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seijorhi · 4 years ago

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This isn't a request or anything but I had a soulmate AU idea that I think you'd like.... And reminded me of Oikawa. Imagine you find ur soulmate from their name written on your skin on ur 16/18 bday, but.... You're blind. And dating Oikawa. And he /swears/ your name is on his skin... But when your birthday rolls around, he insists you don't show anyone else.... And starts buying you clothes to cover the mark.... And you hear him whispering about his mark to Iwa.... And you begin to worry. 👀

I know it wasn’t specifically meant as a request, but I took the idea and ran with it - I hope it’s okay!! 💕

Oikawa Tooru x Female Reader

TW gaslighting, manipulation, dub con nsfw, blind reader

Part II

Always

“You promise me it’s there?”

Are you sure it’s me?

Rich, warm laughter fills the air around you, and despite the tension gnawing away in your stomach, the corners of your lips twitch into a soft smile.

“You don’t believe me!”

He’s happy. Even gasping in mock indignation Tooru can’t quite manage to keep it from his voice.

He has every reason to be; you’re both home for the first time in a year and a half, settled in the well worn couch at his parents house, your friends sprawled out either side of you. He’s twenty one today and as of five minutes ago the proud owner of his very own soulmate mark.

Or so he tells you.

“Well it’s not like I can see it,” you tease, nudging yourself closer so that you can rest your head against his shoulder and sighing loudly. “It could be Issei’s name for all I know, and you’re all just too nice to break the news to me.”

The choked snort from your left side makes you giggle, but not as much as the sound of your boyfriend fake gagging.

“Please, he fucking wishes!”

“Iwa tell her!” Oikawa demands, and you can just imagine the way that Iwaizumi’s eyes must roll before he ultimately gives in.

He always does.

“It’s yours,” he sighs. “Unfortunately you’re stuck with him, Y/N. My condolences.”

Yours.

It’s hard, even as raucous laughter fills the air around you and Oikawa turns to shout at his best friend, to deny the warm fluttering in your chest. The arm around you eases you closer, a thumb absentmindedly stroking at your side and you allow yourself to relax against him.

It’s your name on his skin. You’re his soulmate.

For the first time in weeks, it feels like you can breathe easy. You wonder if Oikawa knew, if he noticed the way you held onto him just that little bit tighter - like you were scared to let go.

You’ve loved Oikawa for as long as you can remember, but you only get one soulmate. Was it really so outlandish to wonder whether his first love would be his last? Whether you could ever be good enough to be his?

The little blind girl, always following at his heels.

For all your faults, you’ve never been naive. You know how amazing he is - Tooru has always been destined for great things and you were just his highschool sweetheart.

A hindrance, one of his very dedicated fans had once taken the time to inform you, clinging desperately to whatever scraps of pity he felt charitable enough to throw your way.

Neither one of you had realised that Oikawa had heard every damn word.

—

“Can you just…”

Oikawa pauses, the hand he has wrapped around yours squeezes lightly. “Hmm?”

Breathe deep. Just say it.

Tell him.

You’re almost at the gate, your flight’s leaving in twenty minutes (and you would have been there sooner if he hadn’t insisted on dragging you through every overpriced store in the damn airport) and in a few hours, you’ll be home again.

But it isn’t the thought of being back in Japan that worries you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth, your heart thumping unsteadily in your chest. His birthday is in two days, and that’s when he’ll find out who his soulmate is supposed to be. And you trust him, you love him. Even if the name on his forearm isn't yours, it’s not like he’s just going to suddenly toss you aside like yesterday’s trash, but… things’ll change, you know they will. And you couldn’t even blame him for that, because how much effort can you really be expected to put into a relationship if you know they’re not the one you’re supposed to end up with?

The doubts you have, the ones that fester and play on your every insecurity, keeping you up at night long after Tooru has drifted off - you’ve tried to shut them out and ignore them as best you can, but you just can’t get on that plane without having some kind of reassurance.

What if it’s not you?

“Just promise me that if…” your breath catches in your throat, and you try to force a smile on your face even though you know that it wobbles. “If it’s not- if I’m not-”

Soft lips press against yours, cutting you off. It’s only for a heartbeat, enough to get you to stop the panicked tumble of words you couldn’t quite get out, but for you it feels like it lasts a lifetime. You could lose yourself in Oikawa’s kisses, you think. Lose yourself and be happy for it.

A warm palm cups your face. “I love you,” he says, and it isn’t the murmured declaration first thing in the morning, his voice still thick with sleep as he rolls over to kiss you good morning, and it isn’t the cheesy, throwaway line he gives whenever you save him the last bite of the milk bread that he specifically bought for you (because god knows his coach would kill him if he found out he ate the entire thing himself).

It’s a promise.

“You are my soulmate,” his thumb strokes along your cheekbone, and you can’t help but lean into the touch. “You’re the only one I’m ever going to want.”

Standing on the outskirts of your gate, moments away from boarding the plane that’ll take you both home, you’re not entirely sure if he’s trying to tell you that he’s certain that the name on his arm is going to be yours, or that he doesn’t care if it isn’t.

Either way, it’s enough.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, and captures your lips in another kiss - this one brimming with ardent devotion, a love too deep for either one of you to speak.

—

Hours later, Iwa, Makki and Mattsun are all asleep downstairs and it’s just Tooru and you curled up in his bed. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that being back in his childhood bedroom did little in the way of curbing his appetite, but between giggles and breathy moans, Oikawa’s hand clamped over your mouth and his lips at your ear-

‘Shhh, you have to keep it down, cutie. Unless you want the whole house to hear all the pretty sounds you make when you’re about to cum for me?’

- he manages to wring four orgasms out of you before the two of you collapse back against the mattress, all sweaty and panting.

And you think he’s fallen asleep now, an arm slung around your waist, his face buried against the nape of your neck despite the warmth of the balmy summer night. With his chest flush against your back, you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart, lulling you gently to sleep with every beat.

Soulmate.

This, here, in Oikawa’s arms, this is where you belong, where you’ve always belonged. And yet even with happiness and relief and an overwhelming love singing through your veins - keeping you wide awake - you can’t deny that it feels… strange almost, knowing that out of seven and a half billion people, you’re the one he’s marked for.

He’d sounded so sure back at the airport, like there wasn’t even the possibility of doubt in his mind that you were the one for him. And maybe he was just saying it to calm you down and get your ass on the plane, but if the situations were reversed and it was your birthday first… could you really say with one hundred percent certainty that you knew it would be his name that’d show up on your arm?

You love him more than you’ve ever loved anybody else (more than you ever probably will love anybody else), it’s just that you’ve always known that the two of you were on wildly different paths. Tooru’s the starting setter for a pro volleyball team, and there’s already whispers of that national squad, Olympic selection.

He’s talented and driven and sometimes you wonder whether you ever would have left Miyagi let alone Japan at all if it hadn’t been for him dragging you along with him.

You’ve always been so content in your own little bubble. You cling to what’s comfortable, what you know - all your life, you’ve been told that you’re not defined by your disability, but you’ve never tried to push yourself beyond it.

With Tooru, you’ve never had to.

That girl, years ago - she wasn’t wrong. You do cling to him, like you’d clung to your friends and your family. And maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world, but when you compare what Oikawa has to offer his soulmate compared to what you bring to the table, and-

“I can hear you thinking from here,” your apparently not-so-asleep-after-all boyfriend murmurs in your ear. “Tell me what’s bothering my pretty girl.”

You sigh, rolling over to face him. It’s pointless to lie to Tooru - he can read you better than anyone else - but admitting the whole truth, even here under this little refuge of soft intimacy between the two of you, feels harder than it should be.

“You’re not… disappointed, are you?”

The harrumph that escapes his lips sounds almost offended, but the brush of his lips against the tip of your nose is sweet. “How long have I known you?” he asks.

Your forehead wrinkles at the question. “Fifteen or so years, I guess?”

You’d only been six or so when your family had moved in the house next door to his, across the street from Iwaizumi’s, and you can still vividly remember the first time you met him - crying in your front yard with a scraped up knee - always too eager for your own good.

“Hmm,” he acknowledges, “and how long have we been dating?”

“Seven-ish years?”

He chuckles, kissing you again, this time on your cheek. “And how long do you think I’ve been in love with you?”

Your whole face warms, and you fight the urge to bury it in his bare chest, especially when he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place back behind your ear. “Tooru-”

He sighs again, the sound tinged with just a hint of fond exasperation. “Give me your hand.”

You oblige, and you feel his long fingers curl around yours, tucking all of your fingers but your index away and drawing your hand closer towards him. It’s only when your pointer brushes against skin that you realise what he’s trying to do. Still, you don’t offer a word as Tooru slowly traces your finger along the dark letters on his skin - his soulmate mark.

Your name.

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Y/N. You’re mine, you’ve always been mine, just as I’m yours,” he vows, and you almost shiver with the intensity that burns in every word. “Any other name would have been nothing more than a filthy lie.”

Any further protests are swallowed up by another kiss, and your boyfriend takes it upon himself to show you exactly how much he adores you, over and over again, until sheer, utter exhaustion drags you to sleep in his arms.

—

Your own twenty-first birthday is a vastly different kind of affair. For one, the two of you decide to stay in Argentina - Oikawa’s mid season and can’t afford the time off training to traipse back home again.

Which means that it is just the two of you alone in your villa when you feel an odd burning sensation start to creep through your left arm. It doesn’t hurt exactly, more like a warm tingling sensation that flows along your skin as one by one the letters of your soulmate’s name come to light.

The sharp little gasp that slips from your lips must have alerted Tooru - hovering as he had been for the better part of the day - because his hands are on your arm within a moment, flipping it over and eagerly dragging it closer for him to inspect. His own breath hitches in his throat, his fingers tightening on your soft skin and a tentative smile works its way across your face.

People have told you before that your boyfriend is handsome - stupidly beautiful, you’d once overheard one of your old high school classmates bemoan. His voice certainly is, soft and pretty and lilting, warm like the first rays of the sun on a cool winter’s morning, though not without its sharpness. Oikawa always has had a wicked tongue. In your head, you picture a face to match, delicate, angular features, warm eyes and a grin that’s just a little impish. Trouble, but the irresistible kind.

You wish you could see it now, watch your soulmate’s eyes widen with delight, or maybe soften with quiet awe. You want to see him happy, deliriously so, you want to look into those lovely eyes of his and see all the love that’s coursing through your veins right now reflected right back at you.

He still hasn’t spoken a word.

The slow drag of a breath, shaky and too sharp, had your bright smile freezing on your face. His grip hasn’t relented, fingers calloused from years of playing volleyball digging into your arm almost painfully. The air between you two is still, he hasn’t moved, not so much as a twitch.

Unease creeps its way into your stomach.

Why hasn’t he said anything?

He’s never exactly been the strong, silent type, and you love him for that. Iwa often complains that his best friend likes the sound of his own voice too damn much (half heartedly at best), and maybe that’s true, but he never realised that it doesn’t bother you in the slightest.

It’s different for you, not being able to see.

You don’t exactly blame them for not understanding - how could they, really? Without your sight to help you, your other senses have to work in overdrive just to make sense of things. Tooru’s voice builds the world around you, imbues it with a spark, guides you like a hand stretching out through the darkness. It’s a gap in the void, a reassurance you cling to - because without it there’s nothing. You’re alone with only your thoughts to keep you company.

So when he goes quiet like this, it’s never a good sign.

A lump lodges its way in your throat. Without your sight, his silence is almost impossible to read, but you can sense the sudden heaviness in the air, the tension hanging thick between the two of you.

You expected dramatics. Tears, maybe, or a burst of affectionate cuddles and kisses. Gushing over your mark just as he had when his own had come through. Hell, you thought he’d grab his phone and take a thousand and one pictures just to prove to the world that you were his as much as he was yours - because you loved each other. Because you were soulmates.

Is there something wrong with your mark?

“Tooru?” you murmur, the edges of your smile starting to slip as your panic rises. “I-is everything-”

“You’re mine.”

The clipped words are little more than a whisper, hoarse and choked. It takes you by surprise, making your heart skip a beat, the knot in your stomach tighten, yet just as that paralysing apprehension starts to take root, he clears his throat, and a laugh bubbles to the surface.

Slowly, like ice thawing, his fingers relax on your forearm, gliding up over your shoulder to curl around your neck. “You love me, right?”

Your eyebrows knit together, but you nod anyway. “Always.”

There’s another shaky breath, and suddenly his arms are wrapping around you, drawing you into a tight embrace. You don’t fight it, still bewildered by the sudden whiplash of his tone.

His own heart is racing, you can feel it as he holds you against him. The question burns deep inside of your chest, a thought you don’t want to give voice to, but you can’t seem to stop yourself - it slips out before you even realise you’ve opened your mouth.

“It is your name, Tooru, isn’t it? You’re my soulmate?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Oikawa hums, resting his chin against the top of your head. “Of course it is, cutie,” he chuckles. “Who else’s name would it be?”

He takes you out for dinner to celebrate. You’d originally picked one of his favourite dresses to wear, a strapless white number with a pretty, flowing skirt that fell to your mid thigh, but Oikawa stops you before you can leave, passing you over an old denim jacket of yours.

“It’s cool out tonight,” he says as he eases it over your shoulders before you can protest.

You don’t question it.

—

He fucks you that night, hard, fast and unrelenting, holding onto you so tight that you swear you’ll have bruises come morning.

—

Oikawa likes doing little things for you.

He likes it when you hold onto his arm and let him guide you around when you go out together (you do have a cane - it sits in the back of your closet for ‘emergency uses’ only). He likes to buy you pretty things, jewellery, clothes, little trinkets that remind him of you - spoiling you with every opportunity he can, doubly so now that he has a salary that affords him that luxury.

It’s not uncommon for him to pick out your outfits. For one, you can’t see so you kind of have to rely on somebody else’s help so you don’t end up a mismatched disaster, and Tooru seems to enjoy doing it. He likes seeing you wear the things he buys for you - lacy, soft and demure.

He also likes it when people know that you’re his.

So it doesn’t strike you as odd when Tooru insists on you wearing his club hoodie over your dress the next time you go to one of his games. You might not be able to see him fly across the court, but you can hear the cheers, the roar of the crowd as they stamp their feet and chant like a battle cry when San Juan scores. You can taste the excitement in the air, and whenever your soulmate steps up to the plate to serve, you feel the rabid excitement of the crowd thrumming in your veins.

It’s warm in the stadium with so many people crammed close together, you push the sleeves up without even thinking. It’s not an issue - it shouldn’t be - but when your boyfriend slips his arms around you, fresh from the locker room post match, it’s the first thing he notices. He’s tugging them back down before you can so much as offer a hello, tersely muttering something about you getting a cold when you frown.

There’s a tiny flicker of unease at the odd behaviour, but he’s kissing you before you can linger on it for too much longer.

And if that’s all it was, maybe it would be easier for you to shove that niggling worry aside.

But once you start noticing things - little, inconsequential things you would have just shrugged off before - you can’t seem to stop, and that tiny seed of doubt starts to take root, to sprout and grow.

Your friends stop calling by. Back home your social circle was pretty much limited to Tooru, Iwa and their friends - not that you minded at all, you love them all dearly, it’s just that you didn’t really have any friends of your own outside of that little group. When you moved across to Argentina and Oikawa started training for longer hours, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to his new team, you got lonely, sitting in your new home just waiting around for him to come back to you.

And it took a while, but eventually you started to venture outside of your comfort zone and lo and behold - even with your stumbling Spanish, you managed to make a few friends! Though you can tell that your beloved boyfriend wasn’t exactly thrilled by the burgeoning new friendships you gushed to him about, he’s never begrudged you them. If it made you happy, then he was happy.

Lately though, they’ve been kind of distant. And by distant, you mean… well, nonexistent. They don’t come visit you anymore, when you call their numbers, it just rings out.

You can’t even leave voicemails - there’s just an automated voice telling you their message banks are full. Regardless, not one of them has made the effort to call you back, and it’s not like you can text them to ask why they’re avoiding you. Life gets in the way, you know that, and sometimes people just drift apart but it’s like all of a sudden they’ve just dropped off the face of the planet.

But when you mention venturing out into town one day without them while Tooru’s at practice, he seems strangely resistant to the idea.

“I just don’t like the idea of you wandering around by yourself. It’s not safe out there for you, cutie,” he tells you.

The words are saccharine, as sweet as the kisses he presses against your lips when he coaxes your chin upwards. You love him, you do. And you understand that he worries - even away from the hustle and bustle of the big cities, San Juan isn’t exactly a crime free neighbourhood, but for the first time the strong, muscular arms that wrap around your waist don’t bring comfort.

It’s like they’re a cage, locked around you and dragging you slowly down to the depths, and it’s driving you mad because you can’t figure out why it feels like that.

Biting back your annoyance, you sigh, forcing yourself to relax against him. You love him - this is normal, couples disagree all the time. “I’m not an invalid, babe. I’ve done it before - I can’t just sit around the villa all day moping all alone or I’ll go crazy.”

He hums noncommittally, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he draws you closer still, and the conversation is dropped.

Two days later, you find your cane snapped in two in the back of the closet. Oikawa has some weights stuffed in an old gym bag for when he can’t be bothered leaving home to work out - the bag must have fallen on your cane and cracked it when he put it back after his session yesterday afternoon.

An accident, it has to be. He’d never deliberately do something so petty, right?

And there are moments where you can forget the doubts that gnaw away at your insides. Tooru has always been a caring, attentive lover - the perfect boyfriend. He seems more determined that ever to shower you in love, whether that’s by waking you up with his tongue eagerly lapping at your cunt, bringing you home bouquets of fragrant flowers and cooking the two of you dinner, or just with the tiny gestures of affection - tucking your hair back away from your face, linking his hands with yours, the little kisses and compliments he lavishes you with on a daily basis.

When it’s just the two of you, lounging around on the couch, his head resting on your lap and your fingers carding through his hair, it’s easy to pretend that everything’s fine. The two of you love each other. You’ve been his rock, his biggest supporter right from the early days, and Tooru’s the one who drew you out of your shell, who makes you feel like you’re actually worth something.

That you’re beautiful, and loved.

It’s not until you come home one afternoon from an impromptu trip to the local bakery just down the road that all the little pieces fall into place, and you realise why.

The craving for something sweet was what drew you out. Truthfully, you hadn’t really thought twice about it. It was a short trip, one you’d made a thousand times before, and it wasn’t like the locals didn’t know you, wouldn’t watch out for you if they saw you about to unknowingly hurt yourself or trip over something.

The alfajores in your hand were supposed to be a surprise, Tooru had been wound up from practice lately, more stressed than he usually was this late in the season, and you knew you weren’t the only one with a wicked sweet tooth. You’d just wanted to cheer him up.

You hadn’t expected to come home to find Tooru pacing in your bedroom, muttering to himself, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to whirl around at the sound of your approach, snatching at your wrist and all but hauling you inside.

You certainly aren’t prepared for the snarling, bitter words he hurls at you.

And yet even as tears fill your eyes, a choked sob bursting free as he berates you for leaving the villa without telling him, Tooru clutches at you so tightly it feels like your arm’s going to snap.

“You can’t leave me! You can’t - you’re mine!”

He doesn’t stop, barely pauses for breath, but those eight words hit you like a freight train, and everything else fades out into white noise. You can’t for the life of you explain how or why, but in that moment, you know with absolute certainty that the name on your arm can’t be his.

Tooru lied to you.

He’s not your soulmate.

It’s all you can do to stand there numbly while your boyfriend falls to pieces in front of you. The angry yells and screams turn into wretched sobs, and suddenly it’s Tooru collapsing in your arms, clinging to your neck like it’s a lifeline as he sniffles against your chest, and when desperate apologies turn into desperate kisses and he starts to lead you backwards towards the bed, you don’t fight him.

He treats you like you’re made of glass, worshipping every inch of your skin, fervent declarations of love spilling out between kisses like prayers of the devout at an altar. He fucks you slowly, lovingly, moaning your name so sweetly as he searches for absolution within the plush walls of your sex.

And with his fingers coaxing at your clit, his lips dancing against yours you fall off that precipice with him.

You have no idea long the two of you lie there in silence, limbs entangled with one other, but eventually you register the warmth of his hand on your cheek, caressing it with a gentle kind of tenderness that makes something deep inside of you ache.

“You still love me, don’t you?” Tooru’s voice is quiet. Hesitant. It reminds you of the little boy you knew, the one who confided all his fears of never being good enough to you, desperately seeking the validation you always gave so freely.

Your eyes flutter shut, another stray tear spilling down your cheek, and your heart breaks anew.

“Always.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #yandere oikawa #tw gaslighting #tw manipulation #tw dub con

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ciaran-archive · 4 years ago

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Serious question. How do you write long stories? Is there a technique or advice for that? No matter what story I have in mind, I can't seem to tell it in anything longer than 1 to 2k. Writing 5k is tiring already, where do people seriously get that stamina to even do 50 or 100 or 200k? It's mind-blowingly amazing.

there is nothing less worthy or amazing about writing shorter fic - i know writers who struggle with it, and i’ve come to inhabit that position somewhat myself, though i’m determined to stay in practice. it’s a different skillset, that’s all. your fics aren’t worse for being shorter.

that said i will not deny that longer fics generate far more engagement from fandoms simply by virtue of updating more often → being on top of the ao3 tag when people first open it → getting more clicks and being considered less ‘frivolous’ (which is bullshit, but what can you do)

if you’re dead sure you want to write longer fic, i would first recommend reading this post about writing drabbles, which i promise is relevant to the point i’m about to make.

Because drabbles are about one moment. You don't need to know exactly what happened before this moment of dialogue, or what happens next, or what's happening around it. You don't have to do any of the planning you might do for a longer fic, but you also don't have the space to let the scene lead in and develop naturally. You've got 100 words.

a lot of writing a longer story is about establishing the scope of your story, deciding what beats you want to hit. there are a lot of ways to go about this; [some people like to outline. i don’t outline, ever, so if you want help for outlining you should look at the other sources on the internet. there are quite a few.] i’m going to talk about the way i’ve learnt to do it.

so when i’m writing a short fic, the thing i’m considering is one or two ideas, and one or two moments (short in this case being under 5k). this also depends on the style i’m going for - fics with sparser styles can fit more scenes, if i’m going for my usual style, each scene takes about 700-2000 words at least and therefore takes up more space. a lot of how i eased into writing longer fics was focusing on stylistic changes - you can push up the word count of a fic by going moment by moment. note the difference between:

They’d been standing next to each other as they spoke; now Felix turned to him in the rain, startled by the admission of weakness. He reached out clumsily, bumping his hand against Ryan’s until he took the hint and grabbed on.

and

The rain made it near-impossible to hear Ryan speaking, but the harshness in his voice would’ve been audible through a hurricane. “So you ran away,” he said, like he hadn’t expected this.

“Course I did,” Felix snapped. “What was I supposed to do? Stick it out and let her kill me?” I almost did, he added under his breath.

Ryan’s sensitive werewolf ears, of course, caught that. “I’m glad you did,” he amended, as though it pained him to admit it. “I would’ve - I did the same. It’s all you can do, sometimes.”

Felix turned to him, blinking through the curtains of water. Ryan was slouching in the downpour, eyes narrowed elsewhere. Mostly he was startled by the admission of weakness - rare in a person who prided himself so thoroughly on being reliable and independent. He reached out, struck by the urge to offer whatever clumsy comfort he was capable of; his hand bumped against Ryan’s, and he held it there until Ryan caught up and wove their fingers together.

His hands were wet and cold, and he gripped so hard Felix’s very human bones ached, but he wouldn’t have pulled away now. Not when he’d been the one to offer.

it’s not even that one is necessarily better than the other - they both work, and they’re working in different ways. they’re set in the same scene, conveying the same beat - reaching out to comfort someone in the wake of vulnerability. it’s just that one is longer, and therefore gives you more room to - set the scene (rain, being unable to hear each other) - use dialogue to show what is being told in the first example - convey extra information about the characters (actually, if this was a scene i was writing in a fic or novel, the stuff about ryan being a werewolf would already be known to the reader, so i would use that space to convey something else about ryan in that moment) - elaborate on felix’s internal state: the transition from defensive to curious/surprised to gentle - linger for a sentence or two on the moment of connection

this is about unraveling a scene and making it bigger than it was, breaking it apart into tinier beats and describing each one in the narrative. what happens when you do that and your fic doesn’t get much bigger still?

back to scope! we understand, as people who read and write and live, that the part of a story that you choose to depict in a narrative is not the entire story: events happen off-screen. some of them happened before the story started, and they will continue to happen after the story ends. the narrative is only showing you an arc, a particular series of events.

when you’re writing fic, you have in fact tremendous amounts of flexibility when it comes to the scope of a story. you can write something that is about a single moment in canon, and trust that your audience is following along because they have the context already. so you don’t need to waste time on setting it up, which often means - if you’re given to a certain kind of fic writing (canon compliant / small divergences / missing scenes / character studies) your fics will end up not being very long because you’re not reiterating what you don’t need to reiterate. your idea is small because it inhabits a small space, is squished between canon events, and so doesn’t ever get bigger. if this is what is happening, it’s good, and you should try to preserve this going forward.

people who are writing longer fic are, simply, working with bigger ideas*. they’re not just going “what if he said what he wanted in this scene instead of going home?” and writing the bit where they kiss immediately after - they’re also going “what if this changed everything in the future? what happens if they tackle all their problems together from now on? what new problems arise from this?”

*hopefully they are working with bigger ideas. i have seen longfics that are just incredibly fucking tedious because the author swallowed a thesaurus and had a tenuous grasp on plotting to begin with.

that’s for a canon divergent fic, presumably. you might also be writing a post-canon fic, with its own set of pre-fic events and a new set of problems to deal with. currently, for example, i’m writing a fic where akira and goro were dating after canon, broke up, and stayed together in a deeply dysfunctional way after that - and the consequences for them now that they’re forced to deal with the mess they’ve made of their lives, together and apart. so now they have to deal with: the catalyst for dealing with their old problems, which is a problem in itself, and their old problems, which have been festering for a really long time.

which forms the core of the scope i’m talking about. i have to go through a bunch of scenes to set this fic up - i need to show their old problems and their new problems, i need to explain why the old ones haven’t been dealt with already, i need to set up the potential for dealing with them and the necessity of doing so, i need to give them places to start, and also i want to allow them to fail so they can choose to start again. i know these things because i have some idea of the kind of story i want to tell. if i didn’t know this, my story would not go anywhere by itself, and i would have to start outlining scene by scene the way people who actually outline do it, and i hate doing that because then i never write.

if you can outline and it doesn’t make you want to chew wood, then i highly recommend picking up the habit. it’s very useful, and the methodical approach is a fantastic failsafe for the moments when you (me) get stuck on your fic (breakup au) and have to stop writing for several weeks in order to figure out a single fucking plot point that will let you move forward and

anyway.

so yeah! to sum up;

find a larger scope for your story

get in the habit of picking apart beats into discrete moments and guiding the narrative through them

learn to outline if you can

last thing - which is perhaps the most vital and least reliable - stamina.

you WILL lose interest in half the longer fics you write. it WILL suck. if you think you know pain because you have 700 words of a fic and can’t get through the last 400, i promise you it is like that but much worse because you have 7000 words now, or 17000 words, and you are stuck with no way forward. it will suck so BAD.

don’t beat yourself up over it. once you’re in the habit of writing something long, you will retain that habit, and be able to apply it elsewhere. the words aren’t wasted, they’re practice, and they’re worth what they’ve taught you.

but! all the scope and internal scene-building and outlines won’t help you if you do not (and this is not as bad as everyone makes it sound) actually write. you HAVE to learn to actually write. you have to figure out what you like about writing and make a longfic outline [/ scene beats notes chart / themes mind map / tumblr tag of inspiring quotes and photography] that consists entirely of stuff you love and then you have to sit down and write your fic. it is not terribly scary. it’s okay to fail, but you also have no way around this.

i hope this helped, and good luck!

#writelogging #ok 2 rb #anon #asks

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uhhhhyandere · 4 years ago

Note

👉👈 more yandere dimitri pls,,, that last one you wrote,,,, WHEW

haha idk where this was going or like... what the plot is or even what it’s about... but i had fun HAHAHA and literally all that matters

so here’s 8k words of purple prose and pointlessness and idk what else i love him so much... also not proofread bc I'm lazy. y’all stan a lazy ass author.

warnings: gory, death of minor characters, kinda bloody too, injury, manipulation

”It’s stupid. I-I don’t think… I just don’t want to get my hopes up, Annie. It’s been years…” With Garreg Mach looming on the cliffside, memories began to resurface with each field and decrepit village you, Annette, and Mercedes passed. They were fields where you would train relentlessly in the early hours of the day. An excuse, you think, to see him more. Innocent enough. Who wouldn’t want to improve their skill with the future King of Faerghus? Under those very trees is where you would have clandestine meetings at the same time beginning after the celebration of your victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Undeniably, the best night of your life.

You silently thanked Sylvain for slipping into the wine cellars and claiming you all had to finish the stolen bottles and clear the evidence. The only people still okay enough that night to do any cleaning were Mercedes and Dedue. Felix was technically okay too, but he left far before Annette was vomiting in the washroom to actually help out.

Your drunken first kiss at your bedroom door that Dedue definitely did not see. The sober one the day after. The sneaky one after breakfast. Quick one after training. Goddess, the heavy one in the dead of night after you scurried upstairs that Sylvain and Felix one hundred percent did not overhear through the paper-thin walls of the dorms. Countless kisses under the shadow of covers, night, until the ball. If everyone and their mothers didn’t suspect something was up when you two did not even realize you were the only pair left dancing, all eyes on you, until Sylvain whistled from the crowd, well, you would be deathly concerned about them.

“But those memories are from a long time ago, Mercie.” You pulled yourself from your thoughts. “Thinking about them only hurts. This place, what’s left of it, only hurts.” Mercedes set a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You think after five whole years, it wouldn’t hurt as much, but I don’t think I’ll be okay until this war is over. Until the cause of this - of all this pain and misery - is put to rest. Back then, even if we could have died at the end of any month, I thought he was invincible. I fled Fhirdiad as soon as I heard. Like a coward.”

“You can’t honestly think that! The Empire was taking the city. If you stayed, you could have died too! Don’t think like that.” You rolled your head back to look at the dark sky. You would make it back before it starts, at the very least.

“Everyone grieves in different ways, and it courses through us all at different paces. You have to let yourself hurt.” You shook your head, beginning to see the shadow of the village at the base of the monastery.

“I’ve been hurting for years now. When I met up with Felix in Fraldarius territory, he told me that the distraction will get me killed. An hour later he saved my life in battle, so he's ever the same. I wonder if he decided to show today. Sylvain would inevitably follow then. I’ve always thought--hey, do you hear that?” You stopped your movements suddenly, holding your arms to stop them as well. FIghting.

“Is it the Empire?”

“I don’t know, but we should help out anyway,” Annette replied. “Come on!”

You expected the Empire, but you weren’t surprised when you encountered thieves attempting to saunter off with the abandoned riches of the monastery. It was just like any other weekend you were off the road of bandits with the Blue Lions to clear a path for bandits.

Until you saw him. A ghost. As pale as one, at least. A hulking, nearly unrecognizable mass of strength shrouded in black and blue. Relentless, he tore through his path of thieves, the professor and Gilbert hot on his trail. The… professor? They were alive too? Your hand shook at your side. They’re both… okay? You swallowed. The professor always did tend to micromanage Dimitri. You realized you could not swallow with a closing throat, wobbling along with your chest. Wheezing, crying, freezing in battle. You heard Mercedes and Annette all around you behind a wall of fog. Legs shaking, you fell to the ground, hand tight to your chest.

“Y/N, come on, get up!” It was Annette’s urging, but she stopped suddenly. Two sets of feet set up around you. A barrier to protect you as your muscles shook. Get up. You have to. Get off the ground and fight. Just as he always taught you.

Your bow came out quick, sniping an enemy in Mercedes’ blind spot. Before you can do anything, argue it was your imagination that conjured the sound of his grunts and the blue of his eye, you had to survive to see them and keep track of Sylvain in the corner of your eye. He still tended to always look right instead of left. Were you not so shaken up, you would have reacted to seeing the rest of your old house in battle, but your mind kept filtering back. You did not see him again in battle. He and the professor were far ahead, after the familiar bandit you had dealings with from Anna, with the remaining three bandits. You, Annette, and Mercedes went to secure the area to make sure there was no bandit unaccounted for.

Didn’t last, though, as you fell to the ground against the foundations of a destroyed house, legs outstretched and limp. With your palm being held tightly over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes tight to get any remaining liquid out.

“Y/N…”

“H-he’s alive.”

“We know. We saw-”

“He’s alive. I spent five years grieving for someone who was here. I-I should have known he was here. I thought about it. I thought about it, but then I second-guessed myself and said that it would only hurt more. Searching for the dead. Pining for them, but look. I-I don’t know. I don’t know if I can even face him.”

“And you don’t want to.” Felix’s voice was just as sharp as it always was. He was grimacing, pace fast as he joined the three of you. “He is not the Prince you fell in love with. He’s the boar that’s been festering underneath his polite smile” With an exhale through your nose, you looked away. Felix really could read you like a book. He scoffed. “You knew too, didn’t you? All this time. Of course. I shouldn’t have put it past you to push things under the rug as you always do.”

“Felix…”

“It’s true. It’s how they even got through the relationship. Not as perfect as you thought, huh?”

“Felix, I think that’s enough.”

“No,” you interrupted. “He’s right. I knew. I was at the rebellion. I was at that battle that is ingrained into Felix’s memory. I was in the Holy Mausoleum when we found out the Flame Emperor's identity, but he never told me… I didn’t know the extent. You all knew he would hide me from all harm, including himself. Do you really think he would tell me whatever plagues him now? Though, I could take a good guess after spending a few nights in his room back then.” You swallowed, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “How bad is he?”

“A lowly beast.”

“There you all are. Professor says to regroup. Says we have plans to discuss, if you all are interested - woah, you okay?” Sylvain scratched the back of his head. “Oh right, yeah. Well, I don’t know how long His Majesty is willing to wait. He looks pretty - uh - impatient.” You shook your head and used the wall to support you back to your feet.

“Reunions like this are usually supposed to be happy, aren’t they? I-I’m sorry I’m ruining it on you all. I really am so relieved to see you all okay. It’s just… there’s a lot of emotion going on right now.” It was Mercedes’ hand on your back. You needn’t look to know.

“You don’t have to face anything you aren’t ready for.”

“No, I need to see what he has become. It’s as Felix says. I can no longer ignore problems I must face. I can do it, but we still have to check the perimeter…” Sylvain shook his head.

“Teach had Ashe and Ingrid do it right after you left.” Your professor always knew you better than you could ever know. “Well, let’s go then. Don’t want to keep them waiting on us too long.” His brown eyes came in close. “You hardly look like you’ve been crying, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t!” Annette stomped on his foot. “Y/N, it’s going to be okay. Me and Mercie are right with you!” A smile broke out on your face. Albeit sad, you nodded your head and believed her. Though you both knew, in the scheme of things, you were alone in this battle.

“Sorry, teach. You know Felix. Walks like a grandpa.” Sylvain, as common as it is for him to be the asshole, was a kind soul. No matter how much he tried to hide it. You gifted him a small smile of thanks as he glanced back. You were in the back of the small group when you joined the semicircle surrounding Gilbert, Byleth and… and… you couldn’t do this.

His hair has grown long and unkempt. Grease and grime painted his hair, his skin, his clothes. The armor he wore just a few shades darker than the circles under his single remaining eye but, oh, it still glittered brighter than the rainy sky. That was his eye. Though only one remained, it was his. This was your Dimitri. You clenched your teeth, for you could not cry anymore. Even if this Dimitri, from what you have heard, would not care for your tears, Dimitri five years ago would. You would stay strong for him if no one else.

And when his eye met yours, goddess, the jolt was felt down your spine. You knew your face screamed your emotions. You were no Felix, Slyvain, or Byleth. Lips parting, your breath halted as he kept your gaze. Nothing on him reacted. Goddess, his gaze was so much more piercing. You did not dare to move. As if you were a stranger, his eye flicked back to Gilbert as the knight continued to speak. Annette grabbed your hand from beside you and you squeezed so hard you watched her wince, yet she remained steadfast in holding yours just as tight.

For the mornings spent under the trees in the field after training, you would not cry. Dimitri is alive. He is here. A few steps away, though miles remained in between, he was alive. Within his dead eye, people will find hope. You will find hope. You know Gilbert already has as he speaks about returning to the monastery to begin to plan for the retaliation against the Empire. You know the former Blue Lions have as well, as they follow the professor loyally back up the ruined stairs you used to trip on far too often. You wondered if Dimitri can feel your eyes on the back of his head, or if he has come to be numb to that as well.

Annette did not let go of your hand until it was out of shock in the chapel. Its remnants littering the floors. Still, the peace of the goddess remained. Its silence was a lullaby to your worries. She, it had to be her, brought back the ones you love most. There was no other power. There couldn’t have been. Even though there was a hole where she used to stand, you thanked the rain beginning to pour in.

You would be strong for the boy Dedue would sneak you to in the dead of night. To wherever the Duscur man maybe, you would do it for him, too.

But being brave and strong was always easy for the people in Ashe’s books. They did not hesitate through their fear. It pushed them to be the heroes they are, but you could not find that platform to jump from. A mouse approaching a wolf, a boar. You sought help from the expert himself.

“Have you? I mean, have you tried to talk to him?” Ashe fiddled with the padding on his glove.

“No, not yet. Felix, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Mercedes have, though. You should ask them. They can probably be more help than me.” Stepping onto the wall separating Garreg Mach from the cliff, you sat next to him, allowing your feet to dangle in the open air.

“No, I think I need someone as scared as me. Someone who wants to be a knight from one of your books, but is the measly coward in the back used for poetic comparisons. Not that you are. I’m talking about me.” Ashe shook his head.

“It’s only been a few days since we’ve arrived.”

“And you think I would have already sought out the man I fell in love with already? A faithful reunion. Not quite like the ones in the romances.”

“I don’t think anything going on is anything like a book.” You furrowed your brows. “I know that’s crazy coming from me, but no book is like another. They have similarities, but they are all inherently different. This one we’re in now, this is ours. This is what people will be reading about and looking to for help. Us. No book can help us right now. I think only we can help ourselves and each other.” You kicked your heel against the wall repeatedly. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “You should try. If Dimitri will listen to anyone, it’s you or the professor, and they tried already.” You could feel your throat beginning to close up.

“What do I even say? What if I say the wrong thing? He’s hurt, Ashe. He always has been. I don’t want to… I can’t push him more. He’s not off the deep end yet. He can’t be. I don’t want to be the final straw. I know what I’ll say if I get too… emotional.” The man sighed, green eyes scanning the clouds.

“Well, from my humble opinion, which you don’t have to take, is that, if what you’re saying is true, you’re hurting him by avoiding him.” He stopped fiddling with the leather. Instead, he placed his hand on your thigh. “He is, deep down, the same Dimitri we know. What if he was the same, and you were doing this?”

“That’s debating if he is the same underneath. Knights are torn, but I know he’s there. He wouldn’t so easily feed into it. I know it. It may be time and so much help, but he’s in there. This is part of him. This is not an imposter. This is just as much of him as the one we knew so well. It… has to be, because I don’t know what I’m going to do if it’s not.”

Nights seem to be falling earlier and earlier with nonstop cleaning, repairs, and supply running. Even if you wanted to, you lacked the time to seek the prince out. The greenhouse had to be fixed. The rubble had to be cleared. The holes had to be patched. Communication had to be made. Word was the Knights of Seiros would be arriving this evening. Preparations had to be made for that. How the hell did Cyril do this day-in and day-out?

You were exhausted by the time Seteth and company arrived and set to meet in the chapel. The second time you’ve seen Dimitri since the bandits. The millionth time war efforts were to be discussed. Most of that work was carried out by Byleth and Gilbert. You only needed to follow orders, and your orders were to clean. Sorting out your emotions was just a side job.

“Y/N. Y/N. Are you listening?” Seteth’s scolding, something etched into your brain from the academy, broke you from your thoughts. However, you first regarded Dimitri, who looked at you the same as he did the first time, before having the courage to look at Seteth.

“I-I’m sorry. Lost in my own thoughts.”

“I asked if you have heard anything from Aegir? I know you were in contact with Ferdinand during the past five years.” Dimitri’s eye burned holes through your head. You could feel the sweat from it on your scalp.

“Duke Aegir has been placed under house arrest, sir. Everything from their title and land has been stripped from them. I… haven’t heard anything since. It would be safe to presume that they will not be an in with the Empire.” Yours and Ferdinand’s history stretches only back to the academy; however, before you and Dimitri became official, you and he would occasionally… work some stress out. Casually. Dimitri always hated this fact, but he did his best to hide the jealousy from you.

“It’s not fair of me to judge you on what you have done in the past,” he said. “I will be more mature about my feelings.” Though the gleam in his eye now was all too familiar.

“I see. Thank you.” Something within you kept you from meeting Dimitri’s eye. A fear he would look away, so you focused on Seteth, Gilbert, and Byleth as they discussed the steps to making Garreg Mach the Kingdom’ base. When the meeting ended, however, you did not listen to such fear. Dimitri spent his time in the chapel. The spectacle to gawk at. It was no surprise when he did not move as the rest of the group disperse, and neither did you.

But he would not break first. Turning around, his cape followed him back towards the wreckage of where the altar used to be. You followed with steps as silent as possible. Opening your mouth to speak, you released only empty air. Inhaling, you tried once again, but a wall erected itself in your throat, cutting you off once more.

“If you have something to say, speak.” His words, guttural, reverberated in you. Wringing your hands together, you took one last deep breath.

“Dimitri.”

“Do you wish to speak of the past?” His head turned, so you could only see one eye peeking from under his bangs. “The boy you loved is long dead. There is nothing here for you.” You shook your head and took an adamant step forward.

“T-that’s not true.” A dry laugh escaped him.

“Is it not? Are you not frightened of me? Is it not why you have hidden yourself ever since you arrived? You know it as well as I.” You tapped your fingers against your thigh. You had to remain calm and patient. He was going to try to push you away, and you knew that. Do not stray from the path.

“It was not you I was scared of, Dimitri.” Another laugh. This one wry. He turned around to face you then. You knew he had gotten bigger, stronger, but he stood so much higher than you. A power stance you would not succumb to. This is the same boy who broke a pair of scissors and was scared Mercedes would yell at him and smuggled sweets for you two to have late at night to study for your certification exams. “Do not tell me it is because you think you could have changed something. Prevented something. Nothing would have changed whether you were here in the past five years or not. Do not think so much of yourself.”

You squared your shoulders. You did not want to take this route, but you had to provoke some type of emotion towards you. Something to tell you that you are more than the tool of war to use against Edelgard, and he had already given you a hint.

“Then what about at that meeting, when Seteth asked me about Ferdinand? I saw the look you gave me. I’ve seen it before too. You cannot hide that.” His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you felt successful. “You can say anything you want. How I am insignificant, a tool to use, another body to die in your path to revenge, but do not-” you pointed a finger at him “-tell me what we had was nothing. I want to see what you see. I don’t want you to shut me out.” His eyes trailed down to your finger, and with an armored, gloved hand, pushed it aside.

“So you admit it then? A tool at my disposal. To use and then break?” You shook your head, and your throat clenched once again.

“You would add me to the list of people who already haunt you?”

“You know nothing of the dead. Of what they say to me. There is nothing for me to be concerned about other than taking the head off of that girl’s shoulders. Should you die getting in my way, then so be it.” His lance to the heart, but you would not let the pain show. He was the same boy who broke his training lance and hit Leonie with the broken handle and fretted about it for the next month, despite the blood on his hands. You had to believe that. Latch on to that single hope.

“You always did what you could to protect me. From Demonic Beasts, bandits, Felix’s words, but right now, I think you’re protecting me from yourself.” Metal against your neck. In a blink of an eye, his lance touches the skin.

“Do not speak as if you know me, and do not speak anymore, or else I will slice your throat where you stand. Go away. If you return, I will not hold back, and I will use you to the bone.” A competition played out between your eyes, but, in the end, you succeeded. Walking out the monastery with a drop of blood on your neck, you did not allow any other droplets to fall until you crossed the bridge into the reception hall.

You don’t who you cried for, or for how long until Catherine found you and guided you back to your room. Thoughts floated from Dimitri, his words, the past, to Dedue and his untimely passing and your peers that were now your enemies that Dimitri was ready to kill without hesitation and the reality of your death that could come in any battle here on forth.

Three knocks on your door. Too hard to be Ashe’s, Mercedes’, or Annette. Not hard enough to be Felix yelling at you to train like he used to when he could find no one else.

“Sorry. I was just passing by, and, well, wanted to check in.” The last thing you wanted Sylvain saying was that he heard your balling your eyes out. With shaky hands, you wiped your burning cheeks and unlocked the door for him to enter. “Oh, what happened? What’s that bandage from? Don’t tell me…” You motioned for the noble to come in and relocked the door. You didn’t want any more visitors.

“Yeah, I talked to him.”

“He hurt you?”

“I went too far. I-I shouldn’t have pushed him so deep into his emotions, presuming things he felt. It was just a scratch. I’m fine. You have the eye, Sylvain. You must have noticed the meeting.” You sat on your bed, while he spread himself on your desk chair.

“I remember he used to come to me during those times. How he can show his love for you through other means. How he had lost you before even had a chance to try. He was so stressed, and so hopelessly into you. I thought he had it for the professor, but color me surprised when he sought me out for advice on you.” You shook your head.

“Never should have started that with Ferdinand.”

“Something about nobles, huh?”

“Shut up, Sylvain. I-Look, I can’t even focus on the past right now. I use it to remind myself I’m talking to my Dimitri, and not the monster everyone fears. That, that man suffering alone in that chapel is the boy who got nervous every time we kissed, but… but it’s so hard. As soon as I saw him that day, I was shocked, overjoyed, but I knew something was wrong the same minute. He’s been alone for five years. By himself. The only people to talk to him were the dead. What kind of… I’m supposed to be the one that knows this, sees this, and helps this, but all I can do is cry in my damned room!” Sylvain was lighting fast to wrap his arms around you, and you clung on tighter to his shoulders. The sleeve of his shirt, the victim of your tears, saliva, and sobs until you had pushed your own self out of consciousness.

When you woke the next morning, your head lied on a breathing pillow. It did not take much to recall the previous night and you let yourself relax under human contact. It was something you have missed dearly in the past five years, and you know, despite his reputation, Sylvain would never try anything with you. Your eyes, heavy still from crying so hard, lazily trailed across the room. The window Dimitri almost broke with his lance, the desk you both hunched over figuring out the mathematical side of tactics, the potted plant the professor gave you for your birthday that Dimitri also broke, but replaced with the long dead ones present. The broken locks on your door from -

“Sylvain!” You jolted up, slapping his chest harshly. He woke with a groan while you stood and approached the door.

“Mm, what?”

“Did you hear anything last night? Banging, or snapping, after I fell asleep?” He rubbed your pillow over his face, so you approached him, tore it from his hands, and smacked him. “Sylvain. My door is broken.” Brown eyes were wide and glowing under the sun from the window. He rushed to check out the damage. “I think I know who would have…” He met your eyes. “Which means he saw - “

“Yeah, I get it. I’m a dead man.” You shook your head.

“Hey, hey, not yet. We could try to guess why he would come in here.” Sylvain rolled his eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? It isn’t to kill you. He already would have been in the chapel. Oh - we messed up. We messed up big time. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” You put your hand on his arm.

“It’s not your fault. You were here when I was sobbing. I can’t be mad at you for that. I’m mad at this whole situation. This war. Everything. You just need to avoid him at all costs. Stay with someone. Felix most likely. We could explain the situation to him, so he understands, and so he doesn’t think we… you know.”

“I get it. I get it.”

....

“Absolutely not.”

“Felix, it’s only until I get this sorted.” Felix groaned, tying his hair back.

“I’m not playing babysitter, and I’m not letting you handle this on your own. You’ll get yourself killed.” You shook your head.

“He wouldn’t kill me.”

“He actually told you he would.”

“But he wouldn’t. I trust that he wouldn’t, and if one of the two of us were to approach him, it could not be you. Out of the question. It would have to be me, and you both know that, and it has to be as soon as possible. I mean, as in-”

“Have you all seen Dimitri?” Ingrid popped around the corner. “It’s the Empire - they’re coming. Gear up and get ready. We don’t know what forces they’re bringing, but we cannot allow them to take the monastery again.” Of course, of all times.

“We’ll worry about this later. Do not let this distract you on the battlefield. Focus on surviving and nothing else. Got it?” Felix held a finger to your face. You nodded. “Good. Come on, Sylvain. We’ll see you out there.”

Focus on surviving. You were always focused on surviving. Battle was not merely just slaying your enemies. You were the priority. Not the oncoming enemies. That fact never changed during battle. That was the first thing the professor taught you; however, his selfless behavior on the battlefield would have anyone thinking twice. When it comes to fighting with people you cared about, priority gets muddled.

Dimitri was no longer focused on surviving. His priority was to kill, slaughter his way to Edelgard. Nothing else mattered. In this way, his fighting has improved tenfold. No reasonable person would want to confront him in physical combat, which made life harder for everybody else. Being a distance fighter, you, Ashe, Annette, and Mercedes were able to watch his back. Of course, Byleth couldn’t risk that many people micromanaging him. For strategy’s sake, it’s suicide. Mercedes was a critical healer and menace being trained a gremory. That source of power would not and could not be squandered. Ashe had worked incredibly hard to be a bow knight, and your most powerful archer can also not be used as a protector of one person.

The job usually came down to you. Both by order of elimination and by your lack of ability to focus elsewhere. Your eyes were naturally drawn to the splattering blood and the behemoth of a man as the source. Byleth knew this just as well as you. You were the definition of predictable on the battlefield.

But, the one thing you forgot was that, on a battlefield, nothing is predictable. To be able to predict the cavalier was able to reach you with his javelin was precautionary, week-one lessons, but, still, it sunk into your side. Unimaginable pain. The raw snap of impact. Warm blood cascading down your leg. Think… think! You had to get somewhere safe. Somewhere an imperial soldier wouldn’t finish you off. Hopefully, someone else would take care of that soldier before they reached you.

Each inch was crippling. The gathering of bushes and trees seemed so far, and your energy was slipping exponentially fast. You’d be out from blood loss in due time. It even began to drip from your mouth and onto the already stained grass. Almost there. The moment your foot crossed the threshold to the hideaway, you went lip on your back. Smoke and flames met the already decaying sky.

You glanced down your body. The javelin was at least a third in your body. Getting it out would just expedite the process, so you allowed yourself to lie your head back. Distant shouts and screams and metal clashing filled the air. The smell of the earth around you drowned out by the putrid scent of burning flesh. Something you never take note of while fighting for your life.

Peace was not a word to use in these places, but you had no other one to use as you lied still. Is this what Dimitri meant? You wondered what he would think and say when he heard, or even saw, your death. Your death. Another nameless, pointless death in Edelgard’s ruthless path to her goal. You can see Mercedes and Annie crying. Maybe even Sylvain and Ingrid. Felix, perhaps, would cry, but you were sure he’d be pissed at you. And Dimitri…

You sobbed. Perhaps you really were worthless, but you wanted to hope, to pray that he would be there each time you opened your eyes back to the gruel world around you. Each time, he wasn’t.

Until he was.

Blood dripped down his face, none of which was his own. It matted down his locks and dripped from each lock. Areadbhar glowed in his hand and dragged across the flattened grass and mud. The air was only able to jostle the very ends of his hair. His mouth opened, canines peeking from the corner of his lips. Leaving the smoke and fire behind him, Dimitri got larger and larger.

Goddess, he was beautiful. Even as he stared with an empty eye down at you, you couldn’t help but gasp. An angel of death. You moved to rise, but the rip of his lance on your breast pushed you back down. His eye traversed down your figure to your wound. The weapon rose and fell with your breath.

“Dimitri,” you breathed out.

“I told you, did I not?” His chin rose and Areadbhar’s tip dug just a hair deeper. “Foolish Y/N. You are too weak for the thick of battle.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “But you will not die by imperial hands. I will not allow it. If you are to die, it will be by my hands.” Your fists gripped the grass. Dimitri hummed. “You won’t say that I wouldn’t? Or do you finally realize the truth?”

“If you’re going to do it, just do it. Neither of us need this “ -you coughed -”stalling.” His elbow retracted and you winced, ready for the final blow.

“Y/N!” Sylvain. At the silence that followed, you peeked an eye open. Dimitri was focused on the source of the voice, giving you room to squiggle away until he forced the lance forward again. This time, the tip traced your left cheekbone. “Y/N!” Dimitri was daring you to speak, but, right now, you could hardly breath.

“You said you were not scared of me, before. Are you scared now?” He paused. “You said you want to see what I see. Do you keep your word? Do you honor it?” Were you supposed to answer? Fear crippled your ability to formulate words. “You will not die yet.” Areadbhar’s glow now dominated your left visual field.

In a second, everything in that field went black, and you screamed.

…

“I watched you go down,” Felix said. “You were at the higher ground, where you usually are in the midst of battle. You might as well have painted a target on your back if I can see you from across the plain, you idiot. That javelin went into your side,” amber eyes locked onto the bandages covering your side, “but I watched nothing touch your eye.”

Thank the goddess for Manuela and Mercedes. Without an expertise in white magic, you would be long dead. By the same token, thank the goddess for Sylvain who found you bloody and passed out in the cover of the bushes and delivered you to them on horseback.

Your fingers traced the bandages that wrapped around your head and covered your left eye. Everything to your left periphery and everything not covered by your right eye was black. It didn’t throb, didn’t hurt anymore, because there were no more nerves to send that pain to your brain.

“What happened, Y/N?” Ingrid cut in. Her, Felix, and Annette stood around your bed in the medical bed. You shook your head.

“I… I don’t remember. The last thing I recall is crawling towards the cover. I don’t even know if I got there.”

“Liar.” Felix abruptly stood. “Stop defending that boar, and just say it.” Your mouth opened, but Ingrid cut him off.

“Felix, are you saying you think Dimitri took her eye?”

“I know it,” he snapped back. “I’m right, aren’t I, Y/N? Just say it. Say that beast took your eye while we were all distracted in battle.” Your eyes glanced to the others, unconsciously asking for help.

“Felix, you’re adding unnecessary stress. Come on. We should give them space. We’re lucky they’re not dead” Her hand locked onto Felix’s arm. He grimaced, glaring down at you while he shook himself from her grip.

“When will you ever start caring about yourself? There is more death than just physical.” He spit out before stomping out of the room. Ingrid sent you a sympathetic smile and followed her childhood friend out. Annette left soon as well under the excuse of giving you time to rest, but you could not rest. Dimitri’s face haunted you every time your working eye closed. Every throb was its own lance. Its own mark.

His mark.

You thought you were crazy the first time you reflected on why you and Dimitri’s eye total was the same as a normal human being. You thought you were insane for romanticizing it. It was terrifying. Inhumane. To you, at least, but to him, you knew, it was a mark of possession. That when people saw you, thought of you, it would always be connected to him, but it was also a threat. Not only to those who dare try to do you harm that isn’t him, but to you. I told you. This is what you get and will continue to get.

You waited until the sun set, until the priests and priestesses would no longer be in your room to cry, so your pathetic cries of anguish would be bouncing off the walls in peace. Curling in on yourself, you buried your chin between your arms and stared into the dark room. Waiting and watching, a large silhouette emerged from the darkest corner and approached. Cold claws of his armor wiped away the tears on one cheek while simultaneously breaking the skin. You could only barely make him out through the moonlight in the open window next to you. Dimitri circled the bed, looking down at you from the side before bending down and planting his lips on your cheek. His warm tongue wiped at the newfound beads of blood, and you hissed at the contact. He separated himself just enough to look at the bandages around your eye.

“I get it,” you said. “I get it.”

…

Luckily (as lucky as you can get during the situation), the damage cut clean through the nerves, so all ganglion cells and connections to the optic nerve were completely severed. No nerves. No signal to the brain. No pain. Still, it would be a while before the tissue repaired and scabbed over.

You didn’t know what to do with Dimitri, frankly. Part of you was terrified to even approach him. Another was equally as terrified, but this was out of what he would do if you were with someone else again. You were sure of the correlation between your broken door and your stolen eye. You wonder, then, what else he could have seen? Sparring with Felix or advice sessions with Ashe or… too many instances come to mind.

Byleth pushed you to train more with your periphery severely impacted, and, when the time to march came, confined you to Garreg Mach until you were proficient enough not to get yourself killed.

“Good,” was all Dimitri said on the matter. It wasn’t until your assault into the Empire that Byleth deemed you ready for actual battle. Up until then, you spent your time training. First, it was with the knights, until all of a sudden they no longer desired to raise arms with you. Something about the demon over your shoulder. You looked to Catherine, who glanced to the door, where a large shadow quickly disappeared. You inhaled sharply and pursued.

“No one is willing to train with me. Do you have something to do with it?”

“They can’t help you,” he responded. He quickly strode down familiar, overgrown paths down to the fields below until you both reached the same field he had trained with you in years ago. Dimitri spun around, raising his lance. “They don’t understand.” From your blindspot, he swung, and you barely dodged out of the way, feeling the very wind from the force. “Get up and arm yourself.” You quickly shuffled to your feet.

“Why? Aren’t you… don’t you plan to kill me, anyway?”

“Equip yourself. I will not have filthy empire hands decide your demise, and I won’t have you staying behind on your own.” You gave up on trying to read into him. “Now, fight.”

It was brutal. Unlike the helpful and cautious nature of his corrections and demands, you learned through mistakes. If your leg got slashed, you moved it the next time. If you were pushed and forced to one side, you adjusted your posture for the next time. Dimitri gave you no breaks, no time to tend to the cuts and bruises he gave you. There was hardly time to catch your breath before he was charging again, forcing your back against a nearby oak. He seemed to not be bothered or fatigued at any point.

It would not be the first time your back was pinned against this very tree. Dimitri growled, his weapon lodged into the wood right behind your ear. A moment passed where it was five years ago, hands tight on your hips and heavy breaths swallowed by one another. Now, he pulled his weapon back and went in for another strike.

“It’s dark. I think we need to go back.”

“You think they will not use the guise of darkness? That we will always fight when the sun is out? Arm yourself.”

You limped back to Garreg Mach. The only real guide you had, with Dimitri’s brutal pace, was his footstep imprints and the sound of him pressing on. By the time you reached the gate, you nearly collapsed with Dimitri far ahead. Thank the goddess Anna was around to get help. Byleth’s dark cape flew behind them as they rushed through the market. They rushed you, as fast as you could go on weak legs, to the same bed you were confined to with your eye. Manuela dropped the elixir in her hand as you and your entourage busted through her door.

“Goddess, what happened?! No matter. Get them inside.”

Felix was going to kill you.

But still, when you were able, you met Dimitri again in the same field. And again. And again. Until you were no longer on the verge of death each nightfall when you returned. Your former housemates did not hesitate to chastise you or even micromanage you, but, inevitably, they had to do their own work, and you set off. Felix gave you an innumerable amount of choice words before it seemed he gave up.

You were confident heading into the empire. No opponent you would face, close up or far, was Dimitri. They were far smaller, thinner, and weaker. You’d even say they seemed to have less physical intent to kill you compared to the blonde. You traded in your bandages to a white eyepatch similar to Dimitri’s except there was still padding for the raw skin underneath. Something that inevitably drew enemy forces towards you.

“Y/N?” Despite the cruel, ruthless nature of battle, Ferdinand’s voice held the same noble gentleness. Your eye, wide and wild, met his. Across a stretch of corpses, the redhead stood tall, long hair matted down in the wind. You swallowed. “Y/N!” He called again, eyes wide behind you. In a split second, you turned to see an armored knight’s axe impending down on you. The next, a lance impaling them that breezed from over your shoulder.

“You killed your own man.”

“He almost killed you.” You hurried to dislodge his weapon from the body.

“...Thank you,” you muttered, handing the lance back to him. Your eyes rose to behind his shoulder. “F-Ferdinand!” Your warning came too late. Dimitri’s blunt force knocked him to the ground. There was no warning, no room for words, before the sickening sound of death cracked in front of you. Again… and again… and again. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Keep your eyes open. This? Was your fault.” Blood splattered onto his pale features, adding to the pattern already decorating his skin. “Let’s go. Stay by me.” Not that you usually didn’t. Still, your legs would not move. Not with the fresh corpse between the two of you. “What?” Dimitri hissed out. “Are you upset? He was just another body in our way... unless it was something more to you?” You shook your head, taking a hold of your bow tighter. “Good. Let’s go.” Dimitri did not bother to even look back, and you… you could not even look down, and hurried to follow.

You didn’t sleep for days. Ferdinand’s kind smile on your mind. You did not dare tell anyone of his gruesome demise. Though, looking at the detail, the monstrous nature of it, it didn’t take too much thought to guess who was responsible for it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to celebrate Dedue’s return. The thing about him though was that he never let too many things go unnoticed.

“How are you?” He simply asked, and you lost it.

“-I couldn’t do anything. I-I couldn’t! Or… or I didn’t. Oh, goddess, I don’t know.” Your hands shook in front of you. “He can do what he will to me, but to others? Because of me? I… fuck. I couldn’t tell anyone. Felix and co. are already suspicious enough.”

“I am sorry. I know those words do not mean much now, but, for what it is worth, I am.” He paused, furrowing his brows and focusing on the ground. “I-,”

“Y/N.” Dimitri hulked in the doorway. Where the hell does he come from? Dedue stood promptly.

“Your Highness,” he greeted. Dimitri briefly regarded the Duscur man before focusing on you once again.

“Come,” he said, and you followed, wishing Dedue a small farewell. Dimitri’s cape glided against the concrete. He led you across the bridge and into the empty echoes of the cathedral. It was far too late for any priests or students to linger. Especially with Dimitri lurking around in the late hours. “You still think about him.”

“I still think about his death,” you carified.

“Do not tell me you mourn for a man who was going to imprison you.” You scoffed.

“He saved me.”

“In order to take you back to the empire for information. Who else would he like to obtain than the one he grew feelings for? Do not be so naive to think he saved you so altruistically.” Your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. You and I both know how war works. Do you think Edelgard and her army would not use every former connection to get ahead? There is no line on the path to victory. Being weak, showing compassion, is just how you get killed. How the enemy wins.” You shook your head.

“You said you were going to kill me. Did you not save me for that reason? My death is the same no matter whose hands it is by. It will have the same impact. One less body between Edelgard and you.” Dimitri’s eye glanced downwards, then shot back up to meet yours with a small chuckle.

“Are you not already dead? Have you not already succumbed to the wills of those who control your mind? Have you not already become your own form of monster?” You shook your head and took a step back.

“N-no, I’m not.”

“You are not? You allow these cuts and bruises to litter your body. You allow your own eye to be stolen. You allow others to die. You allow all of this without consequence. You are a worse kind of monster: the one that allows another to live, to unleash without consequence. You hardly see the others anymore. You do not train with them, eat with them. They tend to your wounds and you run to get more.” Metal fingers gripped your chin and forced your head upwards. “I told you I would kill you, and I have.”

HIs kiss was fire compared to the ice of his armor pushing against you. All-consuming, Dimitri’s lips molded to yours and his teeth pierced your skin. He licked at your lips, and you willingly opened your maw to let him in. You willingly allowed him to drown you out, to push you towards a pew and lock you between his body and the wood. He only separated to breath before digging for more, more. His tongue dragged across your own and touched upon your teeth, tasting your intricacies with increasing vigor. He inhaled every exhale you panted into his mouth. These were not the kisses Dimitri five years ago gifted you.

“You taste the same…” he whispered. “Show yourself to me. Let us be dead together.”

#yandere fe3h #yandere fire emblem #fire emblem fic #dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #yandere dimitri #yandere dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #fire emblem x reader #fe16 #fe16 x reader #fe3h x reader #tw yandere #tw: yandere #tw injury #tw: injury

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blossom-hwa · 3 years ago

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Light the Pyres |Rise| - SUNGYOON

Sungyoon + mc finally start getting their shit together I'm gonna scream

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, implied death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 4.6k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Previous: Light >> Rise >> Next: Burn

Golden Child Masterlist

Walking with Sungyoon is slow.

It isn’t like you expected anything more, considering the injured leg and all. Still, as you start off down the highway, you can’t help but feel like he was walking faster yesterday when you two came back to find his family.

Maybe it was adrenaline. Worry. Fear for loved ones can give you a lot of strength.

Or maybe it’s just your imagination.

You try not to show it. You’re the one who offered to let Sungyoon come, after all. He even raised the issue of his leg before agreeing. But impatience rears its ugly little head every time Sungyoon falls behind, forcing you to slow your steps down never-ending streets and highways until he ultimately needs a break and you sit in what miniscule shade you can find.

If it wasn’t so silent, you might be able to stomach the walk better. Maybe if you and Sungyoon were on good enough terms to have a conversation, walking wouldn’t feel so endless and slow. But after you gave each other your names that night in the house, there hasn’t been much conversation other than “break?” and “let’s go.”

Daeyeol was quiet, but in a comfortable way, in a way you’d known for two decades. Sungyoon has a reserved quietude about him. Definitely not comfortable.

Though given the circumstances under which you met, that isn’t surprising.

Which is why you don’t expect Sungyoon to bring up the issue and not you. You always figured at some point you’d explode from keeping quiet too much and say things you couldn’t take back, but one week after you leave, Sungyoon opens his mouth and starts talking instead of eating the granola bar you put in his hand.

“Are you tired of walking with me?”

You blink once. Twice. You still have the presence of mind to be thankful you just took a mouthful of granola bar and have to chew and swallow before you say a thing.

“No,” you reply, lying through bits of granola stuck in your teeth.

Sungyoon raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Really.”

Indignation rises in your chest. “Well, what do you want me to say?” you snap. “Why are you even asking? What does it matter?”

He looks down. Shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, voice smaller and suddenly very tired. “I would’ve gotten tired in your position. I’m sorry.”

That just ups the guilt you feel for having those stupid thoughts. “Why are you sorry?” you say harshly, trying to disguise the emotion threatening to spill out of your mouth. “Last time I checked, doing whatever you did to your leg wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t land properly.”

“I was the one who told you to jump.” You grimace at the memory. “So unless you had practice in jumping off fucking buses before this all happened, I don’t see how that’s supposed to change the fact that you couldn’t control your jump from a bus taller than you.”

“I’m still slowing you down,” Sungyoon argues.

“What is this, a competition of who’s done worse?” You scoff. “In that case, if you didn’t remember, I forced you to choose between leaving your family or me killing them.”

Your words are acerbic. Grating. They burn guilty on your lips and tongue and you’re surprised Sungyoon doesn’t do anything more than swallow and look away, teeth worrying his lips. “They were already dead.”

Bitterness. Resentment. Not a lot, but just enough to tinge his words with a sickly venom that eats into your skin, filling your throat with bile. He doesn’t believe that, not yet, which you can’t even blame because you’re still trying to convince yourself it isn’t his fault that Daeyeol is dead.

Oh, God. Daeyeol.

Two bites of granola bar churn in your stomach. “I killed them anyway,” you manage, trying not to hurl.

“But I got Daeyeol killed.” Sungyoon turns, his eyes burning into yours.

Your fingers crush the remains of the granola bar still in your hand. Bits fall onto the ground, but you’re too busy focusing on a point in the distance to care, avoiding Sungyoon’s gaze for fear that you’ll launch yourself at him, claw his eyes out, throw him against the tree he’s sitting under –

Oh.

You stop throttling the granola bar.

This must be how he feels about you, too.

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe it.” Sungyoon’s voice, oblivious to your whirlwind of thoughts, is soft, bitter, but understanding. “Remember? The only reason I’m still here is because I’m living on his time.”

Bile stings in your throat, but you force yourself to lock eyes with him once more. “Yeah,” you croak. “Yeah. I do kind of believe it. But you also believe I killed your sister and her boyfriend, even if you keep saying they were already dead before I did it.”

His jaw tightens. Gaze shifts. But Sungyoon doesn’t argue.

You sigh. “I know the facts and I know it isn’t your fault, Sungyoon.” His name sounds weird on your tongue, but you push away the strange feeling and continue. “My brain just doesn’t want to believe it. Yet.” You swallow, hard. These next words better convey sincerity. “I don’t mean to act like your life only matters because Daeyeol sacrificed himself for us. It doesn’t. I do want you to stay alive if only for you to keep living. It’s just…” Another sigh. “I’m sorry.”

The truth doesn’t fall too flat, at least.

“Mine doesn’t either.” Sungyoon doesn’t raise his head, but one hand goes up to rub his downcast eyes. You fight the urge to tell him not to, that the dirt from his skin might cause an infection. “I would’ve had to kill them, one way or another. You just did it for me. Inevitable.” He looks up. “I shouldn’t blame you. I’m trying not to. Maybe I shouldn’t even have brought it up, I just didn’t want this to keep… festering.” He winces. “I’m sorry.”

“No more apologies.” You wrap up the remains of your granola bar, too drained to contemplate another bite even though you probably need it. “No more guilt. I think we’ve both done enough shit to each other to cancel most of it out.” And it feels weird. “Also, just because I’m impatient about you walking slowly doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you behind. I asked you to come. I’m not an absolute shithead. When you walk it off, you’ll be fine. Maybe we can find some bikes or something in the next city. I don’t know.”

Sungyoon blinks, then nods. Silence falls, a little less tension-filled than before. Then –

“I used to run track.”

You blink, trying to register his five word statement. It feels so out of place, but then you remember you were talking about going faster. “Were you any good?”

A brief glint of pride flashes in Sungyoon’s eyes. “One of the best.”

“Well, track boy, I guess we’ll have to wait until a horde finds us to verify that statement.” Your lips almost curve, and you feel a small bit of satisfaction as Sungyoon’s mouth twitches similarly. Morbid humor. Maybe that’s something you, him and Daeyeol have in common. “Go to sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

He sleeps, then, more quietly than you’ve ever seen him. And as his breaths begin to even, there’s a hint of the peace you used to feel when it was just you and Daeyeol instead.

It lets you pretend that things aren’t really as bad as they seem.

. . . . .

And things aren’t too bad, at least not for a while. Limping along, you and Sungyoon make it through a second week and then a third without ripping out each other’s throats. There are still infuriating flashes of fury and anger when Sungyoon does or says something that reminds you a little too much of Daeyeol, and sometimes you catch him glancing over with lips pressed together, eyes torn in grief. But it lessens. A little. Two weeks after that initial conversation, you find Sungyoon almost pleasant company. On some days, you even consider taking out the almost.

Until the horde attacks.

You and Sungyoon manage to run fast, to lose most of the zombies in a maze of abandoned buildings in a dusty city. The last few you shoot dead. When that’s over, you both breathe a sigh of relief.

Then Sungyoon faints, of all things, and when you finally drag him into one of the empty houses nearby and get him to come to, he can’t put weight on his leg without collapsing on the floor. The skin is tight, the limb swollen. Running that fast on whatever injury he had made it much worse.

Fuck.

Your hands aren’t those of a doctor, not even those of a biology major. All you can do is manipulate machines, not blood flow or heartbeats. Yours is dangerously high as you step close enough to touch his leg with trembling fingers, feeling the swelling flesh beneath your skin.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Sungyoon says when you remain silent, dropping your hands from his prone body. His voice is weak with pain but strong in anger, though whether it’s anger at you or something else you aren’t sure. “Maybe a bigger fracture.”

“How do you know?”

“Got a few injuries running track.”

You swallow. “How… how long?”

“Probably a few weeks.” He looks down.

Weeks. Several weeks. It took around two months for you and Daeyeol to make it two thirds across the country, and part of the way you were driving. On Sungyoon’s leg, you’ve only gone a third of the remaining third, if you’re being generous. Probably more like a quarter.

Three quarters of a third left. You may not have been in a math class in months, but you can still calculate that you have a quarter of the whole way to go.

A quarter. A whole damn quarter. Two or three weeks would cut that down at least by a third. A half if you moved fast enough. But now you’re stuck here for that amount of time, waiting for Sungyoon’s leg to heal.

He doesn’t say anything when you walk out of the room, doesn’t call you back when you disappear into the hall and close the door and put your head against the wall and scream, silent, as pressure builds behind your eyes to signal tears you won’t let fall.

Sungyoon definitely hears when you kick the wall. He also definitely hears your muffled grunt of pain, judging by the look he gives your foot when you walk back into the room, trying to keep the emotions off your face.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, putting your bag down with as little force as you can in the corner. “Need anything?”

He shakes his head. Swallows around what looks like a dry throat. You raise a disbelieving eyebrow and take a half empty bottle of water out of the bag, tossing it over. He catches it easily. “Don’t lie to me,” you say, successfully keeping a bite out of your tone. “If you’re thirsty, you’re thirsty. No sense in hiding it.”

Behind the bottle, Sungyoon nods. The plastic crinkles slightly in the silence as you turn back to the bag, staring at the dwindling mess left inside. Some more granola bars, two full bottles of water, a few empty bottles, clothes and a couple sheets. Sungyoon’s pack probably doesn’t have much more.

You sigh. One of you is going to have to go out and hunt for supplies and with Sungyoon’s fractured leg, it’s clear which one has to go.

There are zombies lurking everywhere. The bullets in your gun are the only ones you have left. You need ammunition, food, and water, and you have no idea where to find it.

Great.

The sun is still in the sky when you look out the window. There are three, maybe four hours left before sundown, which gives you a little time to at least scope out the neighborhood you’ve ended up in. “I’m going out,” you say, standing up. “If I’m not back in three hours, assume I’m fucked. Stay here.”

“And if you are fucked?”

The way Sungyoon says it simultaneously makes want to smile but also want to punch him in the face. Humor. It always seems to come back when you’re at your lowest points. “Then you’re fucked,” you say as flippantly as possible. “At least you have one water bottle and a granola bar to see you through a day or two.”

If you didn’t know better, you’d say you hear Sungyoon snort as you leave the room. Though it was probably just the creaking door.

. . . . .

According to your watch, you come back two hours later with several bottles of water, a scraped leg, and two less bullets in your gun. “No food or ammunition, though there’s a cafeteria where I found some water,” you announce, wincing as you sit on the floor. “And zombies are still everywhere.”

“How do you think they find us?” Sungyoon asks, disconcertedly looking at the blood you’ve started dabbing off your leg. “And how did you get that?”

You pause, a strip of sheet pressed to your skin. “I… don’t know,” you admit. “I feel like they probably can’t see very well given their weird eyes and the fact that they still bump into buildings when trying to get at us. Hearing or smell?” You shrug, pouring a tiny bit of water onto the sheet. “And I got this running away from a group. Lucky they don’t move too fast or I wouldn’t have gotten back.”

“How many bullets left?”

“Ten.”

Sungyoon sucks in a breath.

“Yeah.” You glare at your gun, as though staring will somehow bring the two bullets back. “Might need to find some other sort of weapon.”

And transport. Like a bike or a car that miraculously still has enough fuel for you to hotwire. Though that’s secondary, considering you’re stuck here until further notice.

Silence falls as you finish cleaning your wound, wrapping it behind a strip of sheet with a sigh. “Hungry?”

He doesn’t answer. You frown. “Sungyoon?”

“You could go on. Alone.”

Your lips thin. Plastic crinkles in your grip. Just in time, you drop the water bottle in your hand before it explodes over the ground. “Hungry?” you ask again, voice choking.

Sungyoon doesn’t answer.

“Okay.” It takes all of your effort not to scream or shout or shake as you place a granola bar on the floor within his reach, along with a new bottle of water to replace the empty one sitting by his feet. “I’m going to take a nap. Say something if you need anything.”

He doesn’t say anything as you curl up on the floor, resting your head on your backpack. He doesn’t say anything as you turn around to face the wall.

He doesn’t say anything as you drift into an uneasy sleep.

. . . . .

Sungyoon doesn’t have a gun. Sungyoon doesn’t have a gun or bullets and the only other weapon you have is the blunt knife hidden in your backpack and you are thankful for this, because the next few days are unnerving.

He’s silent. Barely moves, never talks. He only ever eats when you threaten to shove food down his throat and doesn’t even half-smile the way he used to when you crack a sarcastic or morbid joke.

His words don’t leave you, either. You could go on. Alone.

It isn’t as though the thought hasn’t come to mind, you’ll admit, but every time it does, you brush it away. While you might have actually considered it when you first met, Sungyoon has grown on you (even in his silence) that you don’t feel comfortable with the idea of leaving him behind, even if he’s the one who brings it up.

You saw the loneliness and fear in his eyes that day you buried the bodies. You heard the emptiness in his voice when he said he didn’t have anywhere to go. You offered to let him come. You held out that offer even when he reminded you about his leg. Even a few weeks ago, when you were still restraining yourself from ripping out his throat every time he did something that reminded you too much of Daeyeol, you wouldn’t have rescinded your offer and left him alone unless he’d done something absolutely unforgivable. Which he never did.

So you won’t consider it. Even if it means taking longer to get to your mom. Beyond the fact that it just isn’t right, what would she say if she knew you abandoned someone you offered to take along?

But Sungyoon only ever speaks to bring it up, and every time, you pretend he never said anything. If you actually respond, you’re pretty sure it’ll deteriorate into either a yelling match or one of you just leaving the room. And considering Sungyoon can’t move, the one who leaves will be you.

The mental energy required for this conversation is too much for you to deal with right now.

But then you come back from a trip outside, limping on a re-bloodied leg and clutching a sheet to your bleeding arm an hour later than you told Sungyoon you’d be back. It’s dark when you enter the room, but the faint moonlight is just bright enough for you to see that the bed is empty and that the lump of Sungyoon is now on the floor.

The sheet drops from your hand.

“Sungyoon!”

A cracked cough sounds from the ground and you rush forward, ignoring the pain in your own limbs to lift him back up onto the bed. “What happened?” you ask, squinting into the darkness at where you think his leg is. “Did you make your leg worse?”

“You were late,” Sungyoon wheezes.

Frustration rises in your chest when he doesn’t answer the question, but you only nod tersely. “I had to hide for a while,” you say, trying to check his leg in the dark. “I’m sorry. But what were you doing?”

He still doesn’t answer. “Are you bleeding?”

“Sungyoon!” you snap, straightening. Your drop your bleeding arm and put weight on your injured leg, ignoring the resulting pain. “Answer me!”

“Why don’t you just leave?” Sungyoon half yells, burying his face in his hands. “Why are you injuring yourself because of me? I’m a nobody, I got your literal best friend killed, and now I’m preventing you from finding your mom –”

“SHUT UP!”

Sungyoon snaps his mouth shut. Swallowing hard, you do too, waiting for deadened groans to surround the house. Stupid, stupid, why did you yell? Keep your goddamn temper, will you?

One minute. Two. Five.

You finally let yourself breathe. “Are you done?” you snarl in a hushed whisper. “Are you fucking done?”

“Not until you either leave me here or give me a reasonable explanation as to why you still keep me around!”

“Do you think I’m heartless?” Your bag lands on the ground with a thud and you sit heavily beside it, giving in to the stinging of scrapes on your skin. “Do you seriously still think –”

“No, I think you’re stupid,” Sungyoon snaps.

“Stupid for what? Keeping you around when I’m the one who asked if you wanted to come along?” you retort. “It’s called basic human decency, Sungyoon!”

“And leaving me behind would be called the basic right decision for you!”

You scoff. “The right decision? Trading a human life for a week or two of time is the right decision?”

“You want to go and find your mom!” Sungyoon yells. “I’m only keeping you behind! We don’t even know each other – what even makes sense here?”

Everything in you wants to scream again that it’s not right, it’s not fucking right until you get it through Sungyoon’s thick skull, but just enough sense remains in your brain to force you to shut up and think.

Think. Why is he so set on this? And why are you so set on the opposite?

Guilt. He feels guilty that he’s keeping you behind. Which – understandable, if you calm down enough to think about it.

But how would you feel if you left him behind?

Unpleasant emotion rises in your chest. Guilt, horror, even pain at the thought of leaving Sungyoon. It’s alien – you’ve only felt this way about Daeyeol before he died, and certainly not around the few other travelers you met for brief moments on the way home, but somewhere along the way, Sungyoon has become a semblance of a companion.

A lump fills your throat. You think you know how Daeyeol felt, now, every time he heard or saw someone in need.

“You feel guilty,” you say slowly, leaning back against the wall. “Which I get. I think.”

“How –”

“Let me talk,” you interrupt, glaring. He probably can’t see it very clearly in the dark, but at least he shuts up. “You feel guilty for keeping me behind. Which I get, because a month ago I would barely have had second thoughts about moving on without you.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “As you should.”

“Will you quit it?” you snap. “If you feel guilty, think about how I would feel if I left you behind! You think I wouldn’t feel guilty? Instead of wallowing in your fucking guilt, try and think of me!”

And miraculously, Sungyoon falls silent.

“If you were in my position,” you continue, more softly, “what do you think you’d feel? If I asked you to leave me behind? Maybe I wouldn’t grudge you for it, but would you grudge yourself?”

Sungyoon remains quiet.

“It’s humanity,” you say, staring up at the ceiling. Daeyeol, I understand now. “It’s part of being human. I couldn’t leave you behind, not at this point when you can still be helped.” You swallow, tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m not selfish enough to do otherwise.”

And as the silence continues, stretching as light fades in the window, you relax against the wall even with blood still trickling down your skin and onto the forgotten sheet. The last of your frustration sloughs away, the bitterness of blame and guilt gone from your throat.

Because you understand. You understand why Daeyeol tried to save everyone he could. You understand why he would risk his life to save a boy whose name he didn’t even know. You understand the guilt he would’ve felt if he didn’t try, didn’t lift a single finger to help, even if it meant possibly losing his life in the process.

You aren’t at that level. You may never be. You probably never will reach Daeyeol’s heights of selflessness, the quality you always admired him for. But you can understand this much.

It isn’t Sungyoon’s fault. It never was. As much as your brain wanted to believe it, it was no one’s fault – not Daeyeol’s for being selfless, not yours for failing to notice the zombie, not Sungyoon’s for being in trouble and needing help.

Not his fault. Not his fault. Not his fault. With every repetition, the three words grow clearer in your mind, a clear truth rather than a blurry mess you have to force yourself to decipher through gritted teeth every time they play in your head. It isn’t his fault.

It never was.

You blink a few tears away from your eyes, lowering your head to stare at Sungyoon’s dark body on the bed. “Let me see your leg,” you say softly, tongue free of the taste of blame. “You probably hurt it, falling off the bed.”

Sungyoon doesn’t protest, just lets you make your way over to the bed. Pale moonlight guides your hands as they skim over the swollen flesh. “It doesn’t hurt more,” he says, voice small.

“Doesn’t seem that much worse than yesterday,” you agree, pulling back. “You’re lucky. I didn’t run track, but I’m pretty sure falling isn’t supposed to do wonders for a fracture.” You frown. “What were you even doing when I got back, anyway?”

“You were late,” Sungyoon says. “By over an hour. I tried to see if I could find you.”

Something in your heart cracks at the tinge of fear in his words. He hides it well, but you can still detect the terror that frays his voice. It was in yours every time Daeyeol came back so much as a minute later than he told you, and in his every time you returned with a single scrape or cut on your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, sitting on the floor. Your back presses against the bed. If you looked up, you could probably meet Sungyoon’s eyes, but exhaustion weighs your head and limbs. “I got chased by a few zombies and had to barricade myself in a building before they finally left. When I decided it was safe to go, they apparently hadn’t left, and I fell a few times trying to escape.”

Sungyoon sucks in a breath. “Didn’t you have your gun?”

“Too close quarters.” You shudder at the memory. “I didn’t have enough space to pull it out. Easier to just outrun them.”

Silence falls as you try to shake off the feeling of cold, dead hands trying to grab at your arm. Then Sungyoon sighs. “I’m sorry for pressing you,” he whispers, so soft you almost don’t hear him. “I just don’t like being useless. Or when I’m holding people back.”

You purse your lips. You can commiserate. But how do you make Sungyoon understand that he isn’t useless, even if his leg is costing you time?

“Think about it like this,” you finally say. “If it wasn’t for you, I might’ve gone insane by now. Might not even be alive. I don’t do well when I’m completely alone in my thoughts, especially not when I’m stressed.”

“Extroverted?”

“Not exactly.” You sigh. “Just… I sometimes spiral. And if I don’t have someone nearby me in those moments, I don’t make the best decisions.”

“… We never exactly talked much.”

“Just a presence helps,” you clarify. “Knowing someone’s there is enough. And…” Might as well be out with it. “I was scared of being alone. Terrified. Still am.” You swallow. “Even if it’s silent company, it means a lot to me.”

Sungyoon remains silent for a moment. You almost think you’ve said too much before he speaks. “Me too,” he mumbles. “I was scared, too. Of being alone.”

A pang of guilt resonates in your chest. “I’m sorry –”

“No apologies, right?” Sungyoon breaks in, reminding you of the conversation from just weeks ago. “It’s not your fault. I know that now.”

He does. A sharp certainty edges his words, still inlaid with sadness but free of bitter blame and anger. He has finally reconciled your actions with reality, the same way you’ve reconciled him and Daeyeol, too. And even if you still feel the weight of two murders on your hands, the knowledge that he doesn’t blame you anymore lifts your heart, just slightly.

“I guess I was afraid you would leave on your own terms, once you realized how much I was holding you back,” Sungyoon mumbles. “So I tried to make you go first. I thought if I was the one who made you leave…”

“Well, you can’t get rid of me now.” You lift your head to give him a lopsided smile. “I’m still here, Sungyoon. Doesn’t matter how bad your leg is, I’ll be with you until it heals and then some. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sungyoon breathes. Then – “Thank you for staying. And forgiving me.”

A small, genuine smile replaces the lopsided expression you wore before. “Thank you for forgiving me too.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for enduring forgiveness :))

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rebelliousties · 3 years ago

Note

The day had been... quiet. Far too quiet, really, given how life in Dottore's laboratory typically was. The harbinger was nowhere to be found, and Kazuha was left to his lonesome, locked in the small room that had been deemed his since his arrival- the only signs of life beyond that door being a small meal dropped off sometime around what may have been noon. It's peaceful. It's suspicious.

And it’s as the sun begins to dip into late evening that it comes crashing to a harsh end. The typical Fatui guards that open the door and fall into their rhythm of harsh grabs, pulls, pushes, wrists fixed behind Kazuha’s back with the usual restraints, and when they drag him up and onto his feet and begin to pull him along, all of it is as it should be… until they take a turn they haven’t before. Led into a different part of the lab, further and further from any sense of normalcy that had been allowed to grow in what time Kazuha had been in the laboratory. Down countless flights of stairs until they’re well within the bowels of the laboratory where little more than the glow of lanterns shows where one is headed.

With little grace and with even less explanation, he is brought to a small room, and from there pushed through a rather large door that locks shut with a loud clink behind him-- Leaving him alone in… quite the arena. A massive stone area stained well with blood and guts, the overwhelming stench of death and defeat-- and a voice from a balcony far above, safe from any of the carnage.

“Good afternoon, Kaedehara,” Dottore calls down with a little wave of the hand and a positively punch-worthy grin on his face. “Welcome to Haeresys.”

Something behind a door on the other side of the arena makes a rather-- horrific noise.

“I won’t bore you with the petty details,” the doctor continues, resting his chin on his hand as he stares downwards, palming something in his hand that- after a moment- he tosses down without care into the center of the arena.

“Do try to survive as long as you can- It’d be simply dreadful if this was where you met your fate…” Standing up a bit straighter, he makes a motion to one of the scientists standing beside him, who quickly scuttles off into the darkness to do archons knows what. “Best of luck~!” is the last thing the doctor has to say- presumably, at least. All other words are drowned out, in any case, as the other door in the arena opens wide and unleashes a monstrosity.

Quiet once had been a blessing in his life, it used to mean peace, a moment of rest and recovery, the much needed silence between the constant run and clash of steel, the clarity of mind that came with feeling the nature he cherished all around him instead of blood on his hands and clothes.

It used to be good, healing, something he could enjoy.

Quiet was dreadful at best, now. Quiet was the time stretching beyond what his mind could truly grasp anymore, it was the suffocating, stagnant air of a room he had already memorized in a few days, so small he didn't just feel trapped anymore, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Quiet was too much and too little time at once in that place, it was what forced his mind to wander, to linger on all the wrong memories, to think so loudly the idea alone of once again throwing all his weight against the door in pitiful, desperate attempts to just escape- that idea was growing more and more tempting each second ( minute? Hour? ) that passed. And maybe he would, just to do something, to let physical pain stave off the growing restlessness in his mind that kept threatening to drive him insane in there.

This quiet fake peace was just more time for the bastard to prepare. Quiet was danger. It was a growing threat the more it went on.

There wasn't even the false blessing of white noise, of footsteps and light chat and life to be heard through the door. Only him in this prison with the stench of chemicals still choking him after so long, for hours on end, alongside those faint traces of blood he could still pick up. There had been too much blood in this place before.

Kazuha could imagine far too easily the screams that must've plagued this room, wondered how many there had been before him. Could even imagine his own limp body adding to the spilled blood. A morbid thought that felt almost too detached, that kept him from wandering too much into what already festered deep in his mind and nightmares. Anything as long as he could stop thinking so much when sleep refused to come to him.

Sore muscles tensed as soon as Kazuha heard the door creaking open, pushing back the instinct screaming at him to fight as soon as they laid a hand on him- he couldn't risk it, not again, no matter how much he would've liked nothing more than to listen to it, to fight and kick and bite and run.

A hiss, a low growl as they pushed him, and Kazuha was quiet once again, glaring like poison, seething as they dragged him around halls he was growing too familiar with. Anger wasn't enough to dismiss and ignore the increasing pounding of his heart the more they walked, however- he knew already what was coming.

Or so he thought.

A turn he didn't recognize, and Kazuha was already more aware than before, eyes darting around in search of that sickening routine he had been forced to accept ever since being brought here. New was just as much of a threat as normal here, but at least he knew what to expect with normal, could brace himself and take it.

( Maybe this would finally be the time he wouldn't walk back out, wouldn't wake up again in that suffocating cell- )

They reached their destination before Kazuha even knew it, trying however he could to find any new way out, to smooth over a panicked heart trying to claw out of his ribcage, barely registering the new room until he was all but shoved inside and into somewhere bigger-

-and immediately, he recoiled, eyes shut and a hand slapped over his mouth, far too sensitive nose scrunched and what little food he might've still had in his stomach already threatening to come back up. It wasn't just lingering in the air- everything here reeked of death, tried to drown him in it, the essence and soul itself of countless lost lives staining the walls and ground.

The mention of his name is enough to snap him out of it, to try and push through the nauseating feeling, remembering where he is, already knowing what's about to happen, deep, shaky breaths through the urge to gag. It's not enough to let him return the thrill with his own bitterness this time, not when he realizes where he's standing.

And then he sees something thrown in there, cautious at first- until he recognizes it, a mad run for it. Kazuha was more desperate than he wanted to show, but it didn't matter, not right now, not when he finally could feel the cold, polished surface of his vision once again in his hands. could feel the comforting wind at his side and even the wild, buzzing electro rebelling within in. Right there and then, Kazuha felt alive. More than he had in too long to count.

He felt like he could take on the storm again, now. Whatever was coming, whatever the mad man wanted to throw at him now, Kazuha would take it and return it in kind.

He reached for his sword, felt it within his vision- and stopped there, feeling it just within reach, only needing to push a little further to feel its weight manifest in his hand.

It was a split second decision, pulling his hand away, vision held close instead. Even with how slim his chances might end up being without it- he couldn't summon it, not now. So long as he watching him like a rat in cage thought this was all, thought he was capable of little more than groveling in the dirt, Kazuha still had some hope to hold onto, flickering as it may be. He'd keep his head low and his secrets close if it meant getting to stomp on the doctor until he heard the crack of bones and saw the door opening.

He had to survive.

If he could just push through this one fight, enough to let his vision push him, reach that high then-

"W-what..."

The shock leaves him into words before he can even think of it.

His eyes widen as soon as the... thing is allowed out into the arena, easily towering over him. Whatever this is, twisted and contorted limbs where they don't belong, blood and drool splattering the ground as it gargled and sounded like it was choking on it, scales and fur and skin- who knows what else mixed in with one too many eyes- Kazuha doesn't want to know what it is, what it is supposed to be or how it even came into being. It's almost enough for him to falter, everything yelling at him to just run as soon as it settles its sights on him.

And he listens, vision clutched in his left hand, hard enough he can feel the metal edges biting into his skin, anemo gathering at his feet at his command, blood rushing and heart pounding into his ears as he lets it loose, up in the air before the thing can touch him. For a moment, at least one thing feels right, feels as it should be, the power he was once so used to flowing freely in his veins and very soul again as it should've. It gives him confidence, at least a bit more than before.

But as much as he wished nothing more than to relish in the wind he longed for all this time, now isn't the moment for it- he looks down, sees the abomination turning around, trying to find him, and he knows he has to move fast, there is no time for hesitation. No time to wonder whether or not what he was about to kill had once been human. He wouldn't put it past a bastard like Dottore, stomach twisted into knots at the thought alone.

There is no sword in his hand, no blade to make quick work of anything as he once would've, but it's fine- Kazuha has dealt with worse than not having a weapon. When it came to fighting for his life, he was too familiar with it. And so, right before he's going to plunge down, he allows the angry surge of electro to run wild, tries to redirect as much of it as he can to his hand and ignore the stinging of an old scar. He needs to help guide it with the aid of anemo to even try fashioning it into something useful- and then he's diving down on the thing, hand thrust forward, skin crackling and tingling- and the creature is shrieking as soon as he strikes, blood bursting.

Shrieking- but still alive. And angry, if the sudden way it lashes out, eyes twitching, trying to locate him, is anything to go by. He needs to move- but no matter how much power he's holding once again, it's still pushing an already bruised, exhausted body well beyond his limits.

Something grabbed him, slammed into him before he could let the winds push him away, shoved him right into the wall behind him, a choked gasp as he felt something cracking and then crumpled to the floor, will the only thing letting his hand clench tighter around the vision, like the act alone of letting go of it would be what finally killed him.

And for a moment... he almost wants to let it all end there.

Kazuha is tired- exhausted. Bloodied and bruised and trying so desperately to just hold on when there wasn't even a good reason to, when nothing changed and it all kept being just a blur of pain, darkness, empty nothing and spiraling into thoughts he didn't want.

He could've just let this thing crush him, tear him apart, and Dottore wouldn't have been able to do anything this time, wouldn't have had anything to resuscitate anymore. He can feel it shake the ground with each step, slowly turning around, can smell blood upon blood that makes him want to just throw up. He can hear too clearly after the muddy feeling of being underwater faded, hears every twitch and shift and any other unnatural thing it's doing.

His sight is already blurry, struggling to focus, head heavy, dizzy even as he laid there on the ground.

And then, Kazuha pushes himself on his knees, heavy breath as he tries to pull some air back into strained lungs, nearly stumbles on trembling arms, fingers digging into dirt. He could give up now. But he refuses to, even when there's no point in persevering, when he's nothing more than cheap entertainment for a crazed mind too far gone.

He's come too far, survived too much, carried so many burdens on his shoulders. Giving up is out of the question.

He has people to go back to, people he hopes are still waiting for him. They would never let him hear the end of it if he gave up now, would they?

Focus, Kazuha. There is still a winning chance here, beyond putting a miserable creature out of its misery. He can go directly for the head right now, dethrone that mockery of a fake god.

If he could just get through this one...

Focus. The creature is finding him again, eyes starting to focus. Despite how much everything hurts, every little movement sending tortured nerves into a rage, flaring all over his body, Kazuha forces it to move, to push him back on his feet, the wind picking up and electricity dancing at his fingertips untamed. A weak spot, he needs to find a weak spot-

It reacted to pain. Its exterior wasn't invulnerable. Whether it had been his anemo, his electro or the combination of both, something had damaged it. It wasn't indestructible. He could kill it.

As soon as it was charging again, Kazuha reacted, allowed the electro to move him, all finesse and grace he held with the anemo thrown aside- he had no time for precise movements, survival was what mattered. He allowed it to charge into the wall behind him, came to a halt in his own rush to dodge in a weird mix of a roll and a land on his feet that made him wince and almost fall again, pushing through the pain to turn around and see the thing flailing as it tried to recover.

He needs to move now-

Anemo pushes him up in the air, where he feels like he belongs, electro propels him forward like a spark, gritting his teeth against the sudden surge tearing through his body and the lightning he cannot tame, until he gets where he wants to be- lands right on the thing's back(?), digs his free hand into the previous wound, grimacing as he felt the blood oozing out and hoping there isn't more mixed in there. The thing bristles, coarse and messily put together fur rising, but Kazuha pays it no mind, not yet, just tries to secure his footing before he can fall under claws of who knows how many different animals and be torn to shreds right there and then.

And right there, he screams- raw and feral and just angry, furious, digging his hand further into the burning wound, as deep as he can push it. Then- he lets it all loose.

Kazuha has been well aware of just how dangerous something as innocent looking as anemo could be. Has learned all the ways he could think of using it, has learned to polish it from the carefree, gentle breezes into a sharp, cold weapon, it's like a beast he has tamed and carried at his side, the winds bristling around him like bared fangs. It served as a threat, as a way to deter people before his sword was unsheathed, never really had the chance to do more than that.

Now, he'd let that beast get out.

And it's messy. He disregards the agony in his arm, just lets the burst of anemo loose like a hurricane, lets the electro that had already burned him once follow and seep into the winds- and it's like a bomb has been set loose inside the thing, pushing and pushing and tearing until tissue and skin alike give into to the pressure. There is another shriek, almost making him feel some more pity for the thing before it quiets down and its body goes limp. When Kazuha gets his arm back, it's a mess, not sure which blood is his and which is it, numb to the cold and shock it had to carry.

And as he stands there in blissful silence, vision still held tightly and too tired to care about all the blood, Kazuha looks up.

He's glaring through all the trembling and panting of a tortured enough body and soul, directly at Dottore, so much hatred and fury in burning crimson like blood, there is a clear threat there even without words.

He won. And now Dottore is next.

Kazuha doesn't say anything, doesn't even have the energy to, heart in a frenzy and blood rushing in his veins. He just lifts a foot, takes a step forward, lets the winds gather at his feet again-

-and his eyes go wide at the pure agony that shoots up his body with that simple action.

Before he can even try to correct himself, he sways, falls off the corpse and can barely rush the wind to catch his fall, but it's not enough. The vision is still in his hand, the electro is rushing through his veins more than his blood is by now, like trying to rage and push him forward, trying to tell him to get up, the chance he needed is right here-

Kazuha gasps, his grip on the vision is going slack without meaning to, his fingers still desperately clawing at it, his arms not responding much beyond that, his legs too heavy to move.

Not like this, not-

Before he can do anything else, carry on what he had been hoping for, right as he saw that sliver of an opportunity, of an escape, his sight blurs more and more, the dark spot dancing around the edges growing- and then he's blessed with nothingness.

#「 ask. 」 ⇀ and i shall write ; words for you alone .#「 ic. 」 ⇀ alone i walk the winding way ; here i stay .#idrottore #tw: blood #tw: injury #// I #I DONT KNOW HOW TO TAG THIS HELP #A. ASK TO TAG??? I DONT KNOW GRJISEOGJREISO #um right #tw: body horror #VERY VAGUELY BUT. I GUESS THAT'S GOTTA GO IN FOR DOTTORE'S CREATIONS UH #Kazuha vc ahah what the literal fucking hell is this #shit wait #// genshin spoilers #I GUESS I HAVE TO KEEP TAGGING THE DAMN ELECTRO LIKE THIS #long post #more like an entire fic chapter length at this point #RJGIORSJGIORSGRS I. ENJOY I GUESS????

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mommy-medusa · 4 years ago

Text

a mom!Hera scene for y’all......

“Athena?”

Face blotchy, eyes stinging and red, hair disheveled, body aching all over, Athena slowly craned her head around to meet the gaze of Hera and her ruby-collared panther, and found that she didn’t even care about being seen in such a state. Frankly, she didn’t care about anything anymore. Zeus could burst through the mural of the snake and put a thunderbolt into her heart and she wouldn’t even fight him.

Because there was nothing left to fight for.

“Athena?” Hera said again, taking a step forward.

“Hera,” Athena said back. She sounded as though she had swallowed a handful of sand. “Hello. What is it that you need? I am quite busy right now.”

“Busy?” Hera echoed, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes,” Athena confirmed, nodding weakly. “Very much so.”

“Busy crying?”

Athena sniffed. Her eyes stung. “No. I am not. I am soaked to the bone. This is mere rainwater, I promise you.”

“I see,” Hera nodded slowly. “Then why don’t you get changed? I promise you that you will feel better if you aren’t slogging around in wet armor.”

“A smart idea,” Athena said. “I will do that.”

But as she rose to her feet, bolts of fiery pain lanced through her side and her palace was thrown horizontal as she began to fall back over. The only thing that stopped her from receiving a cold kiss from the floor was the queen of gods holding her upwards, and the first thing she picked up on was that Hera was a lot stronger than she thought she was.

“Athena,” Hera’s voice cut through the roaring in her ears. “Athena, can you hear me?”

Athena swallowed thickly, bile and ichor in the back of her throat. She released a shaking breath, then slowly righted herself. One of Hera’s hands remained on her shoulder, and the touch was surprisingly gentle. She had a terrible itching sensation that begged her to press into it, but managed to fight back the urge.

“My apologies,” Athena said, her words coming out strained and thread-thin.

“It is quite alright, Athena,” Hera said. “Zeus really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

Athena didn’t answer. She didn’t even lift her head from where she was staring at the ground. She felt disconnected from her own form, and yet the pain chased after her. When Hera began guiding her down one of the side hallways, she barely realized it.

The place where she was taken was a secluded room in the deeper part of her palace, bearing deep blue walls that had soaring owls painted in gold all across them and a ceiling that displayed emerald green snakes dancing among a star-filled sky. The space was lit from flickering torches suspended by iron holders. A rectangular pool took up most of the tiled floor, steam rising from its surface.

The bath.

“Oh my,” Hera murmured, gazing up at the ceiling and walls. “Did you paint all of this, dear Athena?”

“Yes,” Athena managed to utter. “I enjoy painting.”

“I can tell,” Hera chuckled. “Shall I undress you?”

“I can get in now.”

“With your armor and chiton still on?” Another chuckle, this time more of a soft laugh. “Silly child. That will do very little to clean you up. Just stand still for me.”

There were ten buckles that held her golden chest plate together, and Hera undid them all with quick precision for someone who had never worn armor before. Once the plate was gone, Hera removed her helmet and gauntlets, then untied the laces to her chiton. Athena briefly saw how stained and tarnished her clothing was before she was coaxed into the bath.

The water was as hot as fire, stinging her skin until she couldn’t tell hot from cold anymore. Her vision cut to white for several eternal seconds, then returned to her in blotches. She felt like she was being boiled alive.

Heat bloomed across her bare back like a flower made from flame. Her shoulders jolted. She couldn’t think straight. The owls on the walls were beginning to fly in circles, but shouldn’t that have been impossible? They were paintings! At least, she thought they were…

“Athena.”

Hera’s voice cut into her daze. She blinked harshly. The light from the torches felt too bright. Everything hurt.

“Athena, steady. It is alright.”

She shook her head, sending damp tassels of brown hair fluttering around her face. She heard a soft snort from behind.

“There you are,” Hera said. Her hands, nimble and gentle, cupped water over Athena’s shoulders. When they brushed the burn branded on the left one, Athena flinched away with a hiss. “My apologies, dear. Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” Athena said through her teeth. Both her side and her shoulder were masses of agony. She wanted to remove them entirely just so she wouldn’t have to feel so awful anymore.

But this was exactly what she deserved, wasn’t it?

“That damned man,” Hera shook her head. “I always knew someone would retaliate against him. He had it coming, if you ask me. But I never thought it would be you, wise child.”

“I doubt what I did could be considered ‘wise’,” Athena muttered.

Hera chuckled. “You have done what I’m sure many of us have wanted to do for a very long time. Myself included.” She paused for a moment. “But your reasoning…”

Athena braced herself.

“Medusa… Do you wish to talk about her?”

Athena was quiet for a long moment. When she finally found her voice, she croaked out, “I didn’t think I would ever be capable of feeling, well, feelings. Not like I did with Medusa. They just seemed beyond what I was made to feel. They didn’t fit the mature, wise, stoic goddess I am supposed to be. But Medusa-- Medusa broke down that belief for me. She didn’t see me as a warrior or a goddess. She didn’t see me as Pallas Athena or Athena, goddess of wisdom and war. She just saw me as…Athena.”

Hera nodded from behind. Her fingers began to work through Athena’s hair, almost soothing her into a state of nothingness, but her mouth kept working.

“I sent a storm to her island, you know?”

Hera raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

Athena nodded. “I heard a few mortals speaking of a gorgon and wanted to see for myself. When I saw her, I was stricken. I wanted to speak with her, but I didn’t know how, so I sent a storm to her island so I could go and ‘make sure all the innocents were alright’ and have a reason to talk to her.” She paused for a moment. “And a monster.”

Hera laughed. “And a monster?”

“I killed it,” Athena said. “Most likely to show off. I still do not fully understand my reasoning.” She paused again. Her throat felt tight. “I miss her.”

Hera’s panther licked the back of her ear affectionately. Athena managed a weak smile, but it didn’t last long. She stared at the surface of the rippling water numbly.

“You know, we should have known,” Hera said, gazing around the room. “Nobody likes snakes this much.”

That got Athena to utter a laugh. It rang hollow in her mouth, but at least it was something.

“Are you ready to get out?” Hera asked.

“Yes,” Athena answered.

Her limbs ached in a fierce, raw pain when she stood. Her side and shoulder were festering intensely, springing tears to her eyes when Hera applied a restorative herbal cream to the burns, allegedly recommended by Apollo, who had stopped her to share some of his knowledge on medicine on the way to the palace. After the cream, Hera rubbed Athena’s body in golden oils to soothe her skin and keep it from blotching, then helped her change into plain white robes fetched by Hera’s panther. By the time Athena got into her bedchamber, a large, round room filled with her favorite art pieces, she was completely exhausted, mentally and physically. She vaguely remembered falling asleep, curled up in her soft grey blankets, but whatever reality Morpheus had placed her into was eerily similar to waking life, yet plagued by the blood red shadows that often wrapped her mind.

#listen. i love hera #poor woman gets such a bad rap #while i don’t think she should have taken her anger out on the children #she has every right to be angry #and i feel like she’s heavily demonized #so here’s her being great!#medusa’s child #greek myth #greek myth retellings #greek mythology #greek gods #book snippets #hera #athena #my writing

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strangerobin · 4 years ago

Text

Rue: Chapter 5 (Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Just some familial bonding and a new discovery.

**Note: Introducing Adeline's little makeshift family :D The problem with thinking too much is that the more you think, the longer the story gets, and you try to give more backstory to each side character until you get totally distracted by them lol So expect more appearances from Adeline's little family ;) wink And expect this to be a slow slow burn Also I hope I've done justice to Alice's and Jasper's relationship (which obviously deviates heavily from the book but whatever); it's as said before, it's always sad to see a relationship dissolve, especially when it's not because of the lack of love for each other But not every relationship works till the very end, and it's alright It's still a precious part of life**

When she was warm and fed, Adeline retreated with Loreen into the latter’s room. The raging storm in her chest was finally calming by the child’s careless humming as she laid in Loreen’s double bed, guarded by plushies and dolls of all sort. While Loreen was parked next to her enormous hand crafted dollhouse, deftly placing each doll into their designated place. There was something she had noticed that was nagging at her.

“Why are you wearing gloves indoors?”

Loreen started and whipped her head towards Adeline, clearly made uncomfortable by the question. “Um… well you see…” The child spluttered, momentarily staring at her hands before finally shrugging nonchalantly and tugging the pair of gloves off. “You’re right, I suppose they are ridiculous, aren’t they?”

She threw the pair of gloves over her dresser before stooping to stuff the rest of her miniature dolls into the dollhouse and diving into bed. Her attention already distracted by something else like any child would do.

“Ohhh! What’s this Addie? I never saw this on you before.” She pointed to the little silver locket around her neck. Clearly fascinated by the intricate carvings on the locket. “It’s absolutely gorgeous!”

“Oh this old thing?” Adeline fingered the trinket, felt the grooves and the carving underneath her thumb. It was funny how she could look at it now with a sterilised sense of calm but god forbid lose control so easily faced with the man in the woods.“It was from a friend.”

“Pretty.” Loreen murmured. Leaning closer to check out the trinket, she touched it gingerly with a finger and was immediately absorbed by it. “Must be very important if you’re still holding onto it after all these years.”

That struck a nerve and Adeline quickly tucked the locket beneath her bathrobe and shot Loreen a smile, abruptly changing the subject. “Well aren’t you chatty tonight, Lorie.”

“Well you know what I’m down to chat about?” Loreen shifted her little body so that she was on her stomach, cheeks in her hands, sizing Adeline up with her brown eyes. “Your absence.”

“You sure you want to talk about this, young lady?” Adeline laughed, amused by the child’s antics.

“I do.” Was the child’s serious reply.

“Well you have Anakin. And Teddy. I think you hardly need me around.”

“Anakin’s a tyrant, he never takes no for an answer. And he’s surprisingly very persuasive when he wants. And Teddy… Teddy’s fine, he’s a good a soul. But he’s a bit of a bore.”

Adeline snorts. “Good soul? Good lord Loreen where did you learn to talk like this?”

Loreen pouted cutely. “See this is all Anakin’s work. He’s just no fun really. I miss having you around, I need another girl to talk to!”

“Oh sweetheart I’m sure some of the neighbour’s kids would play with you.”

“They’re such children! I couldn’t possibly play with them! I’m surrounded by goldfish everywhere!”

“You’re a child yourself. And you’re not in an aquarium, Loreen.”

“Yes I am, so I really need you here with me. Besides Father never comes. I mean you’d actually be pretty undisturbed here. He calls us disappointments anyways. He only ever has time for the elites!”

Adeline smiled ruefully and reached a hand pat the little one’s head. Here she was, worrying even her little sister. “He will be around more, if he knew I was here.”

“Ahhh to be a favourite child.” Loreen sighed dramatically.

“Seriously, where did you learn to speak like this?”

“What? Because it is unbecoming of a child?”

“Exactly.”

The pair stared the other down until finally Loreen cracked.

“I might have been rifling through Netflix a bit…”

“And?"

“And I do so adore those British period pieces.”

“There we have it! I think I might need to talk to Anakin about you-“

“Oh you are odious!” Loreen pouted again, before latching onto Adeline’s arm. “Please, please, pretty please! Don’t rob me of my only joys in life! Anakin’s barely even bothers with me half the time and have you seen Teddy? No! Because he’s always out to do some boring stuff and I’m always alone! I’m bored out of my mind! I'll read anything in this house, I even read the dictionary to pass time!”

Adeline laughed again. “Alright, little lady. I’ll let you be, so long as you go to sleep right now.”

Still grumbling, Loreen got under the quilt but nonetheless snuggled close to Adeline.

“Sweet dreams dear.”

She watched the child close her eyes. Lucky child, she wished she was back in that little cottage, snuggling up to her sister, a fire roaring in the hearth. When sleep was easy and her dreams were not tainted by her demons and shadows of regret.

But just as she felt the tendrils of an oncoming nightmare, she felt a small hand reaching up to her forehead. Adeline soon felt a warmth enveloping her body, her head was on a pillow of cloud. And just before she fell into a dreamless slumber, she thought she heard a whisper.

“Sleep well, Adeline.”

“Jasper are you sure?” Alice asked worried, hurrying after the man as he strode with purpose.

“I’m sure.” They were at a car dealership in Minnesota. Alice had been stumped trying to scour for possible leads for Adeline, but something had changed for Jasper. Instead of the usual moroseness that clung to him, he seemed to have been rejuvenated by some unknown spark, there was a new found confidence in him of sorts. It mystified her, he was acting like a child who had been let on a secret that he only knew.

“I’ll drive you to the closest airport and you can take the next flight home.” Jasper said as he led her to the car he had bought. “Then I’ll continue on from there.”

“And how exactly are you going to find her, Jasper?” She quizzed. “If a seer can’t even find her. And she leaves practically no scent for anyone to follow if she wants.”

Jasper turned to look at her then, really looked at her; she scrutinised him equally hard on her part. Searching for an answer.

And it hit her like a bullet to the chest.

She understood then.

“She’s your mate, isn’t she?”

Jasper looked away guiltily before giving her an affirmative nod. “I think so… yes.” His eyes clouded over then, reminiscing. “It took seeing her again to confirm it. But I… I feel her in my heart, this small tugging… incessantly. Even now I can feel it, pulling at me, urging me to move, to be closer.”

“Oh Jasper. That’s wonderful news.” She had to congratulate him, despite still reeling from the shock and the ever-growing pain inside her heart. She really shouldn’t be selfish now.

“Alice.” Her hand was clasped into his large ones, and she eyed their intertwined hands before gently letting them fall. One look at him and she saw the heartbreak and sorrow in him. How torn he must be feeling right now, the dilemma he was in. “I’ve hurt you, Alice.” He finally murmured. “And it wasn’t even my intention.”

But how could she forget that for every little emotion she had, Jasper felt it tenfold more. So intense was his sense that if her heartbreak was already eating at him, it must have been excruciating when he had seen Adeline the night before.

“Perhaps I really shouldn’t..." Deliberating internally with his own doubts and concerns, Jasper struggled to find the right words to express himself. "She doesn’t want to see me... not anymore anyways. Why throw away everything we’ve built...”

Alice watched on as she was reminded of her times with Jasper then. The Quileute tribe may deem him dangerous for his skill and experience in the army, he might have had a hand in the Southern Vampire wars; but the Jasper she knew, the man she had loved was always a sweet and gentle man. Sentimental yes, empathetic even more so. All the years he had spent shielding her, simply being there for her. Alice knew that if she took away this chance from him, it would always be a regret on his part. And this wound would continue to fester like cancer, eat at him, until it ultimately killed him from the inside. Until there was nothing left but a shell of a man.

He deserved more than anyone, to love and be loved.

And if all he needed was a push, she would gladly give it to him.

“Go.” She beamed at him through her unshed tears. “Go find her and make it up to her.”

“I’m not even sure if there’s anything that needs my making up to her.” Jasper whispered in exasperation, but his caress betrayed a gentleness that was almost innate in him. She leaned into his palm one last time.

“Bring her back will you, I have a hunch we’ll be the best of friends.” She breathed. Watched as a new resolve hardened in his eyes.

“Yes ma’am” The same reply he had given when she first greeted him in that little diner in Philadelphia.

Her heart might break just a little bit more.

Jasper was driving his new car, not quite sure where his destination was yet. Simply letting the pull at his heart guide him.

Though to be honest, his mind wasn’t particularly on the scenery or the drive. He needed the time to think, to sort out the mess that was in his mind.

A soulmate bond.

When Carlisle had mentioned to him all those years ago; he had struggled not to be cynical about it. Because yes, it was rude; but also because he didn’t quite believe in all that bullshit after his time with Adeline and then his affair with Maria. Maria had simply manipulated and ensnared him into a web of lies and then proceeded to use him and mould and knead him into whatever she needed him to be then. There was no deeper emotion other than the feeling of being exploited by the woman.

But Adeline. Adeline, she had straight up ripped out a wide gapping hole in his heart. Do people ever get over a heartbreak like that? He had wondered.

It was really Alice who had calmed him down over the years, shed new light on his existence as a vampire, provided the companionship he so desperately needed. Helped him control the bloodlust.

If Adeline had never reappeared in his life, if she had never passed through Washington for whatever reasons, if she had not stopped to find Renesmee. Why, he thought, they might never chance to meet. He would continue his peaceful and contented life with the Cullens and Alice; and she would have continue on her merry way.

But nothing in life ever goes as planned.

The moment his eyes finally beheld her form again after centuries, he knew then. He knew then that she was the one he had been waiting for all along. Perhaps it was the way how the world seemed to have changed; how it brightened like never before. Or how alive he felt in that moment, how his dead heart almost, almost started beating again. Or how when she had left, the pain in his heart, how excruciating it had been, as if it were ready to tear itself apart. Maybe it was just the way that when she was around, every feeling that he had was intensified.

And when he felt that unknown tugging at his heart, it had all but cemented his belief.

But now that his sentiments were all but confirmed, there were other concerns that warranted his attention.

He thought back to the night they had met, rewinding and examining every little detail that he may have missed. Sure it was excruciating, but he needed more facts to pursue. He needed a plan of action to lure Adeline out of her shell, to make her at least talk to him. He didn’t think that a reconciliation was possible after her rejection, but surely some answers were long overdue.

He recalled how she had trembled at the mention of her father, how desperate she had wanted to escape from him.

Her grandmother Henriette had once told him that: there are things that are out of their control, things that are better left in the dark. Her father had needed her and what could a single unwed woman do but to comply to her parent’s wish. He had been young and rash then, had dismissed it all in a fit of fury and anguish, had chalked it up to his lack of wealth and class. But now that he thought of it, perhaps they were half truths mingled with white lies, told to protect him from a greater evil for his own sake. A tyrannical patriarch figure who was also probably a very ancient vampire.

He briefly considered just what he was getting himself into.

As he cut the line to leave the highway at the next exit, he felt another strong tug at his heart as if it were a signal that he was on the right track.

He had just passed a giant billboard that said.

Welcome to Colorado.

When Theodore, or simply Teddy, returned from his ‘dull and tedious tryst with his insipid chess-loving company’ as Loreen quoted, or as the man himself reiterated impatiently ‘a simple chess meeting in Denver’, he was met with a chaotic household gone rogue.

“Well aren’t you dapper, young man?” Adeline drawled from her couch she had claimed for herself, parked right in front of the TV. Sizing up the man, she took note of his wind swept black curls, the tweed blazer and the crisp silk shirt and the shiny black dress shoes. In turn, Teddy was also eyeing his sister intently.

“Is that my bathrobe?” The finely-dressed man asked incredulous, one hand on his hips, the other pointing accusingly at the former.

“What?!” Adeline defended, refusing to budge from her position. “You have grand taste. And it’s comfy.”

“And is that my Rockies t-shirt?”

“So it seems to be.” Adeline shrugged nonchalantly.

“Anakin! She’s even drinking my wine now! And she’s gone through my entire chocolate stash!”

“Oh go bother someone else won’t you!” Was Anakin’s annoyed reply.

But as Loreen had put it, Teddy was a good soul and all was forgiven soon enough with peace restored within the makeshift family.

Yet underneath the calm lurked a quiet unease.

The family was quick to notice, the listlessness and jitteriness Adeline was emanating. The more they tried to press her, the more withdrawn she grew, refusing to divulge in whatever she had hidden.

For Adeline, she had thought she was seeking safety and shelter among her half-siblings, but in confinement she was growing evermore restless. She stubbornly ignored the void in her heart, a strong reminder that an essential part of her was missing from her life. One she had all but forgotten until the fateful run in. Instead she paced the halls all through the nights, had taken to drinking coffee at night and wine in the morning. And when she rested, sleep was always fitful, plagued by strange dreams and nightmares and long-forgotten memories.

Her intuition was never wrong, it was the only gift she could fall back on in times of crises. And right now, she could taste it in the air, hear it in the wind. Something was about to happen, a reckoning of sorts she was sure, and here she was waiting for a sign.

Adeline downed another flask of coffee as she sat in the chill with a simple blanket to keep herself warm. The stars were out and she was studying them as they moved across the late evening sky.

She desperately needed a sign. This state of limbo was slowing driving her insane. She needed a way out, an escape.

“Hey.”

“Hey you.” She didn’t need to turn, she knew only one person who would be brave enough to disturb her in her reverie.

Teddy gently sat down beside her. “You’re not sleeping.”

“I can’t.” Adeline frowned and rubbed her face, exhaustion evident in her system.

“Well all that caffeine isn’t helping.” Her half brother smile and pointed at the flask in her lap.

“Well, I don’t want to sleep.” Adeline retorted with more bite than was needed.

“Adeline.” Theo admonished softly.

She shot him a warning look, though the corners of lips were slightly upturned good-naturedly. “Teddy.”

Teddy bless his soul, always the same kindhearted and gentle soul that he was. Loreen might call his person boring, but Adeline liked how he was always constant and steadfast… like an evergreen. There was a reason why he had always been her favourite out of all her siblings, not even her history with Anakin could beat this. For him, she would shield him from every hurt, every danger; and sometimes she wondered if she had done all that was good for him. If she had done right by him while raising him to be the man he was today.

“Well? What is it that you want to ask then?” Adeline rested her head on her knees and gestured for Teddy to voice his concerns.

He studied her intently for a second, as if finding the right word to begin with. “Something’s happened. Anakin tells me you were in a pretty bad state when you came but he wouldn’t divulge further said you didn’t tell him as well.”

“So I didn’t.”

“Well you can tell me. You know I’m your most trusted confidant.”

Adeline had to laugh at that. “Yes you are, my beloved brother.”

An easy silence enveloped the two as they sat shoulders touching, head tilted towards the open galaxy. This was the only thing she ever missed, in between running around the country, and hiding away from her father. This heartfelt connection with the only few people with whom she could be herself; a permanent residence, a pillow under her head at night. She had given up something similar, years ago when she was still young and naive, and very much in love, desperately so.

Now, she didn’t let herself dream on.

“Do you... do you remember New York?” Adeline dug her fingers into the wet earth, the dampness of the earth filling her nostrils immediately. “Do you remember Harlem, 1921?”

“That night when you drunk the entire club under the table?” Teddy turned to eye her carefully, even after all these years, he was still sensitive about that little fiasco she had pulled to spite their father, and probably to spite herself too. “Yeah I remember that night.”

Adeline kept her head down, her hand playing absentmindedly with the loose soil. “Do you remember when you asked me don’t you have any regrets in life?”

“And you had said yes, more than you will ever know.”

“Well…” There was a catch in her throat now and she swallowed hard to speak. “Do you have any regrets yourself Ted? Just something… anything.”

Teddy frowned as he contemplated the question Adeline had raised. But then she didn't think he had any; moralistic Teddy, gentle Teddy, worry-wart Teddy, he had too much foresight to let himself make grave mistakes like she did. “Nothing major really. Although… there is a place my mind always goes back to…”

“Which is?”

“The little diner in Philly, 1948.” The brunette hesitated, stealing a sidelong glance at his sister before continuing. “The one you were adamant we left immediately. I always thought that there was something… someone waiting for me there… and I always wonder what I would’ve find there if we had gone in.”

“Our ultimate demise probably.” Adeline shrugged.

“And why are we talking about regrets now?”

She hummed in response, turning to give her brother a tired smile. “Because, it seems my biggest regret has decided to return now to haunt me, out of vengeance.”

Jasper pulled into the local inn parking lot, killing the ignition as he did.

Georgetown Mountain Inn.

The modest sign glowed in the dark night.

He had circled round the interstate for a day and a half, and then into Denver city, letting his newfound instinct guide him on his search. And it had ultimately lead him to this quaint historical mining town just west of Denver.

He breathed in the fresh alpine air.

This felt just about right.

Or so he thought.

“Ruelle? Never heard the name young man if I might say so myself. You looking for someone?”

The innkeeper shook his head at his inquiries the next day. Georgetown was only a small town after all. If it’s residents had never heard of the name, then the chances of finding a Ruelle in the town was close to slim. Distracted, the man had then turned back to the phone call he was on, entirely unaware of the subtle shift in emotion of his customer.

“Marie. You got the van out? I phoned up the Emersons last night. Anakin says he’ll be round before 11 to take a look at it. Afterwards he’s got business with Ted down in Denver that’ll keep him there for a week. Ask Jim to hurry over will ya?”

The innkeeper was still on the phone when Jasper turned to leave.

“Who’s looking after Loreen? Heard they got family staying over for a while to look after the kiddo. Beats me Marie... I’m sure they’ve still got good folks in the family.”

Without a plan or even a clue, Jasper decided to cruise round town and then up the lake to take his mind off Adeline. Even if the disappointment was slowly eating at him; he had been so sure of himself, but now doubt was settling in. Perhaps he had been mistaken indeed, everything was only a figment of his imagination, wishful thinking on his part. But then again, no sane person on the run would think to use their real name, no? He reasoned with himself. He knew he wouldn’t, and he didn’t think Adeline was stupid enough to do the same. So not all hope was lost yet.

Up ahead, his line of sight fell on a quaint little house nestled within the mountainous terrain overlooking the lake.

Casually pulling into the drive; he was just able to catch a pair of brothers heading out. One was much tanner than the other and though neither looked quite related to the other, but there was a little something that made him believed that they were related. The elder was fixing up the jeep parked on the driveway while the younger one was lingering at the door, taking to someone inside the house.

He recalled the phone call his innkeeper had made that morning.

Jasper strained his ears to listen to their conversation while pretending to make a u-turn at the end of the drive.

“You sure you don’t want one of us to stay with you Ad?”

“I’ll be fine Teddy, just go. Don’t let your students down. They’ll be waiting for you.”

“Grandmaster.” A little girl, one he had missed before, chimed cheekily.

But the man, Teddy, was still unconvinced. “You still haven’t told me what’s troubling you Ad.”

“I’ll think about it.” The woman in the house replied.

“You’re still jittery.”

“It’s the caffeine.”

“Ad-”

“Bruh you coming or what?” The elder by the car shouted back towards the house.

“This isn’t over.” The younger man muttered before scrambling down the terrace towards the jeep.

There was a ringing in Jasper’s ears as he leaned forward in his seat to catch a glimpse of the woman who turned to usher the child back into the house before closing the front door.

And just as the door closed, he thought he glimpsed a pale face framed by brown curls and a pair of blue eyes.

#jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale x oc #twilight #twilight imagine

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harcourtholmesii · 4 years ago

Text

Heaven And Hell

I have finally caught up with the prompt list! Thank you to @connor-sent-by-cyberlife for the lovely list. It is not only a nice experiment but it is helping to motivate me to write, which I appreciate.

Pairings: HankCon / Hannor / Hank X Connor

Warnings: - Swearing - Graphic Violence and Gore - Implied Rape and Referenced Murder - Slightly NSFW - Implied Sexual Interests - Existential Questions - Hurt and Comfort

Words: 3368

Enjoy!

Connor was still young. Bright-eyed, by the book, and completely innocent despite his research into humans and the Earth’s violent and erratic history.

Being that it was his first mission to Earth, his superiors had been worried to send such a young angel to the planet below. His job had been, put simply, to walk among humans and learn from his experiences. Adapt to their atmosphere and climate, and whilst present, deal out the necessary punishment to the beasts that walked alongside them. As a new breed, Connor was created to find and destroy.

And they had not been hard to find.

Executing them for their evil whilst being subtle, however, was another matter entirely.

In order to achieve it, he had combed through the vast knowledge he had learnt over centuries of study. A vast mind vault within him, stacked high with books and parchment, informed him that the best path he might take would be to gain a career as a police detective or ‘cop’.

In such a position, he would be more likely trusted by civilians, allowed to carry weaponry he could modify to destroy demons and fallen angels alike, and he would have the means to track them without strain on his own power. He had to build up to it first, of course.

The police academy, where he excelled at all of his classes, took only a short amount of time to him; a mere couple of years. His superiors, though proud of his work, told him to slow it down. Take hits and failures every now and again, where necessary, to make it appear he was just as fallible as the average human. Even when he had graduated from the academy, he was top of his class by a mile.

He had been immediately placed into the Detroit Police Department, and had been near delighted by his success. Well, as delighted as an angel was allowed to be. Too many human emotions were enough to cause an angel to fail and fall. Ones of his kind were able to fall into the throes of passion so easily, due to their physical inexperience, that it was often in a murderous rage or in the heat of sexual intimacy that the worst acts were committed. It doomed an angel to fall.

Connor was certain such things would not affect him. After all, he was the best of the best; made to be more and above the other angels. Not that he wished to gloat, or be overly prideful, but he was better.

And then he had entered into the precinct for the first time.

There was the stink of human sweat and he could practically taste the sugar and coffee in the air, but there was the smell of smoke and the near taste of fire to accompany them that had Connor reeling. He restrained himself from immediately hurling himself forward and into the throes of battle, rolling his shoulders as if to shrug off the weight of sin in the precinct.

There was a devil among them, and it wasn’t hard to work out which of his new colleagues it was.

Captain Fowler had introduced him to his experienced partner, lieutenant Hank Anderson, whom he was supposed to follow and learn from. Connor had to grit his teeth so as not to roar at the other. The humans were blinder than Connor had initially thought. They would let a devil into their midst, one that would see them fall to doom and destruction.

He fought back the scowl, replacing it instead with a kinder smile, offering the devil his hand. When their palms connected, there was a deep burn that seared through his skin.

‘It is nice to be working with you, lieutenant.’

‘It won’t be, I can assure you.’ The urge to let his wings loose and drive the devil through the wall grew, but he kept his smile up. This was going to be harder than he thought.

~X~

Hank had been created from blood and brimstone. He was born to a world of darkness, the lick of hot flames and the sting of teeth and steel against his flesh. For centuries, he had grown and festered like the plague on humanity he had been made to be.

His dark wings became a shield from the worst pain, and his teeth helped to defend him and tear out the throats of other devils that tried to hurt him. Survival was learnt from an early age, and when he was finally able to crawl free of the pit, he was greeted with the warmth of sunlight and the feeling of Spring dew.

He had to learn fast, so that he might survive and not return to Hell itself.

He studied parchments, scrolls and tablets from the dawn of human time, had followed human history and learnt the best and worst of it all. He had learned quickly how best to disguise himself from most angels, and had nearly died numerous times throughout history.

Through it all though, Hank had grown and aged. He became harder to find, harder to kill, and he had come to recognise humans as less the worms that he had heard through shouts and tortured whispers. Instead, he came to recognise them as an intelligent species, who often made stupid decisions. Mistakes or choices that sent them to an early grave or simply added up until they were being ripped from the planet and pulled down.

Down below.

He had many jobs throughout history, had many backstories and different histories to suit his needs. His most recent character was that of a police lieutenant, where it was he that dished out punishment, not just on horrible human beings, but the occasional devil, demon or fallen angel that caused trouble.

He had come to realise that long ago, humans were too often dragged to Hell for something that could be forgiven or looked over. The seven deadly sins may have been something ‘damning’, but they could be explored without being taken to the extreme like angels seemed to believe. In fact, in Hank’s mind, it was simply Heaven that was refusing to forgive, as was their (quote, unquote) ‘policy’.

It had been a surprise to Hank when his newest partner turned out to be an angel. Not only that, but one that could immediately see through his disguise despite the centuries he had to perfect it. He never gave the game away, but the two of them had been forced to work side by side. It would have been comical, if Hank wasn’t constantly feeling the burn of ‘righteous fury’ whenever they were within close proximity.

He had spoken with Connor, had even apologised for his rather rude introduction, but the angel had refuted his words. It was clear to him that Connor was just one of many angels that would never learn, the naïve little pricks that they were. Heaven did a brilliant job of brainwashing those that left it, and Hank was unsurprised Connor seemed furious, in some cases fearful, to be around Hank for any extended time.

Though, there was one thing that shook their relationship.

It was a case, one of a particularly brutal serial killer. As they were the investigators for the case, they allowed themselves more freedom in the crime scene once given space from other officers. When alone, Hank let his human visage drop a bit, to reveal the scarred features he held, two strong horns and a pair of white, bony, bat-like wings. When Connor had noticed his transformation, the other had released his own mirage, revealing dark, feathered wings and a neon blue halo above his head.

‘No need to get pissy. We’re alone here.’ Hank huffed, and though the angel didn’t relax, he didn’t attack. Hank allowed him to use his powers to help with the investigation, the little angel practically spitting out the blood when he tasted it. Hank already smelled that it had been a devil’s blood, but he smirked at the adorable face the angel had pulled when he found it disgusting.

They returned to their human forms before another officer would show up, and through it all, Hank had noticed how Connor’s eyes kept diverting to him. Gazing at him not in anger or disgust, but curiosity, and perhaps an interest that made Hank’s spine perform a delicious tingle.

He could work with this.

~X~

A few months into their work together, they had started investigating a serial killer. Connor had done well to keep the devil away from him, though it had been easier than he initially thought. The devil seemed to pay little mind in attempting to tempt him into the worst kinds of sin, and to Connor’s surprise, actively assisted in the investigations. He didn’t attempt to get the wrong humans killed or framed for their actions, and helped to track down the murderers or rapists or whatever else as quickly as possible.

Without revealing themselves, of course.

When the other had dropped his human guise at the crime scene, Connor had been prepared to rip his head off, but when the other spoke so softly, despite his gruff demeanour, Connor had agreed to keep the peace. But he was confused, and more than a little curious in the other.

He didn’t know what it was that he was experiencing, as he had little knowledge of what a human or an angel could feel. He had never experienced emotions in this way, but he became curious about his partner. He was curious if those wings were as sensitive as his own, whether his gruff behaviour was from boredom, or if he genuinely didn’t want to fight. He didn’t understand this enigma.

During their investigation into the serial killer, it was at the third crime scene that Connor had taken note that not only did the place stink of his usual, devilish partner, but that the smell had intensified. As if doubled.

Connor had been too slow to connect the dots, and had been ambushed by the devil. He was tackled to the floor, feeling the figure thrust their knee deep into his back, pushing against his spine. It hurt. Connor whined, a sound he didn’t know he could make, but the devil had just laughed above him. Lips leaned down and a forked tongue swept over his cheek, tasting him. Connor fought back, but from his position, he couldn’t grab his gun nor his sword. He was trapped.

There were footsteps, and then Hank was in front of them both. Silver hair which had helped to curtain his eyes, was pulled back, revealing similar silver eyes. They looked down at Connor with some kind of gaze that he didn’t recognise. Then they turned to fury as they rose to meet the eyes of the devil.

‘If you want a piece of angel flesh, you’ll have to wait your turn.’ There was a tightening on Connor’s limbs, a burning sensation scarring his wrists. Connor twisted, feeling the grip change to grab a head full of hair and lift his head up at an uncomfortable angle. When that tongue came out to taste him again, the weight was released with one quick movement.

Connor could breathe, and he had turned to see Hank without his guise. The two devils were in a tangle of violent clawing and limbs, wings sprouted and teeth bared. There was a loud ‘SNAP!’ as something was broken, and the killer shrieked. Connor leapt into action then, pulling out his gun. He raised it, and stopped.

He trained it on the two of them, and through the burn of his halo, the voices of his superiors and guardians urged him to end it. He had both of them in his sights. He could do it. He could shoot and kill them both.

There was a gunshot, and Hank peeled back as there was an explosion of red. The head of the devil had a hole clean through the skull, through the back and between the eyes. It left an alcove in the back of its head, brain matter and blood bursting into a bright confetti of colour. And beyond that, Hank was greeted with the sight of Connor kneeling on the floor.

The gun had not lowered.

Hank knew it was over. He could practically see Connor’s guise dropping, the wings unfurling and the halo gleaming as he was close to accomplishing his mission. Connor’s eyes flicked back and forth, his hands around the gun trembling. Suddenly, the gun dropped, along with Connor.

There was a cry from the angel, a terrible, pained sound as he clutched at his head. The halo burned through his hair and deep into his flesh. Hank was to his side in a moment, bringing him into his lap as the halo withered away to nothing. His wings shook, feathers beginning to moult and though his wings seemed to have shifted a shade darker, they remained their beautiful, glossy colour.

By the time it was over, Connor had been rendered unconscious, his wings shrinking back into his human guise, but he was missing the heated glow that would arc above his head. As Hank’s own body returned to its original form, he held the other close, and even carried him to the ambulance outside, after he called it.

It was shock, according to the paramedics, with some bruising from the damage dealt by the now deceased criminal. He would be out of the hospital in no time, less so since he would still be healing at an angel’s rate.

He met Connor outside the hospital, and instead of driving the both of them back to the precinct, Hank had taken the quiet fallen angel to an empty bridge where Hank had found it easiest to think. Few people came there anymore, the playground abandoned and the stink of the river causing people to feel far too uncomfortable to approach. It was the perfect place.

‘What are we doing here, lieutenant?’ His voice quaked, and wide, doe-brown eyes looked up at Hank with the most fearful expression Hank had seen the angel wear. It was more afraid than when he had been attacked by the devil in the first place.

‘I think, you being downgraded to a fallen angel, has earned you the right to just call me Hank.’ He half joked. It didn’t help the angel’s shaking. ‘Come on. I just want to talk.’

He stepped out of the car, and over to a park bench that looked out over the river. He waited a few short minutes before he heard the car door slam and Connor’s approach, taking a seat beside him.

‘Why did you come out all this way to eat me?’

Hank turned a confused gaze down at Connor, eyes to the hairline with shock. Now, that he had not been expecting.

‘Uh… I don’t want to eat you.’

‘The devil said you would have to wait for angel flesh. You have looked at me in a similar way before, so I am pretty certain your intention is to eat me. Especially since I can’t burn you anymore an-’

There was a guffaw of laughter from Hank, and Connor felt his cheeks flush a great pink. He had never been able to blush before, and he felt more embarrassed and more shame when he realised he was exhibiting such human behaviour.

‘Tha… That isn’t what the little creep meant.’ Hank assured him, arm around Connor and bringing him close. Despite Connor’s immediate panic, he didn’t struggle when Hank pulled him into the half hug. He felt Hank’s warmth, and how it didn’t burn like when they first met. Instead it was a soothing sensation that heated his skin and the smell of brimstone had been clouded with the smell of sugar, the slightest taint of alcohol and something stronger.

‘T-Then… what are we doing out here?’

‘I just wanted to talk.’ It was a slight lie, but despite Hank’s growing interest in the tiny angel, Hank wasn’t like the devil serial killer. He wasn’t one to take that shit by force. Hank may have been a devil, but he had grown to become more than that, in his mind. ‘I just wanted to say, I’m sorry.’ Connor’s gaze was confused and disbelieving. ‘No, I mean it. I’m sorry you lost your grace. And for me of all people.’

‘It wasn’t for you.’

‘Then why didn’t you shoot?’ Connor’s lips were sealed, and he had turned away from Hank, that shameful flush giving him away.

‘Believe it or not, Connor, being so close to humans isn’t so bad.’

‘Of course you would say that. Just trying to rub it in that I have been released from Heaven?’

‘See, you say that like being released from Heaven is a bad thing.’ Hank hummed, turning his head and pulling Connor closer. He could practically hear the fallen angel’s heart racing and the slightest chatter of teeth in the cool night air. ‘But, think about it; Heaven had such control over you, in the end, your own decisions were considered enough to have you banished?’

‘I…’ Connor shouldn’t be listening to this. He shouldn’t! ‘I was placed here on Earth to hunt your kind, to protect the humans from sin.’

‘But see, you can’t protect humans from sin.’ Hank said in response. Connor tilted his head, like a little, lost puppy. ‘Humans cannot be saved from sin, in fact, it is in their nature to sin. And the small things should always have the option to be forgiven, and yet, Hell is being piled high with more and more souls each year.’

‘You’re just saying that…’

‘I’m not. Think about it, Connor. Is it so wrong to indulge? Certain things are out of line, of course, but is violence, when necessary, a bad thing? Is lying? Is sex really as sinful as Heaven taught you?’ Connor turned his head away, gaze pointedly to the pavement.

‘I… I don’t know…’

‘And that is the thing about human nature; no one really knows what is too far. Sometimes, someone deserves the worst that happens to them, but then there are those that are judged too harshly for something so insignificant. And they are humans, with lifespans shorter than ours by whole millenniums. They should be allowed to live as they choose without us dictating how they behave.’

Connor didn’t seem sure how to react to such information. He felt Hank’s guise drop and let his own drop as well. When he met Hank’s eyes, he hid his gaze, shameful of his appearance. Instead, he felt Hank raise on of his hands, and thin, soft lips against the crook of his knuckles; a gentle tease of fangs against the skin of his hand. Wide eyes turned up to Hank, and even though there was something lustful there, Hank did not proceed any further.

‘You are beautiful, Connor. I don’t know if Heaven made you that way, or if this was your own design, but it was a good choice.’ The pink to Connor’s cheeks burned. He withdrew his hand, and Hank didn’t press further. The devil simply chuckled a gruff sound from deep within his chest.

‘Don’t worry, Connor. I may be evil, but I am not going to do anything to you that you wouldn’t want me to. I just wanted to indulge myself a little.’ Connor bit his lip, kneading his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘I… I d-don’t mind…’ Hank raised an eyebrow down at him. ‘I just… I’m not sure it is appropriate.’

‘In Heaven and Hell’s eyes, it never will be. But here, on Earth, things can be different. Connor…’ There was a quiet sound from Connor, and Hank felt his body burn and his spine quiver. ‘I… If you want, we can be friends.’

Connor leaned into Hank’s arms, resting his head in the crook of Hank’s throat. Hank’s hands passed over one wing that twitched, and then relaxed beneath his touch. There was a hum from Connor, a sound so content and just a little bit nervous.

‘I… I would like that…’

#dbhlightandshadow #Detroit: Become Human #DBH #Hank Anderson #RK800 Connor #RK800 #HankCon #Hannor #Hank X Connor #NSFW?#Fanfic #Fanfiction #HarcourtHolmesII

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

Text

Eskel Meeting Your Parents....

A/N: I aboslutely love this okay I’m just gonna say it

Warnings: assholey parents

-Eskel meeting your parents wasn’t intentional. Well, you had wanted it to happen in the future but the shy witcher you loved was adamant on waiting - which you were okay with. Your parents weren’t people you could just bring a witcher home to. They had to be talked through the ordeal, be told what to and what not to say like children learning how to use their manners.

-But your parents showed up out of the blue one evening with no warning. Usually they came once a month but they were early, catching you off guard.

-You were sitting on a makeshift bed in front of the fireplace in the main room. It was bitter and frigid outside so you didn’t want to wander too far from the warmth in the hearth. You rested on a few thick quilts beneath a fur blanket. You were on your stomach reading a book while Eskel lay alongside you, listening to you read out loud to him. Every now and then, he’d stroke his fingers through your hair and kiss your shoulder or just below your ear. Other times, he’d trail his fingers down your spine.

-He stiffened up just slightly, turning his head to look at the front door. He could hear horse hooves against the frozen earth. There were two of them, and the quiet chatter of their riders told the witcher that there was one person upon each animal.

-”Someone’s here.” He whispered, moving to stand up. “Just ignore them.” You urged, hand clasping around his bicep to keep him in place. “They can’t see us from here. Perhaps they’ll just go away.”

-He didn’t share the same hopes as you.

-”They came this way for a reason, Y/N.”

-You sat up, sensing the worry in his tone, and pulled on his red tunic top that he had shedded hours ago. It fit you like a nightgown, loose and nearly falling to your knees.

-”You aren’t answering the door like that.” Eskel said, rising to his feet. “Eskel, all I have to do is shoo them away and then we can go back to laying on the warm furs and I can finish the chapter.” You brushed your hand down the front of his chest before stepping away from him.

-Goosebumps crossed your skin when your feet met the cold wooden floor. You fixed the top on you to cover you a little more modestly and tucked a few messy pieces of hair behind your ears. Your witcher was right behind you, drawing one sword from the sheath that rested near the front door. He then moved out of sight to the unwanted guest but he stayed close enough that if you needed him, he would be there in a heartbeat.

-A knock came and you counted to ten before opening. Your mouth fell open and gripped the chest of the top tighter. “Mother? Father? What-What are you two doing here?”

-”Well don’t just leave us out in the cold to freeze to death, Y/N.” Your mother stepped into your home without invitation and your father followed right behind you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Why are you dressed like you’re preparing for warm weather, darling? You’re going to catch a cold!”

-You turned your head to look at Eskel, who was unintentionally hiding in the shadows of the room casted by the fire. You didn’t think he looked so intimidating but your parents did. The man was scarred, disfigured from the marks on his face to the ones littering his hard chest, thick arms, and muscular stomach. There wasn’t a single inch of his skin that was free of a scar. His dark hair was tied back in a low ponytail but a few pieces fell down to shield his face. Yellow eyes glowed in the dim light and the sword in his hand glinted. Dark shadows were cast along his face with the lighting from the fire, making him appear more older and worn than he actually was.

-Your father was quick to draw his dagger but you stepped in front of Eskel, holding your hands out at your father.

“Father! No!”

-Eskel made no move to lift his sword should he need to attack. His heart was racing rather frantically inside his ribs and anxiety festered in his stomach. Why were these people here? Why were your parents here? This wasn’t how he was supposed to meet them - with you barely dressed and him in only trousers that hung low on his hips with a sword in his hand.

-“Father, please put that away.” You pointed at the dagger.

“He has a sword, Y/N!”

“His eyes!” Your mother gasped, bringing her hands up to cover her mouth. “He’s a witcher!”

-Silence fell around the room as you watched your parents, lips parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t think of the right words. Your mother looked from Eskel to you, eyes widening when she realized that you were nearly undressed and so was Eskel.

-”By the gods, Y/N! Did I not teach you any better? To wait until marriage? To be pure for your husband?”

-”Oh gods, mother.” You groaned, cheeks flushing as your father took a deep breath. “I am a grown woman. If I don’t want to wait for marriage, I don’t have to.”

-”Y/N.” Eskel’s rough and raspy voice was timid. “I-I can leave.”

-“Will you excuse us for a moment? I need to put actual clothes on.”

-You didn’t wait for the okay from your parents. You took Eskel’s hand and guided him back to the bedroom. Once inside, you closed the door and brushed your hands over your hair.

-Eskel immediately began to apologize profusely, placing his sword against the wall near the door. You shook your head, hands finding his arms to comfort him and his worrying mind.

-”You have nothing to apologize for, my love.” You offered him a little smile. “I didn’t even know they were going to show up.”

“I can…. I can go.”

“No way, Eskel.” You furrowed your brows together. “It’s freezing cold outside.”

“Y/N, they don’t like me.”

“They don’t like anyone. But if you don’t want to go out there, it’s no big deal at all. Get settled into bed and I’ll make sure they have everything they may need in the guest room before I come back here.”

-Eskel said nothing, turning his head to look at the door. His brows were drawn together. You’d never seen him look so panicked and scared.

You stepped closer to him, hands cupping his face and turning his head back so he looked at you. You smiled up at him, brushing your thumb over the corner of his lips.

-“I love you.” You reminded him. “You know that, don’t you?”

He nodded his head. His hand came up to hold yours against his cheek.

“I’d rather stay in here.” He admitted quietly, ashamed that he was such a coward he couldn’t face your parents.

-Once you put on a pair of trousers and a tunic that actually fit you, you went out to your parents. They were whispering to each other but fell silent when the door to your room clicked shut. They waited to see if the witcher was behind you before they spoke.

-”What is a witcher doing here, Y/N?” Your mother asked, eyes following you as you moved to gather up the blankets in front of the fireplace.

“He stays here often when he’s in between contracts.”

“No, Y/N. What is he doing here?” She repeated.

-You said nothing as you folded the fur blanket and set it aside.

-”This is his home, mother. This is where he comes when he’s resting or healing from something.” You turned to face her. They both were silent for a while, surprised by your sudden cold tone.

-“I don’t think it’s proper that a witcher be staying with a woman alone in the middle of nowhere.” Your father said, moving to take a seat at the table in the kitchen.

“We aren’t in the middle of nowhere, father. The village is just a few minutes down the road. And he has a name. Eskel.”

-”I don’t care to know his name.”

“Then don’t bother asking questions about him.” You returned to folding the blankets.

“What is with this attitude you have, Y/N?” Your mother looked offended, hurt that you’d be so cold and harsh towards them.

-You didn’t know what to say, what would make them understand that you didn’t want them to meet him, to be in the same room as him or even the same town!

-”I care about him is all, mother. I don’t like hearing the way you two are talking about him.”

“You care about him?” Your father almost scoffed. “His kind aren’t capable of emotion, Y/N! He’ll never be able to reciprocate that feeling to you! What do you plan on getting out of whatever blasphemous thing you have with him?”

-You locked your jaw so tightly that it hurt. But it was better to feel the pain in your jaw than that in your chest. You finished folding the blankets and then looked to your parents.

“You know where the guest room is. Please make yourselves at home. I’m going to bed.”

-They watched you disappear down the hallway, the door to your room closing roughly behind you.

-Eskel stood by the wardrobe in your room, arms crossed and still shirtless. When you opened the door, he lifted his gaze from the wooden floor to you.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” He asked softly, hesitantly.

“I will be when I’m lying in bed with you, my love.” You told him, smiling sadly at him. You were fighting the tears in your eyes, not wanting him to see you cry. You kicked off the trousers and climbed into bed.

-He followed you, allowing you to tuck yourself into his side as you pleased.

“They’re just close-minded assholes.” You muttered against his cool skin. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He kissed the top of your head, putting his head back against the pillows. The night would be long and sleepless.

-In the morning, you woke up to Eskel brushing his fingers through your hair. Your head rested on his chest, one arm stretched out across his torso to hold him. He was awake, staring at the ceiling. When you lifted your head to look at him, yellow eyes met yours.

-“How did you sleep?” You asked, reaching up to tuck pieces of his hair behind his ear. This allowed you to see his face better, to admire his handsome features.

“I didn’t.” He sighed.

“I tossed and turned all night.” You turned over onto your back, keeping your head on his chest.

“Believe me, I know. There were a few times I swore you were kicking me on purpose.” He chuckled, kissing the top of your head.

-Silence fell between you two, though this wasn’t comfortable silence. The both of you knew that your parents were just down the hall - if they weren’t up already and in the main room. You knew there was no hiding from them. They were your parents after all.

-With a soft sigh, you reluctantly got out of bed and then leaned down to kiss Eskel. He watched you with gentle eyes as you got dressed, eyes admiring your curves and full figure.

-”You don’t have to come out yet, love.” You told him as you finished braiding your hair over your shoulder. “Just when you’re ready.”

He nodded his head and sat up on the edge of the bed.

“I just…. I don’t want them to hate me.”

“Don’t worry about it because I love you and that is all that matters.” You assured him, stepping between his knees. He looked up at you, giving you the perfect opportunity to kiss his lips. “Get dressed. We will go out together.”

-Once you both were dressed you led your way out to the main room. Luckily, the room was empty. You let out a sigh of relief and gestured for Eskel to take a seat at the table while you went to start a pot of water for tea over the fire. The water warmed quick and soon, you found yourself sitting next to your witcher, hands clasped around a warm mug as you giggled at something he said. Your chair was as close to him as possible, your thighs bumping each other.

-Eskel watched you laugh and then leaned over to kiss your cheek, his hand on your thigh gripping you just a little.

-Movement in the guest room caught his attention. Your parents were awake.

-Eskel drew his touch away from you and clasped his hands around his mug of tea, eyes dropping to the warm liquid.

-You noticed the way he seemed to shut down. The light in his eyes was taken over by something darker. You placed your hand between his shoulder blades, wanting to comfort him.

-“Good morning, darling.” Your mother greeted as she entered the main room. Your father was right behind her. “Good morning, Eskel, was it?”

-You smiled when your mother said his name. At least she was trying.

-“Yes, ma’am.” Eskel nodded his head.

-“Why don’t you help me start breakfast, Y/N?” Your mother suggested.

You stood up, your hand still on Eskel’s back. He briefly looked at you. You leaned down to kiss his jaw just in front of his ear.

“I love you.” The words were barely a whisper but the witcher heard.

-“Did you hear about Andor, Y/N?” Your father asked, sitting at the opposite end of the table from Eskel.

-You wanted to roll your eyes at the mention of Andor. He was a man your parents wanted you to marry, one that they approved of, one they adored.

-“I don’t care to know anything about that man, father.” You stated matter-of-factly. “I want nothing to do with him.”

“He’s been knighted within King Foltest’s court.”

“Good for him.”

-“Your father is just trying to carry conversation with you, Y/N.” Your mother glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “No need to be so short and rude.”

“He’s trying to talk me into returning to Vizima to marry Andor. I want nothing to do with him.”

“He’s the perfect suitor for you, Y/N!” Your father exclaimed. “You’re not getting any younger. You need to find a suitable husband and have children.”

-“I’ve found someone suitable to me, father. Whether we marry or not, Eskel is who I want to be with.” You held your father’s gaze.

“But you'd never have children with him.” Your mother pointed out, her voice dropping to a whisper as if Eskel couldn't hear her.

“Eskel and I are very comfortable with the life we have right now. Neither of us are interested in having children.” You looked over to your mother out of the corner of your eyes.

-“Where are you from, Eskel?” Your father turned his head to Eskel.

“The little village I was born in doesn’t exist anymore. It was in the mountains outside of Toussaint. But I was raised in Kaedwen.”

“Raised…. at the witcher school there?”

Eskel nodded his head.

-After your father took his attention away from Eskel, the witcher stood up and excused himself from the table. You stopped him before he could get too far, your hand on his arm.

“I should go check on the animals.” He told you, unable to meet your gaze.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, no. Stay here with your parents.”

-You watched him put his clock on and leave through the front door.

-”He's a good man.” You thought out loud, hands coming up to your abdomen. There you were able to mess with your nails in an attempt to keep yourself occupied. “And I love him.”

-Your mother made a sound of disgust, shaking her head.

“Quit talking such nonsense, Y/N.”

-You turned to face her, brows furrowing together.

“Is it nonsense to speak the truth? To try to get you both to understand that Eskel is human too? He's just like us!”

-”Except he's not, Y/N.” Your father said. “He's not like us. He's a mutant for crying out loud! You see those eyes! Those markings on his face! He's a monster, Y/N! By the gods, why do you have to be so difficult?”

Your breath caught in your throat and tears immediately stung your eyes. You shook your head, stepping away from them.

-”I-I am not being difficult, father!” You cried. “I love him! I love Eskel, and he-he loves me! He loves me so much that sometimes he's afraid to lay his hands upon me because of what he's endured! Sometimes he's afraid for me to touch him! He's never known a gentle hand! He never asked to be a witcher! He was taken from his home and forced to become a witcher! He is the sweetest and kindest man I have ever met. He's afraid to hurt me, so much so that he doesn't like to share his thoughts because he thinks that somehow if I knew how much self-hatred he has, it would hurt me. And it-it does. It hurts-It hurts so bad.” Your voice trembled. You shook your head, your hand coming up to your heart. “I look into his eyes and see a broken man with a heart of gold who just wants someone to care for him. He doesn't want people like you looking down upon him like he's dirt underneath your boots.”

-Your father stood from the table, opening his mouth and pointing an accusing finger at you but you were having none of it.

-”I love you both dearly but you cannot stay here.” You firmly shook your head. “The inn in town is lovely. Tell Lady Bergrenn that I sent you. She'll give you a friendly discount for your stay.”

-Without another word, you retrieved your cloak from the hook behind the door and put it on before venturing out into the cold. The morning air was frigid but it helped to cool off the anger and frustration boiling in your veins.

-Eskel was in the barn. He was sitting on a bale of straw, petting Lil Bleater and her two kids. One of them was trying to jump up onto Eskel’s shoulders but the poor thing fell short each time and only managed to hit Eskel’s back with his tiny hooves.

-The witcher heard everything, heard what your father said and what you shouted back in reply. He heard your racing heart and your footsteps crunch through the snow. The door to the barn was pulled open, creaking softly. He didn’t look up at you, ashamed. Lil Bleater, however, turned her head to you and bleated, trotting over to you.

-You knelt down to rub her, smiling softly through the tears as she butted your knees and almost made you fall over. When you were finished with her, you stood to your feet and looked across the barn to Eskel. His hands were on his knees, gripping tightly as he looked down at the ground.

-Wiping the tears from your cheeks, you decided to move towards him. Even as you knelt between his parted thighs, he kept his gaze down. You reached out to cup his face but at the last second you changed your mind. You shook your head, eyes closing tightly as you sunk down to your knees.

-”I-I should’ve-I should’ve sent them away when they came unannounced.”

“They’re your parents, Y/N. You can’t just do that.”

“Like hell I can’t.” You couldn’t help talking through your teeth. Your anger wasn’t meant to be directed at him. You took a breath in and shook your head. “If they aren’t willing to respect the man I love, the man I want in my life, then they have no business seeing me.”

-”You can’t just kick them out for me, Y/N.” Eskel’s gaze finally met yours. Teary yellow eyes melting your heart.

“I’d do anything for you.” You forced a smile on to your lips. “I love you. What they said-,”

“Was true.” Eskel stood up and moved away from you, running his hands through his hair. “I-I-I can’t-Y/N, I can’t give you the life you deserve. I can’t give you a family. I-I can’t promise you that I’ll always be there for you. I’m gone so much and you-you deserve better.”

-”That isn’t true, Eskel. You are all the family I need.”

Still, he shook his head.

-You moved from your knees to sit where he previously had been. You wiped your cheeks again and cast your gaze down to your hands. Minutes passed where the two of you were silent. Eskel stayed across the barn from you, one hand on his hip and the other over his mouth.

-”I love you.” You reminded him, turning your head to look at the witcher. “I-I love you, Eskel. Everything I told them, it was true.”

“I know, doll.” He whispered, his hand falling from his mouth. “I know.”

-The frustration and anger at your parents and at the world for making your witcher so broken turned into sorrow and sadness.

-Your sobs were what broke Eskel out of his little trance. He moved to you immediately, kneeling down between your knees to cup your face. His thumbs brushed tears from your cheeks.

“I love you.” He murmured the words to you, leaning forward to kiss your head. “I just want you happy.”

“You make me happy.” You held his hand to your face. “Promise me you won’t leave.”

Eskel knew what you meant. The both of you knew he’d have to leave for his duties as a witcher soon, but that wasn’t what you meant.

“I promise you, doll.”

-His big arms engulfed you in a hug, pulling you down from the bale so that you rested in his lap. Your head was tucked beneath his chin, your arms curled around his torso underneath his arms. You stayed like that until you calmed down. Then he guided you out of the barn and to your home, the home you shared with him, the home he dared to call his own.

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Don’t forget to go here if you want to be on any of my taglists.

#eskel x reader #eskel headcanon #eskel fluff #eskel angst #witcher eskel

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oneletteredwondered · 4 years ago

Text

Siren Song

Sum: Pirate Remus hears a song on the water and needs to find out what it is. Nothing can console me, but my sailor bold.

Written for @dukexietyweek Day 3: Pirates

Warning: possible manipulation, referring to a creature of unknown origin as ‘it’, mild descriptions of drowning, kisses.

Salt isn’t the only thing in the air. The crew can feel it. Anticipation or dread. There’s something dangerous lurking in the water they know. Of course none of them have seen the thing, but it’s in the hit against the hull of the ship, the scratching they can hear late at night, the sound of a song that permeates through the waves. There’s something down there they know, and the captain is eager to find it.

“Simple really,” Mad Captain Remus says to them, securely tying their longest length of rope around his torso. The crew shifts from foot to foot unsure if they should allow this to really happen.

“Pull me up if I scream,” The captain says and falls backwards off the edge of the ship. The crew rushes to the edge and looks over into the water, seeing the line of rope down into the sea foam but none of their captain. They whisper to themselves and take positions near the rope, waiting and waiting for the tug to signal pulling their captain back to deck.

It’s cold. The water presses on his chest and constricts his breathing. Remus has a chance to catch another gulp of air then lets the water drag him down. His fingers are already numb but he keeps his body moving to ward off most of the chill. It does little but Remus isn’t one to give in so easily.

Which is mostly true. He’s heard the siren song on the water for weeks now, getting closer to his ship. At first he wanted to destroy the thing, protect his crew from their trickery and potential death. Perhaps sell the hide and teeth for a pretty penny to treat the crew a day of relaxation and well deserved pillaging.

Then he started listening to the song, which is probably his first mistake, part of the trickery involved. He listened, and the song sounded sad, more sad than any he’s ever heard before. Desperation, sorrow, despair. Remus felt it burn inside him and fester till he felt like his flesh would rot due to the emotions whirling inside him. None of the rest of the crew could hear it as well as he could, could feel what he could, it drove him more mad than he already was.

Perhaps that’s what the siren wanted, to make him feel, and give in. Remus doesn’t much feel like he’s giving in even as he breaks the surface of the water to breathe again. He feels dangerous, challenging even, wanting to play the siren at their own game. He takes another deep breath and dives back under the water.

It’s so dark he can barely see through the murk, but he can see enough though it stings his eyes. He spins weightlessly in circles, trying to figure out where the sound of the siren is coming from. Their voice echos through the water and bounces in every direction he can’t directly pinpoint where the singer is. As soon as he thinks he knows where the siren is, the song is behind him, making him spin dizzy in circles.

He pops over the surface of the water again. Refusing to go back to the deck without seeing the siren if it kills him. Which may very well be what the siren wants. He inhales slowly and gathers as much as air as he can, and sinks back down to a song closer than it was before.

His eyes burn with the strain of searching, turning this way and that, trying to catch merely a glimpse of the creature that has been haunting his nightmares. The song is vibrating in his skull now, loud enough to block out the waves above him. He closes his eyes tight and clamps his hands over his water logged ears to block the sound out.

Suddenly it stops. Silence besides the rush of waves. Carefully Remus lowers his hands and opens his eyes to the water around him, coming face to face with rows of sharp jagged teeth.

He blows out a puff of bubbles, clamping a hand over his mouth to not waste any more air as the siren tilts it’s head back and forth at him. His lungs are already burning with a need to breathe but he’ll be Davey Jones himself if he lets this moment pass him.

The siren is there, floating in the water not a foot apart from him. Dangerous points of teeth stick out of their mouth and their eyes are solid glowing purple. Their color marking are hard to pick out in the dark water surrounding them but Remus supposes that’s the point. He can detect hints of grey, black, and that brilliant purple, but nothing definitive.

The siren lets out a coo, trill and sharp and it sends a shiver down Remus’s spine. The siren reacts positively to that, smiling wickedly at him and swimming in a circle around him that causes the length of their body to curl around him possessively. Whatever emotion Remus is feeling at the action he can barely focus on it as his chest begins to spasm.

He lets out the last of a puff of bubbles and thrashes for the surface. He doesn’t quite make it, a hand, cold and quick, wraps around his ankle and yanks him farther downward. He wants to scream or fight, hand reaching for the dagger strapped his side but the siren is faster, hands gripping him and body coiling around him as much as the shark like body will allow.

Remus tries to inhale once, body desperate for something to breathe, and expects to swallow down salt water but that doesn’t happen. Just as he opens his mouth, lips cover his and air, warm and hot, enters his lungs instead. He nearly gasps and ruins the whole thing, watching as the siren’s gills work to breathe water in and air out for him.

Once he feels able to hold his breath he pulls back, surprised the siren lets him. Their hands on his face are colder than the water, eye shimmering with subtle movements. Remus can’t help it. A grin begins to spread across his face, an expression that gets wider when the siren returns it fully showing off their sharp teeth.

Morbid curiosity consumes him and Remus touch the teeth boldly, feeling the point and nearly pricking his finger on it. The siren lets him touch, another trill of noise curling out of their throat. Remus shivers again at the noise. It draws him in, something deep and longing calling him closer to it.

The siren makes another noise, more pointed and direct this time. Despite the water threatening to bring him to his grave, Remus opens his mouth and repeats the noise as best he can. The siren spins around him again, kissing air back into his lungs.

This time Remus knows he has to pull away or he’ll stay down there forever. As tempting as it is. He points up to the surface and siren glares at him, letting out a hissing noise. Still it helps him up. Remus inhales hard once he breaches, coughing up the water that infiltrated his lungs. He can feel the creature curling between his legs as best it can with it’s size, reminding him it’s there.

And Remus wants to stay there, wants to float in the water forever staring at the creature and their hypnotic eyes. He only wishes he could tell if the want is because it wants him, or wants to kill him. He’s scared and excited by both options, which is how he knows he needs to get out fast.

So Remus screams, a strangled sound from his salt water wrecked throat. The reaction is instant. The rope around his torso tugs hard, dragging him upwards, as the siren lurches up, a pained noise escaping them as Remus clambers up the side of his ship. He can hear it crying as he hits the deck, covering his ears with his hands to block out the noise. He wants to dive back down and console the creature, let it keep him forever. It burns his soul and the only thing to stop him from doing so is his crew, using the rope around him to tie him to the mast and hoist the anchor to get the ship moving.

The crying follows them for three days, a wailing noise that has the crew miserable but none as much as Remus. It affects him so much more it seems, able to hear the sound clearer than the others, hear the sorrow in the song that makes him scream and cry. Still he does not return to the water or look over the edge of his ship for three days.

It’s on the evening of the fourth night that something changes. The song is softer this time, more subdued, begging now instead of demanding. That’s not what gets Remus to stand from his chamber and stumble his way out to the deck to lean over the edge of his ship looking for purple scales. It’s the fact he can understand the words being sung to him.

“My heart is pierced by cupid, my disdain all glitter and gold, there is nothing can console me.. but my sailor bold.” The song stings right through him, his soul vibrating with knowing he is the sailor being sung about and the words leave his mouth before he can think.

“His hair hangs in ringlets, his eyes black as coal, my happiness attend him, wherever he may go.” He’s lucky, or perhaps unlucky, none of the rest of the crew is around to hear him or see him. He scans the water, nearly desperate as the song, when the siren surfaces, letting out a coo to him. Relief floods Remus’s system at seeing them, something settling his frayed nerves at being apart. He mimics the noise back and siren smiles. They open up their arms to him and coo again. Come down here.

The urge to jump is commanding. Remus holds fast and instead repeats the noise with a gesture up. Come this way. The siren grimaces at him and coos again, more forcefully. Come down, please. Remus does not. He shakes his head and siren lets out a cry that hurts. Please.

Remus wants to. He wants to jump over the edge and follow the siren wherever they may lead him. He can’t. Not knowing their intentions with him.

“How can I understand you now?” He finds himself asking, clawing at the banister of his ship, anything to ground him to where he is. He debates tying himself down if it’ll help his urge. The siren tilts their head at him and smiles with their teeth, letting out a trill of a noise.

You belong to the sea, to me. The siren says. Remus knows this. Seven seas save him he knows this.

“What do you want with me?” He asks then. The siren smiles more genuinely at that and disappears under the water. Remus nearly does jump then, not wanting this to be over, but the siren appears again, shooting up out of the water claw their way up the boat. Once they’re close enough, Remus leans over and helps them settle on the edge.

He can see all the patterning of their body now, swirls of purple and black and grey, blending into one another it’s hard to say where one color ends and another begins. Their eyes now have a ring of black around the edges of the purple, adjusting to being out of the water. They coo and drag a finger across Remus’s cheeks softly and he melts into the cold touch.

I want everything, you are mine. The siren says and Remus kisses them. He cuts his lip on their teeth but it’s nothing compared to the feel of their scaled skin under his hands.

“Stay with me,” Remus finds himself asking. The siren coos happily and Remus echoes the noise. The night is wiled away cooing at each other until the first of the crew wakes. They catches Remus curled in the arms of the siren, both sleeping on the deck. The creature leaps over the edge of the boat as quick as it can and Remus jumps to watch them fall into the water until they can’t be seen any more.

Whatever questions the crew has he can not answer. He is unsure of the nature of what just happened himself. But come next night, he’s tying a rope to his torso and jumping overboard. The siren catches him and trills and teaches Remus it’s language.

Despite the concern, the pattern continues, a night above, a night below. Perhaps worrying when Remus begins to grow gills on the side of his neck, but he’s the same reckless captain the crew knows. Reckless as anything when he spends his nights with a deadly sea creature.

Word spreads when another ship threatens to attack, half the crew jumping overboard with a glossy look in their eyes and the sounds of a siren’s feast follow after. The crew wasn’t sure to be fearful or thankful considering the siren had not done the same to them. Remus couldn’t have been more besotted.

The rumors spread and when the crew docks, Remus stays on the ship with his siren. The crew tells hims tales of what everyone says and he laughs with them and they laugh when the siren trills from over the edge. They are feared even more now on the waters than ever before and they take full advantage of so.

Davey Jones prays for those who come across Mad Captain Remus and siren song for a lover.

#dukexietyweek2020 #virgil sanders #remus sanders #dukexiety #my post #fic #mer au

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thewokewordsmith · 5 years ago

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Zuko and Katara are refugees and war orphans who have been trained by the White Lotus since childhood to hone their bending skills to assassinate the Fire Navy’s highest ranking members.

I originally made this gifset for Zutara month but a lot of people in the notes were asking for a fanfic and I finally got around to writing it. It’s a one shot for now but I might eventually turn it into a multi chapter fic. Anyway please enjoy.

If you summed up my life until this point it would be. Travel light. Move quick. Create distance. It’s a way of life when your an assassin. Nothing left behind. Nothing to tie you to the scene of the crime. Leave no trace of your ever having been there. Leave no trace of your existence. Make it quick. Make it clean. Flee the scene.

That’s what they used to sing to us when we were little. They made a game out of the killing. Turned it into a song. A nursery rhyme so that our young minds could grasp the concept of killing. I don’t feel bad for being an assassin. I’m doing what needs to be done to end the war. Some say it’s hopeless to still fight after the Avatar was killed by Fire Lord Ozai’s daughter Azula, but I say fighting is better than giving up. People always think things are impossible until someone does the impossible. When it comes to ending this war I don’t believe in can’t. There’s just can’t right now. We can’t defeat Ozai right now, but we will.

Working at night has always been to my advantage, but my partner Zuko has never let it be to his disadvantage. His firebending is as deadly at night as it is during the daytime, and if ever it wasn't his dao swords more than make up for the discrepancy. The White Lotus masters pick our partners by watching the way all of us played together as children. To us it seemed like a regular playtime innocent enough, but there's nothing innocent about being one of the White Lotus' orphans, and it was really a test; a compatibility test to see what assassin we paired best with. Not only did they see how well we played together but they also watched how we fought with each other.

Zuko and I have always had our share of fights but we always resolved them. We don't let things fester we knock down, drag out, and make up. I guess that's one of the reasons the masters put us together. I don't know all of the reasons why the two of us were paired and I've never felt the need to ask. Zuko and I just work. We are both opposites and equals an unmovable object and an unstoppable force.

“We should be reaching Whaletail island in about fifteen minutes.” Zuko calls out.

“Who’s the mark?” I ask.

“Lieutenant Shimizu.”

I don’t need to study the photo of Lieutenant Shimizu I’ve got his face memorized already. I always remember their face even if I don’t remember their names. I don’t like calling the marks by their name. The killing is easier if I only think of them as marks.

“Five more minutes.”

I flex the veins in my fingers and my arms preparing myself to bloodbend as Zuko slips his Blue Spirit mask over his face. Our sky bison, Appa, dips low over the water. The members of the white lotus told us that Appa once belonged to the Avatar and I don’t doubt it because who else beside an airbender would have a sky bison? Some people say the Avatar isn’t dead. I’ve heard rumors that he’s in hiding and just waiting for the right moment to come back and save the world. I can’t waste my time with rumors and what ifs. I want a life beyond killing, running, and hiding. The only way to do that is to end this war, and I will by any means necessary.

The lieutenant’s ship comes upon us quickly. Bile rises up in my throat forcing me to clamp my lips shut tight and fight against the hot sick feeling but I hold back the urge to wretch. I always get an intense sick feeling before a kill. For a moment my skin is clammy but I whisk the sweat away with my bending to prevent chills. I’ve got to be totally focused. Zuko and I have planned this down to every last detail, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the killing.

“We can't fly in directly to the outpost we'll have to find somewhere to land Appa and then make our way from there.”

“How many are stationed at the outpost?”

“Less than ten.” Zuko replies. “It's strictly no take downs unless anyone sees us then we have no choice but to take them out.”

“I know the drill besides they never see us coming. That's what makes us assassins.”

I remember my first kill and the shocked look on the mark's face as my ice crystal pierced his heart. It slipped into him so easily, and even though the mark didn't know me he looked so betrayed. His eyes stayed on me until he fell to the floor. There wasn't any blood it all seemed too neat to be a killing. Murder was supposed to be messy and hard but my first time had been neither of those things.

“Is he really dead, Zuko?”

“Come on Katara we don’t have time.”

“But he-.”

“Come on! Make it quick. Make it clean. Leave the scene.” Zuko reminded me as he pulled me out of the room by the sleeve of my cloak, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the man lying in the floor. He was dead. I really did it. I killed someone.

We were out of the building before anyone even noticed that the general was dead and I couldn't believe how easy it was. Surely they won’t be all easy I thought. They weren't. There has been more than one mark that's put up a good fight. I've got the scars to prove it but the outcome is always the same. They die and Zuko and I live on to kill again and again; enough to amass a body count. I've seen the look of death on so many people's faces but I never can forget my first. To this day that surprise look of betrayal haunts me.

“We can land over there.” Zuko points to a small island a few yards away and I guide Appa towards it. We leap off the back of Appa before he touches down to the ground.

“We're going to have to sail our way over.”

“I'm on it.” I bend out a piece of ice big enough and thick enough to carry Zuko and I over to the Fire Navy's communication outpost. The floating block of ice cuts through the water like a knife through flesh. When we get close enough to the out post I create a wave big enough to lift us up to the tower. For a moment it's like the two of us are flying, and how I wish that we could. I wish that the two of us could fly away from this all, but as it stands there is no running away there's only fighting and surviving in a world that's ruled by fire.

The outpost is made of metal that is old and rusted from years upon years of being left to bare the brunt of the assault from it's natural enemy the salty sea water, and surely it creeks and groans but as we climb the stairs to the top floor there is no sound. Zuko and I spent years mastering Gōsutomōshon. Ghost motion. The art of moving without being heard.

The guards are just starting up their rounds, and as we reach the top floor we stay out of their line of sight and they remain oblivious to our presence. We wait until they head in the opposite direction before making our way through the open door that will lead us to Lieutenant Shimizu. There is no one in the corridors no sounds save for the sea.

In the moments before a kill I become a different person. I wash away all traces of my off duty self and wholly become an assassin. Ice water pumps through my veins and I know longer know mercy or pity. You cannot bargain your way out of the fate at hand; not when my own hands are already stained with too much blood to turn back now.

“This is it. The lieutenant's room.” Zuko informs me.

“Not for long.”

I force the door open with a surge of water that pushes the solid metal door back on it's hinges. It alerts the lieutenant and before we can even step into his room he's bending at us. It doesn't do him any good. Zuko deflects his fire blast until I step into the room behind him to end things.

“Wh-who are you?” The lieutenant ask.

“The last thing you'll ever see.” Zuko answers.

I hate it when they talk. I don't want to know what they sound like I just want them dead. “Shatter!” I cry out and clap my hands together.

Zuko jumps on the spot. “Damn it, Katara you’re supposed to warn me before you do that!” Zuko snaps as the body lands directly in front of him with a loud thud of dead weight.

“Me saying shatter was your warning. Besides it's the quickest and most humane way I know to kill someone.”

“Humane? Freezing all of someone’s blood vessels and then shattering them into a million pieces is about a brutal death as you can get.”

“I’m sure they feel a lot less pain this way as opposed to boiling their blood.”

Zuko sucks on his teeth. “Whatever. Let’s get out of here.”

We leave the same way we came in. By the time the other soldiers discover their lieutenant's body we'll be long gone. As Appa flies us back to our camp we are silent. I've never asked Zuko what he's thinking about after a kill and he's never asked me. There is no need to; we are both thinking about the same thing. A life where we are not killers. We are thinking about a time when all of this bloody effort will pay off and we'll see the end of the war. It has to end someday. It has to. The hope that the war will one day end is the only thing that gives me the strength to keep killing. Above all else I believe that we will win; I just pray to Yue that we win this war before Zuko and I lose the war between good and evil that is being waged within us.

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #avatar the last airbender #zutara month #assassins #fanfiction #the woke wordsmith

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flovey-dovey · 5 years ago

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Part 2 of my thoughts on Klaus

Spoilers! Did I mention that already?

When they watch Margu playing in the light of dawn, Jesper puts his hand on Klaus’ arm and keeps it there rather than excitedly pat it once or twice to get his attention like a simple platonic friend might. And while Jesper watches her, Klaus watches Jesper with a very warm, affectionate look that Jesper doesn’t try to shirk or shrug awkwardly off.

When Klaus puts his hand on his back, Jesper just smiles wider, and when they return to Klaus’ property the look on the woodsman’s face as he listened to Jesper talk like a doting parent and his solid “I do” in reply to what he was saying says even more.

Heck- part of Klaus’ tragic past was that he and his wife never got to have children no matter how much they wanted and waited, and here comes Jesper with every child in Smeerenburg and beyond at his heels. Klaus even tells him this past, openly, freely and even with a chuckle or two, and right after saying how his life had fallen into aimless misery turns to say “and then you came along.”. Klaus even has Jesper blindfolded before showing him the sleigh with both their names carved into it at what was most likely his request.

Very couple-like and very sweet in my opinion. After the “liar revealed” scene, Klaus sees his name as he climbs in and hesitates, clearly thinking of him.

(also, notice in this shot how Jesper is centered with Klaus- not Alva)

And let’s not forget the mountainside scene after the big chase or the look on Klaus’ face when Jesper echoes his wife’s words with full conviction: “A true selfless act always sparks another”.

Now we’re nearing the end of the movie, so let’s talk about Jesper’s father some more. In the last quarter of the movie, his father comes back and he and Jesper go to the boat that would take them back home. Before they cast off, though, it’s said not long later that Jesper told his father “everything” and how he thought he’d be mad at him. Why? If it was work related, why would Jesper be afraid his father would get upset by him wanting to stay and do the job he gave him? That he wanted him to have? Why would he be afraid his father would get mad at him for finding love in Alva, if that truly was the case? Could it be that part of “everything” was how Jesper did find love, but that it was in someone who didn’t fit into society’s unrelentingly heteronormative mold (gonna be using that word a bit but I’m tired so bear with me), and as a result meant he wouldn’t fit either? Which brings me to a minor point of my opinion: did Jesper ever fit? It could’ve been another reason why his father was trying so hard to impose socially acceptable opportunities on him, or why Jesper had rebelled against them so stubbornly. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

(also, notice the look on Jesper’s face here when confronted by his father’s silent urging for him to come out with whatever he knew he had on his mind)

Before I wrap this up, here are a few other bits and pieces I wanted to mention:

* When Jesper talks at Margu after realizing their toy inventory was running low, he says “they” were running out of toys rather than “he” (Klaus) was running out of toys, which his arrogant self in the first half-ish part of the movie would’ve surely said.

* During one of the times Jesper talks at Margu and asked what he was supposed to do if he failed, he mentions Klaus and doesn’t even bring up Alva.

* Jesper, while talking to Alva about the school’s turnaround and her own change in outlook, looks and sounds more confused/baffled than teasing, flirty or pleased.

* The strongest moment Jesper and Alva share, emotionally, is never more than the one they share while helping Margu write her letter to Klaus. To my memory, he and Klaus share two very prominent ones, with a possible third or fourth (or fifth or sixth) on top of that.

* Alva gives Klaus a peck on the cheek instead of Jesper, who she presumably now has romantic feelings for. Why don’t they kiss before the ending “where are they now” bit? At all?

* Alva, when watching the townies ice skating with Jesper, doesn’t move to pull him out onto the ice for some potentially romantic happenings if she had turned to see the troubled look on his face, laughing and smiling to try and cheer him up or going out on the town to partake in the festivities. This could’ve shown us more of Alva’s character and it would’ve been better than just NARRATING IT AT THE ENDING. And, yes, I know movies have deadlines, but it didn’t have to be more than ten seconds long and could’ve given a look into the town’s culture as it started to reform, and afterwards Jesper could’ve still gone back to the post office to build Margu’s little sleigh, possibly with some encouragement from Alva. Nothing had to change, but it wouldn’t have hurt to at least show their romance forming since a few seconds can go a long way.

* During the ending chase, Klaus and Jesper are literally having a lover’s quarrel.

* Klaus acting like an embarrassed husband when he steps up all covered in red from head to toe and Jesper joking with him about it, earning another hearty laugh from Klaus with ease, and Klaus’ apparent concern when Jesper urges his father outside to talk privately.

* The entirety of the reindeer scene and as they ride off, laughing, when their eyes meet and they realize they were having fun in each other’s company- very naturally, at that.

* Klaus lamenting how their time working together was coming to an end and with it their main reason for being with each other, as underplayed as the both of them make it seem.

* Jesper makes Klaus laugh; them sharing laughs together where I don’t recall seeing Jesper having the same thing with Alva, nor do I remember seeing her making him laugh.

* Klaus picking up and just holding Jesper will never not be cute to me.

So, in short, I hate heteronormative romances- especially when they come out of nowhere and have to be NARRATED at the END of the movie with little to no prior build up or implications that, yes, this is how you should’ve been expecting things to end up (yes I’m still upset about the ending). I saw it coming the second I saw the official trailer and after witnessing all the bonding between Klaus and Jesper I can’t help but feel cheated- dragged along for the ride like I was watching the Titanic sinking as someone was describing an entirely different outcome at the same time. They built Klaus and Jesper’s relationship- romantic, platonic, what-have-you- and then ripped it away to shove something completely unwarranted into my face instead.

If they’re going to have the guy get together with the girl, if they have interactions that show the feeling is mutual and more than friendship, trust and respect (which every good romance should have by default), if they WANT to be together and feel attracted and desire to be together, then I’m all for it- that’s what I expect love to be. But I still feel betrayed and sad and angry at the ending, especially since I feel like Alva and Jesper got together for the simple reason of deterring people like me from thinking Jesper and Klaus would or should end up together, even to the point of killing him off. I can’t prove it, and I’m sure that’s not why he died, but I’m going to say something that I know sounds mean but I don’t mean it spitefully:

I don’t care.

I don’t care if Klaus’ death and the ending it was attached to was poetic or happy-sad, bittersweet or what-have-you. I can’t help but not care because I literally haven’t seen anything break the relationship mold in a movie since I was shown my first movie or read my first romantic novel.

In any case, this movie came so, so close to being the most cathartic thing I’ve ever seen and it makes me so, so sad to have it fall prey to a completely standard method of storytelling endings when it presented such a vibrant and unique setting with the done-to-death theme of Christmas. You don’t even know how sad it makes me where, in this world of cowards afraid to make art for fear of losing money (which, I understand, everybody needs) or properly represent underrepresented groups of individuals or have a man and woman become friends and REMAIN purely friends- maybe even being the wingman/woman for their own relationship- I, against my fears, genuinely thought this film, this beautiful, inspiring masterpiece of animation, would be able to give me the shameless, unabashed and genuine non-heteronormative love I have still yet to see in a movie that doesn’t end in tragedy or act to disgrace anyone from that spectrum.

Klaus and Jesper saw parts of each other- ugly, angry, funny and secret- that nobody else saw, did things for each other that for the life of me I couldn’t find being done for the romance we were “supposed” to root for or even see coming (but, come on, “of course” they got together- what were you expecting, you wishful idiot?). For a movie with the underlying theme of how love was always better than letting spite fester into hate, it sure didn’t give me much to believe in terms of Jesper and Alva hooking up in the end. They could’ve had a friendly sort of love, but we can’t always get what we want. On that note, Pumpkin and Olaf (if that’s what his name is- I forget) getting married in the ending could’ve posed to the two clans “you hate each other, but don’t you love me?”, putting the leaders of both clans in the position of questioning their history and tradition of generations past so they didn’t lose the bonds they have in the present and that new traditions could be worth the effort for the sake of a better future. It’d be nice to see.

Anyway, no matter how it ended, you can’t tell me that Klaus and Jesper weren’t pining for each other more and more throughout the film. You can’t. Because I saw it, and no amount of ham-fisted “oh by the way” narration had to tell me it was happening or was planned “all along”.

Peace out and Merry Christmas to you all, gosh dang it.

- Flovey~Dovey

#Klaus #text post #Jesper #Alva #Klausper #TALL AND SMAAAAALL #part 2

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

With bright lights and beeping machines and out-of-date magazines. Roland’s career was supposed to end with confetti. Maybe a parade. At least some sort of cheering, because if there was cheering then it wouldn’t be possible to hear how difficult it was for Matt to catch his breath and if he started crying in the waiting room he was never going to forgive himself.

Or: Roland Locksley gets hurt and Matt Jones doesn’t handle it very well.

----

Rating: Teen, but like with a heaping side of angst Word Count: 5.2K or so AN: This story has been living rent free in the back corner of my mind that I reserve for angsty hockey head canons for as long as I can remember and last week I finally sat down and typed it. Anyway, this is as angsty as advertised, is basically just original characters at this point and I had no intention of actually posting it anywhere, but I thrive on forcing hockey words at the internet so here we go. Also, probably important to remember that Roland and Lizzie are together and that Taylor is Phillip and Aurora’s kid. I was not kidding about this really being mostly original characters.

----

“Where is he? Is everything—”

Matt cut himself off. Nearly bit his tongue in half in the process too, but he also couldn’t quite come to terms with the overall circumference of Lizzie’s eyes or just how quickly Peggy had slid in the chair she was draped across.

Both of their mouths dropped open.

Audibly.

“What are you—” Lizzie breathed, shaking her head slowly and she didn’t blink. Matt wasn’t sure she was capable. That was fair. Every time he blinked he saw the play all over again. In slow motion, even. Like his brain was trying to remind him of the wholly inhuman angle Roland’s leg had taken when he slammed into the boards and no one was supposed to slam into the boards like that.

“MD,” Peggy said when the rest of Lizzie’s sentence drifted into the low hum of an exceptionally packed waiting room. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” “They do have cars, Mar.” “Was that supposed to rhyme?”

“And he doesn’t know how to drive,” Lizzie mumbled. Matt ignored that. “Where is he?”

Taking his time on every word felt like overkill, even as Matt was saying them, but he was also at least passably familiar with the accepted resting heart rate for professional athletes and his appeared close to beating out of his chest.

Someone was walking towards them.

And Lizzie still hadn’t blinked yet.

“They took him to pre-op twenty minutes ago.” Matt startled at the new voice, not entirely surprised to see Taylor turning the nearest corner with three cups of undoubtedly shitty coffee clutched in his hands. “I didn’t get you any of this. Did you fly here?” “I don’t want your garbage coffee anyway. Probably burnt.” “You’re something of a snob, you know that?” Matt shrugged, trying to ignore the exact way his stomach continued to clench. Although when that same organ had spent most of the rented car ride from New York to Philadelphia trying to lodge itself in the middle of Matt’s throat, he supposed this was a step in the right direction

Metaphorically speaking.

Now that he was in the hospital, he wasn’t doing very much literal stepping. His legs felt like they’d frozen.

Locked up. Particularly in the knee-type area.

Knees were not meant to bend like Roland’s had.

“What’s the kid doing here?” Matt nodded towards Taylor, who only grumbled a few choice words under his breath while he doled out garbage coffee and he must have bailed on his classes that afternoon. Apparently none of them could operate without at least a few of the others, because no one was entirely surprised when Taylor decided to go to school in Philadelphia and Temple didn’t have a hockey team, but that probably wasn’t really all that important.

The Mills-Locksley plastered across the back of Taylor’s t-shirt looked bigger than usual.

Peggy made a face as soon as she took her first sip of coffee, the expression quickly evolving into a glare. Directed entirely at Matt. That didn’t seem fair, honestly. He’d spent a lot of money on that car. “Does front office know you’re here? Or Henry?”

“Those two don’t go together.” She rolled her eyes. While Matt’s kept darting towards Lizzie — who, it seemed, was trying her best to bite her lip in half. Wringing her fingers together wasn’t doing much to help the anxious energy practically falling off her, the kind of pale that made it look like she hadn’t seen the outside world in several decades.

She kept tapping her right foot. Five quick movements, the bottom of her heel colliding with the tiled floor, and a sharp inhale on every third tap. Her gaze had a distinctly glazed edge to it.

“Henry didn’t have any idea Matt was going to be here,” Lizzie muttered, not taking her eyes off him. It felt like she was staring through him. Or at whatever was directly over his right shoulder.

Looked pretty interesting.

Distracting, maybe.

Matt could have used a distraction.

“Didn’t say anything, at least,” she added, “neither did Gina or Robin. But, they’re uh—I mean they’re kind of preoccupied and—” Something wasn’t right.

Less right. Than the piece of shit situation they were in now.

He really hadn’t thought when he’d left New York. Just told everyone that he wasn’t going to be at skate that morning and made a few phone calls, sent a text to his parents and his brother, and the whole thing would probably end with some sort of lengthy discussion about priorities that Matt wasn’t particularly interested in hearing, but he really had lost track of how often he watched the video and people knew.

What Roland meant. To him. To the game. To the way Matt was when he played.

So, he’d sat in the backseat of that car, twisting his phone and resisting the urge to torture himself some more and maybe he should have told someone he was coming. Seemed almost redundant though.

People knew.

Everyone knew.

Something was incredibly wrong.

“Lizzie,” Matt said, unable to stop himself from stretching the name out into some sort of reprimand. She blinked. He was suffocating.

Shaking her head slowly appeared to be the only answer she was capable of giving at the moment, which wasn’t so much frustrating as it was a little overwhelming and Matt was going to set records. For self-inflicted oxygen deprivation.

His mind raced.

Tried to understand options and recovery periods and—this wasn’t the first time this had happened to Roland. Matt licked his lips. Several times. Didn’t help. Lizzie blinked again. And he kept trying to think. Because ACL injuries were common now, the inevitable cause behind most of the NHL’s publicized “lower body injuries,” and surgeries were relatively quick, but multiple issues with the muscle that basically allowed skating couldn’t have possibly been good or healthy and—

“No,” Matt exhaled.

Lizzie closed her eyes. Lightly, as if she were giving into the feeling or everything she hadn’t said yet and it was Matt’s turn to shake his head.

In disagreement.

Of the strongest kind.

“No, no,” he chanted. “That’s—c’mon, you guys are kidding me.” Peggy’s mouth twisted, as far away from a smile as the movement could be. “No one said anything, MD. Seriously, are you going to get in trouble for this?” “Fuck that.” “An irresponsible mindset.”

Something flew out of Matt — loud and wholly inhuman, like it was scratching its way from the depths of his soul and some deep, dark part of him where disappointment lurked and unfair things festered and this wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was right.

He wanted time to freeze. To stop and give him a chance to understand, for his pulse to settle and his legs to move because he needed to move and Matt couldn’t move and there were tears on Lizzie’s cheeks.

Machines beeped at the other end of the hallway. Outdated magazines moved as other people who did not have several worlds crashing around them at that very moment looked for something interesting to read in Philadelphia’s most brightly-lit waiting room. Orthopedic shoes squeaked on the floor.

Voices drifted. Calls and pages and a slew of other words Matt couldn’t begin to think of or even pretend to care about.

Taylor downed the rest of his coffee.

“Might not be good, Mattie,” he mumbled.

And that was it. Of all the things that could do it, Matt wasn’t entirely surprised when a decades-old nickname was the thing that pushed him over that metaphorical edge. Directly into what felt like a never-ending chasm of knowing and understanding and Peggy really was very quick on her feet.

Moving into his space, her hands on his chest were most of the reason Matt didn’t fall over right there. Plus his knees. Which refused to function, still. She had to press up on her toes to curl his t-shirt into her fingers, saying things he didn’t hear and didn’t want to understand and the feeling of weightlessness on his descent into that metaphorical chasm was oddly pleasant.

He figured that would end relatively quickly.

“What—” Matt’s voice didn’t sound like his. Rasped out of him through lips that were quickly turning chapped, and that didn’t make sense either. It was April. Playoffs were just starting.

It was so goddamn sunny out.

He resented it, honestly.

“What, uh—what have the doctors said so far? That’s...I mean, I know it was shitty, but Rol’s come back from—” “—Yeah,” Henry said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere with neither one of his parents nearby, “that’s not really what he wants to do anymore.”

“Be more specific, old man.” “Ah, that’s just rude.” “It wasn’t just last night,” Lizzie whispered, and Matt genuinely did not know where to look. He had to pick somewhere. He couldn’t glare at all of them at once.

He tried anyway.

“What does that mean?” “Something about a camel and last straw, I think.” “Grandma is not here, Elizabeth.” Narrowing her eyes only made the red in them more pronounced, a thin line across her face that Matt was sure had, at one point, been her mouth. “You know better than anybody, Mattie. Teams don’t disclose injuries like that. We—” Lizzie huffed, another quick shake of her head that only served to make her hair flutter against her cheeks, “He’s been playing banged up all year.” “Banged up? That’s what we’re going with?” “What would you like?” “Hurt?” Matt snarled, marginally disappointed when he couldn’t control the volume of his voice. Anger mixed with fear, manifesting itself into a weird tightening around his core and possibly the general area of his spleen.

He wasn’t ever sure what the point of his spleen was, exactly.

“It’s....it hasn’t been easy,” Lizzie explained. “This season, at least. Playing so long last year didn’t help with his knees and skating isn’t—” “—Easy?” “If you’re going to be a dick about this, you can get back in a car I know you paid way too much for and go home.”

Deflating wasn’t exactly a word Matt wanted to think about in that moment. But for as quickly as the fight had risen in him, it disappeared even faster. Leaving nothing more than a sharp emptiness in the very center of him.

None of it made sense.

“I really paid way too much to get here,” Matt admitted.

Lizzie sniffled, dragging her hands down either one of her cheeks with enough force that she left angry red streaks in her wake and it didn’t look like she’d slept in several days. Possibly this whole season.

“How bad was bad, then?” “Bad,” she echoed. “He’d kill me if he knew I said this, but getting to the Conference Finals took a lot last season. All those extra games and that triple overtime was a fucking disaster and...you know, there’s something about the way he plays. Never the biggest guy, or the most physical, but it—”

Lizzie tugged her lips behind her teeth, another inhale that affected Matt’s respiratory system and this was why. Why he didn’t waste time thinking. Why he wouldn’t look at a single newspaper article the next day. Why he had to be here for a surgery he’d spend sitting in a mass-produced plastic chair.

Because he knew. What this game meant to Roland. And what losing it would do to him.

“Spent half his mornings in PT this year, and never really said anything, but I—”

Lizzie always had exceptionally straight teeth.

When they were kids, Matt thought it was entirely unfair that she hadn’t needed braces or a retainer or anything. She simply existed and everything was great. That had been some sort of trend for most of their lives. Lizzie knew. She had a plan and a list, and she got shit done. No matter what else was going on or who else said it was impossible, and when people had started muttering and questioning, whispering about how much older Roland was than her, she’d flashed them that kind of hundred-watt smile that usually distracted opposing counsel and, quite easily, told them to go fuck themselves.

Lizzie never broke.

She never wavered. She believed and she knew and she fixed everything.

None of this could get fixed.

At least not entirely.

And every one of her perfectly straight teeth was on display when she grimaced.

“It hurt to skate,” Lizzie breathed, “every time he got on the ice. But he’s an idiot, so—” Matt chuckled, a sniffle of his own and eyes that couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him anymore. “Anyway, uh...we’d talked about it, a little. What would happen after the season, but that always seemed like such a far away thing and then there’s playoffs and that’s just another season, isn’t it? I’m rambling. Aren’t I?” “A little,” Matt agreed.

“You really came down here.” “That wasn’t a question.” “More a slightly stunned observation.” Matt’s smile felt carved onto his face, nothing more than muscles that weren’t all that inclined to move the way he wanted them to. “Was he playing on the tear?” “No, no, no,” Lizzie promised quickly, but Matt lifted his eyebrows and Taylor snickered into his empty coffee cup. “Might have been strained.” “Likely,” Peggy amended.

Widening his eyes, Matt hoped he didn’t look as deranged as he felt. “You might have been right about the camel and the straw.” “Is that two different cliches?” Lizzie asked. “Yeah, absolutely. Grandma really would be impressed.” Another less-than-impressive laugh fell out of Lizzie at the same time her chin dropped to her shirt. “You play through the pain, Mattie. As idiotic as it’s always been. That’s the game, isn’t it?”

“It’s a dumb one.” “Yeah, it is. A good one too, though. Sometimes. Most of the time, really. All those cheers and the people and every stupid opinion on TV shows and tweets. You play for that chance. To be something bigger than yourself. To leave it all behind, for people to remember you by. You play for the possibility of it all, and sometimes you forget what losing that will mean.”

Matt’s hands moved. Darted, really. Onto Peggy’s shoulders and she grit her teeth at the force of his grip, but she didn’t tell him to move and he was going to have to take her to Serendipity for that.

“You’re going to dislocate something in her,” Taylor chided lightly. He dropped into Peggy’s forgotten chair, catching one of Lizzie’s hands when she started wringing her fingers again. She didn’t pull away, either.

Matt shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he was objecting to anymore. “I don’t think I have that kind of dexterity in my fingers, actually.” “Good word,” Henry murmured.

“How long have you been here?” “Since last night. There was some talking and,” he shrugged, “planning and discussion. Now, Luce and Ella are back at the apartment trying to make sure no one starves after this operation—” “—Awfully pointed,” Lizzie interrupted. Taylor squeezed her hand. Her head fell to his shoulder. Which couldn’t have been very comfortable with the armrest looking like it was poking rather prominently into her ribs.

“What have you eaten since the game?” “Uh, like...some saltines.” Peggy groaned. “Liar, you took at least two bites of my egg sandwich this morning. Please stop spreading rumors like that.”

Lizzie’s answering laugh sounded far too watery.

“And,” Henry added, “Mom and Dad are outside talking to El and Liam who just got here and had to park several miles away, or so they claimed.”

“My parents are here?” Lizzie asked. “Probably texted you several dozen times.” Without letting go of Taylor’s hand, Lizzie threatened to dislocate her own shoulder as she yanked her phone out of her back pocket. She let out a low curse at the number of messages she’d missed, and Matt was getting a little frustrated that no one had actually confirmed anything to him yet.

He also didn’t object when Peggy curled against his side.

Made it easier to rest his chin on top of her head, anyway.

And none of them flinched when the automatic doors slid open, four more sets of footsteps and muted discussion in obviously worried tones — but Lizzie wasn’t much more than a blur when she moved, launching herself into Aunt Elsa’s outstretched arms.

“It’s ok elskan, it’s ok,” Aunt Elsa said, one of her hands coming up to cup the back of Lizzie’s head as she pressed endearments into her temple. None of the words were in English. Peak Jones comforting techniques. In addition to losing track of how often he’d watched the video, Matt couldn’t even begin to guess how many times his parents had done the same thing to him, quiet assurances and guarantees that worked when he was young, but might have rung a little hollow now and maybe he was just some sort of pessimistic asshole.

No one had said the word actual yet.

He wouldn't believe it until Roland told him.

“C’mon MD,” Peggy said, tugging him back towards a pair of empty chairs on Taylor’s other side. “I can’t support your weight forever.”

He let her direct him, not sure if his lack of fight was a reaction to Lizzie or how blotchy Gina’s face was when she followed Robin into the waiting room, or how at some point in the next three hours he’d become the de facto contact point for anyone not in Philadelphia.

Dad texted him and Mom called him — another round of those quiet assurances that Matt tried desperately to believe, but the growing lump in his throat made it difficult to respond and time was going backwards, he was sure. Chris FaceTimed. Four different times.

“Nothing to report, kid,” Matt said, for at least the seventy-sixth time. Peggy was pacing a lopsided circle in front of him, Lizzie’s head resting on Aunt Elsa’s leg and her feet propped against Uncle Liam’s knee.

“That’s bullshit.” “Saying it over and over is not going to help, Toph,” Henry muttered, not bothering to open his eyes. It was the middle of the afternoon.

Matt couldn’t imagine any of them had slept the night before. What with life-changing conversations to have, and everything.

“Lizzie eat yet?”

Matt’s eyes darted towards his cousin, but she didn’t so much as move — let alone show any signs of hunger, and he very much doubted she’d even tasted those so-called bites of sandwich she’d taken that morning.

“Gets in her own head,” Chris mumbled, “can’t think about anything as human as sustenance.” Sliding down in his chair wouldn’t help the covertness of a conversation that should have had headphones, but Matt was getting more desperate the longer he sat there and he was even more convinced Lizzie wasn’t paying attention to him. “At some point, I’m pretty positive Aunt Gina’s just going to take over and start doling out rations to everyone and—”

He cut himself off.

Suddenly. Sharply. As soon as he processed the specific squeak moving towards them and how quickly it stopped in front of Lizzie.

She swung her feet back onto the floor.

“Got quite a party out here, don’t you?” the doctor asked, like that was a joke and he was allowed to smile and both Peggy and Chris clicked their tongues knowingly. At Matt. Who couldn't see his face, but knew all too well the glare it had almost immediately shifted into.

His shoulders rolled forward too.

“Like he’s going to check the goddamn medical professional,” Peggy muttered conspiratorially. Chris rolled his eyes.

“Get fined, suspended and arrested, maybe?”

“That’d be a fun distraction.” “I will kill both of you,” Matt hissed. Peggy scrunched her nose when she nodded. For added effect. And obnoxiousness.

And he was so busy doling out threats that Matt barely heard the updates. Something about feeling good and still a little groggy, but coherent and Lizzie nodded in what could only be described as understanding and possible hope while the doctor listed post-op plans and medicine schedules and then they were moving and squeaking and Matt was back to waiting.

Impatiently.

He picked up Peggy’s route, ignoring the lingering looks from Henry and Taylor and Aunt Elsa caught his hand before he was entirely ready for it.

“You’re making me dizzy,” she smiled, pulling him next to her. Still no fight. The lump in Matt’s throat was enormous.

“Sorry.” “Ridiculous.” “Is that a compliment or an observation?” “Eh, little of column A, little of column B. How’s your breathing going?” Blushing was stupid, all things considered — but Matt suddenly felt like he was ten years old and getting caught for shoving Peggy into the pool because of course the Vankald-Jones’ moved into a house outside of D.C. that had a pool. Perfect family life demanded such things.

“That’s what I thought,” Aunt Elsa nodded, “you know, sometimes you are so much like your dad it is amazing.” “Oh, that didn’t sound like a compliment either.” “It wasn’t,” Uncle Liam said, a soft laugh clinging to the words. “Nice shot the other night, by the way. When you guys start the next series?” “Once Carolina and Pittsburgh finish. They’re probably going to go seven, though.” “Carolina’s a better match for you guys, right?” Matt shrugged. “Both of ‘em have their strengths, but—” He desperately needed to finish his sentence. That proved impossible when he heard Henry’s smile stretch across his face, and Uncle Liam didn’t bother to hide his own look, a distraction that almost took root in the form of a politically correct and PR-approved answer and—“It’d be fun to fuck up Pittsburgh” Matt finished. “That center of theirs is a bastard.” “That’s the spirit.”

And, really, it didn’t take long. For Lizzie to come back and Aunt Gina to pretend like she hadn’t been crying, and Uncle Robin’s hand appeared cemented to the back of his neck, but then Matt was standing and Henry was standing and neither one of them double checked. They went in at the same time.

To a room that was also questionably bright, bouquets of flowers already dotting a variety of flat surfaces. An IV wire ran towards the bed, the same one Roland was propped up in with more pillows than the hospital could have ever provided.

“Your mom bring those?”

Roland's grin threatened to split his face. The ache returned to Matt’s chest. “Don’t act like you aren’t jealous. And it smells like a goddamn rose garden in here. They’re going to have to drag me out.” “Don’t tell Lizzie that, she might not ever forgive you.” “She likes all those sweet smells at home. Vanilla, sugar cookie, cinnamon, coffee house whatever.” “Is a coffee house inherently sweet?” “Yes,” Roland replied, “and it’s our biggest disagreement ever.” Matt stopped short, not sure when he’d crossed so much of the room or how close he was to the bed and more beeping machines. “That so?” “Huh. You want to do this now, then?” Anger really was the most ridiculous reaction. It wasn’t Matt’s knee. Wasn’t his career or his legacy — which was stupid in its own right because Roland was this team and this city and the only reason they’d even gotten to the fucking Eastern Conference Finals the season before was because he’d set up the game-winner the series before and it had been a seven-game series and if Matt actually started crying in this overly bright hospital room he was never going to forgive himself.

“Is that the reason for the face?” “You cannot hold a conversation by only asking me questions,” Matt argued.

Roland smiled. Asshole. “Can’t I, though?” “He’s going to have a coronary in front of you,” Henry chided, hooking his foot around the only chair, “and it will be your fault.” “Ah, well we’re in the right spot for it. And that wasn’t a question, Matt. Means I’m winning.” “This isn’t a competition,” Matt objected. “Are you serious about this?” And for half a second Roland almost looked like he regretted it. What could have been. What hadn’t happened. What had happened. Losing in five in the Eastern Conference Finals. But then it was gone. Replaced with something far closer to resolve and an understanding Matt couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around.

“The first time sucked,” he said. “Getting back and trying to get my speed again and—” “—You are not a fast skater,” Matt interrupted. “Yeah, well you’re some freak of genetic nature. So we can’t all be like you, can we?” “‘Nother question.” “Conversational marvel, you are.” Matt huffed, blinking quickly and biting down on his lip until he tasted blood to keep himself from unraveling over something that didn’t belong to him. “It’s ok,” Roland said, “all of it is, really. It’s—this is the end, kid. And I’m not as freaked out as I thought I’d be, honestly.” “No?” “No. My knees are fucked. Even if I came back, it’d take months. I wouldn’t be ready for the start of next season and I don’t want to be that guy, Mattie. Showing up in fucking January, like some replacement. Clinging to something that’s passed me by already. Taking a spot from some other kid. Playing fourth line.” “But that’s not—” “—I’m not playing fourth line minutes, Mattie.” Twice. He’d said it twice, that nickname and all the meaning that came with it and Matt didn’t think. Again. Thrusting his hand forward he held onto Roland’s with enough force that someone’s knuckles cracked, but he could not begin to guess whose and that was probably some sort of metaphor.

For the way they grew up and how much the game had twisted its way into both of their lives and—“Gotta be the star, huh?” Roland’s laugh echoed around them. Nothing about it was watery or disappointed, but rather certain and confident and Matt’s dad had always been his favorite player, but he’d been a kid when Killian Jones was captain of the New York Rangers and there was something different about now. About watching Roland come into his own in Philadelphia, a spotlight that was his on his own, not because of the name on his back, but because of how good his wrister was and how much those kids did look up to him. Matt included.

“Face of the franchise, Mattie Jones. So, uh,” Roland continued, “this is it, kid. Not quite perfect. But you know I hate those farewell tours anyway.” “Could have gotten some good gifts,” Henry pointed out. “Bringing home some garbage merch from a bunch of Eastern teams that hated me every other day of the year really would have driven Lizzie insane. Plus, think about all the networks that’ll be clamoring for my face on their pre-game shows. Retirement’s got it’s perks.” There it was, kind of.

One word and one decision and Matt was briefly worried about the blood flow to Roland’s hand, but he figured one of the machines would alert them to any problem before it happened and— “I’m going to retire,” Roland said, like he knew Matt needed to hear it. “Announcement coming in the next couple of days, probably. I’m almost looking forward to the tearful goodbye videos.” “God, you’re an ass,” Matt grumbled. “One who’s going to rake in that TV money.”

Smiling continued to feel more than a little unnatural, but it was some sort of innate reaction in that moment and Matt didn’t have to say anything. Roland didn’t expect it either, which felt like a bit of a twisted reward, but then he was walking and moving and Henry was still in the room.

No one was in the hallway.

Made it easier, that way.

To quickly and completely go to pieces.

Sliding down the wall, Matt’s legs tangled in front of him, tears on his cheeks and oxygen staging some sort of revolt in his body and he wished his girlfriend was there and he wished his dad was there and Peggy still had his phone and— “Hey, hey, hey, at least get your hands out of your hair.” The words didn’t connect immediately, another noticeable knuckle crack as Matt’s fingers dug into the strands he’d started gripping at some point. Uncle Liam groaned when he crouched, stymying the threat to Matt’s scalp as he ducked into his eye line.

“If you tell me it’s going to be ok, you don’t have to. I—” Matt’s inconsistent breathing was even more annoying than his sentence structure. “I know it’ll be fine. Rol’s choice and for the best and...God, fuck, shit, damnit.” “Last one wasn’t very impressive.” “I ran out.” “Ah, don’t lie to me, kid. I know we taught you way more creative words.” “Mostly use that on the ice.” Uncle Liam hummed knowingly, finally letting go of Matt’s hands when it seemed he trusted him not to start yanking on his own hair again. “It absolutely isn’t fine. None of it. It’s bullshit and unfair and knees are worthless joints anyway.” Matt blinked.

His neck ached with the force of his head jerk, gaping and staring and Uncle Liam’s smile shifted slightly. Into something almost like understanding. He knew.

He knew.

“Game like this, it...it sinks into you, doesn’t it? Has to, that’s the only way you can get through it. Because it’s not like other ones. No grass, no court, no sunshine. Fuck, any sunshine just makes it even harder to see on the ice. And that makes it worse and even better. Because for every time you’ve managed to sweat through your pads while shivering at a shitty rink, there are game winners and brekaways and hitting some bastard who thought he was better at faceoffs than you.” “They measure things like faceoffs now, y’know?” “I’m giving you a motivational speech.” Matt nodded.

“Point is, a sport like this, it...for as much as it gives, it takes a little bit too. Because you’ve got to give yourself to it. Understand that the bumps and the bruises and the incessant cracking of your joints is payment in kind.” “For?” “For the way it felt. The way it’ll always feel, even when it doesn’t end the way you planned.” Letting out a shuddering breath, Matt barely felt his head when it dropped against the wall. “He never won. That’s—of all the things, that’s the worst.” “Sure he did. You don’t think so?” “Unless I forgot about a parade.”

“That’s not how this stuff works, kid,” Liam sighed. “All those runs when you were growing up, even before you were born, those were Rol’s as much as they were Locksley’s. As much as they were your dad’s. And anything you do, that’s his too. Not just because you stole his wrister. Which is kind theft four-times removed, actually.” “How you figure?” “Well, Rol stole it from your dad who ripped it off me, so. You’re welcome.” He might need oxygen sooner rather than later. And a tissue. More than one tissue. “The point I’m getting at,” Uncle Liam said, “is that there’s no perfect way for this to go. Happily ever after isn’t guaranteed, but it doesn’t wipe out everything else that happened. Doesn’t change how good this game is or how good it will keep being. You play with a team, right?” “Sounds like a cliche.” “You grow up in that house, some things become entrenched.” “Yeah, I get that.” “I know you do. Your sister was talking to your parents before, I’m sure they’re waiting for you to get back out there.” It wasn’t the dismissal it sounded like, especially when it came with a hand clasped on his shoulder — but Matt nodded all the same, muttering a quiet thanks and Uncle Liam had been right. Mom had totally been crying too.

And it wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t the ending that Roland deserved, but eventually Matt started to wonder if it was actually the end and as the years went on he started to know it wasn’t. Not with weddings and kids and a whole subsection of the internet that was decidedly preoccupied with the cut of Roland’s suits on postgame television spots.

They kept going. Games and hits and a few more injuries, and, eventually, when the Stanley Cup came back to New York and back to that brownstone downtown, Matt didn’t hesitate. He handed it to Roland.

And took a picture.

With both of their kid sitting in the goddamn thing.

#blue line one shots #HELLO THIS IS VERY ANGSTY AND ALMOST MADE ME CRY WHILE I WAS WRITING IT #operation: write all the things about roland locksley has been going really well the last few weeks #anyway sports emotions are the only emotions that matter

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ubemango · 5 years ago

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commission 5: otiyr!hoseok

note: for anon who was so kind to help me back in November! I am so sorry this took so long to get out v_v;;; ........... I hope you enjoy ;_;!!!!!

note 2: U kno when person A be like *super tough on the outside AND has no Knowledge of baring themselves to someone AT ALL AND!!!!!! IS SOFT TO ONLY ONE PERSON BECAUSE THEY THINK THEY CAN BARE THEMSELVES TO THEM* and then person B be like *I am the only person they can bare themselves to so I try really hard to get them to come out of their shell ONLY IF THEY WANT TO this is a healthy relationship I like to poke at them sometimes, it’s fine*? Yea this is that but make it more pine-y. Best friends to lovers? It’s more likely than you think!

Coach Park blew the whistle. Obviously this meant that practice had finished, but Hoseok was convinced it’s what called upon the bad omen.

The hockey team’s time at the rink ended right at 3pm. This gave Hoseok exactly ten minutes to shower, three minutes to fend off a nagging Yoongi for practice again the next day, and twenty seconds to realize he had one minute to reject Soojin if he wanted to make it to class on time.

He had no idea how long she’d been there. She sat like a flower, right at the edge of the bleachers, cardigan wrought so tight around her shoulders as if to fend off the tundras. He wondered if she was waiting for Jeongyeon—the figure skaters got the rink for the next three hours now—and that is when he made the fateful mistake of catching Soojin’s eye right when he was about to slip through the exit.

“H-Hoseok!”

First, the freeze-up. Hoseok adjusted his gym bag for the sake of fidgeting; he didn’t even get the chance to pretend he didn’t see her, creep away unnoticed. She’s fast, anyhow, hopping over the bench and standing shy in front of him just as he’s turned around.

“Hey,” she greeted.

Hoseok nodded, only slightly pained. “Needed something?”

Behind her, Hoseok watched Jeongguk coming up, wiggling his eyebrows at him right as he passed by and out the door. Flaunting that exit like it was meant to encourage him to stay just a little longer. Hoseok felt threatened. Soojin took no notice.

“Yeah… it’s—well. How are you?”

“Fine.”

(Soojin most likely had no idea he had class at 3:15.)

“Oh! That’s… good. Well—I don’t want to keep you for long, and I-I know… i-it’s kind of sudden, but. We’ve been talking for a while now and I just—wanted to ask if you wanted to—just—hang out, someday. Like go out, or whatever.”

Ah, Hoseok thought sadly, I’m going to die, right here.

The first response he considered was to refute her claim that they’d been talking for a while—Soojin had offered help with chemistry homework when Jimin wasn’t available for tutoring anymore. He wasn’t aware that discussing the halogenations of alkanes over text qualified as the talking stage. That made him feel weirdly old.

Something else he considered: she was very pretty. He could admit to that. Soojin had eyes like raindrops, small ears with moon-shaped studs. An easy gait except for when she was nervous—and she looked very, very nervous.

Soojin was a nice person. Soojin deserved a nice answer.

“I don’t want to,” he said, which was not a nice answer.

He realized this the second Soojin’s gaze dropped to the floor. It reminded Hoseok of those sparkly cartoon girls, the teardrops that teased, never fell. She wouldn’t cry. No one ever cried for him like that.

“Ah—sure, that’s… fine.”

Hoseok never prided himself for being curt. He was just consistent at saying the wrong things, he remembered you saying, and he had lecture starting in less than a minute. Combine all these together, mix in the inability to read a situation properly, and you got the everlasting unease of being Utterly and Ridiculously Fucked. He felt very pained now.

Hoseok watched Soojin fidget again, shifting her stance. Contemplating that exit Hoseok just wanted to go through.

He was supposed to say something now.

“You can delete my number, if you want. I don’t mind. You don’t need it anymore, right? Since we already handed in that assignment.”

She was quiet. Slowly, Hoseok watched her face transform into what he could only guess was unabated anger. Her nose scrunched.

Then she slapped him.

Hoseok, holding his cheek (which did not ache at all, Soojin wasn’t strong like that), watched her stomp out, shoving the doors open with an animosity he didn’t think she had.

He was most definitely going to be late for class.

The astrophysics study commons is a quaint, aggressive space. There’s posters of Saturn and chalkboard lining the walls with confusing equations scribbled in white and at least five people arguing about velocity in the corner farthest away. This is where people find answers and actually make sense of situations. Hoseok discusses his tragedy here for this exact purpose.

You sit back in your chair, playing with your slide rule. “She text you after?”

“Nope.”

“Did you want me to give my opinion?”

“Sure.”

You slap him.

“What—!” Now Hoseok has had plenty of time to dwell on his follies last night. But a second time? He wonders if he actually deserves good things in his life. He rubs at the poor spot on his cheek. “You didn’t need to resort to violence!”

“You’re so stupid!”

It’s not unlike you to tell it as it is. He’s known you for seventeen years now, the nicest thing you’ve ever said to him was back in fourth grade when you’d called him a good co-parent of your pet caterpillar. “Damn.”

“I mean you’ve always been bad with these things but I didn’t think you’d do something like that.”

“Like what?”

“Be a complete asshole,” you deadpan.

“I didn’t think it was that bad—“

“You told her to delete your number!”

So it was a bad move. He recognizes this. “It’s not like I don’t feel bad.”

The silence lingers as you catch your breath, watch him pensively. Something about the speed of light is being discussed in the background. He feels weirdly exposed.

“I want to try something,” you say finally.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow at you. “What.”

You stare at him blankly. For a second he thinks you’re going to slap him a second time, but instead comes—

“Hoseok, I really like you.”

The coldest, startling feeling runs up his spine. He reflexively says, “That’s disgusting,” and comes to the conclusion that the universe hates him.

“See! You can’t just say that!” You squawk.

“Why not?!”

“What if I had secret feelings for you that had been festering for years and you broke my heart?!”

“Do you?” Hoseok says, slightly alarmed.

“Wha—would you be mad if I did?”

“I would be mad if you did.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying. You’re so mean about feelings.” He watches you focus on the chalkboard behind his ear. He briefly remembers drawing a loopy spaceship on it. “Look. I’m gonna pretend to be a girl confessing to you, and I want you to be more—sentimental. Okay?”

This is the weirdest thing about you. For someone so annoyingly logical about science, you still somehow kept in touch with romance. The dewy-eyed. Everything Hoseok didn’t know. He remembers junior year and the slow dance with Yubok, and how he accidentally fumbled his knuckles against her back—too low, she’d whispered harshly—and how you’d come back from hiding behind one of those big planters near the entrance, looking sparkly and gentle, mussed up, and somehow he knew you were having the best night of your life, and he’d just accidentally ruined his. He remembers that he has never been cut out for this.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hoseok sneers, thinking about how the universe loved you.

“Too bad,” you say. “I’m gonna start. Hoseok?”

He might get smacked a third time if he doesn’t comply, so he replies, “Yeah?”

You feign shyness. Casting your eyes down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I-I… Well, I just wanted to… tell you something.”

“Sure,” he says.

Your timidness slips into anger in a blink. “I said be sentimental!”

“What—did you want to tell me?” He tries again, shrinking.

“I think—Well, I think you’re really cute—and—“ you cross your arms, and he so badly wants to yell at you to stop— “and… I was wondering. If. You wanted to grab coffee sometime?”

His answer rolls down his tongue too fast for him to catch. “No,” he says flatly, and instantly he flinches to block your slap against his arm.

“Hoseok!”

“I can’t take this seriously.”

“But I want you to be in tune with your feelings,” you whine.

“I’m plenty in tune with my feelings,” he argues. “And I’m feeling invaded right now.”

“There’s a good two feet between us right now.”

“You’re breathing in my direction, it’s enough.”

You ignore this, and reach for his hand lain flat on the table. “How does this feel?”

Surprisingly, the first word that comes to his mind is safe. But that is not a safe response. “Feels—like you’re holding my hand?”

“Ugh. Just—look into my eyes,” you urge next.

“Okay.”

They don’t curve into softness like Soojin’s does. Your gaze is hard, strikes him so hard it’s almost mortifying. Then your hand squeezes his. He discovers that he likes it.

“I really like you, Hoseok,” you say, oozing sweetness in your voice. Subdued, something you were not. Hoseok wants to throw up. “So please just consider me, okay?”

He nods, speechless.

You revert right back to your previous stance and let go of his hand. It’s almost like a betrayal. Hoseok wonders why his heart is leaping. “So how was that?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” he spits.

“I’m helping you. Look. Let’s make it a thing! I’ll teach you how to be romantic and all that stuff.”

“I’m not trusting the expert of Tiger Beat romance, thank you very much.”

You ignore his quip. “You’re a good guy, Hoseok. Soojin might’ve come on a little too strong and so did you but—really! You’re a good guy! Who deserves love and stuff because it’s just nice to have!”

Hoseok sighs. It’s not that he hated the idea of being in love, he just couldn’t help but be unavailable. Pre-occupied. He said things he didn’t mean. You know this about it him.

“Fine.” And before you can cheer, he adds, “But don’t… tell anyone about this.”

“But the big scary hockey man getting slapped by the tiniest person on campus story is so—“

“Don’t push it,” he says.

“Whatever.” You snort. “Yes, fine, it stays between us. Yay! Okay. Tomorrow I have a study group so we might need to meet up two days from now, let me check my schedule…”

You grab your planner from your bag, scanning the pages. Hoseok has the vaguest feeling that he’s in trouble.

#bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #bts #hoseok #ubemango fic #f: commissions

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