, why Talon said that there’s no guesswork for his brothers and himself. And when it came to the ethics, Entrapta reminded Odessa that it’s part of experimentation, much to the latter’s chagrin. Odessa would’ve followed, regardless, but she’s more determined to see things through without obstacles.

A lack of true full-blooded children for Hordak’s species, and Eon and Odessa were not little anymore, that wasn’t necessary to entertain. However, Odessa and Entrapta believed it would be prudent to test the memory of Eon and any other hybrid cousins simultaneously to the Etherian and Horde groups, sans Odessa.

After deliberating, they chose to experiment by gathering Etherians between the ages of 15-50, to cover the age bases of both Etherian teens and adults, hybrid offspring, and Horde descendants. After age 14, correct absolute judgments and relative judgments have better succession rates and are not as affected by false positives. With this in mind, Odessa sends out a mass message asking if anyone would like to be part of a study.

She receives her answers quickly from her uncles, who would be more than delighted to aid her in any quest. She splits them into four groups, Group A, B, C and D. To accommodate for the choice in subjects, they will be separated into three sections, Etherians being the first, hybrids the second, and her uncles will be the third subsect. Over the course of the week, she receives the rest of her subjects at Beast Island.

Tristan and Hydrangea are the first to arrive, looking forward to spending time with her and her family in the meantime. Hydrangea gives Emily and Imp hugs and kisses, cooing over them incessantly. Imp clings to Hydrangea’s neck, completely at ease.

Tristan pats Emily’s surface, smiling at her beeps, “It’s good to see you too.”

She beeps even louder and harder, spinning around in place.

Entrapta grins, “Aw, you made her day!”

“No one else is my favorite robot, are they, Ems?” Tristan asks. She spins again, and the whirring becomes softer, almost shy.

Odessa nudges his ribs, “Great, my sister has a crush on you.”

Tristan rolls his eyes, smiling.

Odessa peers at his face, “Hey, you shaved!”

“Yeah, you were right. It was horrible,” Tristan remarks.

“You look better this way,” Odessa affirms, pinching his cheek, and he lightly whacks her fingers away.

Scorpia comes a moment later, and immediately bolts over to them all. Once the hugs are done, Scorpia and Entrapta discuss things on their own. Entrapta settles into the crook of Hordak’s arm, resting easily over her shoulders. Scorpia gushes over how cute they are. Hordak humphs in disdain, despite the blush on his cheeks.

Another five minutes pass and the portal hums. Catra, Adora, and two of their children come through.

Odessa sighs. Not looking forward to having some of them here. But she smiles, walking to Adora, “Hi! Thanks for coming.”

Adora smiles, giving Odessa a warm hug. She pulls back, holding her at arm’s length, “It’s no problem. We’re glad to help! You’ve gotten taller.”

“You’ve definitely sprouted more than we thought. I remember when you were knee-high,” Catra says. “You were the worst ankle-biter in Etheria.”

Odessa teases, “Still am.”

Laughing, Catra pats her back, walking hand in hand with Adora to their friends.

Her smile falters after that, though she manages to keep it in place. If Catra and Adora weren’t there, she wouldn’t hide her contempt or indifference.

They have four children in total. Quadruplets in fact. All a year younger than her at 15. Two of them, Clawdeen and Marlena, tend to spend their time in Bright Moon, and she has no opinion of them other than they’re not her sort of people. Well, that’s not true. They’re surprisingly elitist and refuse to associate with anyone they find unworthy of their time. They mind their business enough, however, so Odessa doesn’t pay them attention.

Barely coming to five feet tall, Molly is one of the children here today, a skittish, timid thing; the runt of her litter. She inherited Catra’s heterochromia, one eye blue, the other green, and that’s the one interesting thing about her. She stands, unsure, by the portal. Her appearance here is odd, since she tends to be alone. Odessa doesn’t hate her, or even dislike her, but the girl’s meekness doesn’t make her striking enough to have an opinion on either.

Adam, their one son, is another story. His eyes are bright blue, and slightly jarring in the feline face. The opposite of Molly, he is loud, prone to temper tantrums, and his temerity leaves much to be desired. She prefers the company of confident, open people, but he’s, without a doubt, the most obnoxious fucker she’s ever had the misfortune of knowing.

His eyes, the only one to resemble Adora’s, land on hers, and he leaps over, grinning. Placing an arm on her shoulder, leaning, he says, “Yooooo, what’s up, girl?”

Odessa turns to him, narrowing her eyes, “Please don’t take my smile for welcome, you complete ass.”

“Ooh, baby, you need to chill,” Adam says, poking her nose.

“Try that one more time and I’ll bite it off.”

He winks, “That a promise, thottie from space?”

Odessa smiles wider, eyes flashing, “It’s a threat, you parasitic fool.”

Sensing her growing irritation, her friends bound over. Hydrangea waves at Adam, “Hey! We haven’t seen you in a long time. How’ve you been?”

Adam turns to her, “Hey, Dragon Fruit! You know how I be—taking care of all this,” Adam gestures to his thin body, puffing out his chest. “What you been up to lately? Those flower braids are doing everything for your look.”

Hydrangea urges him to walk far, far, far, far away from Odessa’s area.

Rubbing her temples, Odessa takes a breath.

Tristan rubs her back, “Remember, Des: think of the experiment.”

Odessa nods at him. Science. Her one true refuge. “I know. It’s a little… irritating that he’s here. But I’m sure that empty-headed dolt will yield some results for me.”

Tristan smiles at her, ensuring she doesn’t lose her cool. Once he’s sure she won’t murder, he looks at Molly, “Hi! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Molly brushes hair away, looking briefly at the ground before addressing him. “Yeah… Um, my moms thought it would be cool to take one or two of us. To help Odessa out.”

Odessa shakes her head, “So glad about that.”

“Um… I’m sorry about Adam...” Molly starts.

“It’s fine,” Odessa replies, focusing back on her clipboard, walking away.

Sighing, Molly bites her lower lip, feeling uneasy.

Noticing that, Tristan smiles at Molly, “Come on. We can wait over here.”

“Sorry you’re stuck with me,” she mumbles.

“I’m not stuck with you,” Tristan answers. He leads her to an unoccupied stone ledge, the occasional pooka darting across it. “Though, I didn’t think this was your sort of thing.”

“It isn’t. I don’t really want to be here,” Molly answers, pulling her legs to her chest.

“It might be fun, right?” Tristan asks.

Shrugging, Molly places her chin onto her hands.

They both watch the portal light up, a plethora of clones marching through. It has to pause for a brief moment, then it continues to spew individuals out of it. Tristan glances down at Molly, knowing there’s no point in attempting to converse. The silence doesn’t bother him, and she seems to take more comfort out of not having to make dreadful small talk. He hates it too, so this works.

Eon and his parents eventually pass through. Waving at him, Tristan reclines in his seat, “You and your folks actually came. I didn’t think any of you left the house.”

Standing with his arms behind his back, at ease, Eon smirks, “You’re all lucky we don’t come out more often.”

Tristan sticks his tongue out at him. He gestures to his left, “You remember Molly?”

Eon looks down at her, “Yes, we have met before. Nice to see you again.”

Molly flushes, turning away, “Nice to see you too…”

He glances at Tristan, who gives a one-shoulder shrug.

She keeps quiet, looking at the people around her. Hordak and his brothers all stand out as one unit, and other cousins similar to Eon slowly arrive. Not as large in number, with more variation than Hordak’s species but less than natives. She watches Etherians coming forth as well, and doesn’t wave or acknowledge them. Hoping to blend with the background, she scoots further away, sinking behind Tristan.

Tristan notes her discomfort and doesn’t move.

Eon, however, waves at some relatives, who rush over to greet him.

Molly frowns, accepting her fate. She takes to watching Eon speak with his family, his tall, sleek body impressive even among those similar to him in build. His hair, cropped shorter at the sides, falls in front of his forehead, a darker hue than his cousin Odessa. His eyes are a lovely shade, bordering on magenta with a stronger red tint, the sclera an equally pretty color, lighter than his irises. His usual confident smirk remains on his face throughout, bright, sharp teeth against the usual backdrop of pale face with the sides of his cheekbones and neck becoming a shock of dark blue or purple. It seems to be a common male trait, since Odessa’s face is white all around, but she isn’t sure. She doesn’t see the other cousins close enough to tell.

She spies Odessa wandering with her device, either barking orders or quietly checking off things. Long, lilac hair floats behind her when not in use, her frame just as slim and tight as the others, and inheriting a tall height seems to be the norm for them. Despite her gorgeous features, Molly finds it interesting, also intimidating, how much redder Odessa’s eyes and sclera are compared to Eon’s.

Hydrangea is speaking with Odessa now, platinum blonde hair brushing against her body, falling in the softest of waves to the small of her back. Her lithe frame befits the gentler, kinder nature she has, which isn’t surprising considering who her parents are. But there’s that powerful change in limb, her arms spiking at the shoulder in dark red, the skin of her arms mottled with it, until it reaches her elbows, where it spikes again, hardens, forming another patch of chitinous skin that reaches her fingertips, claws neatly filed down. And then there’s the tail, shorter, but as potent as Scorpia’s. Deadly and graceful.

She looks up at Tristan, beautiful, brown eyes staring off to the distance. Long lashes frame them, delicate yet full. His hands rest lightly over his knees, fingernails painted black. Hair reaching the end of his neck, lightly touching muscular shoulders, it enriches brown skin with its color, more than a mere dark purple. It’s the color of wine in the dark, of a gorgeous night as the last remnants of light dash away. The blue of his clothes highlight everything further, lavish gold trim clashing against the bright colors, revealing every taut muscle without meaning to, and she traces the curve of his spine with her eyes.

She feels a gaze on her, and finds her brother staring at her from a distance. Molly, snapping from her reverie, darts her sight to the ground. Unaware of Tristan looking in her direction.

Once enough participants have arrived, Odessa claps her hands, “Alright, people! Listen up: I have divided you all into the following groups. Step up this way, where I will assign you all with a place to go to.”

Adam bounds up out of nowhere, whispering, “Can whatever group I’m in be called Team Sexy?”

Odessa ignores him, “Let’s begin, shall we?”

HYDRANGEA

Age: 15

Species: Etherian

“Alright,” Odessa says. “I’m going to show you 10 pictures. You will have seven seconds to absorb all the details for them, and afterward, I will ask you one simple question about what you can remember.”

“You got it!” Hydrangea sits in her chair, comfortable. “Sounds easy enough.”

Odessa smiles, “Here’s your first one.”

She holds up a simple image of table mats atop a wooden surface, decorated with plates of breakfast foods, drinks, and fresh fruits.

“Okay, ready for the question?”

“Yep!”

“What fruits topped the waffles?”

“Oh, um… berries and apples?”

Writing it down, Odessa proceeds with the next image.

TRISTAN

Age: 17

Species: Etherian

“Hello!” Entrapta says, bringing him in. “I’m going to show you 10 pictures for less than 10 seconds each, and you’ll let me know what you remember.”

“Sure thing,” Tristan replies, sitting upright.

She pulls out an image of miscellaneous items and personal effects on a desk, three photographs in the middle, a drawing in one of the corners, a grey notebook, and a folder with intricate patterns.

“Okay, ready for the question?”

“Yes.”

“Were there tickets on the table?”

Tristan mulls his answers for a moment, “No.”

MOLLY

Age: 15

Species: Etherian

Odessa approaches the girl, relieved that she doesn’t have to deal with the handful that was her brother. She looks at Molly, “I’m going to hold up 10 pictures for you, and you will have seven seconds to absorb the image. Afterward, I will ask you questions.”

“Alright,” Molly nods, nails clicking against each other.

The image is of a mountain peak, glinting from the light; the moon shines above it, and a trip of hoofed animals moving along its surface.

“What was the total number of baby goats in the image?”

Molly thinks over the total, and says, “Five.”

ADAM

Age: 15

Species: Etherian

Entrapta comes into the room, “Hello! I’m going to be showing you some pictures—”

Adam interrupts her, “Is this going to take long?”

“Nope! It takes less than five minutes for this segment to be complet—”

“Do we get paid to do this?”

“...No.”

Scratching his nose, Adam leans back in his chair, “Got it, got it. Lay it on me, girl!”

Entrapta smiles, “Great! So, I have 10 pictures and I will show them to you for about seven seconds. I will ask you questions after each one about what you saw.”

“Question real quick: is this one of those tests that explain anything about your psychosis?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it gonna tell me anything, like, am I gonna learn about who is the most likely to be a murderer or nymphomaniac?”

Raising a brow at him, Entrapta says, “I can’t divulge too much about the study to participants. But this is not that kind of test.”

“Aw… okay,” Adam shifts back further in his seat, lifting the front legs from the ground. “Well, that’s less fun.”

Entrapta proceeds to bring out a picture: a series of potted plants are lined on shelves, different heights and colors smashed closely together in the frame, their pots not resembling the others save for a few.

“What was the centre motif for the pots?”

Adam scratches his chin, “Frog, I think.”

EON

Age: 18

Species: Etherian and ?

Odessa approaches her cousin, sitting relaxed in the seat. She had gone through the first ten pictures with him already. She glances at him, “Are you ready to continue with the process?”

“Whatever this study is, I’m assuming that you need me to come back again for another trial run.”

“Yes, you will be returning a few times after today to aid in the study, as per your agreement on the written form.”

“Of course.”

“You went through the first half, and you’re going to begin the second half now. This is slightly different,” Odessa explains. Instead of photographs, she holds up a pad, similar in size and weight to her telecommunicator. “I am going to hold up one image: a grid of white and black squares. Then, I will show you a second image, of the same number of squares on the grid; however, you will choose the one square you believe was white in both image one and image two. Image three will have the grids with numbers in the squares instead for you to pick. The amount of time will be the same, seven seconds. There are four levels of difficulty, and you will proceed until we reach the last level.”

Nodding, Eon watches her lift the screen to his eyes. A grid of white and black appears, and he keeps in mind which are white only. The second image appears. Then the third. He makes his decision. He will not know if he is right, as the data is processed within for the researchers alone.

Odessa keeps her face neutral the entire time, intrigued at what this part of the test will yield from everyone else.

TALON

Age: approx. 90 (total) | approx. 52 (mental) | approx. 52 (physiological)

Species: ?

Entrapta smiles, “We do appreciate you helping with the test.”

“It is no trouble,” Talon states. “You and my niece are a select few that do not leave me…”

“Irritated?”

“We’ll use that word.”

Entrapta approaches her brother-in-law, setting herself down on swathes of hair, “Are you ready for the second half of the test?”

“Yes. By all means, little sister, proceed.”

“Excellent! I’m going to show you a grid with black and white squares. Another image will appear after on the device. The number of squares will not change, however, you have to decide what is the one square that remained white. You will pick that in the third image, where the squares will all be numbered.”

“Understood. You may show me the first image.”

W.H.

Age: approx. 40 (total) | approx. 23 (mental) | approx. 27 (physiological)

Species: ?

“This must be exciting for you, isn’t it?” W.H. asks. “You haven’t done a study like this in a while.”

Readying the pad, she nods, “It has been a few years since I’ve conducted anything in this manner.”

“I still remember when you were little, and you insisted on having your first experiment be a methane explosion. You were so cute!”

Odessa smiles, “Speaking of memory, we’re going to begin the second half of the test. You will have the same amount of time to memorize the image on screen. Another will follow right after, and your task is to choose which square on the grid remained white. The image will be your selection on a numbered grid.”

“Sounds fun!”

Holding it up for him, Odessa watches his eyes stay in place, focused. A flicker to indicate change on the screen, then another before he makes his decision.

HORDAK

Age: approx. 56 (total) | approx. 57 (mental) | approx. 35 (physiological)

Species: ?

Entrapta can’t help but smile at him, “Thanks for helping, Lab Partner!”

Hordak smiles back, rising from the chair, “Of course. The experiment seems to be going well.”

“It’s been so fascinating!” Entrapta lifts herself up in the air, at his height. “Everyone has been super helpful, even when they’re rambling about their own assumptions!”

“Who was rambling?”

“One of Catra’s kids—the boy. He was very interesting when he talked, but I had to stay focused! We’re collecting so much data… Odessa is going to be ecstatic!”

Happy to see her in good spirits, Hordak leans forward, kissing her cheek, “When you’re done, I will be waiting for you in our room.”

Entrapta waggles her eyebrows at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Ooh! Is this about that new maneuver you wanted to show me?”

“We’ll see if your memory serves you just as well tonight,” Hordak smirks.

Squealing, Entrapta kicks her legs behind her, pecking his mouth with her own. “Can’t wait!”

The results, overall, took two months to compile through the data machine and to check back in with the participants. None of the groups had different numbers, pictures, objects, or words. Odessa and Entrapta tested everyone on their eidetic and photographic memory ability. Group A had no distractions, Group B had Etherians with distractions only, Group C was where her cousins had the disturbances, and Group D it was her uncles with diversions.

When it came to eidetic memory, the numbers didn’t vary too much. But the photographic memory yielded noteworthy results. Each group was brought back a month after being tested to see if they could recall things better. A few Etherians showed some promising ability for it, but overall it wasn’t strong. Her cousins showed stronger signs for photographic memory, Eon being one of the best candidates.

But her uncles were nearly at a 97% rate of accuracy. Talon and W.H. showed an adeptness for remembering things weeks later. Hordak was somewhere in the middle. She wonders why.

“Mom,” she says, holding the charts in her hair. “I know that photographic memory is rare, but these numbers are unreal.”

“I know! The majority of your relatives have a knack for it! That’s so fascinating.”

“I have a theory that it might be due to the hivemind, and perhaps the military training they underwent. It would make sense why they have such capability, even two decades later,” Odessa says. She pulls another chart toward them, tapping her forefinger in quick successions behind it. “It may or may not be that, since we’re not certain of Dad’s origins, but it would explain aspects of it.”

Entrapta’s hair moves her behind her daughter, peering over her shoulder, “It may. I saw that Wrong Hordak was remarkable with photographic memory, and Talon as well.”

“I believe it’s possible that it might be due to neither having depressive episodes. It may have been a group study, but I saw that clones similar to Dad in terms of mental health had a tendency toward memory loss or confusion. It’s not as often or strong as Etherians, or a couple of my cousins, but it’s there. Brains are brains after all.”

“It is exceptional to write this in our records. I wish we had more examples to go by,” Entrapta says. She smiles, “I think it says quite a lot when you compare it to Etherians and your cousins, though.”

“I do find this riveting. Even if it’s Dad cloned thousands of times, there’s something in their brains, their minds, that can provide clues to them as a whole. It’d be prudent to conduct more research, but I’d like to begin as soon as possible, and I can add notes as I go along.”

Entrapta pats her daughter’s head, “And now that you have this information, what do you intend to do with it?”

Odessa looks up at her mother, then back at the data. “I’m going to have Tris and Gea come with me on a little field trip.”

#entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #entrapdak fankid #odessa #shera #spop

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soyeahitsmiddleearth · 5 years ago

Text

Useless

Fili x Reader x Kili

The company is almost killed by goblins, and right after this happens you're all cornered by Azog and his company of orcs and wargs. You feel completely useless, having been unable to prevent any of these things from happening. The two brothers, ever so kind, offer comfort one night while you're held up in Beorn's halls when you finally allow yourself to think.

Things never go quite as planned in this specific group of dwarves.

From random attacks from Orcs to getting stuck in a mountain range with fighting rock gods, there is never a boring day.

The attack from the goblins proved to make everything so much harder, and then almost right after the scare with those hideous beasts, Azog and his merry band of assholes corner Thorin's Company at a cliff side. Gandalf ultimately ends up saving your sorry butts with his call on the eagles, and Thorin almost dies.

All this happens, and you find that you're as useless to the group as the flies that bother these unwashed dwarves throughout the day.

Even as you were attempting to outrun the huge demon bear on everyone's trails, you were still useless to the group because of your inability to run as fast as the others. You held up the end of the running line, Bombur outrunning all of you despite all his pudge which would actually be quite the funny sight if you weren't all running for your lives.

Suddenly, a building came in sight and you tried to speed up, but you only stumbled and almost knocked over the dwarf in front of you. Both Bilbo and Fili who were holding up the back grabbed your arms, hoisting you back up without stopping.

Once you regain your footing you fall back into the rhythm of running, able to make it the rest of the way without incident. Eventually Fili runs up towards the front as Gandalf and Thorin take the back to make sure no one gets left behind. "Run faster. Y/N!" You hear said mountain king yell, but you've got nothing left in you. The dwarves end up piling up on the door, none of them thinking to actually open the door, and when your body slams into Ori from behind, you use him as leverage to flip the hatch up.

Everyone piles in, and they waste no time in forcing the door shut, hitting the large snarling snout of the beast. The door closes and the latch is secured, and then everyone finally gets a chance to just breathe.

There is silence for a bit aside from the sounds of everyone breathing heavily, before Gandalf speaks slowly.

"That is our host."

His dramatic timing makes you sigh, and you reach up and adjust your wild hair, looking around the large home skeptically. Even when everyone else's breathing starts to calm, you're still panting as your heart rate struggles to calm down.

Bilbo approaches after a few moments, his hand resting gently on your shoulder. "Y/N? Are you alright?"

You give him a simple nod, settling down on a mound of hay against the wall, "I'm fine, Bilbo. Just tired from all the running, is all."

He pats your shoulder lightly in response, then turns and joins the others in speaking with Gandalf.

Eventually you did completely relax, energy replenishing as everyone settled in for the night. Some of them were starting to drift off to sleep already, but your mind was running a mile a minute, so you had no hope of actually getting rest. Many thoughts came and went, but eventually your mind decided to settle on the usefulness of your role in this group.

You didn't cook like Bombur, burglarize like Bilbo, do magic like Gandalf, lead like Thorin or his nephews, hell you can't even grasp simple medicine like Oin. You were just a stupid little hobbit girl, tagging along with her brother because she didn't want to be home alone. You don't even have a proper weapon to protect yourself with, the dullness of the blade you were given only dueling that of the intelligence of a troll.

These reflections only made you feel discouraged and dejected, your mind wandering to the possibility of everyone seeing you as nothing but a liability.

After a bit more of dwelling on this, you began to upset yourself greatly. You feel yourself becoming emotional, and when you can no longer withhold your sorrows you get up and rush off to a more private area of the large house to avoid grabbing anyones attention.

When you finally achieve seclusion, you sit yourself down and bury your face against your knees, trying to fight the self doubting thoughts plaguing your mind. They've no proper place to call home, and the hardships the have suffered are great, so what right do you have to drag them down?

You hear the distinct sound of hay crunching under the weight of someone's feet, and you find yourself looking up rather quickly.

Fili and Kili stand in the open doorway of the room you entered, both of them looking straight at you with matching expressions of confusion and worry.

You hurriedly wipe your face and offer up a forced smile to them. "O-Oh, Kili... Fili, I didn't hear you two get up", you pause and clear your throat, "Is something wrong?"

The puffiness around your eyes and the obvious tear streaks on your cheeks are clear indicators as to why you left so suddenly, and you can see that their trying to process what's going on here.

The two brothers exchange a look, and then they both walk over and plop down on either side of you.

You look between the two slowly, questioning showing clearly on your face.

Kili's heavy arm rests over your shoulders, and he leans in a bit close. "Y/N, whats got you down so? It's practically killing us seeing you so sad like this."

You shift around a bit, looking at him shyly, "I-I'm not upset! I am... having an allergic reaction..." Wow, you can't even come up with excuses properly. Where will your horrible pathetic-ness end?

Next to you Fili chuckles, and you feel yourself becoming even more embarrassed.

Fili shifts next to you, and then his head is laying in your lap as he stares up at you with his big blue eyes.

You look down at him for a moment, then tilt your head back and close your eyes. "If I tell you, you will both laugh at me." You state simply, strangely comforted by the two brothers presences despite your apprehension to share.

Kili reaches over with his other hand and gently turns your head towards him, looking at you seriously, "There is nothing you can say that would make us laugh at your sorrows," he assures with a small smile, "You can tell us anything."

A moment of silence passes by where you just look at him, searching his face for any sign of deception of insincerity. When you find none, you let out a long and overdramatic sigh and grumbling out, "I..." you clear your throat, "I don't provide anything for the group. I slow you all down. Even Bilbo has done so much more than I, and he claimed to hate adventures. All I do is... fall and stand in the middle of the group why you all put your lives on the line." You were amazed that you were able to say it so clearly while keeping the tears a bay, but your resolve was quickly declining.

You sniffle quietly, a small whimper leaving past your lips. You breath heavily a couple times then hide your face with your hands shamefully, "I-I'm sorry, um, I..."

Fili sits up from your lap and you feel the arm around your shoulders pull you a bit closer. "Is that really what you think? That you drag us down? Because that's ridiculous." It's Fili who speaks up first after your explanation, but you find yourself doubting him.

Kili removes his arm from your shoulders and pulls your hands from your face and he offers you a reassuring smile. "You bring many things to the group, Y/N. I mean... we all enjoy your company, Fili and I think you're great you know, and you think quickly on your feet."

The doubt still shows on your face as clear as day, and you retort in frustration. "Enjoying my company doesn't keep anyone safe, Kili! I'm useless! Completely useless to this group, and to the both of you. Even Bilbo thinks I should've stayed in the shire, and he's right!" You didn't mean to snap at them, and your anger isn't actually directed at them, but you're just so furious with yourself. You take a deep breath and whimper out, "And now I'm being a total jerk when all you're trying to do is make me feel better!"

They both exchange a worried look.

Fili reaches up and cups your face gently in his hands, and you can see determination in his eyes. "Remember today when the beast was chasing us, and none of us had the brains to open that damned door? Remember how you jumped up and unlatched the door so we could all file in?" You give a slow now, eyes flickering between him and his brother who still holds your hands rather tightly.

Kili then spoke up, "What about the time when the trolls had us all caught, and you convinced those fools that eating you was would poison them and you released our ponies?" You give another slow nod.

Fili speaks again, "Or when the goblins were chasing us after Gandalf killed their king, and you cut the ropes behind us as we went so they couldn't follow?"

You are beginning to understand what they're getting at.

"I-I guess I see what you're saying..." Your voice is whispery as you look Fili straight in the eyes, watching as a smile lights up his face.

"You've got to be one of the smartest in our group."

"And the prettiest!" Chimes in Kili.

You feel your face heat up at that, your eyes dipping down to look at the hay shyly. "I-I don't know about that..."

The brothers laugh loudly, and you smile a bit at their joy. "There it is! She's smiling Kee. Look how pretty she is when she's smiling instead of crying!"

This time you laugh a bit, sniffling quietly because of how terribly stuffed your nose is. "S-Shut up you two, you're embarrassing me", you're mumbling again, but the smile betrays your feelings to them.

Kili releases your hands and Fili lets your face go, but neither of them move to leave.

Fili sounds more serious when he speaks, "You're not useless you know. We know that you won't just drop everything you believe and listen, but it really is true."

Chewing gently on your bottom lip, you nod your head slowly to let him know you understand what he means. "I-I understand... um, thank you two, for, uh, talking to me, I-" You're silenced suddenly by a weight on your mouth, and it takes you a few moments to realize that you're being kissed by Kili.

He pulls away after a few moments, and you're about to say something before the same weight returns, only this time it's Fili who's kissing you. When he pulls back, you're in a daze. They'd only kissed you for a few seconds each, but that's enough to fluster you. They are both looking at you with cheeky smiles, meanwhile you're so embarrassed and face is so warm that you could be mistaken for a heater.

"We've made her all shy, but I think it suits her." Fili states proudly.

"Don't be so loud, Fee, Bilbo will kill us if he thinks we've done something to her."

"Oh, good point..." he mumbled quietly. His expression brightens suddenly and her perks up as if struck by a great idea, "but I'm thinking that I need to kiss her again, incase I am to forget."

"And me as well!" Kili agrees.

You tap your finger against your knee a few times, listening to them speak back and fourth quietly. Honestly, you've not a clue what to make of this. "Boys... perhaps we should all go to bed and sort things out in the morning?" Two pairs of eyes move to you, and two mischievous smiles light their faces.

"Ah, good point. Go ahead and lay down, we'll both keep you warm!" Kili states cheekily, pulling you closer to him.

Fili laughs, wrapping his arm around you gently. "Common, stop teasing her brother, I think her head will explode if she gets any warmer."

That one makes you laugh, and you find yourself almost finding this normal.

Which is why you chance a soft, and very bashful, "I-If you want to share a sleeping space... I won't, um, be upset about it."

They smile again, and now your bed arrangements have been sorted for the rest of the trip.

Lovely.

#fili x reader #fili #fili durin #fili imagine #kili x reader #kili durin #kili fic #kili #kili imagine #fili x reader x kili #beorn #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #gandalf #the company of thorin oakenshield #desolation of smaug

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years ago

Note

For this lil thing💅

“The city looks different at night.” or “Oh you poor soul, wandering lost in the forest under the new moon…” whitch ever you're more comfortable with🤩

“A camping trip?” Lu Mingfei couldn’t believe his ears. It was hardly something that he expected to come up in the freezing cold of Chicago winter. Even sitting down and eating in the cafeteria, he could hear the wind whistling through the gaps in the doors so clearly, he shivered in spite of himself. “Have you completely lost it?”

Chu Zihang simply held up a travel magazine and pointed to the brilliant photo of the northern lights strafing across the sky. “I’ve always wanted to see the Aurora Borealis. I have an assignment there anyway. You won’t have to worry about that, though.”

“Oh really?” Doubt filled his face. Whenever his ‘senior brother’ was involved, there was always death, danger, mayhem and a lifetime’s worth of trauma.

He nodded once. “It’s not even an A ranked mission.”

Lu Mingfei sighed. But then he turned and looked at him again.

He remembered that Chu Zihang was always alone. He never asked to do things with other people. And yet, they had managed to become easy friends over the years. He didn’t have that relationship with any others.

Zihang was asking him to go with him because he didn’t have anyone else to ask.

“Fine. But you promise I won’t end up at the bottom of some hellhole fighting for my life?”

“The likelihood of that is slim.”

“But it’s not zero?”

“You want a guarantee?” Zihang nodded once and turned back to his meal. “No matter what, I promise I won’t call you if there’s danger.”

Lu Mingfei’s heart suddenly leaped into his throat. But it was too late to go back now.

That weekend they packed up and were on a plane to Alaska. They sat next to each other on the long flight.

“So… what’s so special about the Aurora that makes you want to go see it so bad?”

Chu Zihang gazed out the window at the mounds of white clouds outside. He had his contacts in and a simple cap, looking just like a normal tourist. “Legend has it that if you see the Aurora, your wish for true love will come true.”

“Say what.” Lu Mingfei rounded on him. “Is that what you want? A wish for true love?”

Chu Zihang turned and looked at him directly. “No. It’s for you.”

Lu Mingfei groaned so loudly other passengers turned to look. Zihang’s gaze followed his hanging head. “Dude… you’re killing me right now. True murder with words. Is my situation so hopeless that we have to resort to superstitions?”

“Many superstitions are rooted in the truth about dragons. I’ve done my research about this place. There was an assignment nearby. We’re to search and look for dragonblood species in the area.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a laminated map, while Lu Mingfei looked at him, pleading for mercy.

But no mercy would be given. Pointing to the map, he explained. “There’s an extinct volcano nearby that showed elemental activity of a strange type. EVA wanted to assign others there for a simple survey but I thought of this as an opportunity.”

“Thank you for thinking of me.” Lu Mingfei moaned, helpless.

“You’re welcome.”

The world at the campsite was completely frozen. The soil stayed frozen as a layer of permafrost, on top of that, layers of snow had frozen and refrozen until the landscape was nothing but flat-white. The wind picked up fine icy particles and blew them about like sand on the worst beach. Mingfei inwardly cursed his brother’s care and generosity as he trudged across the forsaken landscape.

Mingfei was the one who was lonely. But he was not so desperately lonely that he wanted to be here. Why did Chu Zihang wish so badly for him to find a girl? Of course, if the scheme worked, he wouldn’t be ungrateful.

“This is the site.” Chu Zihang had stopped in the shelter of a boulder the size of a house that faced a dark forest of snow covered pine. It was adequate shelter from the wind and he began to set up camp. “As I said before,” He explained once the tent was set up. “You don’t have to do anything while I work.”

“Oh sure… I’ll just lay here and think of my dream girl while staring up and waiting for the aurora.”

Chu Zihang nodded once and shouldered a large pack and his sword case. His boots crunching in the snow started to grow distant and Lu Mingfei suddenly sat up from his sleeping bag. “What about bears? Or wolves?!” He shouted.

Zihang didn’t even look back, disappearing into the woods. “There’s a gun in your tent. Just shoot them, you’re good at that.”

Hunting for dragonblood subspecies wasn’t exactly difficult. Anyone with high enough dragonblood naturally attracted them. Chu Zihang set down his pack and the long satchel that held his sword. He drew the silver blade across his arm and held it out, letting the crimson liquid trickle down, spattering into the snow. Then he took a bandage, wrapped it and walked a distance away to wait.

He wrapped his face in a thick wool cover to hide his breath and melded into the deep silence of the tundra woods. He closed his eyes to listen for any sign of movement. He concentrated deeply on every sense until he noticed a small sound. When he opened his eyes, he saw what appeared to be the shadow of a deer, standing over the blood.

It was a stag with a crown of majestic antlers arcing over its head. It lowered its head down, sniffed at the blood-stained snow, and then slipped out a tongue to lick it.

Every muscle in Chu Zihang’s body was like a coiled spring. His eyes calculated the distance between himself and his prey. He could span it in an instant. He just needed a moment for the deer to turn around, get distracted by something.

“Oh you poor soul, wandering lost in the forest under the new moon…”

The voice was like an arrow through his brain that shot down his spine like lightning and he gasped despite himself. Still, he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He felt frozen. The voice was there as though she were standing right in front of him.

But it was the deer who turned its head and looked at him before snorting as though laughing and trotting away.

Chu Zihang stood and moved to where the creature had been. It was still within view, a distance away, looking at him from between the trees. It’s eyes glowed red before bounding away, leaving her laughter in its wake.

Chu Zihang took off after it, desperation quickening his breath. He couldn’t see it. Where was it? Where?

The ground suddenly disappeared out from under him. He spun in mid air and grasped the edge of the drop off with one hand. Below him, the snow dislodged by his boots fell into the dark water of a lake.

Despite the frigid temperature, the lake was unfrozen, a testament to the geothermal heat below. The lake was completely glassy and like a mirror reflected the mountains, the tree and the starry sky in a perfect image.

Far below, the deer stared back at him from the surface of the water before turning and walking away -- walking down into the water -- without leaving so much as a ripple.

At that moment, the surface of the lake burst into bright colors. It was an Aurora, but it was not reflected in the sky. No, it wasn’t a lake. It was another sky. It was a Nibelungen!

Chu Zihang let go of the cliff he was clinging to and plummeted towards the surface below. He fell through the lake but never got wet, instead, coming through on the other side into a swirl of color. The colors then retracted, fading into the distance. He was suspended, right side up in complete darkness as though he had stepped off the edge of the world.

There, waiting for him, was not a deer, but a familiar set of black hair and black eyes. He hadn’t seen them in a long time. The memory gave him pause but in the next instant his emotion drove her name from his lips.

“Xia Mi?”

That laugh, music to his ears, echoed like running water in a cave. “You’re still calling me by that name? Did you get stupid while I was gone?”

“How…? You… were…”

“Dead?” She finished the sentence for him. “It’s weird. I don't know how I ended up here either. My brother… he’s dead… I… I can’t find him.” Her eyes lowered.

She stood before him, completely naked, her hair so long it fell like dark fabric on the invisible surface they stood on. Stars gittered beneath their feet. The Aurora danced in the background like green tongues of fire. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

She raised her eyes. “Can we start over? Like we did before?” She reached out to him but he leaned away from her. “Don’t worry. I won’t erase your memory again. I don’t want to.”

“Without your brother, you can’t turn into Hela....” Zihang began but then he stopped speaking abruptly.

“But that doesn’t change who I am. Is that what you want to say?” She lowered her hand to her side. “Is there really no way?”

Zihang stared at her, remembering the last time he saw her, just like this, right before she raised her claws to plunge them into his heart. If she drew close, would it happen again? This time he didn’t have Anjou’s dagger to save him. But salvation was never his aim anyway. He couldn’t let her become Hela, but he remembered the feeling that his own death would be okay. Even as her spines pierced his body, he never let her go.

He was okay with dying with her then. Ever since then, her memory had haunted him. As he looked at her now, he wondered if it had been her calling for him all along. But he couldn’t die now. Lu Mingfei was out in the snow alone.

As the silence wore on, Xia Mi’s eyes glittered with intense sadness. She seemed on the verge of tears, a sob escaping her throat. She covered her face with her hands for a moment. Then, she gathered herself, taking a few breaths. “Do you want me to apologize? What do you want me to say? You understood me when I talked to you. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want it to happen that way! I tried to stop you! But you’re just too… stubborn and smart and…” She hung her head and laughed, her dark hair falling like a thin veil.

“Fine… I finally found you and you refuse. It’s just like I said right?” She raised one hand and flipped her hair out of her face. “Just because a guy goes out of his way for a girl doesn’t mean she has to accept.”

A bright light suddenly illuminated her face and the tears tracking down them. Zihang turned to look at a bright square of light that appeared like a gate behind him. “Go on then. Go. Don’t think about me any more.”

Chu Zihang turned back to her.

“Did I stutter or something?” She wiped her face with the back of her arm. “Stop staring at me like a dumb cow and go! It’s not like you’ve never seen a girl cry before.”

Zihang shook his head slowly and walked forward.

She snorted. “What? Are you changing your mind? Or are you going to kill me again?” She grinned through her tears as he grew closer. “Fine… fine… it’s better to be dead anyway.”

She held out her hand to him, to embrace him, just like before. “At least when you do it this time make sure it-”

Zihang stopped her words, kissing her. Her eyes flew open in shock. She always imagined that his lips would be soft, but the combination of the softness and the warmth made her shiver. She was too stunned to move and stood quiet when he pulled away, softly dragging her lips after his as he parted. He took her still outstretched hand and his fingers twined around hers. “Let’s go.”

She gasped, the light of the portal now shining on her pure joy.

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5lazarus · 4 years ago

Text

Dead Man Hiking

a gift from Beyond the Veil’s Masked Satinalia Exchange, that I wrote for @theprairienerd <3. It was fun to get out of solavellan hell, and it sparked a whole gen fic fest that I’m still working my way through. crossposted to AO3 here

Solas broods over what has been lost. Dorian interrupts, and Solas dangles hidden knowledge in front of him like a carrot. They both take the bait, because, as irritable and sad Solas can get, "he wants to give wisdom, not orders," and Dorian loves to learn.

They named his reach the Emerald Graves, a poetic name for a dismal end. Solas can taste the ashes of the lost in the air, and fears falling asleep. Where the Orlesians had ripped the forests from their roots and flattened the Exalted Plains, the rage dripped too deep into the soil of the Emerald Graves. A nobleman or two held estates. No one ever lasted long. Ghosts lingered in lichen and stone, canopy and leaf. Solas leans against a boulder and dips his feet in a creek that was once a road, two thousand years ago. He picks up a stone. At least the mica in the rock remembers. Not all of Arlathan is lost. “Oh, Solas.” Dorian walks over, glittering in the sun. His shadow covers him.

Solas places the smooth riverstone onto the boulder with a satisfying clink and looks up at Dorian. “Yes?” he says testily. It is not that he dislikes Dorian. He is too much a product of his own time and indulgence for Solas to take his swagger personally. But the Tevinter mage tries so hard to dazzle everyone he meets, and Solas is too tired to be amused by a human peacock. He knows he should not be so dismissive; he was young and anxious to impress once. But Dorian is almost likeable, and perhaps that is why he gets under his skin. They can discuss the finer points of mana fissure against Veil warp--and then Dorian will exclaim his surprise that he is following along quite fine, as if he had not written the equation to begin with. He does not see a mage. He sees a pair of pointed ears, and forgets that there is a brain between them. Dorian tenses. “Am I interrupting?” “Is there something you would like to ask me, Master Pavus?” He cannot help the ironic edge in his voice. Dorian flinches slightly at the title, but breezes onward. “Well, Messere Solas,” Dorian rolls his eyes, “you mentioned that the Graves have changed since you were last here. I was wondering what it used to be like, before the war. If you have lore to share.” “Are you appealing to my vanity?” Solas says, amused. “You do like to talk.” Dorian takes his response as an invitation and sits down next to him. Solas flares his nose. Dorian reeks of the Iron Bull and overpriced cologne. They call him unwashed, but at least he manages to wash away the scent of sex. To avoid the pungent bouquet of Dorian’s day, Solas gets up. Above the creek sits a stone ledge where the People placed one of his markers, the watching wolf. Where the waterfall is now, an eluvian once stood. Solas says, “Follow me. We won’t go too far from camp.” He grunts as he jumps down from the rocks and splashes across the creek. Dorian hurriedly follows, grimacing as his boots fill with water. Sera broke the waterproofing enchantment on them yesterday; Solas thinks, perhaps he irritates me more than I allow. I should not have let her figure it out; but he and Bull were so obnoxiously loud. They hike up the cliff in silence. Solas enjoys the feel of the grass under his feet. He loves the woods, and though he mourns what they once were, still he feels himself relaxing into the rhythm of the wind tousling the canopy of leaves, the roar of the waterfall guiding his step. He wonders aloud, “I wonder if there is a single place in the Dales that does not know a single human step.” He has shepherded the land Mythal granted him as best he could. Still the taint remains: the Blight unlocked, and all this death. Dorian glances at him curiously. “Not if you’re taking me there. Where are we going, anyway?” Solas says, “To the Watcher. The Dalish will tell you that he dates to their lost kingdom, a relic of the spirit-wolves the Emerald Knights called their companions.” He smiles ruefully. As fragmented and dissociative he was in the Fade, he tried to guide Ralaferin and the others as best he could. He misses them sharply, and touches his jawbone necklace to ground himself. “However, they are wrong.” “Oh really,” Dorian drawls. He stops, winded, and Solas waits as he leans against a tree to catch his breath. “And you know--how?” “Through my journeys in the Fade, Dorian. Where else?” It is not technically a lie. He does not like to tell deliberate untruths casually. He saves them for when they are necessary. Lying was a habit he grew out of as a youth, the hard way, and this body still bears those scars. He points to the wolf over the waterfall. They are nearly there now. Elnora had hid a staff under his paws; perhaps he would collect it later. “This statue dates to before the fall of Arlathan. Just before. I do not know how much you know of my people’s lore, but before Elvhenan fell the people worshipped a god named Fen’Harel, who took the form of a monstrous wolf. At least if you listen to Dalish legend.” He wonders how they thought he could get anything done without opposable thumbs. “They say he seeded his statues with an enchantment that could let him spy on his followers’ loyalties. They are wrong, of course.” Those Dalish fairytales assume he had much more time to cause trouble than he ever did, even as a bored sergeant in Mythal’s army. Though he has always struggled with paranoia, he never crossed that line, not even when Dirthamen ordered him to. “But this statue does have its own tricks.” “Old magic,” Dorian says. “Pre-Imperium, you say?” He visibly perks up. He staggers a few steps forward and marches up the ragged path. “What are you waiting for, Solas? Lead the way!” Solas smiles and slows his step to give Dorian time to catch his breath. He loves to teach and Dorian loves to learn: that is why it is impossible for him to stay annoyed for long. Dorian peppers him with questions as they hack their way through the undergrowth. He dodges the ones that make him hate himself and answers the ones that make him laugh. Under all that glittering, impractical armor, Dorian flaunts a sharp mind and a quicker tongue. Solas enjoys himself. Tevinter and then Orlesian expansion into the Dales is part of the Blight the Evanuris wrecked upon the world--he would prefer to wander these woods with his companions of old--but they are all dead, and he is a dead man walking with a quickling upstart. But of all afterlives, he knows, this is not the worst, and this can be fixed--and Dorian is not terrible company after all. They clamber up the last incline and stop at the Watcher’s base. Solas notices an offering of apricots left in a small bronze dish at the wolf’s paws. He helps himself to one. He loves the taste of summer fruit, and though it lacks some of the richness of the orchards of Arlathan, the apricot is delicious. Dorian looks askance. “Are you sure you should be doing that?” Solas says, “I would not let you do it.” “Right,” Dorian says, “it’s not sacrilege if you do it. And the Inquisitor doesn’t see.” Solas laughs. “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it,” he starts, but Dorian interrupts. “You don’t get a story,” Dorian says, lips twitching into a smile. “Now, speaking of, you promised me a story. So what does this statue do?” He gazes up at the Watcher’s impassive stare. Solas fords across the creek. The current is strong as it crashes down the cliff, but not enough to push him. He chooses his footing carefully, and then holds an arm out to help Dorian. Dorian, though, ignores him. He sketches a quick diagnostic into the air, blue mana flashing. “Hmm,” Dorian says. “The Veil is thin here. Who would have thought.” Then the Watcher’s eyes flash. Solas steps back. A spirit haunts the water, a reflection of himself, dreaming quiescent in the days of Arlathan’s fall. The spirit-wolf steps from the stone, snuffling at him curiously. Solas thinks: surely my fur was never so fluffy. I was decidedly unkempt in those days. One thing ages the spirit: it wears Mythal’s brand on its muzzle. It must have formed just after his apotheosis, but before June’s disastrous trip into the Deep Roads. The spirit says, in a voice not unlike his own, “Banal’nadas.” The Blight is inevitable. Nothing is inevitable. It cocks its head at Dorian. Dorian starts. He leans over, to peer into the wolf’s eyes. The wolf snorts and walks away into the sun of the woods, its footsteps leaving the river unrippled. It melts into the warm shadows of the forest beyond them. Solas sighs. He is living, or he is dying; he does not know which, but at least that spirit is now free. But the Dales have lost one more piece of its living history. Its purpose has been fulfilled. The Blight is inevitable. They walk back in silence, tired from the hike up the cliff. As they reach the campsite, though, Dorian turns to him. “You know, Solas,” he says, “that spirit had eyes like you.” “Like an elf, you mean,” Solas says dismissively. Dorian shakes his head. “No. Like you.” But before he can continue his questions, their companions notice them, and they are swept into the fervor of life around the campfire. Solas is glad to let the matter rest.

#masked satinalia exchange #prairie nerd #gift #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dai #solas #dorian #solas & dorian #friendship

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nightglider124 · 4 years ago

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RobStar Week 2020: Day 2

Oof, I don’t actually like this one. Which... it’s a shame cos I was excited to write this and it’s an idea I wanted to do for ages but decided to use it for this years robstarweek.

This is an... alternate cave scene from the episode ‘Stranded’.

Idk... I botched it lmao. I am... my writing skills have honestly gone down the pan, ngl.

BLEH WHATEVER. Enough of the negativity.

Hope you guys at least take some joy from this one. Hopefully I will do better than I have with the first two prompts for this week.

___________________

Warmth

Robin sucked in a deep breath as he reached up and snapped off a wayward branch that seemed to have snuck through the cracks of the cave they had taken shelter in. It had been a bit of a challenge to find wood of all things on this strange planet at first but after some time, the two of them had managed to get a small fire going.

His heart was still pounding from what had happened. The last thing he expected was for the ground to shake and give out beneath their feet as they attempted to find the others. Robin was more than ready to find the missing members of his team, head home and put as much distance between them and this death trap of a planet as he could.

Pausing before he walked back over to the small fire, he chanced a glance over his shoulder at Starfire. Ever since they had plummeted into an inky abyss, she had been mysteriously and uncharacteristically quiet.

She was sitting on a log that was on one side of the flames, her arms wrapped around her shoulders, as if shielding herself from harm. It was a first to see Starfire practically retreating in on herself and barely speaking to him.

He could feel the anxious knot in his chest, tighten suddenly as he dwelled on their situation and the conversation they had been having just before the cliffs collapsed.

The whole mission had been a complete train wreck. He wished, more than anything, he could go back to that space station they’d arrived at, defeated the screaming monster with her and then ushered Cyborg out before he could tease anything at all.

Robin furrowed his brows beneath his mask as he remembered the memory from earlier that day. He was so stupid for reacting like that. In reality, she wasn’t his girlfriend. She was his friend who was a girl but… romantically? He didn’t think they had breached that recently or at least, it wasn’t made clear to him if they had moved forward like that.

It was true that there was some underlying connection; something that drew them to one another but they’d never taken the time to discuss it or broach the subject before. With him being practically allergic to any conversation pertaining emotions, he had always shut them down or avoided those types of conversations with her before they even had a chance of starting.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want that kind of relationship with her because he did. He’d thought about it and imagined what it would be like, many times since he had first met her. Robin wondered all sorts of things in regards to if they were to take their relationship further, into unknown territory.

But, in truth, it scared him. He didn’t know what he would have to expect and didn’t know if they would last, despite hoping they would.

There was this weight hanging on his heart now, just holding him down and denying him any of the confidence he usually had. She had been off with him ever since they had found one another which, after some probing and careful tiptoeing, he had realized that she was still angry and a little confused about what he had said.

It was obvious that it had been going through her mind and she had started thinking about it on a deeper level, despite his words being more of a defensive response to Cyborg’s jabs, than anything else.

God, he couldn’t wait to give Cyborg double training when they eventually got home.

He inwardly scolded himself for not giving her credit where the English language was concerned. At first, he thought she was confused over the wording but after some time, he learned that she knew full well what Cyborg meant by his word choice.

She was upset because he seemed so flippant and dismissive of it altogether.

Robin closed his eyes for a moment and tried to organize his scattered mind. There was a plethora of thoughts racing through his brain, including finding the others, hoping they wouldn’t run into any other weird beast like creatures as well as getting off of this crumbling planet as soon as possible.

But, sitting at the forefront of all of that, was Starfire. He was concerned about her and their friendship too. Back when they had started falling, she had been unable to tap into her flight and it had utterly terrified him when she had yelled that she couldn’t fly.

It had never happened before.

Starfire had always been solid in terms of relying on her powers and she’d never faltered in the slightest in any battle they had had since they’d first banded together as a team.

On the flip side, he wanted to know if they were okay. One of the main reasons he had always steered away from admitting to any romantic feelings towards her was because he didn't want their friendship to change because of any harboured emotions.

He bowed his head and opened his eyes again, allowing the hand that was resting against the cave wall to slide down the jagged surface until it fell away to his side.

Swallowing sharply, he shook his head and turned around, wandering back towards their makeshift safe spot.

His heart was beating a mile a minute as he reached her, throwing the branch into the flames and watching as she shifted away slightly so that her back faced him a little more.

Robin frowned and slowly sat on the opposite side of the wooden log, “Starfire…” He murmured, his tone soft, “What happened back there? Why couldn’t you fly?”

He heard her sniffle quietly before she turned to gaze at the fire, her expression telling of what she was feeling. She looked tired and frustrated; upset that she had had no real answers to her questions since the explosion back at the space station.

“Tamaranean powers are inclined by our emotions…” She admitted, her eyes lacking the electric spark they usually had.

“So the way you feel affects your ability to fly.”

Starfire nodded solemnly, her emerald orbs shifting with uncertainty, “And right now, I feel unfamiliar confusion.”

“But… we’ve faced danger before without your powers failing.” Robin pointed out, a sudden heat consuming the back of his neck as he sensed it wasn’t exactly that, that was the problem,

Starfire sighed and pulled her knees up to her chest, her feet resting on the log as she turned her head away to the dark side of the rocky cavern.

“It is not danger that confuses me, Robin. It is you.” She confessed, opening her eyes and staring directly at him, “I do not understand… us.”

Robin felt his throat run dry and he fought not to visibly react to that, despite his heart feeling like it was about to burst out of his chest with the anxiety that came hand in hand with these types of discussions. He pulled an awkward expression, without even realising it, as the inferno creeping up the back of his ears intensified and he knew it was only a matter of time before the blush spread to his cheeks.

“Ever since Cyborg said… the ‘girlfriend’... things are different between us.” She continued, tilting her head a fraction,

Reverting back to what he thought might work, Robin forced a smile onto his face and held a hand up to stall her words, “It’s... just a misunderstanding....” He explained, “Everything’s okay.”

He tried to brush it off and act as though things were absolutely fine when he knew, deep down, they were not and this wasn’t something that Starfire was going to simply let go without talking about.

And… maybe that was a good thing. Possibly.

Starfire rebuffed this and got up from where she had been perched, “Everything is not okay.”

She moved away from him, once again turning her back on him as she shuffled into the shadows of the cave. He frowned, hating the air of sadness that was tainting her voice every time she spoke.

He more so hated the fact that he was the cause for said sadness.

“We are not okay. I fear we will never be okay again and you will not tell me how you feel.” She whimpered, trying to detach from him by standing so far out of reach.

Robin stood as well, clearing his throat and tugging at the collar of his cape as he crossed some of the distance between them, “Uh… I’m not… very good at that.”

It was the truth. He supposed he should probably be honest with her about how difficult he found situations like these. Despite not wanting to talk about feelings at the risk of making himself vulnerable, he realized it was Starfire and if anyone deserved some kind of answer to the way he acted, it was her.

Starfire sniffled again and slowly half turned towards him, her expression one of discouragement, “Do Earth boys come with… some kind of manual then?”

He was powerless to stop the soft smile that graced his lips at that, once again acknowledging how endearing and sweet she was, without even realizing it herself.

Robin breathed a laugh, “That would make things easier.”

She spun on her heel and strode back over to him, keeping her distance by remaining on the other side of the scorching blaze. Her eyes bored into him, silently pleading with him to offer something up, just to satisfy her doubts in some way, “How am I to know what you think about me?”

Robin sucked in an exasperated breath, having not been prepared for this at all and knowing, if he were to try and explain to her what he felt or even, what he liked about her, he’d become a babbling mess.

“Starfire…” He sighed, practically his whole upper body slumping as defeat started to consume him.

There were so many things that he liked about her. In fact, it was probably a shorter list to tell her what he didn’t like and that was extremely barren.

He loved how carefree and bubbly she was and how even the simplest things on Earth were things she found utterly fascinating whilst the average human wouldn’t even bat an eyelid.

He loved how caring and sweet she was with everyone around her. Whether they were friend or foe, she constantly tried to see the positive and the good in individuals who, most of the time, didn’t even deserve it.

He loved how intelligent and strong she was, being able to handle herself in practically every situation she found herself in. Her powers were just an extension of her warrior self, fully capable in the art of combat, should the need ever arise.

Robin blinked to himself as reason after reason sailed through his head, her question having stayed with him for so long, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t replied to her at all. He cleared his throat and ignored the way his face was now roasting with embarrassment,

He wasn’t sure he could say any of that to her and rather do what he most likely should have done and told her what he thought about her, Robin simply flapped his mouth open and closed, again and again like a fish gasping for breath.

Starfire’s demeanour slipped and whilst she had looked hopeful and excited to hear what he thought about her and their relationship status, it suddenly dwindled faster than water trickling down a drain.

Her eyes became dull and her shoulders lowered, casting a glance off to the side before she took a step away from the fire again,

Robin felt trapped; he didn’t know what he could say to possibly salvage this. He had just been handed a silver platter of a chance, to clear things up between them but there was something in the pit of his stomach that simply refused to let him open up in such a way.

“It… It does not matter…” She whispered, her tone low, “I am... sorry for pushing you to speak about this and… it is clear to me that… Cyborg was wrong. I am not your girlfriend and I… should never have expected or assumed otherwise.”

He could see her chest rising and falling a little faster than before and he took the smallest step forward, unsure if she was crying, her face being distorted by the dim lighting being cast around the cave.

Robin swallowed the mountain in his throat, panic and regret locking in his chest. He was already kicking himself for not saying anything, leaving her to stew in her own insecurities in relation to him and how he felt about her.

There was a frantic aura, flaring in his head like alarm bells. He wanted to take it back, redo the whole conversation and set it straight that he thought she was beautiful, kind and amazing; just a few traits, beyond an entire list of other reasons why he was falling more in love with her every day since he met her.

“Star-” He croaked, reaching a hand out to her.

She stepped away and offered him the tiniest smile that spoke volumes of how she was truly feeling; the conversation not having gone at all how she hoped it would and it was all down to him for being an idiot and deflecting her.

He didn’t blame her in the slightest. Starfire was a creature of emotions. Tamaraneans wore their hearts on their sleeves, being open with how they felt and what they thought which was a stark contrast to how most humans operated.

Starfire had often pointed out that humans constantly seemed to complicate matters with words and logic, rather than just riding out circumstances with their hearts.

“There is a storm coming.” Starfire blurted, briefly eyeing the darkening sky through the small gap in the side of the cave; a sure fire exit once it was safe.

Blinking, Robin inclined his head to catch a glimpse of the outside. The sky was full of dark clouds, with an amber shade drenching the entirety beyond it. He continued to stare out until he saw a flash in the distance, illuminating the clouds before it faded out.

Soon enough, dust and sand began to swirl as the wind picked up and howled outside. He considered asking Starfire if it was a sandstorm, since she would be more familiar with the types of storms that happen in space, but ultimately decided against it since it wasn’t the most appropriate time.

“I believe we should rest and try to find our friends once it is safe outside.” She suggested, tentatively pushing some of her auburn hair behind her ear, “Who knows? Perhaps they will find us, instead.”

Robin watched in silence as she moved around their little campsite and he wished he could grapple for something to say.

“We probably shouldn’t sleep… we don’t uh… we don’t know if there are more things like that slug…” He murmured as he crouched down, trying his best to respect her wishes to be on the whole other side of the fire from him.

Starfire nodded, “We do not necessarily need to sleep. If you would prefer to stay awake…”

He watched as she lowered herself to the ground, brushing at the dirt before she laid her head down, turning away without saying anything at all. Robin frowned and felt an empty bubble in his stomach; a hollow guilt and he wanted to apologise to her and make things better but… he really didn’t know how.

How could he possibly make it better after practically avoiding her questions and her frustrations all day?

Robin exhaled quietly and tried to ignore the painful thuds in his chest as he laid down on the hard dusty concrete. He threaded his gloved fingers together on top of his ribs and chewed on his lower lip as he delved deeper into his chasm of worries.

Suddenly, a fierce gust of wind whistled through the entire cave, setting the overall temperature down to a bitter coldness. Robin flinched and tugged the edges of his cape around the exposed parts of his arms that weren’t covered by his uniform, struggling not to jerk at the bite that the cold offered.

He cautiously glanced over at Starfire, noticing that the fire was really brawling with the winds in order to stay alive. She had barely moved, as if not even noticing how chilly the air around them had become.

Robin inclined his head, trying to suppress the shivers that were wracking his body as he peered out of the small opening of the cave, only to see blustering dust particles so thick that he could no longer see the cliffs outside.

His breath came out shakily as he shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut beneath his mask, surprised at how quickly his body temperature had dropped. His teeth started to chatter as a deep iciness started creeping along his skin.

“Robin?” Starfire murmured, and he could partially hear her shuffling and turning back in his direction,

He kept his eyes closed, trying his best to block out the cold by pulling his cape even tighter around his body. All he could hear was the crackle of the fire and the billowing wind outside.

Suddenly, he felt a weight drop down beside him and his eyes snapped open, his head swivelling to see Starfire making herself comfortable beside him. She stared down at him with concern in her expression but he was baffled by how calm and unaffected she was by the blizzard frost in the air.

“H-How are you… able to deal with the cold?” He stammered, watching as she scooted closer, gently pushing him towards the fire to warm him back up.

“My people are most resilient, especially to low temperatures. You forget… I am from space.” She told him, a wry smile gracing her lips.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“You are freezing, Robin. My body heat runs much higher than humans and I believe I can help.” She replied, laying down beside him and bringing her arms around his torso, rubbing her palms against his exposed areas of skin.

The heat was practically instantaneous. Warmth spread across the planes of his skin like wildfire; everywhere she touched was ignited with fire and he momentarily wondered if she was adding her powers to it for maximum exposure.

Robin exhaled, his jaw aching from where it had been chattering uncontrollable merely 2 minutes beforehand.

His shoulders dropped and he relaxed as the cold seeped away from him, thanks to the alien Princess who was effectively just holding him now.

“Robin? Are you okay?” She asked, beginning to pull away.

He grabbed onto her hands and pressed them against his chest again, with his back still facing her.

“Don’t… I… it’s still really cold.” He admitted, feeling a blush slip across his cheeks.

“Okay.”

They dipped into silence again as they laid there, with only the wind howling outside filling the space. Robin couldn’t deny that being this close to her was nice, especially since they hadn’t really been on great speaking terms since he messed up.

He could feel something building inside of him and decided that now would be the only other chance he had to try and explain himself to her and apologise for the confusion he had caused her.

“Hey… Star?” He murmured,

“Yes?”

Robin turned over so that he was facing her, despite the blush that was likely still painted across his cheeks, “I… I wanted to say sorry.”

Starfire blinked but lowered her chin, her gaze dropping to the small patch of dirt between them, “Robin…”

“Really… I… I don’t know why I reacted like I did when Cyborg… said what he said.” Robin muttered, furrowing his brows as he recalled it in his mind,

“I am not your girlfriend… I understand now what was meant.” She whispered, taking solace in just forgetting it,

“Star… I’m not the best at talking about feelings… I was never taught that and… I’m just not good at it.” He admitted,

“Robin… it is fine. Truly.”

“I wouldn’t mind it… you know.” He blurted, his face turning a crimson tone and he couldn’t look directly at her.

Starfire blinked a few times, trying to comprehend what he had just said to her, “What?”

“Having… a ‘friend who is a girl’ as you put it.” He elaborated, smiling slightly as he repeated her own words,

She softly smiled back, “Truly?”

“I… think I’d need to get used to the idea of it… but… yeah.” He paused and decided to go all the way considering he was already opening himself up considerably, “And… as for what I think about you… I think… it’s uh… awesome the way you shoot starbolts?”

Starfire brightened at that and tilted her head, “Yes? And?”

“And uh… it’s also cool that you’re brave and the strongest girl ever.”

“And… you do not mind having a friend who is a girl?” Starfire checked, visibly a lot more pleased with his communication,

Robin sat up and gently pulled her up with him and smiled back at her, opening his mouth to reply but was cut short by a loud rumbling from behind them.

As they spun to investigate the sound, the wall shook and crumbled, collapsing to reveal the screaming monster that had apparently followed them to this wasteland of a world.

The couple gasped and jumped up as the monster growled, stalking towards them before it opened its mouth and let out a long, ear piercing shriek, preparing to attack.

#robstarweek #robstarweek2020 #robin #starfire #robstar #teen titans #fanfic #oneshot #day 2 #warmth #queued #nightglider124

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i-roll-to-chill · 6 years ago

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The creature from the Abyss bares a mouthful of fangs and lets out a roar that cracks the stone beneath her feet. Yasha hefts the Magician’s Judge and stands her ground.

It is certainly a sight to behold: all twisted flesh and cruel angles, sharp horns and wicked talons that spark with the whip crack of electricity and the acrid smell of ozone. The monster towers over Yasha and her friends, its formidable bulk commanding her attention in such a way that not even the soft, whispered voice that wanders its way into her right ear is enough to make her turn her head.

“These people are not your friends, pretty one. They seek to harm you. They wish to kill you.”

Yasha keeps her gaze trained on the fiend, but she feels her head tip almost unconsciously to the side. The voice is initially somewhat deep, but as it continues speaking it begins to climb up through the registers, making leaps and dips through alto and soprano in a way that is almost hypnotizing.

“If they kill you, then they will take you away from me. I want to be able to hold you in my arms, my love; no one has held you close in a very long time. Lay waste to your friends, then come to me so that I may comfort you.”

The voice becomes more and more familiar, in a way that sends a subtle, aching pain crawling through the center of Yasha’s chest. The monster and its earth-shaking roar gradually fade into the background as her vision slowly begins to unfocus.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can just barely make out the familiar violet glow pulsing from the crystal at the end of Caduceus’s staff. It shines like a lighthouse on the cliffs of a seashore, reaching out through the fog in her mind to call to her.

You don’t want to hurt them, says a tiny voice in the back of her mind. They’re your friends. You don’t want to hurt them.

But the voice whispering in her ear is Zuala’s.

All she can hear is Zuala’s voice.

Yasha Nydoorin. Yasha the Orphanmaker.

Celestial rage boils through her veins as she wields her greatsword with a practiced fury.

She can see the ragged robes and wide eyes of Caleb Widogast standing before her, but the scene is hazy and muddled, as if pulled from the depths of a dream. Yasha raises the Magician’s Judge and swings it down toward the head of the wizard, but his eyes flash orange and an amber sphere of energy leaps from his desperately outstretched hands, blocking the descent of the weapon.

Yasha hears someone scream her name. She recognizes Jester’s voice.

She is focused, however, on the frightened face of the man in front of her; the man who, only minutes before, had looked her in the eye and aimed a fireball at the center of her chest. His fingers are visibly shaking as he reaches toward the pouch on his belt, his mouth opens and closes as if he is trying to speak. His breath comes in quick, shallow gasps.

Yasha slashes the greatsword in an arc across his chest. The breath hitches as the body of Caleb Widogast crumples and falls silently backward into the water.

Once more for good measure. She slams the Magician’s Judge down onto his chest, sending blood mingling with water as it all sprays into the air.

Yasha steps over the fallen man and advances on her next target: the stunned figure of Caduceus Clay.

“Yasha, stop.” Clay’s usual composure has deteriorated, but his voice retains some of its familiar gravitas as he extends the staff in her direction.

For a split second, the command forces its way into her brain. The fog retreats, and she slows and falters. But then Zuala’s voice flashes in her mind again: “You will obey me,” it tells her sternly, and Yasha complies.

When her advance continues, Clay’s eyes widen as he tries to back away. The greatsword darts out, slices a heavy red line across the thigh that drops him to one knee and halts his escape.

Clay looks up to meet her gaze as she stands over him with the Magician’s Judge. The fear has shifted into a quiet, terrible acceptance.

Yasha raises the greatsword over her head. She may have considered Caduceus a friend once, but what has he ever truly done for her? He just attempted to cast a spell to control her. He claims to be a cleric, yet Mollymauk remains buried by the side of the Glory Run Road.

The blade whistles through the air and buries itself into his side, biting through the armor and deep into the skin. Caduceus coughs a spatter of red as she pulls the greatsword out of his ribs — he gives her one final, sad smile as his eyes fall shut, and his body collapses limply to the ground.

There is a burning sensation behind her eyes that Yasha blinks away. She turns wordlessly and charges back across the battlefield, barreling toward the blur of brown and blue that is currently crouching in the shadow of the enormous monster.

Beau spins in place to meet her as Yasha approaches; the monk’s eyes dart back and forth between the advancing barbarian and the prone forms of Caduceus and Caleb as a look of dismay crosses her face.

Yasha closes the distance between them in an instant, channeling all of her momentum into a massive strike with the greatsword. Beau just barely ducks out of the way, slipping below the arc of the weapon in a dangerous dance. She darts behind Yasha, leaping gracefully over the blade as the barbarian spins and swings it in the opposite direction, then she dodges back around to the front.

“Come on, Yasha!” Beau steps into her space and smacks her across the face.

The sound of her own name telegraphs through Yasha as hard as the physical blow. Yanked to the forefront of her mind is a sudden memory of Fjord, calling her name as she lies on the sandy floor of the Victory Pit, extending a hand to help her back up to her feet. She hears Nott mutter it ever so hesitantly, only a little while after the day they’d first met, staring up at her with wide, skittish eyes and bravely presenting her with a handful of colorful flowers.

Beau doesn’t give her a second to recover. She sees the monk grit her teeth as she throws a solid cross at Yasha’s jaw. “You. Are in. A toxic. Relationship! Come on!”

This time it’s Jester, shouting her name with glee as she runs down the road to greet her. Then she’s murmuring it gently, sitting quietly beneath the night sky in the middle of a silent sea, steadfastly kind even as Yasha unspools the horrors of her past and lays them out before her. Caleb says it in his soft, unsure voice as he rubs his fingers unconsciously across the stubble on his face. Later, he hides a smile behind the cover of a book as Frumpkin jumps up onto Yasha’s arm and butts his head against it, settling in to curl around her shoulders. The sound of their voices together echoes through the knotted depths of her mind.

The desperation on Beau’s face is a naked thing. She aims another punch at Yasha’s nose.

And of course it’s Beau.

Brash, outspoken Beauregard, who stumbles through every conversation but spends every fight shielding her friends from the front lines. There are countless memories: her cheeky grin at the circus on the very first night that they’d met, asking slyly if Yasha could carry her to her seat. The solid, comforting warmth of her body as Yasha lifts her into her arms, holding back a smile at the monk’s antics in the dungeon beneath Hupperdook. The tiny crease between Beauregard’s eyebrows as she stares at Yasha, with eyes like a clear burst of blue on a summer’s day, and asks her quietly to stay.

Beau, who asks her what her favorite part of Xhorhas was and says that she’d like to see it someday. Beau, who only ever looks at her with admiration — never fear.

Yasha catches the punch before it reaches her face.

Her mind is suddenly her own again, but all she is able to think about are the still bodies of Caleb and Caduceus — lying broken, face-up in shallow water, because of her. The weight of what she’s done crashes down on her shoulders so violently that she feels her hands begin to tremble.

All she can do now is force herself to lift her gaze to meet Beau’s — expects to see rage, disappointment, utter betrayal swimming in those clear blue eyes — but instead, Beau’s face softens into an expression of such relief that Yasha doesn’t trust her voice not to break.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. There is nothing else to say.

Beau’s other hand comes up to cover Yasha’s trembling fist. She steadies it with practiced fingers, so gently that the rough callouses and assortment of scars that slide across Yasha’s skin seem momentarily out of place. Even without words, Beau sends a clear message: This is not your fault.

Then she takes a step back, drops her hands to her sides and curls them both into fists. “Fucking gaslighters,” Beau spits, and Yasha catches the flash of cold steel in her eyes. “Come on, let’s go.” She gives Yasha one last half-smile as she turns around, running headlong toward the bellowing fiend.

The edges of Yasha’s vision bleed red as she feels a familiar, feverish numbness begin to spread through her body. She lifts her greatsword and sets her sights on the monster looming over her friends — before the rage takes her completely, she reminds herself that there will be plenty of time to splatter the incubus across the stonework later.

The creature from the Abyss, menacing the battlefield with its lightning-coated talons, is certainly a sight to behold. But then again, so is Yasha Nydoorin: the Orphan Maker, favored of the Storm Lord, wielding the Magician’s Judge as foam flies from the corners of her mouth. Her roar matches that of the monster as she leaps into the fray — this time, in defense of her friends.

#critical role #critical role fanfic #i roll to write #ayyyyyyy enjoy this thing i havent edited or proofread or anything at all #beauyasha #?#it was sort of just my take on canon events but then it spun into beauyasha because of course #i think this started out okay but spiraled as i ran out of brain cells and time #but enjoy!

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crexymonster · 6 years ago

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Inner thoughts: Must. Get. English. Translation. Hunter +Kareshi Book. Thanks for posting that Kareshi had another book, I only thought there was one. I'm a fan of you zoldyck Angel blog and your headcanons, posts, and scenarios. I'm glad you're back for a while. Can you do a Nobunaga hazama nsfw or sfw scenario please? Nobody writes scenarios for him like other writer do for the Adult trio or trouble trio.

I know I was thinking the same thing! I need a translation of the entire book. hahaha. and you’re welcome! I’m glad you’re a fan of my HxH blog. And you’re so right! There is not much for poor Nobunaga. So here is an NSFW scenario for him with a Fem! s/o! I hope you enjoy! :)

Spring Showers

Fresh buds of spring, the leaves of cherry trees, a brilliant and vibrant green, and their pink blossoms ready to bloom at a moment notice. Frogs in a hurry hop across dirt road once frozen over with ice and snow to produce the next generation of peepers.

School children race home laughing and running through puddles dotting their clothes with mud enjoying the warmer temperatures. The world was colorful and warm despite the light drizzle of cold showers of the changing of seasons.

A single repetitive clank of sandals of a woman are covered amongst the noises of spring but often she is overlooked but not that she minded. She holds onto a pink umbrella keeping her body sheltered from the rain.

Her path always the same though she had no rhyme or reason to walk these roads. She listens as she walks to the frogs croaking, and the children laughing while breathing in the sweet aroma of flowers of cherry trees that had yet bloomed.

She turns on to an almost hidden path, and walks up a steep cobbled pathway which is missing some bricks from the passage of time but she is careful. She journeys this way every day when spring breezes sweep over the valley.

She takes her time, the rain pelting her umbrella becoming the only noise she can hear as she moves further away from civilization, to a hidden world.

The aroma of cherry trees are stronger as she breaches the top of the hill. She opens her eyes and at the top of the hill is the first cherry tree in full bloom.

She smiles but not because spring is finally here but at who sat beneath the tree.

She walks closer to the man who chose to take shelter under the cherry tree during spring shower and offers her umbrella to him, rain hitting her kimono and making the cloth and her back damp.

The man, a swordsman, opens his eyes and stares at the woman muttering, “Took you long enough, woman.”

She frowns taking back the offered umbrella and turns around with a small, “ummp.”

As quickly she came she leaves. She closes her eyes and begins walking away, the sound of sandals once more clanking against cobblestone flattening any of the pink petals which have fallen from the rain. The swordsman with a ponytail bunched high on his head of silky black hair eyes widen.

“Wait, woman. Don’t be like that,” he yells after thinking about what just occurred.

She doesn’t respond and she continues walking slowly away, her umbrella twirling, the patterns on top of the umbrella becoming one giant moving blur.

He rubs the side of his head watching her figure get further away. He was annoyed with her and himself and he doesn’t stay sitting for long, he stands up and chases after her, thinking this woman was going to be the death of him.

He grabs her arm abruptly his strength like a brute not at all like a gentleman. He didn’t know any manners or any boundaries and she stares at his hand on her forearm a frown still on her face before she looks up at him in the eyes.

He had just as bad of a frown as she carried on her face though she had a little more practice dealing with this man with a wandering soul.

“Yes,” she asks her voice carrying her disdain into her tone.

“I told you to wait, (Name). What are your ears clogged with earwax?” he asks his hand still holding her arm tightly.

“Earwax? I believe that would be you, I told you my name enough times yet you get me confused with this person named woman. Now unhand me you brute,” she rebukes him and she moves the arm he has captured a little bit letting him know she wanted him to unhand her.

“Woman…” he mutters before he sighs loudly, “(Name) now hold on. Don’t be like that…”

“Be like what, Nobu? You tell me, I’m beginning to think I am just a whore of many as I hear woman gossiping about. I’m a joke in town,” she states sounding completely unhappy, her eyes even averting from his face.

“Wom- (Name),” Nobu says his voice trailing.

“Don’t you going, (Name), (Name). It won’t work this time on me! I bet you have one in each city or place. I’m just a pit stop, a good time and yet here I get excited with each spring knowing you will be arriving. Though how many years will I continue hoping you’ll stay here with me? Or should I rephrase and say when will it be when you never show your face here again?”

“(Name)..” Nobu says again his voice trailing not knowing what to say to her to reassure her. He was part of the spider and he never knows when he would be slain in battle so he couldn’t make any promises with her.

“You can’t even produce a lie to comfort me,” she whispers and the umbrella she held so tightly is ripped from her hand by a strong gust of wind.

The wind carries not only her umbrella but petals of cherry blossoms into the sky and off into the distance far where the two at odds stood bare to the rain’s touch.

Nobu lifts her chin, and she lets him. Her eyes are wet and so is her face but he couldn’t tell for sure if it was the rain’s fault or he thought he had a good idea it was him who made her cry if it weren’t just the rain.

She makes a face and tugs her arm free feeling his hand loosen its hold and she bolts. She doesn’t create much distance between them because the thong on her right foot breaks and she falls, a small cry of surprise escaping her mouth before she hits the ground.

She doesn’t wait for Nobu to help her up, sniffling as she tries to push herself up, her arms shaking terribly. Mud drips off her face and her pretty kimono hitting the ground with splats and puddles with splashes.

She hiccups before she starts to cry loudly even the rain unable to hide her sadness.

Blood from scrapes and cuts from the fall meld with the endless rains disappearing and not revealing she was injured from her tumble.

She doesn’t dare ask for help to stubborn and stuck in her own ways, she wasn’t a young girl anymore and she would feel completely foolish to ask for help to stand on her legs again although she desperately wanted to call his name and cling to him.

She starts to get to her knees and then her feet but she is scooped up. She hits his chest angrily, but he doesn’t feel pain, her hits weren’t even an annoyance. He deserved every last hit and yell that came from her, she was his and she had to deal with him after all. He would tolerate everything she did but he would not tolerate her putting her well being in danger or get sick over him.

He starts to walk in the direction of her home but the rain instead of letting up, starts to pour cats and dogs. He starts to run with her in his arms sobbing and hitting him with her fists but he refuses to let go.

He thinks as he runs through his feet are already decided on the where to go before his brain had yet decided. He splashes through puddles and mud and puddle water splashes and gets on his Japanese robe already drenched from the rain.

“No,” she cries out through hiccups and snorts, snot running down the back of her throat making her voice strain.

“Be quiet woman, I’m concentrating,” he snaps jumping down the rocky cliff taking a short cut rather than the path.

“You’re an idiot, idiots don’t think,” she replies her hand pushing his face up and distorting his view.

“Idiot! You’re the idiot. Stop pushing at my face, I can’t see with you doing that! Do you want to die” he shouts pushing her hand away and trying not to slip in the slippery rocks sleek with rainwater.

“I don’t care,” she yells before coughing on her tears and snot.

“Just shut up woman, I care!” he yells back before running under a shrine’s roof which wasn’t far from where they originally were.

He pushes open the heavy doors of a shrine that had not been in use for some years but still kept clean by the locals nearby out of respect.

He slides her to the ground which he has to hold her up by the waist, her limbs shaking so much she would have fallen otherwise.

He needed to light a lamp or torch, it was pitch black here which made him uneasy, the dark not a pleasant thing not even for a man as strong as him.

Nobu pulls out a matchbook hoping it was salvage from becoming wet, wanting to light the shrine as well as warm (Name)’s bones. He could feel how her heart raced and how her skin trembled with the chill of the cold rain.

He sees the matchbook is a little damp but only on one end. He tries a couple of times before he succeeded in lighting it, it producing a tiny flame ready to be extinguished in a moment notice.

“Hold on to me,” Nobu states dragging her inside the dark shrine where the daylight does not enter. Perhaps if the weather was sunny and bright, light would have found its way inside but not with rain clouds blocking the sun.

“Okay,” she replies, clinging to him and still blubbering.

But to Nobu’s relief she wasn’t hitting him anymore perhaps that was a good thing but perhaps not, women were difficult creatures to understand. He didn’t even understand Machi or Paku or Shizuka and they were mannish in some ways, especially Machi.

He slowly walks inside closing the shrine’s door preventing the cold from seeping inside but the inside was already very cold. He finds a lantern and lights it giving him more light to see.

He treads careful and slowly, he had (Name) with him and he never knew when an enemy was lurking nearby. He eventually finds candles and then a fireplace with logs ready to be placed in the fireplace. It takes time but he lights the fire before venturing into the shrine and finding blankets, lighting candles as he goes.

“They smell like moth balls but they are clean,” Nobu states laying down a thick blanket near the fire before placing folded ones where she sat.

“Thank you,” she mutters out softly, her crying stifling her voice.

“You going to just sit there in wet clothes? You are going to get sick.” Nobu grumbles and being impatient he tugs at her kimono before grunting, “Damn, wearing complicated clothing.”

“Complicated? it’s a simple kimono Nobunaga…,” she mutters her eyes puffy and red averted from his stare. She thinks for a little before she grasps his hand and mutters, “Here I’ll help you, this time.”

The fire crackles adding a warm glow upon the two, her cheeks getting a rosy glow as she guides his hand to her kimono’s obijime. Her fingers are soft against his hands shaped by his sword he has always wield since a young child. Her lips painted in a soft pink gloss part as her breathing increases as his clumsy fingers undo the tie of the obijime.

The obijime comes undone and falls and Nobu hands are guided to the obi next and that too falls parting her kimono open. Her pale lily skin is revealed to his eyes but it is then she chooses to look at him thru half-lidded eyes. Water trickles down her neck and down the valley of her breasts then down her navel and disappearing. His eyes briefly following the water droplets before meeting her gaze, noting she wore no undergarments beneath her kimono.

Her kimono is pushed off one shoulder then her other shoulder before he takes the hand which has been guiding him and pulling her onto the soft blanket with him.

The wet kimono sags to the ground as he lays her on her back bare to him and closer to the warmth from the fire’s flames. He lets go of her hand to undo her hair which is neatly done up upon her head before threading his fingers through her hair, wrestling with wet tresses.

He smooths out her wet hair with his hand sleeking the droplets in one motion like a paintbrush.

She turns her head and brushes her face against his hand in her hair before laying the faintest of kisses on his knuckles scared with wounds.

She was the sweetest woman to Nobunaga, a blooming lotus flower easily killed with a storm but the hardest of flowers, and she was only like this with him.

He knew how long she waited in her house. She was alone day after day, watching the seasons change from summer to fall then fall to winter and finally winter into spring waiting for him to return to her. She had no family and no secrets, her heart was an open book.

She reaches up with one hand as he undid his robe. His robe parts open much likes her revealing his nakedness, his body eager to be one with her.

Her fingertips brush against his cheeks and then to his hair, her finger finds the knot holding his hair so high up and tugs at the same time he pushes inside of her, her entrance wet and enticing though warm compared to the cold rain.

“Nobu,” she gasps grabbing his hair and pulling before he grabs her hand pulling his hair.

“(Name),” he reprimands pulling her hand from his hair, his eyes closed enjoying the sex he gone without for 9 months.

Words are barely exchanged during the act of connecting their bodies. Hunger and passion is how their lovemaking can be compared to.

Soft grunts from him and soft moans from her as a slow rhythm of moving bodies is built. Her cheeks get rosier, fresh tears staining her cheeks slide to the blanket as he pushes himself in and out of her welcoming body.

Her body accepts everything from him as she is the most vulnerable under him as he pushes in and out of her heat.

The noises are loud and vibrates with the pinging of rain on the shrine’s metal voice.

The breathing from both of them gets louder as her voice gets more strained as his thrusts hit her spot but not with the speed or roughness she wanted. They had been apart for way too long and she needed to know he was alive and well and that he was here with her and that he was not a ghost who just visiting and would be gone with the first break in the rain.

“More,” she pleads before letting out whimpers. She attempts to get what she wants by delicately kissing the back of his hand that is still in her hair.

“(Name)” he grunts opening his eyes briefly making contact with her soft eyes closed halfway with pleasure.

“I love you,” she whispers kissing his hand repeatedly in the hopes he would be rougher before pleading, “Rougher, I won’t break. Please Nobu.”

She wasn’t as delicate as she appeared. She, after all, spent months by herself. She would tend herself when she was sick, she didn’t ask anyone. She didn’t want anyone’s pity.

She was a grown woman and she wanted to be someone who matched Nobu. She wanted to be someone people praised and said she was a good match for this man she yearned for with all her heart.

“(Name),” he murmurs and he goes a little bit faster but not as much.

He is straining from being too rough with the woman he loves. She was someone he held up on a pedestal, not a lowly whore one would visit to curve lust.

She was special, someone he wanted to be the mother of his children. He hoped she would wait for him a little longer because his feet has yet to tire from journeying.

She grabs his face, her fingers soft like silk, a woman never knowing war or hard work, a pampered woman. She was a woman who he should be pampering not off journeying with his troupe. Her fingers dance across his face and slowly draw him down to her lips and they kiss, the gentlest of moments, a kiss between two in love.

He enters her more roughly, his mind lost to the sensations and to the skinship he shared with this woman he loved and held close to his heart.

Kisses were long and time to breath in the air was short, her face soft with the current of pleasure and wondrous sensations but to her, the heart was more important and she knew how much he loved her adding to that feeling between her legs. She wanted to keep him to herself and never allow him to leave her embrace ever again, to always stay within this moment not allowing time to move.

Though no one can stop time and the gloss from her lips is gone, the flurries of passionate kisses stealing the gloss tasting of cherries.

Her hands slide down slowly from his face to around his back securing his chest to hers, her hands holding not only his back but some of his hair in place. And with each heavy breath, her erect nipples brush against his chiseled chest making his stomach flutter and his heart squeeze. Their bodies once wet with the rain is sleek with sweat from their continued skinship.

Her fingernails dig into the bare flesh of his back as she approaches her orgasm. He was close as well to and he grunts holding off until she finished. He focuses on kissing her, her lips always so sweet despite the gloss is all gone. She always smelled like her gloss too, like cherries. She was his home, a beacon in the darkness his wandering soul would always find no matter where she went.

Her smiles, her laughs, her tears, and her frowns all flashed in his head. Yes, this was the woman he would spend his last days with and he presses more against her, his rhythm lost, the sound of skin touching erratic and louder than the rain pinging the metal roof.

She tightens against him, her wall shivering, and he grips her hair tightly, it taking everything for him not to spill his essence inside her warmth. He feels her struggle to keep herself from opening up like a lotus bud in the spring though she fails and she pulls from the kiss.

She gasps, her body stiffening and then spasming under him as he continued his moments.

He finds her neck and lay his kisses there instead of her lips. His hair that was on his back spills across her lily white skin causing her to gasp more, her skin sensitive to the feather-light touch of his hair after her orgasm.

He groans and he pulls his head up after giving one last kiss to her neck, and he pushes into her heat one more time before releasing that mounting pressure.

She feels a warmth spread through her, and she knows he had released too, her breath dies down and calms before him.

Her hot breath mingles with his shortly before he leans up and kisses her forehead, his facial hair tickling her.

It is uncomfortable just like her mouth burned from his stumble pricking her soft and delicate skin. She had no doubt she would have a rash and then everyone would know her business when she went into town the next day for groceries.

“Nobu,” she murmurs feeling his lips on her forehead and enjoying the soft comforts he gave her.

“I love you, (Name). I promise I will always come back to you. Soon, just wait a little more,” he confesses against her forehead.

She smiles softly and she slowly takes her hands from his back and reaches for his face.

She once more brings his face back so she can stare into his soft brown eyes. She strokes his face and continues to smile, her smile soft and kind. It was a smile who stole the hearts of many young men and still continued to do so.

She closes her eyes before she opens them again whispering, “I love you,” back to Nobunaga. She speaks up again, “I will wait a little more until your feet tire.”

The lovers wait for the storm to pass laying within each other’s embrace listening and also watching the steady pattering of rain.

Time passes and the lovers leave the shrine but as to whether or not Nobu keeps his promise to his beautiful lover is another story. She will have have to wait for the next spring to see if this time he will stay with her.

#nobunaga hazama #hxh #HunterXHunter

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magicallygrimmwiccan · 5 years ago

Text

Wander Through The Darkness Part III: (When You) Submit To The Soil Of The Earth

“Hey Logan, Patton, stay here, okay? Virgil and I are going to find food,” Remy murmured, gently nuzzling her head into Logan’s ribcage. They didn’t reply, remaining curled into a ball among roots growing out of their skin. Somehow, there was no blood, something that disturbed both Remy and Virgil to no end. They knew this was the work of the Beast, yet they had no idea how to fix it. The best they could do, they had decided, was to just try and keep Logan alive until they could get them home. They were so close, they knew. All Logan had to do was hold on just a little bit longer.

The cat and the bluebird left, leaving the two humans alone. “Hey, Logan! Want to play a game?” Patton asked, breaking the silence with his soft, sweet voice.

“I’m tired, Patton,” Logan answered, voice flat. They curled up into a tighter ball, pulling their cloak around them. “You can play with Remy and Virgil when they get back.”

“Okay! Do you want me to sing a song?” Patton’s smile was two seconds from crumbling as he desperately tried to think of something to make his big brother smile again. He was not blind. He saw the roots growing from Logan and how they were creeping closer to the ground, growing closer to becoming permanently planted. Patton knew that would kill Logan and was determined to try and do anything to keep his brother alive.

“No, Patton. I’m tired and I just want to sleep,” Logan sighed, their eyes sliding shut. Patton began to panic and wracked his brain, thinking of anything that would keep Logan fighting until Remy and Virgil got back and could fix this.

“Could you tell me some poetry? I want to hear!”

“No you don’t, Patton, you hate poetry.”

Patton’s cheeks puffed out. “That’s not true!” Logan let out a single weak chuckle and fell silent again, cheeks rapidly paling at the same pace as their breath slowed. Patton bit his lip and swiped at his eyes, determined not to cry. He had to save Logan! He couldn’t just sit back and let his big brother die. Dad would cry if that happened, and then Papa would be sad, and then Patton would get blamed and his parents would stop loving him because he let Logan die.

“Oh, hush little one, there’s no need to cry,” a low voice purred from behind him. “Everything is okay.”

Patton turned around to see a tall man with long branch-like antlers extending out from his soft red hair. His grin was filled with fangs and his pink, blue, and yellow eyes glowed unnaturally, but he did not seem to want to hurt Patton. He looked friendly.

“No it’s not okay! Logan is dying and I don’t know how to stop it!” Patton wailed, finally letting a few of his tears slip down his face. “And if I don’t stop him from dying, our parents will hate me!”

The tall red-haired man knelt down and brushed Patton’s tears away. “Hush now. I’m afraid your brother has been claimed by the Beast.”

“What?” Patton sniffed. “So… so he’s going to die?”

“Not necessarily,” the man corrected. “I happen to know how to bargain with the Beast.”

Patton lit up. This nice man could help him save his brother! “I’ll do anything! What do you need!”

He chuckled and stood to his full height, reaching his arm down to offer Patton a hand. “Just come with me and all will be fixed.”

Patton bit his lip, turning to look at Logan. “I can’t just… leave him, though.”

“He will be fine. No one will harm him, I promise.”

Patton debated with himself for another moment before taking the man’s hand. If this would save Logan, he would go with him. “Okay, mister, let’s go.”

He did not notice how the branches retracted from Logan as colour returned to his face. He did not notice how they sat up and rubbed at their eyes, blinking furiously as they tried to get their vision to readjust. He did not notice when they saw him walking off, how they shot to their feet and began to chase him. He did not hear their screaming.

“Would you like me to teleport us to the Beast?” the tall man asked, looking down at Patton. He nodded, and with a snap of his fingers, the man teleported the two of them away, leaving Logan to tumble over the edge of a small cliff and plummet to the ground below, landing on their arm with a sickening crunch. They screamed before falling back into darkness, but Patton did not know this. All Patton knew was that the nice man had brought him to a snow-filled grove before vanishing, leaving Patton cold and alone.

“Mr. Beast, sir?” Patton called. “I’d like you to fix my brother.” A laugh answered him, sinking into Patton’s bones and sending nausea rolling through him.

“Oh, I have. But now, you have to take his place.” Patton shivered harder. “Enjoy the grove. It’s your final resting place, Patton Whelan. There is nowhere to run, not anymore.”

************************************************

“Logan! Come on, I want to go trick or treating!” Patton called, knocking frantically on the door to his older brother’s room. Logan let out a groan at the call, leaning back in their chair to stare at the ceiling. Why did they have to take Patton out? Couldn’t they just stay inside?

Of course not. Both Alfred and Arthur were working tonight and Logan had been stuck with babysitting duties, which also meant being stuck with Patton. Logan did have a costume, but they did not feel like leaving the house tonight.

“Please? Papa told me you’d take me!” Logan gritted their teeth at the news. Of course Alfred had promised Patton something like that without asking Logan first. It was just like the stupid, perpetually happy golden boy to make his son smile at the expense of Logan’s comfort.

“Logan? I… I made a really cool costume and I want to show Ms. Ortiz, at least…” Patton sounded on the verge of tears, and though Logan disliked him, they also refused to let Patton cry. They stood and strode over to the door, picking up the hat and cloak to complete their costume on the way, and flung open the door to face down a sad Patton.

“Give me five minutes and we can go,” they growled before slamming the door again. They let out a sigh and leaned against the door. Logan hated acting like the villain here, hated taking their frustration out on Patton, but they couldn’t help it sometimes. Patton pushed too far too often, and Logan didn’t know how to handle it.

They spent those five minutes adjusting his cloak, making sure it was draped over his shoulders and torso in a way that would disguise his skinniness. They then simply shoved the hat atop their head and strolled out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

“Let’s go, Patton,” they muttered, beginning to stalk down the stairs with their arms wrapped around their torso underneath the thick, navy cloak. Patton cheered and followed, babbling on and on about all the candy he was going to acquire. Logan tuned him out and focused on the ground in front of them, making sure to stop Patton from charging out onto the street.

“Oh, Logan! There’s that kid you like!” Patton chirped. Logan’s head snapped up and whipped around, frantically searching for Joan. Their eyes landed on the cute human only a second later, red rising to their cheeks as they yanked Patton behind a bush.

“Patton! We do not mention the squish where Joan can hear?” Logan hissed, eyes darting around frantically.

“But I’m pretty sure they like you back, so why not just say it?” Logan groaned and dragged a hand down their face, contemplating responses. Most of them involved curse words and as such could not be used. Arthur, despite his own sailer’s mouth, would kill them for swearing in front of Patton.

“Because… because it is not that simple,” Logan sighed, poking their head out to check if Joan was gone. They were. “I have no proof that Joan does, in fact, like me in that manner.”

Patton shook his head and smiled. “Logan, even though you’re my big brother, you are an idiot.”

Logan ignored that and dragged Patton out from behind the bush. “Okay, you wanted to trick or treat, go trick or treat.” Patton pouted but bounded off, visiting multiple doors to gain treats while Logan waited on the sidewalk. Logan watched and waited, simply enjoying the cool night air.

“Oh, what’s this?” Logan froze as they felt Patton grab something from their cloak. They turned around to see what Patton had grabbed and froze. It was… The Mixtape. How had Patton gotten his hands on The Mixtape? Why was The Mixtape even in their cloak?

“Patton! Give it back!” Logan yelped, diving for it. Patton simply laughed and ran away, Logan taking off after him.

“Is it for Joan?” Patton teased, scrambling over the wall separating the cemetery.

“Y-yes it is, but that’s not important!” Logan stammered. “Give it back!”

“Catch me if you can~!” With that, Patton spun around and darted towards the cemetery wall, Logan hot on his heels. Patton scrambled up over the wall and Logan followed, groaning as their stomach pressed into the hard red brick. Patton darted between the gravestones and Logan staggered after, already feeling the bruises covering their body.

“Oof!” Logan uttered as they rounded a corner and crashed into someone.

“Whoa, Logan!” a familiar voice cried. Logan felt hands on their arms, steadying them, and they looked, face draining of blood as they registered their squish, Joan, holding them upright.

“Joan?” Logan choked out.

“Yeah, um… so Patton just gave me a mixtape and said it’s from you?” Logan’s blood chilled and they immediately jerked out of Joan’s arms, darting around them to find Patton. They ignored their cries and grabbed Patton’s arm, not even looking at which direction they were sprinting in. All they knew was that they had to get away, away from Joan, away from judgement, away from embarrassment, away from emotion.

Unfortunately, Logan was so focused on getting away that they did not notice what they were running towards. A large tree root appeared just before they could stop and their foot caught, sending both them and Patton sprawling over the edge of a bank. Logan screamed and pulled Patton close, curling around him just as their bodies began to roll over and over towards the dark pond. Logan gasped as they breached the surface, the cold shocking their muscles, and they made sure to hug Patton close before attempting to paddle upwards. Unfortunately, they strayed too close to the edge and their skull smashed against a rock, sending blackness soaking into their vision instantly and erasing all hope of survival.

**************************************************

Logan gasped and shot upright, immediately checking all their limbs to make sure no bones were broken. They remembered a crunch beforehand and were terrified they would find a mangled limb.

“Oh, no, sweetie, lay down,” a soft voice chirped. “You had quite a scare.”

Logan ignored the voice and sat up, blinking their eyes frantically upon registering their surroundings. They could not possibly be surrounded by bluebirds. It had to be a dream.

“Virgil brought you here,” the same voice continued. She sounded concerned. “It’s the first time we’ve seen him in months.”

Logan pushed themself to their feet. “Where exactly is Virgil?”

“He left as soon as he gave you to us.” Logan nodded and began to crawl towards the exit. “Wait, sweetie, no, there’s a blizzard outside.”

“My brother and my friends are out there,” Logan shot back. “I can’t just leave them.”

She sighed and backed down, feathers ruffled. “At least bring him home, will you?”

“I’ll try my best, ma’am,” Logan replied before sliding out of the nest into the stinging cold of the blizzard. They pulled their cloak around them, shivering, as they began to traipse through the forest, squinting their eyes behind their glasses to be able to see through the horrible snow flying everywhere.

They’d only been walking for a minute or two when something small and warm smacked them in the face. Logan sputtered in shock but managed to catch the object as it fell, squinting down.

“Logan! What are you doing out here?” Virgil yelped, struggling to stand in Logan’s palms. Logan helped the small bluebird to his feet, hugging him close to their chest.

“I have to find Patton,” Logan replied, just a tad bit out of breath. “He was taken by the Beast.”

Virgil shook his head. “Hang on for a second, Remy’s out there too.”

“I need to find him! He’s my brother!” Logan yelled, beginning to trudge through the snow again. They did not hear the sound of soft snow crunching beneath small paws behind them.

“Logan, stop and think! You’re just a human, what chance do you stand against the Beast?” Virgil yelped, squirming around frantically. He couldn’t fly up to Logan’s shoulder, not in this weather.

“It’s my job. I’m the older one,” Logan shot back, smiling slightly as they realized they were only a few feet from the tree line. They screeched as they were dragged to a halt by something grabbing the bottom of their cloak, twisting desperately to see what it was.

A peeved black cat with acidic violet eyes stood there, glaring up at them. “At least listen when Virgil tells you to wait, gurl,” Remy grumbles. “And pick me up.”

Logan bent, allowing Virgil to perch on Remy, before lifting both cat and bird to their shoulders. Remy dug in their claws to stabilize themself atop Logan’s shoulder, and Virgil perched on the other one. Logan kept walking, desperate to get under the cover of the trees and out of this horrid blizzard.

They finally managed it what seemed like an hour later, as the wind had kept blowing them back two steps for every one forward they took. Logan let out a sigh of relief and took a moment to brush the snow off, Remy and Virgil hopping off their shoulders to the ground. The wind had mysteriously stopped blowing, but Logan didn’t ponder the implications of that. All they cared about was getting to Patton.

A gasp from Virgil drew their focus back to reality. “Logan… look…” Logan followed the direction of Virgil’s wing and gasped as well, knees beginning to knock together.

In front of them, leaning against a stump, tangled in black roots dripping oil, lay Patton. His skin was far, far too pale and his normally lively eyes were closed. A ways behind him lay the Woodsman Logan and Patton had met at the beginning of this insane adventure, groaning and trying to climb back to his feet. Logan’s anxiety screamed that they had failed and Patton had died because of them, only to be shattered when Patton let out a cough.

“Patton!” Logan screamed, lunging forward, leaving Virgil and Remy behind in their haste. They ignored the calls to wait, the pleas to stop, the requests to halt, and skidded to a stop on their knees. Their hand flailed around, finally colliding with the lantern they had seen the Woodsman carrying earlier, and they raised it to see how Patton was doing.

“Logan… I did it,” Patton mumbled, eyes cracking open a bit. “I won the game…”

“Oh, Patton, no, no, it’s okay,” Logan soothed, setting the lantern in front of them as their hands frantically moved to the roots and began to pull. “I’ll get you out of here and we’ll go home, okay?”

“No, no, Logan, I got him to let you go home,” Patton insisted, smiling weakly up at the taller child. “You can go home and tell Joan how you feel…”

Logan shook their head. “No, no, Patton, no. We’re getting you out of here, you’re going home too.”

“Logan-” Virgil squeaked from behind them.

“What?” Logan snapped, tugging fruitlessly at the roots tying Patton to the trunk.

“Well well, Logan. You’re a rude little thing, aren’t you?” a darkly familiar voice purred in front of them. Logan slowly looked up, eyes widening as they took in the handsome form of the Beast, his grin impossibly wide and displaying far too many sharp fangs.

“L-let him go,” Logan stammered, hand curling around the lantern again. In the worst case, they could use it as a weapon. The Beast simply chuckled and moved around the stump, stalking towards Logan. They scrambled backwards, clutching the lantern to their chest. The Beast paused upon seeing this, eyes narrowing.

“If you wish… I am willing to make a deal.”

“Don’t listen to him, Logan!” Remy and Virgil yelled before being silenced by a wave of the Beast’s hand. Logan didn’t look back, too scared of what they might see, instead forcing themself to meet the Beast’s eyes.

“Oh? What deal?”

“Give me the lantern, and I will place his soul inside it so he may live on forever, instead of dying and wasting away inside the tree he is becoming.”

“No! He lies!” the Woodsman yelled. The Beast spun around, snarling, the shadows lashing as he towered over the Woodsman.

“ShUt Up, WoOdSmAn!” he screeched, voice dark and crackling and far too alien and ancient. Logan screamed, curling into a ball around the lantern and bracing for the inevitable blow. The Woodsman also screamed before falling silent, and Logan could not look at him either, realizing with a cold sinking feeling that they were most likely the last one alive.

“Now, Logan, do we have a deal?” His voice was back to being calm, soothing, and far too convincing to be real. Logan looked up cautiously to see him smiling, extending a hand towards Logan, looking for all the world like a normal human. Logan shakily stood and began to extend a hand towards the Beast before pausing, their mind catching up to their ears.

“No.”

The Beast’s eyes narrowed. “What.” Shadows began to curl behind him, his eyes flickering pink for a brief instant, but Logan stood their ground despite their instincts screaming at them to give in.

“No. I’m not giving you the lantern. That’s dumb.” With that, they stepped back, hand tightening around the iron handle.

“Child, stop this silliness,” the Beast growled. Logan simply shook their head and held it up, the light illuminating the flimsiness of the Beast’s human guise.

“It’s illogical to give you what you want. It is not a good bargaining practice to hand over someone’s soul for a simple lantern. I bet you don’t even place souls in the lantern. Hell, why do you even want this? It’s not important, unless-” Logan’s brain finally connected the dots and they gasped, turning shocked eyes to the lantern. “Unless it’s your soul in here.”

“You do not know what powers you toy with here,” the Beast hissed, hand extended. “If you hand me my lantern now, I will spare you.”

“I have no guarantee of that,” Logan stated, voice flat. “For all I know, the second I hand over this lantern, you will turn me into a tree.”

The Beast exploded, doubling in height to tower over Logan, shadows wreathing him as his eyes burned bright white and large antlers extended across the clearing. “HaNd It OvEr!” he roared. Logan trembled in terror but held firm.

“No.”

“ArE yOu ReAdY tO eXpErIeNcE tRuE dArKnEsS?” the Beast rumbled, taloned hands reaching up to rip into Logan.

Logan simply let out a short chuckle, belying the terror in his soul, as they unlatched the door to the lantern. They brought it right up to their face before turning to stare the Beast right in his cold, dead, empty eyes.

“Are you?” was Logan’s only response before they blew out the flame of the lantern, ignoring the screams of the other three innocents in the clearing.

The Beast staggered back, screaming in agony that cut straight to the core of Logan’s soul, causing so much pain that Logan was forced to drop the lantern and clap hands over their ears in a desperate attempt to drown out the horrible sound. They watched in frozen horror as the Beast staggered back, shedding shadows with every step, until his human form was the only thing left, eyes blows wide in desperate terror. With a final screech, the Beast solidified into a twisted tree, leaving the clearing suddenly silent. Logan let out a shaky breath at the silence, all the tension draining from their frame.

“Logan? Are you… are you okay?” Virgil’s shaky voice asked from behind them. They slowly turned to see the bluebird and the cat carefully walking towards them, concern practically oozing from every fibre of their beings. Logan nodded, turning back to look at the tree they had just created with a simple gust of carbon dioxide.

“He’s really gone,” the Woodsman gasped, sitting up. The scar on his face had vanished, leaving only a weary, middle-aged man on the verge of tears. Logan nodded again, letting all the trapped air out of their lungs.

“What about Patton?” Virgil whispered.

“Patton! Oh stars no!” Logan gasped, diving back towards the stump. The branches retracted the second they touched them, sending Patton tumbling into Logan’s arms. Colour had returned to his face and his breathing was deep and steady. He was alive.

Logan sobbed in joy and hugged their brother close. “Patton you’re alive, oh gosh.”

“Mm… Logan?” Patton mumbled. “Can we go home now?”

“Yes, yes of course we can,” Logan answered, standing and cradling Patton in their arms. “Let’s get you home.”

“I… I guess this is goodbye, then,” Virgil mumbled, landing in front of Logan. Logan smiled softly and knelt down, gently setting Patton down in order to give Virgil a hug.

“Yeah… you should go back to your parents, they miss you.”

“I have to tell them that it’s my fault we’re all bluebirds, don’t I?” Virgil chuckled, wiping tears away from his eyes. Logan cleared their throat and reached into their cloak, pulling out the scissors they had stolen from Talyn.

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Where did you get those?”

“I took them on the way out of Talyn’s house. I figured they might be important.”

“Well, you figured right,” Virgil said, smiling softly. “Thank you so much.”

Logan nodded and gave the bluebird a small hug. “Stay safe, Virgil.”

“I’ll try, and you better promise too,” Virgil shot back, grinning before hopping back.

Remy stepped forward, head cocked to the side. “So… I don’t really have a home here. I just wander. Do you two mind if I come with you?”

“Yay, kitty!” Patton cheered.

“Patton you are allergic to cats!” Logan shot back.

“Oh yeah… but I’ve been fine this entire time!” Patton answered, sitting up and beaming at Logan. “Please?”

Logan sighed. “Fine, Remy can come with. But we really should be going home now.” Patton nodded and pushed himself up, grabbing Logan’s hand. Remy jumped onto Logan’s shoulders while they were still crouched down. Logan stood to their full height and began to walk towards the doorway home, allowing Patton’s chatter to wash over them, just happy their brother was alive and still able to talk their ear off about something Logan knew nothing about.

Virgil was left with the Woodsman, the two of them watching the three vanish into the fog of the woods. Virgil slowly turned to the Woodsman, feathers still puffed up with anxiety.

“Am I the only one who thinks this won’t be the last time we see those three?”

“No, you are absolutely correct in thinking that,” the Woodsman rumbled. “Now that the Beast is dead, the forest needs a new Caretaker.”

Virgil shivered. “Well, they better be nicer than the last one.”

The Woodsman simply smiled at Virgil. “Oh, I believe they will be.” Virgil blinked, confused, but the Woodsman laughed. “Never mind the strange ramblings of an old man. Now, let’s get you back to normal. Hand over the scissors.”

********************************************

Logan blinked awake to see bright white lights searing into their eyes. They groaned, throwing an arm over them to block out the light, waiting for the rest of their senses to adjust. They heard soft beeping in the background, felt soft sheets beneath their back, and heard soft breathing on their left.

“Logan?” Joan’s voice called softly. “Are you awake? Are you okay?”

“Where am I?” Logan mumbled, tongue thick in their mouth.

“Hospital. Do you remember what happened?” Logan frowned, thinking, and pulled a blank. They shook their head, giving Joan the signal to continue. “So, you bumped into me in the cemetery, then grabbed Patton and ran. You accidentally tripped over a root and the two of you tumbled down the bank and crashed into the pond. I expected you to come back up in a minute, but you didn’t, and… well… I called 911. Just before I dove in to get you two, you broke the surface, dragged yourself, Patton, and this black cat to the shore, and then promptly passed out.”

“Oh.” Logan frowned. They remembered being in a strange forest with Patton and this bluebird who could talk… was that real?

“Logan, you were underwater for 5 minutes. No one knows how you’re still alive,” Joan murmured, tears clogging their voice. “I thought we had lost you.”

“I’m right here, Joan,” Logan answered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, I know, but… ah shit, it doesn’t matter.” Joan laughed and gently pulled Logan’s arm away from their eyes. “Now… what was on that mixtape?”

Logan coughed. “Oh, that… just some poetry and clarinet. Nothing important.”

“Well, I’d still like to listen to it,” Joan said. “But I don’t have a mixtape player.”

“I- I do,” Logan whispered. Joan smiled and squeezed their hand.

“Would you mind if I came over next week and we could listen to it together?” Logan nodded, Joan nodded back, and after a few moments of silently gazing at each other, they burst into giggles. Everything would be okay, Logan knew. Everything was right with the world. Patton was safe. Joan didn’t hate them. Logan was home safely, and all was right with the world for now.

Later, Arthur and Alfred would burst into Logan’s room and pull them into a hug that involved far too many tears for Logan’s taste. Then, they would guide them to Patton’s room, where the tearful hugs would continue. Arthur would disapprove of Remy the cat at first (Logan realized that the Unknown had been real the second they saw Remy. There was no other way that cat could be here, winking at them while smirking atop Patton’s chest), but then would ultimately relent at Patton’s proof that he was not allergic to this particular cat. They will gather the two siblings and take them and their new cat home at the baffled approval of the staff and settle them back into normal life, the small family just happy to be alive and together.

But at this moment, Logan lays in a hospital bed with their best friend at their side. In another world, a boy who used to be a bluebird enters the clearing where he had almost died, flanked by a tall woodsman and the son who had finally come home. The bird boy kneels and checks the pulse of a red-haired man who lays on the ground in front of the tree in the middle of the clearing. He finds him alive and asks the woodsman to help him carry the man back to his house. There is something rotten going on in this forest, he knows, and he is determined to discover it. The small group shuffles back to a cabin, leaving the tree standing alone, a lantern empty at its roots. The lantern whispers, calling out for the one who had last extinguished it to come and light it again. The Unknown needs the Caretaker, it whispers. You must come fulfill your right, it calls. We will be waiting, it sings, in a song only able to be heard by one.

The one its song calls to will not notice it right away. They will deny it for a time. “The Beast is dead”, they will protest. “There is nothing in that other world for me.” They will be wonderful at protesting, at ignoring, at simply going about their daily human life, until one day the lantern’s song becomes too much. On that day, they will exit a shower, refreshed and reborn, and wipe steam off a mirror, only to see the truth of their true nature. They will scream, yet no one will hear. No one but them can see the truth, not yet. No one but they can see the antlers twisting from their skull, reaching for the heavens, denoting the role of Caretaker of the Unknown.

#violence #i am an evil author #almost death #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff

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makeusfly · 6 years ago

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The Things That We Could Be

After their fight with Magica, Scrooge feels the need to check on his family before going to bed. Everyone is sound asleep, except Webbigail. So he takes her on a little field trip.

Or, the one where Scrooge apologizes like Webby deserves.

You can also read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18781786

Scrooge hadn’t done this in years. He’d been lucky these past few months, he acknowledged now. Despite the sticky situations they’d gotten into, none had been so dangerous that he needed confirmation everyone was home, safe and in bed, before he could drift off to sleep himself.

He came to Donald’s room first. The door was wide open, and the lad was tangled in his sheets. But whatever imaginary demon he’d fought, he had gotten the best of it, for now he snored lightly with one arm dangling off the mattress.

He’d been so proud of him today – Donald Duck, the daring adventurer, just like he’d always been. The best part about Donald wasn’t that he was fearless – he’d always been the more cautious of the twins. No, the best part about Donald was how he judged fear, how he took it under advisement as part of the equation instead of the whole answer. How he knew when something was more important. Raising the boys had taught him to err more on the side of caution, but the adventurer in him had come out in full force today, even trusting the kids to get involved.

Down the hall, the door to the boys’ room appeared closed, but Scrooge found that all it needed was a slight push. His great nephews were in a pile in the bottom bunk, Huey on the edge looking dangerously close to falling off, Louie pressed against the wall, and Dewey sandwiched in between.

He swallowed hard. Besides what Magica had put them through, he’d almost lost them to his own hard-headedness. He hadn’t realized how lonely those ten years had been until they’d left, and his home was suddenly plunged into silence again.

He pulled the door towards him, leaving only a crack, and continued down the hall. Seeing the boys had lightened his heart and even let his eyes start to droop, but there was one room left before he could relax completely. Webby’s door was closed. Scrooge winced at the click the doorknob made when he turned it, knowing it would wake her. But when he pushed the door open, and his eyes fell on the bed, it was empty.

The fatigue that had started to creep in vanished as his heart pounded furiously. The first thing was to wake Beakley, they’d find Webby together, and if Magica had managed –

“Mr. McDuck?”

He jumped. He pressed a hand against his still racing heart.

“What the devil are you doing out of bed, Lass?”

“Oh.” Her gaze dropped to the floor as she tugged on her yarn bracelet. “I just…can’t sleep. Sorry…I’m just gonna…go back in my room now.”

“Aye,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And change into your adventuring clothes. We’re going on a field trip.”

“What?”

“I’ll leave a note for your Granny. Go on now.”

By the time he’d written the note and taped it to Webbigail’s door, she was straightening her bow.

“Where are we going, Mr. McDuck?”

He tried not to cringe at that. “It’s a surprise.”

She stopped. “You’re not an evil doppelganger trying to lure me out of the mansion, are you?”

“What? No!” He cocked his head. “Though I guess that’s not an entirely impossible scenario… Would a doppelganger know your favorite drink is juice? That your favorite booby trap is spike pits? Or that you once defeated Ma Beagle by improvising a ball pit man trap?”

“I guess not…”

“Besides, we’re not even leaving the mansion, technically. To the Other Bin!”

Scrooge didn’t turn to look at her, just listening to her footfalls as he led her into the basement. He changed the riddle every time he added something new. The idea was that someone – Donald or Beakley, most likely – could get in if something happened to him, but no one who didn’t know him so well stood a chance. He was sure, if he asked, Webby already knew the new riddle and could solve it just like she’d done last time. But he just used the key in his cane and held the vault door open so she could walk in first.

“Door 1286,” he said as she passed. She blinked, but began to lead the way. At the door, they both paused. Webby stared, reverently, first at the door and then at him, but he could see the curiosity in her eyes too. He reached out, brushing his fingertips against a door he hadn’t opened in twenty years.

He pushed it open, and stepped inside.

The place hadn’t changed. A brilliant purple sky filled with uncountable glittering stars, glowing against lush grass and trees. Most of the vegetation was a variant shade of pink, but even the ones that were green were a little too bright to be earthly.

When they’d closed the door and stepped away from it, Webby ran around it again and again. Because now it was a free-standing door with nothing on either side.

He waited until she’d finished, then silently led her down an overgrown path, up a hill, and to the edge of a cliff overlooking a similarly lush vista, complete with a white waterfall and a string of luminescence that put the aurora borealis to shame.

He carefully lowered himself to sit on the cliff’s edge. Webby stood, gaping, next to him. Her eyes sparkled as she looked out, and that in itself was lovelier than the view in front of him.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“Besides you and me, only one person has ever seen this.”

“Really? Who?”

He took a deep breath. “Della.”

She turned to him, wide-eyed. As he spoke, she sat down next to him on the ledge.

“She was…about thirteen, or maybe fourteen. It was right after she and Donald moved in with me permanently. He acclimated quickly, but Della…she took a little longer to adjust. I found her wandering the halls a few times, trying to get her bearings.”

Silence settled between them, until Webby said, “I’m sorry you lost her.”

“I’m sorry you lost Lena.”

She sniffed, twirling her bracelet between two fingers. “I know she was working for Magica, and… know she wasn’t exactly a good person the whole time, but—”

He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. In the end, she chose the right thing. She was going to help me get you all back. She saved you.”

A tear leaked out of her eyes. “I miss her a lot.”

“I know, darling.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Be sad as long as you need to be. Just know, wherever she is, I’m sure she misses you just as much.”

She hesitated just a moment, then wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face n his shirt. He felt the teardrops first, before she started shaking and her muffled sobs broke his heart.

He didn’t know how long he held her until her shoulders relaxed and her sobs settled back into sniffles.

As she pulled back, she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said lightly. “I didn’t mean to slobber all over you.”

“Nonsense,” he said, ruffling her hair. “It’s what family’s for.” He took a deep breath and rushed in before she could say anything. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and he didn’t blame her. He straightened his top hat. “I know the boys told you—”

“It’s okay.”

“What?”

“I know…families change and grow, and it means different things to different people.”

He didn’t want to underestimate Webby by assuming she was parroting her Granny, but it certainly sounded like Bentina.

“Huey, Dewey, and Louie can be my family without me being yours. It’s okay.”

She wasn’t crying, but she still wasn’t looking at him, and his heart broke all over again.

He sighed. “Rotten uncle I turned out to be.”

“Mr. McDuck…”

“You were right, Webbigail. Building Della the rocket was a bad idea. But I had all sorts of ways to justify it at the time. It was going to be her last big adventure before settling down for good, and she was Della Duck! The question was never who would let her, but who would stop her. Stubborn as me, that one was.”

He sighed. “All things I should have said instead of what I did say, which I only said because I felt outnumbered and attacked and wanted you out of the fight by any means necessary.”

He could feel her gaze on him, but now it was he who couldn’t face her. He just stared at his hands.

“I understand if you can’t forgive me, and if I’m not Uncle Scrooge any more, but…I just needed you to know.” He forced himself to meet her eyes. “I was the one who did something wrong, Webby, not you. You are important to me. I just have a knack for hurting the people I love most when my pride gets wounded…”

Webby smiled. Her eyes were watering. The grin itself was a little lopsided, and when she hugged him it wasn’t quite as tight as before.

But it was a start.

“I’d like for you to call me Uncle Scrooge again. Enough of that Mr. McDuck nonsense!”

Pulling back, she bit her beak. “Can I…can I just call you ‘Scrooge?’ For now?”

“Aye,” he conceded. “That will do, my girl. That will do.”

They sat there for a while, mostly in silence. At some point, Webby drifted off.

He let her doze awhile, staring out at the waterfall as his brain began to work.

Magical beings rarely vanished completely. If Magica had come back after all those years, there was a good chance…well, he’d have to do some research.

But that was for another day. Webby began to stir, and the ache in his stomach made him consider how late (or early rather) it probably was.

“Come on my dear,” he said gently. “It’s time to go home.”

They walked together, back down the hill, through the door. Here it was always night, but the sun was rising over Duckberg. They made their way through the mansion to the dining room.

“Good morning, Webby!” Donald said as they entered. “Don’t let me forget: I found a book I want to show you later.”

Beakley entered the room with a full tray. She raised an eyebrow at Scrooge.

“Not too late for breakfast, I hope,” he said in response.

“I didn’t make your usual because you weren’t here. But if you want French toast, there’s plenty.”

“French toast!” Webby exclaimed. “That’s my favorite!”

The housekeeper finally smiled. “I know, dear.”

“Sounds excellent,” Scrooge said, passing her and taking his seat at the head of the table.

“Where were you?” Huey demanded as she settled into her seat next to him. “We were kinda worried.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Scrooge spoke instead.

“Don’t you worry about it, Hubert; that’s between a man and his niece.”

Huey narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but pushed the syrup towards her as Beakley set a plate of toast in front of her. “Well, we were going to watch an Ottoman Empire marathon after breakfast, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m there,” she said with her mouth full.

Scrooge opened his paper as the kids began to talk excitedly about the day.

It was good to have them home.

#DuckTales #Ducktales fanfic #Kari writes fanfiction #analyticamethyst #it's been like 6 months but I did write it and you asked me to tag you #Hamilton Challenge

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pumpkunbread · 6 years ago

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Untitled Mermaid AU Fic?

I was inspired by @arcanedrabbles Siren AU and wrote a tail, tale of my own. I look forward to reading more of The Captain’s Tale! Its very cute!! This does not have sirens and pirates, but mermaids are close too right? (contains a small apprentice insert with Julian but hardly any details of her are mentioned) Not finished!

Part 1.2 and Part 2

Ava walks along the edge of the Wounded Coast, a dangerous cliffside with angry, relentless waves beating against the tired rocks. She wandered too far from the beach again today. The crowds never fail to displease her and push her away, only allowing quiet, stolen moments at the beach in the early hours of the mornings she is able to visit on. Vesuvian waters are bitter cold in the winter, but with scorching summers the place becomes a famous hotspot for the locals that sadly leave little room for privacy. So she drifted away from the crowd and ended up here.

The Coast, however, with its unsafe terrain, leave only the stupid or the brave to test its safety. The tall cliffs jut every which way at varying heights, only adding to its danger and beauty of the land. Below holds foaming waves sure to pull you under if you fall with little chance at escape, as if the sea itself wishes not to release you from its embrace. A narrow path winds down closer to the water that which Ava stands on, blinking furiously out of a daydream to find herself here.

She looks up and see the edges of the cliffs above her, rather than below her feet one would normally peer from. The ledge she occupies barely allows a person to walk along, some sections requiring hugging the wall to continue as it winds lower and lower to meet the deep blue water.

Worried, and shaking her head vigorously as if that will tell her brain to pay more attention, she pivots around to ascend back up and set course for home. The sun greets high in the sky and casts no shadows as she walks. Mindlessly, she starts to sing a wordless tune.

And swears she hears a harmonizing voice singing back at her.

Confused, she quickly stops. The voice in question quits a few beats after, as if startled by the sudden pause.

She resumes where she left off, and sure enough the voice returns to sing with her. The sound is beautiful, a smooth voice that makes her only want to listen to its sweet song, but knows if she stops it will too.

The sound comes from further down the path. Who could be all the way down there, she thinks. Those who travel here have near nothing to find and return home with, or never return at all. This place was once rumored of being haunted, a gossip in town spreading one day as a young couple runs back to town, terrified. Its since been ignored, but remains a commonly avoided spot with good reason, especially fearful in the hours of the night.

They do not appear in distress, whoever it is, but in the back of her mind knows this is a horribly idiotic idea.

She’s not been known to be the wisest person.

Once again she turns back around to continue on the path she started, still singing her tune and carefully listens to find the source of the voice. It seems to drown out the waves themselves, its usual noise only a distant echo. Warm, rich, unintentionally inviting, it beckons her onward.

At this level, holes have been dug into the cliffs themselves as if carved. The water changes elevation during certain times of the year with summers low enough that these peek out without being covered it seems.

Without warning, a merciless wave crashes near the side she stands on, but nonetheless startles her enough that her foot slips off the narrow ledge, pulling her down into the waiting waters below.

She's able to breach the surface after landing in the salty water just before it drags her back under, stealing one last gulp of air before it does. This is it, she thinks to herself, I was stupid enough to wander off this much, down this far. Oh, how will I tell the shopkeep?

She struggles for as long as she can muster. The ocean is relentless in its eagerness, a new visitor to stay with her. Its strength too much to handle alone, dragging her further and further to her new awaited bed to sleep in. Closing her eyes, the remainder of her stolen breathe pushes out of her lungs in a burning gasp, bubbles helplessly floating up as she sinks. Her consciousness starts to slip away to give her some sort of ending peace. She thinks before being swallowed in darkness that a hand closes around her upper arm...

She wakes to find her back laying flat against stone, her body soaking wet and only slightly shivering as she opens her eyes. Her lungs burn, and her stomach decides to cough up sea water as she quickly turns over while her body curls in on itself in pain. She takes deep, agonizing breaths and looks around, a dark cave welcoming her back to consciousness. She can see the blue sky through the mouth of the cave, the sun slightly lower than before but the waves angry in her surprising escape.

...How did she escape?

Ava looks around again, only to find nothing around but a pair of glowing eyes staring straight at her through the barely-lit cave. A small scream rips from her throat before immediately causing her to cough again, salt water still lingering and wrecking her voice. She then backpedals on her hands and feet toward the exit, towards the freedom and escape from this place after gaining a second chance.

In her panic the alluring voice from before begins to softly hum at her, and she freezes. Its melody, now heard by itself, sounds melancholic. Sad. The pitch rings a deep, rich tone that brings her to the verge of tears in its unspoken story.

She slightly relaxes and finds the eyes blinking at her, seemingly approaching her as the voice grows ever louder. Her eyes threaten to spill tears as fear, mixed with curious wonder, blurs her vision from the approaching entity. Ava closes her eyes to let them fall down her face, once again accepting the incoming meeting with death. She waits but it never comes. In fact, the voice hushed into silence and she dares open her eyes.

Blinking the rest of her tears away, and re-adjusting to the dim light of the cave, Ava finds herself staring face to face with a man.

A mess of wet auburn curls sits on this head, wild and seemingly impossible to tame. A portion hides his right eye as the other peers at her from merely a foot from her face. His grey eye is transfixed on her, seeming to peer directly into her soul itself. Sharp cheekbones are etched into his face while his lips are slightly agape in awe, sporting pearly white fangs as his teeth.

Fangs?

She blinks and finds them still there, in addition to gills slit into his neck and the ear not covered by his bright hair not resembling any human ear. She also notices him shirtless, body submerged in a pool within the cave that she lays next to.

His lips open wider to speak, in a voice that sounds like heaven itself, “Are you alright?”

She nods her head in acknowledgement, not feeling any worse except her upset stomach, burning lungs, and swirling mind. He smiles at her, exhaling a breathe she didn't realize he was holding.

“That was quite a fall you had. You almost didn’t make it out” he pauses, waiting for some other response. A sound. Ava does not speak, too stunned to form words as she stares.

He splashes the water in front of him onto her face, doing no harm as the clothes are still dripping wet. She blinks again and wipes her face with her hand to look back him.

“My name’s Julian, but some call me Ilya. May I ask for yours?” his dark eyebrow lifts in question.

“Ava.” she speaks quietly after an agonizing moment.

“Ava,” he repeats, testing the name on his tongue, and holds out a pale hand. Her name on his tongue melts her from its sound. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Cautiously she raises her hand to shake it, but immediately lets go at the touch of scales. He flinches and lowers his hand down to the edge of the still pool.

“Right, thats just a people thing I suppose. Worth a shot all things considering. There are, well, there are very strange mannerisms sometimes up there, I swear.”

“Who are you?” she tentatively asks, still unsure what to make of this entire situation.

A pause hangs heavy in the air before the man, Julian, raises his hand again to rest under his chin, cheek jutting up into an adorable pout.

“It might be easier to show you.”

“Show me? Show me what?”

He turns sideways and next to him emerges from the pool a brightly colored tail. Its hues gleam in oranges and reds, blending together to make a vibrant sunset color. It slowly fades darker as it travels toward his navel, a beautiful gradient of scarlet scales that are impossible to cast eyes away from. Ava cannot help but wonder its beauty reflected in sunlight. Its as if his entire being is begging for attention.

“Beautiful.” she finds herself saying, before bringing a hand to her mouth and holding it there, surprised to say aloud.

Julian blushes to match his scales, traveling from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck that he cannot hide.

“T-thank you.” he stammers, but submerges his tail back underneath the water.

“Are you a... siren?”

“I do not wish to eat you. I’ll spare your life this once.” he dodges the question grinning, sharp, white teeth clearly visible in the dark as he crosses his arms atop his chest.

Despite everything, she can clearly see through this lie and it shows plainly on her face. He exhales through his nose in a silent laugh.

Continue??

#the arcana #the arcana game #julian devorak #i never write fic but i was inspired cause i love this idea and made one of my own #maybe i might continue it?#it was a lot of fun!#my post #the captain tale was super cute #ava #fics #my fic

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shatteredsisters-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger, KOTLC Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Keefe Sencen, Tam Song, Linh Song, Fitz Vacker, Biana Vacker, Sophie Foster, Dex Dizznee Additional Tags: Kidnapped, Missing, kinda mean, i feel bad doing this to keefe oops, Angst Summary:

How broken do you have to be before you’re shattered?

Keefe Sencen has been taken. Snatched from what was meant to be a prank, he struggles to find his way home. The question is, where is home?

Tam Song is cracking. He’s the cause of this, or so he believes. He’s convinced he’s the reason Keefe is suffering, and it’s awakening feelings he’s so desperately shut in the depths of his mind.

Sophie Foster is panicking. One of her best friends is missing and his blood has been splattered. She wonders, what would happen if there is no blood left by the time she finds him?

Time is ticking. Hour by hour, there’s a chance Keefe will never come back, and the gang is scrambling to crack the clues and ominous hints left by the mysterious thieves.

Chapter 3 beneath the cut.

Chapter 3: The Storm

Sophie had never felt more panicked. She shared a fearful look with Linh before asking, “Fitz, what’s wrong with Biana?”

The handsome face on the imparter’s screen twisted with terror, “I don’t know! She just stopped responding and began to cry when she read it!”

Fitz had called a few moments ago, talking about Biana receiving a letter that left her in shock.

“Have you read it yet?” Linh questioned worriedly.

“No. I can’t get it out of her hands.”

“We’re coming over,” Sophie said, sitting up so fast her head started spinning. She grabbed Linh’s hand and barely noticed how the hydrokinetic’s face flushed adorably with red. “C’mon!” Sophie called, pulling her toward the cliff. Linh flailed for a moment, startled, but got her footing and the two girls ran and jumped.

The fall was always terrifying, even after literal years of doing this. A crack split the air, and the duo fell in a heap. They scrambled up—blushing, obviously—dusting themselves off. A sudden noise caught their

Loud, shrill

Without uttering a word, the elves took off and shoved open the doors, running into the room.

“What’s going on?!” Sophie asked as Fitz came running down the stairs.

“I already told you!”

“Well where is she?” Linh said, glancing around the room.

“In the kitchen,” Fitz said as he darted away with Sophie and Linh on his heels.

They entered the kitchen area, where Biana kneeled on the floor, her shoulders shaking. She kept vanishing, her abilities reacting to her emotions.

“Biana? What’s wrong?” Sophie asked.

She looked up, tear stains racing down her face.

They stood quietly, waiting.

Biana stood, wiping her face roughly with her sleeve. Sophie had never seen her do such an inelegant thing.

She looked at it briefly, only spying messy handwriting. Her main concern was Biana, whose eyes were red and puffy.

“It’s okay.” Linh murmured, pulling the girl into a

Biana smiled sadly, but sniffed as she glanced back down at the note, “Read it. She said the words so softly, Sophie had to strain to hear them, but she obliged.

The boy of sadness has wandered away. To a place that only him and I could find. I’ve sent him there on a fake quest,

to a place where he can make no calls of distress. If you want him back, give me what I desire. Respond quickly or he shall be gone forever. Fear not, for my request is simply human currency.

The boy of sadness…

Realization struck Sophie harder than a bullet train. Her heart thudded against her chest as thousands of vivid scenarios raced through her brain.

“Keefe?” Linh gasped before Sophie could open her mouth.

Biana averted her eyes, another tear rolling down her cheek, “I-it has to be.”

“Who sent him on a fake quest?!” Fitz asked, the disbelief strong in his tone.

“Fitz, stop asking stupid questions and start asking why they want human money!” Biana shouted, her mood suddenly turning angry.

Nobody knew how to react.

Sophie curved her mouth to form words at the spark of realization. “Wait… there are lots of different types of human money! They don’t all use the same currency…”

And then it dawned on her. “Is this a prank?”

Linh’s eyes widened.

Fitz wheeled on her. “A prank? Sophie, no! Keefe is missing!”

“But it’s a fake quest. And whoever wrote this probably doesn’t know much about humans because they didn’t specify what kind of money they want.” Everyone was looking at her now, which made Sophie reach up and tug and eyelash out.

“It’s just… a maybe,” she mumbled, looking down.

Fitz took back the note. “Let’s call someone from the Black Swan, run for Keefe’s pendent. For all we know Keefe could be messing with us,”

Biana looked at her brother in horror. “Fitz! He could be kidnapped and you think this is a joke?!”

Fitz turned to look his sister in the eyes. “Biana, it’s Keefe. What would anyone want with him?”

Biana’s eyes blazed, “Fitz,” she said lowly.

“Not like that! I mean, who would take him? We took out the Neverseen ages ago. We demolished the rebellion. There is no more enemies, and there hasn’t been for well over two years.”

Sophie’s stomach rolled. She remembered the horror of being with Brant and the others. She remembered it quite clearly.

“We should take this seriously until we’ve confirmed it’s a joke.” Dex said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “Sorry, Linh called. I uh... she thought I should come.” He fiddled with a gadget on his wrist. Sophie looked at Linh questioningly.

“Fine. I’ll call Magnate Leto and tell him that we need to track Keefe,” Fitz said, snapping her back to attention.

“No need! That’s kind of why Linh called. I uh, developed a way to track our pendants? I know, random, but I just… I started the project after we first got kidnapped and I found it recently and thought it’d be funny to use it to mess with you guys. But now I should probably use it to track our missing friend,” Dex said quickly.

“Do it!” Biana jumped in, “Find him, please,”

Sophie found herself smiling, and when she glanced over, she saw Linh smiling as well.

It was obvious that Biana cared for Keefe, and Sophie had to admit she was a little jealous.

But that wasn’t important at the moment.

“Hey, where's your parents?” Dex asked as he pulled a small device from his pocket.

“Away on business,” Fitz answered automatically, watching him switch on the tech.

Dex placed his thumb on the black panel. “Keefe Sencen,” he whispered. The device pinged for a moment, before zooming in on a globe, then to a country, and then to a giant forest.

Located, Heller Kern forest, 48-18-8-9.

“Why is he in Claralux?” Fitz said, looking at the map.

“What?” Sophie glanced at him, confused.

“It’s the proper name of the forest,” Dex explained, “Claralux is a forest with bioluminescence in the core of it. The trees also sing a powerful, ancient song that even we can hear. It allows us to hear the voice of the one we truly desire, but it can be a lot of things based on the book,”

“Oh.” Sophie said. “How do we get there?”

“With this!” Linh said, fumbling to hold up a crystal, “I’ve kept it since we lived there. It’s true, though you can ask the trees to stop if they trust you,”

The crystal was a pale green, one that Sophie had never seen before. “How did you get that?”

Linh blushed. “I made it,”

Wow. That… Sophie didn’t know what to say to that.

Dex eyed it, the amazement clear in his periwinkle eyes. But thankfully, Biana saved her from having to respond.

“C’mon!” She cried, racing over to Linh.

The small smile that cracked across the hydrokinetic’s face caused a series of emotions to spring through Sophie’s heart, but she shoved them away.

Linh held the crystal up to the light, motioning to follow, “Let’s go!”

The forest was unlike anything that Sophie expected. In all honesty, she didn’t know what’d she was expecting.

But a strangely warm, glowing forest was not it.

The trees were tall and welcoming, and even though they loomed over Sophie and her friends, she didn’t feel threatened. They went on for miles, never seeming to end.

“Woah…” Fitz said, gazing at the forest with his mouth hanging open.

Dex and Biana stared at it with the same awe, but Linh was hurriedly shoving the crystal back into her pocket, then glanced at them, “You all ready?” They snapped out of their trance and nodded.

Linh turned to look at the forest as well, and she heaved a deep sigh, “Okay… Follow me.”

She took one step towards the woods, which encouraged Sophie to do the same.

Their walk went slowly at first, as they all were distracted by the pure, natural beauty of the place. They quickened their pace, with Linh and Dex in the lead.

Sophie admired the forest from behind them, but ahead of her she watched as the two elves shivered as they set foot into the woods.

“What is it?” Biana asked worriedly.

Linh turned to look at them, her pale blue eyes glazed over.

Worry sprang through Sophie, seeping through her bones. “Linh?” she whispered.

“It’s… just the trees. They’re louder this time. Urgent. Can’t you hear it?”

Her voice was soft, distant, even. How she sounded when Sophie enhanced her for the first time.

Sophie shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Then listen.”

Sophie was confused. How does she listen to something she couldn’t hear?

But she closed her eyes anyway, and focused on the forest.

“Help him,”

Sophie looked at Linh. “Did you say something?”

Linh shook her head, focused on something else.

How could Linh have said something, but not actually say it?

“Help him,” it repeated.

Sophie looked up. It wasn’t Linh. Was this the forest? Was this was she was talking about?

“How?” Sophie whispered, earning some bewildered looks.

“Sophie?” Fitz said, stepping forward.

And suddenly, light shimmered into the air, and it then elongated into a long line, stretching and winding into the forest, to places they couldn’t see. They all gasped, staring at the glow. But then they took deep breaths, and listened to their hearts.

And so they followed the light.

It was easy to say that Sophie wasn’t scared. But she was. The deeper she got, she swore the shadows grew longer and seemed to move unnaturally.

Something about the way they moved felt so… familiar.

Step by step they walked through the forest. Fitz stayed near the back, while Dex and Linh led them. Biana stayed close to Sophie.

The trees suddenly ended, the thick trucks seeming to curve around a single clearing, an area that bright light emanated from.

It took her breath away.

Linh started forward, walking in powerful, confident strides, before a shadow appeared and disappeared, forming the familiar face of Tam. He was grinning maniacally.

“Ha! Got you!” Linh stepped back in surprise, while the others jumped at the sudden noise.

“What?” Biana said, confused.

Tam looked at them apologetically. “Sorry, I had to make it believable. I made Keefe come out here in search of Sophie, but I haven’t seen him yet... I was gonna fake kidnap him, but I guess that’s failed.”

Dex paled. “The tracker says he’s within one hundred feet of us,”

“Not possible, I’ve covered every inch of this forest looking for him.” Tam said. “But to be sure…” He spread his arms out, and shadows went racing over and around all of them, and Sophie shuddered.

It was hard to remember exactly how powerful the Shade had gotten in the last few years.

“He’s not here,” Tam said.

“That.. no. This device is tracking his registry pendent.” Dex said, holding up the device.

“Maybe it’s wrong?” Fitz suggested.

“It’s getting the feed from the Council. I see what they see. So if it’s wrong, then it’s not my tools.” Sophie looked sideways at him, remembering how The Black Swan would mess up their registry pendants every so often so they could slip to a place unknown or prohibited. Maybe Dex forgot that?

“Guys?” Linh said, suddenly standing a few feet away from them, holding up a piece of paper in one hand and an empty, uncapped bottle in another.

She read it, and handed it to Fitz.

Sophie’s heart dropped as she saw the look on his face.

Horror. Fitz slowly handed the note to Dex, with the others watching carefully.

They looked at Dex, watching his skin pale and his hands fidget as he processed the words.

And then Sophie took her turn. The words were harsh, like it was written by one very, very, very angry person.

Revenge is best served on a silver platter.

The shiny pendent fell with a clatter.

In order for you to pay for your misbehavior,

He will have to SHATTER.

Her hands shook as it dawned on her what was happening.

Biana took the note from Sophie’s gloved hands, falling to her knees at the possible loss of her… friend.

“Guys?” Fitz said, his voice coming out choked. “You need to see this,”

Sophie’s eyes followed the disruption in the grass, a pathway made by a sled or something large.

Or someone being dragged through it.

And then she saw what he was looking at. She froze as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

Keefe’s silver registry pendent.

Covered in blood.

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