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evilpenguinrika · 8 months

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Hosie+fankids Pokemon AU

I AM WEAK FOR AUs, WEAK I SAY😭😓😞

Anyway here's a list of Hosie+my Hosie fankids's Pokemon team and the explanations for why I picked the specific Pokemon for them under the cut bc this got long and I don't wanna spam the tag with constantly long-ass posts all the time (especially when those long-ass posts are AU specific lmao rip)🙏

And who knows mayhaps I'll draw a Hosie Pokemon AU in the future one day. Gotta have a point of reference for me to look back to👀

Okay, enough rambling from me, hope you enjoy this long list of Hosie Pokemon AU and also so sorry for all the reading under the cut

Hope Mikaelson

Delphox

Lycanroc Midnight

Gliscor

Garchomp

Absol

Alolan Ninetails

Hope’s first three Pokemon represent her Tribrid side. Delphox = witch, Lycnroc Midnight = werewolf, Gliscor = vampire. I don’t think there’s really much need to go into detail as to why I picked these three Pokemon for Hope 😛

For the other three, Garchomp, Absol, Alolan Ninetails, it’s all about aesthetics, really. Garchomp, I found out, is a pseudo-legendary, so I think it fits her pretty well being a Tribrid. I mean, aside from her eldest daughter Lana, there’s no one else in the supernatural world that’s a Tribrid like her. Plus, Hope with a Dragon type on her team is pretty dope if you ask me.

Absol has this infamous connection to disaster. And… Well… I don’t need to explain too much about why I picked Absol for Hope, do I 👀? Plus also it gives me this like, lone-wolf type of vibe which fits Hope’s vibes a bit.

Finally, Alolan Ninetails! Look, I don’t know why, but I associate ice/snow with Hope. It just somehow happened that way (maybe also because Hope=ice Josie=fire and the typical ice/fire tropes in some ships 👀). But Alolan Ninetails is also majestic as fuck, and that’s also Hope. She is also majestic as fuck and she deserves to have a gorgeous and majestic Pokemon on her team.

Honourable mentions: Zoroark, Mawile, Lucario, Smeargle

---

Josie Saltzman

Sunflora

Spiritomb

Mismagius

Houndoom

Haterene

Leafeon

The two Grass types, Sunflora and Leafeon, in Josie’s team made me think of her affiliation with plants and I do not remember if that is a canon thing that Josie really loves plants, or if it was a fanon thing that was created through, well, the fandom. But I thought it worked regardless

For Mismagius and Spiritomb, I picked them specifically to represent Josie’s (Siphoner sorta) witch and her Dark!Josie era on the show. Mismagius obviously being the witch and Spiritomb being Dark!Josie. It helps that Spiritomb is also a Dark type, and it does make me think of when Josie like put all that dark energy into that dark object, so it works!

I picked Houndoom for Josie because of her pyromaniac tendencies teehee 😜 lol I'm half kidding. I did remember there was a moment with her character and fire: Penelope's hair, the confession letter, that one scene where she blows out a little match–I thought it wouldn't be a Josie team if I didn't have a Fire type with her. And the reason for Houndoom specifically is because Houndoom is cool and also part Dark type which ties back to her Dark!Josie era.

Haterene and actually Leafeon too, are because I’m a sucker for giving twins paired Pokemon haha. So while those two are Josie’s, Lizzie’s has Grimmsnarl and Glaceon. Haterene because she also has this fairytale witchy vibe, which I thought was kinda fitting for that one fairytale scene in the show where Hope jumps into Josie’s mind or something to deal with Dark!Josie. Leafeon because, c’mon. Eeveelution pair Leafeaon and Glaceon, it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up!

Honourable mentions: Lechonk, Plusle, Gothitelle, Lilligant

---

Lana Mikaelson

Delphox (shiny)

Mightyena

Hydreigon

Brambleghast

Meowstic (F)

Froslass

Lana is also a Tribrid like Hope, but I also wanted to give her some differences in her starting three Pokemon so she’s not like a carbon copy shadow of Hope. With that being said, I do have her first Pokemon be Delphox, like Hope’s. I thought maybe it would be sweet for Hope's Delphox to have eggs and Hope passed one to Lana and it hatched into a Fennekin. A next gen thing. But shiny because in my mind, Lana's magical fires take on a more black and purple hue (even if shiny Delphox’s fire is still red lol).

Mightyena and Hydreigon represent her werewolf and vampire side in her Tribrid title thing. Now, I know Hydreigon is a three-headed Dragon and nothing to do with vampires or even has a vampire motif. But lemme tell you something: it's fine. Don't worry about it. Lana with a kick-ass Dragon type like Hydreigon is hella dope don't come at me I'm fragile. Also Hydreigon, I just found out, is a pseudo-legendary type, which I think fits with Lana’s Tribrid nature. Not full legendary rare, but still rare enough that there’s no one else like her except for her Mom (which is also very fitting because Hope has a pseudo-legendary with Garchomp, another Dragon type).

Brambleghast is an immediate must because aside from black-purple fire, I think it's neat that her magic also manifests in brambles/briars. So this Pokemon is literally perfect for her.

Meowstic and Froslass give me this like, stand-offish and cool vibe, which honestly fits Lana's entire personality of a typical ice princess vibe who may or may not have a superiority complex.

Honourable mentions: Vileplume, Haterene, Tsareena, Abomasnow, Doublade

---

Hayley Mikaelson

Lycanroc Midday

Primeape

Toxicroak

Gallade

Nidoking

Espeon

Hayley is the only werewolf–aside from Lana but she’s a Tribrid–amongst her supernatural siblings. So I thought it would be rather sweet if Hayley also have a Lycanroc but Midday form. I like to think that maybe Hope’s Lycanroc had babies and Hayley ended up getting one of the Rockruffs. Like passing on a legacy hehehe.

Asides from that, Hayley’s the type who will pull punches, she will act first and asks questions later type of person. So having a few Fighting types on her team was a no brainer. Like Primeape, Toxicroak, and Gallade–the latter which I just found out is part Fighting so that was a fun discovery.

I also thought Poison types would fit Hayley pretty well (and maybe it had something to do with the fact that Poison type logo colour is purple, and purple is her colour lmao). Which is where Toxicroak and Nidoking comes in. Plus, they would also fit in the power punches that is more of Hayley’s playstyle in combat.

Like with Josie, I love, love, love giving paired Pokemon to twins because I’m a massive lame unoriginal dork! Except I did bounce between giving Hayley either Flareon or Vaporeon to match with Jay’s Jolteon. Ended up not picking Flareon even tho she’s a spitfire because I feel like fire is a bit more of Jay’s thing even tho I picture Jay having more of an affinity to lightning. So then I thought maybe Vaporeon? But in the end I picked Espeon (it did pain me to not give Jay Umbreon because to me, Espeon and Umbreon are a pair) because purple is Hayley’s colour but I also think Espeon fits her, especially because Espeon is a Psychic type and Hayley has a few Fighting types, and Psychic is effective against Fighting. It also would tie into the fact that, despite Hayley being very hard-headed and tough, she still has that vulnerable moment to her that she tends to hide away from other people. It’s a pretty good balance!

Honourable mentions: Noivern, Weavile, Scrafty, Pangoro, Mienshao, Medicham, Swoobat

---

Jay Mikaelson

Jolteon (shiny)

Toxtricity Amped

Spiritomb

Yamask

Flygon

Typhlosion

Look, I don’t have to repeat that I love giving twins paired Pokemon, because we been knew lmao. Jolteon is perfect for Jay because I always pictured him to have this affinity with lightning. However, I am a bit stumped on if I want Jolteon to be shiny or not, because Jay’s main colour is green (more like olive green), but we shall see. My answer will probably end up being a “yes his Jolteon is shiny and Hayley probably hates that he got a shiny Pokemon” haha. Shiny Jolteon it is then!

To keep in theme with his association with lightning, I gave him Toxtricity Amped form because I thought it’d be cool. Sometimes there’s just no deep reasoning. Sometimes it’s just “i think this is cool” lol.

Spiritomb for Jay is the same reasoning I have for Josie except he doesn’t really do what she did in the show and messed around with a dark object. But I thought it would be neat to give him Spiritomb (maybe this is actually Josie’s Spiritomb that she passed down to Jay, who knows). With Yamask, I didn’t have much of a story on why he has one, but I think I thought it fits him? I don’t really know how to explain why I think that. It just does.

Gave him a Flygon on his team because, like with Toxtricity, I just think it’d be neat! Also green lol. No but there is actually a little bit of reasoning. So asides from lightning, I think Jay would also have an affinity with the Earth/ground. So it fits that Flygon is a Ground(/Dragon) type as well. Flygon also has pretty good speed stat, and to be honest, Jay is very nimble and agile when he’s in combat and isn’t using his magic. I have a lot of his melee fights incorporate a lot of contemporary dance and gymnastic moves because I think it would be really interesting for him to use a lot of that in his melee fights, plus it would be pretty creative writing-wise to see what sort of things I can come up with to make those fights feel fluid because he is very agile and dextrous.

Typhlosion is there because I am biased and I love Typhlosion, fave starter of gen 2 babeyyy. But also has that little small spark of fire that he and Josie shares and I think that’s pretty neat heehee.

Honourable mentions: Raichu, Grovyle, Breloom, Altaria, Pidgeot, Ambipom, Toedscool

---

Leo Mikaelson

Litleo

Chansey

Granbull

Sliggoo

Aggron

Mimikyu

For Leo, I obviously had to give him Litleo. There was no way I couldn’t not give him Litleo, his name is practically in the name. Perfect Pokemon for our sweet summer child boi.

I actually had a tough time picking out the rest of Leo’s team and had to go back and forth with his way more than the others. Mostly because I had a thought of “what if he just has primarily Fairy types for the rest of his team” which evolved into “oh what about he has Fairy and Dragon types” which then evolved into “what if he just has these conventionally “””scary””” Pokemon on his team in contrast of his sunny bright disposition”. I think I did end up sticking with that regarding Granbull and Aggron.

Chansey came about because Leo wants to help his family out no matter what. That includes learning how to do potions even though he has no magic. That means learning up on werewolf packs and diplomacy even though he’s not a werewolf. That means researching the history of vampires–which becomes a family history thing–and figuring out ways to help rippers. He also makes sure his family is taken care of if they end up in some battle and are hurt. That’s where Chansey comes in. In Pokemon, Nurse Joy’s in every Pokemon Centre has a Chansey. They are like the poster Pokemon for Pokemon Centres. And in some of the Dex entries, Chansey is a very helping Pokemon. Whether that’s giving people or Pokemon its egg to eat to heal them, or bringing trainer’s happiness if they’re caught. That’s Leo. That is completely Leo.

Gave him Sliggoo to also balance out the Fairy types that he had on his team! I think it'd be neat for him to have a Dragon type. Because, tbh, Leo is gregarious and befriends creatures so quickly no matter what or how they act. Leo has amassed an army of creatures who will protect him no matter the cost and that's super precious to me haha. Which brings me back to my reasoning for giving him Granbull and Aggron lol (I know they're not scary ok).

And with Mimikyu, at first it was because I personally love Mimikyu but the more I thought about it the more I went “oh wait the lore of Mimikyu would maybe perhaps fit Leo’s arc of being the only human in a family of supernaturals and feeling very low of himself and inferior because he’s the “token human”. Like it would play into his insecurities a bit, but then he would, of course, eventually learn to embrace that yeah, he is the token human and will fuck shit up for those who underestimate him because he’s just a human.

Honourable mentions: Shinx, Tinkaton, Dedenne, Grimmsnarl, Tyranitar, Altaria, Flapple, Garfaiai, Smeargle, Victreebel, Ditto, Bewear

#hosie #hosie fankids #hosie pkmn au #hope mikaelson #josie saltzman #eprika rambles #pokemon

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giratinazero · 2 years

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pokemon team's in the early 30s and I'm still not satisfied with my sixth team member

starter and ceruledge will eventually both be fire/ghost types; magnemite just evolved, and its whole line is weak to ground; toedscool is grass/ground, so ice is a problem there, and it’s frail anyways; tatsugiri is water/dragon but can’t take a hit; my final slot has rotated between hariyama, floette, and now a freshly-evolved masquerain. no idea what I want to use, ugh

leaning towards a flying-type bc of my three ground weaknesses, which is why I have the masquerain, but. idk, nothing is really standing out to me rip, and now that my levels are at this point I don’t really wanna disrupt what I have going,, ugh I’m so indecisive

#gira talk #gira games

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bloodycassian · 3 years

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FIRE AND ICE PART TWO - GRIEF

His lack of faith in you seemed to grow with each passing day that you ignored him. He tried bringing you food, tried making jokes. You had a sneaking suspicion he tried to send Mor in to try to talk to you too. But she just read beside you in bed, munching on the plate of cookies he had ordered to your room.

"I'm not going to say dont be mad it him, but maybe just... hear him out." Mor said, shutting her book. You glared at her. "I know, I know.... but just maybe-"

"He hasn't bothered to apologize. Why would I hear him out when he doesn't even try to hear me out!?" You let her hear the kindling fire that had been building over the last few days. The words came out with precision and cut even her deep.

"Cassian can be stupid-"

"He's an idiot." You spat.

She sighed, and sat up from the pillow stack that you shared. She could see the predator waiting to be released under your skin. And she didn’t want to be the one to let it free. So she went the gentle route. The one she knew would knock you free of the anger. "He wanted to keep you safe." the words hit your weak spot for the male.

You shoved it away, disregarding the vulnerability. "By shaming me?" She was surprised. Cassian hadn't shown any sign of falseness when she had spoken to him. He had just seemed concerned. You laughed bitterly. "He forgot to mention the part where he guilted me into leaving. He thinks I'm a doll he needs to protect." You cringed away from the words that you knew he saw as being true. The shame filled you further. Like a sinking ship, it only brought you lower and lower.

She stared at you, those piercing eyes so different from Rhys' bored into you. Her next words were carefully chosen. "Give him.. time." She concluded. You stared after her as she made her way to the door.

Two days later you had cooled off after a sparring with Feyre and Rhys. As if he had been told of your more pleasant mood, Cassian appeared on your balcony with a bundle of wildflowers and a basket of bath supplies. Your favorites, of course. You didn't hesitate to take them. You gave him a once over - that stupid apologetic half smile he wore dug into your heart. You rolled your eyes at him and turned, heading for the bathroom.

He made love to you that night. Long and slow. apologetic in every way. Sensual, caring and so good. When you woke the next morning, he was gone. Just a note left on your bedside table.

"Back before lunch" it promised. You sighed and threw it on the floor. The same frustration as before returning to you. The unsatisfied feeling of needing to fight - to get the rage out. To have him just yell at you already. To let the words you knew he wanted to say finally come out. “I can’t do this anymore.”

The nightmare of those words lingered throughout your slow morning. By lunch there was still no sign of Cassian.

So much for round two.

You picked at your dinner impatiently. The various fruits and meats on the table didn't appeal. Especially for such an early dinner. You were hoping to train but Rhys and Azriel weren’t back from their meeting yet, so you decided on a much too early feast for yourself. You couldnt bring yourself to have a bite though. You watched the snowdrifts billow outside the house of wind instead. They flurried down the mountains, shimmering like diamonds in the afternoon light. You could imagine how it sounded rushing down the steep peaks of the mountain. The soft tinkling sound they made when hitting your hair. Your wings flexed involuntarily.

Mor strode in with a small box in her hands. "Good morning." She chittered, placing the box on the table in front of you. "Whats this?" You asked, skimming a finger over the lid. "A gift." She began walking away without a look back.

"From?" the box seemed to hum with anticipation.

"Open it and find out." She called from the doorway. Your stomach suddenly spiked with nerves.

"For the one you lost. -Cas"

The one you lost?! The ignorant note made your blood boil. He was the one that had caused you to lose it. You didnt even want the damned gift if he was going to be such an asshole about it. But you couldn't ignore the beauty of the blade that lay before you. Among dark satin lining lay a gorgeous handmade dagger. Black stained metal with a simple leather hilt. Curved at the tip with deadly sharpness. You picked an apple from the table, and tested the knife.

It sliced through like butter, leaving no jagged edges over the skin of the fruit. You inspected the mark, noting the spot of red on the inside of the apple. Your heart dropped. "Shit."

You hadn't even felt the cut, the blade was so sharp. You wrapped your loose shirt around the wound on your finger and set the knife back in the box. The blood dripped on the dark lining. Staining the perfection of it.

You sparred with Azriel that evening, working off your frustration with Cassian. He went easy on you, noting the wrapping on your fingers. He didnt ask about it though. The session was more quiet than usual, even for Az. He stopped abruptly mid swing, letting you catch his torso with the training sword. Cassian landed behind you. He had his hands up in defense before you could even open your mouth.

"You smell like blood." You accused. "And mud."

"So do you." He gave Azriel a nod, and the shadowsinger excused himself. suspicion grated at your nerves. You set your jaw and put your sword away, ignoring the new blood spots blooming on the bandage. He squinted at it, you cut him off before he could say anything.

"Cassian..." You leveled a look at him.

He kept his composure, ripping those hazel eyes from your injury. "Dont worry about it. I got it handled."

"You’re half a day late and - wait….Got what handled?!" You squeaked. You disregarded his tardiness all together. The sheepish look on his face said all you needed to know.

You wanted to hear him admit it. That he went and finished the job without you. You needed to hear him admit it. You realised you were tense, waiting to fight. Your wings were tucked in protectively behind you, and your fists clenched at your sides ached.

"Dont-"

"If you say dont worry about it again I am going to throw you off this house." You ground out through your teeth.

He did not laugh, like you would have expected. He just looked away. On the back of his neck you noticed the thin scratches and the dirt that marred his tunic. Your eyes stung with tears. The betrayal hitting you like a ton of bricks. "I did, alright?" He said, voice low. "I took care of it."

"What the fuck, Cassian?!" You exploded, "The bath, the flowers what - so I would be less suspicious?" You recalled the night before, the slow tenderness of him. The

"What? No - I got that because I love-"

"Dont say its because you love me. You could have been killed. You lied to me." You could feel the blood pounding in your temples, fueling the rage that lashed out. Tears threatened to spill over.

"I didnt lie!" His voice echoed against the far wall of the training ring. "And you were almost killed too. I couldn't risk that again."

"It wasn't even close to that bad!" You shouted back, not caring how the birds quieted. Your rage matched his, possibly exceeded it at times. You knew that on previous experiences. You'd done a lot more than make nature quiver at the tones you brought.

"It was bad enough." He said with finality, his tone somber. He leaned against the weapons rack and tapped his toe against it anxiously. You stared him down, daring him to say more. Waiting to strike out against the next words you knew he wanted to say. What you knew he was thinking.

"You're not strong enough on your own."

You didn't need any more of his excuses. You didnt need to hear the words to know that he wanted to say them. You scoffed. It caught his attention.

"Where are you going?" He asked. A request, not a demand. You didn't oblige him. You just leapt off the side of the the wide cliffside and let your wings pull you up, high into the air. You kept soaring, pushing and pushing until your lungs hurt with the stinging of the air.

Az's cool shadows did not touch you when he landed. The rustling of the long grass around his pants was little more than a whisper.

"He sent you didnt he?" You wiped your cold nose on your sleeve and attempted to piece yourself together. Things with Cas had gotten just so difficult lately. You didnt know why. He was constantly just... hovering. It made you claustrophobic. You hadn't been forgiving about it either. He wasn't the only one to blame.

"He didn't..." Azriel stood beside you. You didnt feel his cold eyes that always seemed to pierce into you. You looked up at him to confirm your thoughts, and he was indeed looking over the grand lake you had parked yourself at. Among a valley of trees and violet flowers, the polished surface of the water seemed like a mirror.

"Then why are you here?" Your words were laced with the venom Cas had left you with.

He was quiet for only a moment, before calmly speaking again. "To make sure you're alright."

"I dont need anyone looking after me. I'm not a child." You spat bitterly. The sunset overhead darkened, slowly making its way down behind the mountains.

"I know. I came here for myself." His words held no double meaning. No doubt ringing through them. "I wanted to see you." He said simply. He didnt have the arrogant air of someone coming to the rescue. You appreciated that. It took a weight of your chest.

"Why?" You demanded more than asked. You really didnt care what your tone was like. He was the one offering to stay beside you.

He shrugged, and gestured to the large boulder you leaned against. "May I?" He asked. You shrugged back - weakly -, and he sat. You watched the sun disappear completely together. You through clouded, swollen eyes.

He said nothing, didn't even look at you besides when you choked out a sob. Then his leg was there, subtle and warm. You didn't feel a sting of pride when you leaned against the welcome comfort. He didn't complain when your tears soaked through his pants, or when your cried rocked his body as well.

#READER X CASSIAN #CASSIAN X READER #ACOTAR FIC #AZRIEL X READER #FIRE AND ICE #FIRE AND ICE FIC

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passivenovember · 3 years

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mama said to smile while I still have teeth.

(or) Post Starcourt, a very different Billy Hargrove gets his wisdom teeth removed.

In a moment of weakness and textbook junior year assholery, Steve gets his stomach ripped out and fed to him for suggesting that Billy could take the bus.

And it’s not without reason.

Hopper and Joyce have work. And Robin would ask too many questions--why the shaved head, why the ratty black hoodie and sweatpants, why the perpetual vow of silence--and the only one of the kids that has their permit is Dustin.

But Max behaves as if none of that matters. Looks at Steve as if he set the house on fire himself.

“Or you could take him.” She sneers. Like that’s somehow a good idea. “You have a car.”

“Billy wouldn’t get in a car with me even if you paid him.”

Steve doesn’t say he’d rather face a barrel of Demodogs one handed than be left alone with Billy. Would rather lick black slime off his own dick than feel those silent, cool blue eyes pouring like ice water down the ridges of his skin.

Steve wants to say it. Doesn’t. When Max starts crying. “His legs don’t work as good anymore.”

“Billy gave me a concussion.”

“He’s got gas money.” She says, voice winding tight with desperation.

And Steve despises the painful, weeping grip of her fingers when they close around his forearm. Hates that she cares so much for someone who could never care for her.

“I know it’s not much.” Max swallows thickly. “I know he used to be a piece of shit, but he’s--”

“Different.” Steve says heavily, scrubbing at his forehead. “I know.”

Billy slides into the passenger seat with a thermos in one hand and a cranberry muffin in the other and Steve isn’t used to it, the way his body seems to have deflated. Limbs cut from marianette strings, hanging limp as if gravity hasn’t quite learned what to do with them.

Billy places the muffin and the thermos on the dashboard between them, and.

Steve expects something.

A thank you, which could come later. A hello, which should come now.

Billy nods at the dashboard.

Steve jots into action. “Oh. These aren’t for you?”

Billy grunts, reaching to pass the goodies over as if Steve were incapable of doing it himself. The thermos is warm in Steve’s hand. Sturdy.

“Coffee?” He asks, jerking with surprise when Billy mutters; “Hazelnut.” In a voice as soft as feather down.

Steve waits for Billy to say something else, but.

Billy doesn’t. He just turns and peers out the passenger side window, into the gentle swell of rain that’s started to fall.

“Thanks. Thank you.” Steve says. He starts the car. Lets it warm, and.

Tries not to feel like this is the first time their bodies have had to reacquaint themselves with one another.

Tries not to marvel at how beautiful silvery thin lines can be. Running from the shell of an ear and disappearing, quick, into the hood nestled around broad shoulders.

Steve rubs his hands together, tearing his eyes away. “First time at the dentist?”

And Billy doesn’t say anything.

Never says anything, anymore, but. That doesn’t stop the conversation from feeling communal. Shared.

“I got my wisdom teeth out when I was fourteen.” Steve peers through the windshield. It’s raining harder now. “Don’t remember much about the whole thing. Mom says I tried to stop the aquarium fish from drowning. And that I had to be double belted on the way home--”

“Will it hurt?” Billy turns to look at him, and. His eyes are welling up. Cheeks and nose red, as if stung by October winds.

Billy whispers, “I wanted Max to come but she had school.”

His hand is covered by the sleeve of his hoodie, fabric scrubbing rough at the stubble along his jaw. “Did they hurt you?” Billy asks, and.

Steve doesn’t like the way he says it.

Like there really is something to be afraid of, at the core of it all. Like no one has ever considered the possibility.

“It’s not so bad.” Steve’s heart gives a painful, gripping thud. “You get a free ice pack out of the deal and decent high from the silly gas, if you’re lucky.”

Billy nods. “We’re gonna be late.”

Which. “Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“We’ll get you there lickety-split.” Steve pulls out of the driveway, fingers gripping the wheel when Billy places the still-warm muffin in his lap.

He sticks around for the procedure just to stop Billy from looking like he’s being dropped at his first day of kindergarten. The waiting room is bright. Warm and colorful, plush couches stocked full of overstuffed pillows. All within throwing distance of machine labeled free coffee :)

Not a bad dig, all things considered, but.

Billy says Steve doesn’t have to wait around. Doesn’t even have to come back at all. The nurse calls his name and Billy stands, shoulders lined with tension, before turning to whisper, “I’ll take the bus back to Neil’s.”

And Steve knows. Gets it.

The universe running a test. An experiment that will prove whether Steve’s really got a heart under all that chest hair.

Steve lifts his Highlights magazine. “I’m good.”

“Really?”

“Dude, It’s pouring outside,” Steve says, shaking his hair out for good measure. “I’ll just wait. In case you’re too high to function.”

Billy looks like he wants to say something else, so. Steve gives his full attention. Plans on the preverbal thank you that’ll probably never come, but. The nurse calls that name again.

Billy Hargrove.

And Billy turns to go, hands tangled in the sleeves of his hoodie.

His cheeks are swollen, like.

A chipmunk.

Stuffed full of little cotton pads that could be acorns. That are acorns, Billy insists, when the nurse brings Steve back to the operation room. He’s parked on the dentist bench. Curled into a ball with a thumb in his mouth when Steve rounds the corner.

“Steve,” Billy says thickly. “They took my teeth out but I have acorns.” He reaches across the space between them, fingers grasping Steve’s wrist tightly.

Too tight, but.

Steve can’t bring himself to care when the nurse says, “Billy, take your thumb out of you mouth.”

And Billy says. “I need to suck on something cold.” He pulls Steve right up to the edge of the bench, sitting with a serious glint in his eye. “Our acorns will be good for winter, right?”

He sways, nearly falling off the leather table, so.

Steve grasps his shoulder. Puts him back in place. “Probably? I don’t think acorns go bad.”

“We gotta make sure, ‘cause I don’t want you to starve.” Billy slurs, dropping to dead weigh when the nurse gets an arm underneath him and asks Steve to get the kid on his feet.

Billy lands somewhere against Steve’s ribs, swaying dramatically as bright red drool slides over his chin.

The nurse swears under her breath, going at it with a towel.

Billy swats her hand away. He staggers as Steve thanks the nurse and leads them into the waiting room.

“You’re so pretty, Stever.” Billy reaches out again, fingertips poking Steve’s eyelid. “Can’t starve for the winter. Gotta get pretty boys their acorns--”

“Stop poking me--”

“Acorn soup.” Billy sings. “Acorn pie and casserole and lollipops covered in sugar.”

Steve manages to get the doors open with zero help from Billy, chuckling as warm, soft palms circle around his shoulder blades.

They’re hugging.

In the rain.

At the dentist’s office.

Steve hugs back, squawking when Billy’s nose brushes against his heartbeat. “C’mon, dude, we gotta--”

“Will you carry me, Stever?”

“No.” Steve says, manhandling Billy from his chest to his ribcage, determined to make it across the lot in one piece. “You’re solid muscle, there’s no way I could carry you.”

Billy makes a noise, pretty pink lips forming a pout when Steve looks over at him.

“I got all the acorns ready for winter and you can’t carry me to the car?” Billy grumbles, leaning against the side of the Beamer while Steve gets his key into the lock.

Steve untangles himself from the arms that fold around his waist. “Billy--”

“You smell like grass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, like sweet grass.” Billy cackles, doubling over at his own joke, and. Pulling Steve down with him. “Sweet ass, right?”

“You’re insane.” Steve whispers, somehow out of breath from. The hands on his neck. He let’s Billy pet through his hair and then Steve yanks on the door handle, opening it, like, “Alright. Get in.”

Billy has more blood on his face. “Wanna sit with you.”

“We will.”

“Can I lay on your chest?”

Steve’s face hurts from smiling. “You won’t fit.”

“I could!” Billy whimpers, jerking away from Steve as he tries to get the blood off his chin. “I could be like a kitty cat--”

“Would you just--” Steve gets his hands on him, wiping at Billy’s mouth with his thumb. “Hold still, alright?”

“Alright.” Billy kisses Steve’s finger. Chaste and quick, gone before either really know what’s happening. Those blue eyes pull Steve in, drink him down. “How come you’re so pretty?” Billy asks.

And. “Dunno,” Steve says, sounding just as out of breath as he feels. Like they’ve been running laps, and.

Steve thinks maybe they have.

All around Hawkins. Through the years. Past each other.

Billy holds still under the weight of ten fingers before frowning. Sticking his little swollen lip out. “Can we go home now?”

Steve backs away, gripping the edge of the door. “Sure.”

“Not to Neil’s,” Billy mutters to himself, leaning into the leather seat when Steve gets his limbs folded into the car. He cranes his head, eyes huge and watery. “Can I hang out with you?”

Steve moves to close the door. “Sure.”

Billy stops him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, Billy.”

“Then why are you trying to close the door?” Billy demands, peering through narrowed eyes.

Steve chuckles at that, squeezing the fingers that curl into the palm of his hand. “We gotta close the door so we can drive the car back to my house.”

Billy yanks his hand away. “Your house.” He says, as if tasting the words on his tongue.

Steve nods. “Do you want to go to my house?”

“Do you have macaroni and cheese?”

“Yeah, I can.” Steve wills himself to stop smiling. “I can make some after you take a nap.”

Billy stops the door from closing again. “I’ll be cold if I try to sleep.”

And he says it like.

No one’s ever believed him. Billy speaks with an anchor in his voice, the weight of it pulling Steve in. Forward, until he understands.

Steve grips the edge of the door.

Nods. Let’s Billy know that there are ways around it.

Billy’s crying, and. Steve doesn’t want to see him cry anymore. Every again. They’ve been through too much. He takes Billy’s hand and squeezes tight, smiling softly when cool blue eyes peer up at him.

“Then we can eat macaroni and watch T.V.--”

“We can?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “And when you’re ready to go home I’ll take you. Keep you safe.”

He moves to close the door, chucking when a firm, sure hand holds it in place.

Billy stares at him. “What if I never wanna go home again?”

Steve thinks about it, tapping his knuckles on the hood of the car. He shrugs. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Billy says.

This time, when the door is closed, Steve runs to the other side. Not wanting to miss a single moment.

#harrigrove #they’re getting fluff and then a shit load of angst #and then more fluff #love my babies #wisdom teeth

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jeweledstone · 2 years

Note

Creation Trio: Dialga (Electric/Bug), Origin Dialga (Electric/Bug), Palkia (Grass/Bug), Origin Palkia (Grass/Bug), Altered Giratina (Fairy/Bug), and Origin Giratina (Fairy/Bug)

Dialgrub <-(Adamant Crystal)-> Dialgrub (Origin Forme)

Palkriket <-(Lustrous Globe)-> Palkriket (Origin Forme)

Fluttertina (Altered Form) <-(Griseous Orb/Core)-> Fluttertina (Origin Forme)

Battle Info:

Dialgrub, Dialgrub (Origin Forme)

^ HP

v Defense

Weak to(x4): N/A

Weak to(x2): Rock, Fire

Resistant to(x1/2): Fighting, Steel, Grass, Electric

Resistant to(x1/4): N/A

Immune to(x0): N/A

Palkriket, Palkriket (Origin Forme)

^ Sp. Defense

v Speed

Weak to(x4): Flying, Fire

Weak to(x2): Poison, Bug, Rock, Ice

Resistant to(x1/2): Fighting, Water, Electric

Resistant to(x1/4): Ground, Grass

Immune to(x0): N/A

Fluttertina (Altered Forme), Fluttertina (Origin Forme)

^ Speed

v Attack

Weak to(x4): N/A

Weak to(x2): Flying, Poison, Rock, Steel, Fire

Resistant to(x1/2): Ground, Bug, Grass, Dark

Resistant to(x1/4): Fighting

Immune to(x0): Dragon

Info: Known as the Creation Trio, these legendary Pokémon have existed since before time itself and assisted in the creation of our world.

For as long as Dialgrub breathes, time shall flow as it always has, though it itself will never grow past its larval phase.

Palkriket can manipulate the fabric of space by rubbing its legs together to produce rippling gamma rays. It’s sharp claws can rip holes in reality itself.

Fluttertina is the mother of the metaphysical realm. It’s mere existence in the physical world can cause reality to crumble.

#pokemon #pokemon retype #pokemon variations #fakemon #my art #ask #art requests

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ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 3 years

Text

Your Weekly Drabble! - Alpha Tauri

it’s me. i’m ambitious

Continuing directly from where we left off last week, i.e. Zhao hits the wrong fish and fucks up the whole planet.

This leaves Yue in the position of a less than gentle, loving lady who rules the skies with lunar goodness.....

- - -

He kneels in a savaged Agna Qel’a - when he prays, gods are not the ones who answer.

The flow of the oasis was stoppered years ago; if he observed the drawn rise and fall of his lashes, centuries of life on a green, prosperous earth seemed to slip out from underneath. After that scarlet night, he was omniscient long enough to witness the catastrophe of his own failure - yet every drop of Zhao was pitifully mortal, and to watch the heavens unfurl was the only power he had left.

Except this. To pray.

He hears groaning, a scraping that sounds deceptively ice-like... an all-too familiar hope that had been stamped out of the hardiest. Even the Avatar’s light dwindled. There was no water. Only fire - fire was life, it was energy, it sustained them... but without its pair, it burned them away as it kept them alive.

Alive.

Wearily, his fingers - the tips flaked with ash, nerves unraveling - loosen their clasp, sinking into his lap. Zhao turns.

Alive.

His mouth is forming words that he won’t comprehend. The world is a dulled edge, but she stands in sharp relief. People were often like the dead skin they left behind - piece for piece scattered where they fled, souls eroded into oblivion by an incongruous flame.

“You’re still alive?”

Zhao himself is a waning man, branded sevenfold for his treachery, among them anklets welded to his feet. It was for the ancient beasts and spirits that tore out of the drained sea floor to hunt him, to trail his sound. Her scleras are dark, with flaring twin points. Even from a distance, a raw sensation burrows into his gut that the moon hungered. Her partner is - was - the ocean... Zhao had as good as severed her from her mortality, humanity, or both.

The spirit’s - or a girl still, unable to die - clothes hang in rags, whisper on the dry ground. There was a ravenous note to her rasp, and it pushed Zhao to his feet, made him want to uproot the sword he’d dug into the grass. Or at the very least, run.

“Slayer...” His prayers feel less answered than they are judged. The girl herself seems elongated, tall and thin, skin greyed, features pitting like dunes.

“I watched my people fight to stay above the water... I watched them sink beneath the tide.”

Her clothes whisper because they hover. Their shadows are sweeping strokes, crooked lines on hot rock and dust. Zhao’s hands are too weak to even grasp the weapon’s hilt - or it’s her, her pulling the earth down like the weight of sorrow - and he abandons the effort when the spirit lunges.

Ducking around the first formation he sees that can bury his figure, he waits before scrambling to the next. The landscape resembles broken teeth. Chimes jangle from Zhao’s feet - his limp is profound - the spirits are hungry, they’re dying out, and she didn’t seem the latter as much as the former. Why?

The ocean was barren. Nothing could reunite her with her cohort... no one...

“I watched them...”

His feet disturbs the sand, the bells clinking softly.

“... vanish. My city turned from ice into glass. It shattered, descended to the depths.”

A fist launches right through the stone, taking apart a hole where her line of sight lowers. The pupils snap to him. Zhao jolts.

“I roamed the surface, waiting.” Her hair is live and writhing, every limb rooted to her outstretched, beckoning come, come. He isn’t inclined to obey.

The chase is short-lived. Firebenders might linger, but only as long as a dim fate willed it. Around and around they fled, the most punished nation of the four; Zhao tripped, the ends of his skin that had crawled over fused metal ripping like a scab, blood littering the footpath behind him. He’s too late to jam his teeth into his tongue, too late to palm his chin and surrender to the quiet - trembling within a hot nausea that beats in his temples, counting on the lucky stars that hadn’t yet winked out of existence.

“Waiting... waiting...”

And still, she is the moon, full and whole and alone, and instead of a sky miles above and away from him, she lands at his broken feet.

... Maybe he prayed for it to end. Maybe fate took its meaning into bitter hands. Hers are braced in the light, tipped in claws. Face streaked in misery or hesitance, like an open chink, or an impervious faith that surpassed even the lone airbender’s. And who was left in the world that could believe in him?

“... for you.”

Yue struck out.

#IM A DAY LATE BUT I DONT SEE YOU CUTTING DNA PLASMIDS OKAY??#zhaozai palooza 2021 #ray’s friday ficlets #sailor moon ☯️#zhayu #dark!zhayu hehe fish got fried to a crisp #fish got laced with cyanide #fish got SNATCHED

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teefa85 · 3 years

Photo

And here’s the squad. I made it a challenge to only use Hisuian forms as they’re new ‘mons and we don’t have any idea if they’d find a way to put them in other games in the future so this might be my only time.

Names and stories under cut...

Nami the Samurott. My starter, her name means “wave.” Always been quite reliable, and I love starting a battle with Ceaseless Edge for that residual damage over time. Also knows False Swipe if I wanted to use it for catching.

Makiyuu the Goodra. Her name comes from “Maki” meaning “Winding” and “Ryuu” meaning “Dragon” as a reference to her snail shell. Despite her somewhat nervous disposition, when she gets going she can wreck lots of havoc. One of the reasons it took so long to get this pic, as she kept going into her shell to nap.

Kakinu the Arcanine. Her name comes from “Kaki” meaning “Fire” and “Inu” meaning “Dog.” A good pupper! Rips enemies to shreds and was worth the effort it took to get her.

Gingeki the Sneasler. Her name means “Slash” or “Slashing Attack,” which is apt considering her vicious claws. Great at both striking the enemy with Dire Claw to screw with them, or using Close Combat in a Death or Glory attack. Like Makiyuu, she kept falling asleep and making me have to reshoot this pic. And yes, she sleeps like the badass she is!

Raimi the Electrode. Her name comes from “Rai” meaning “Thunder” and “Mi” meaning “Seed.” My Thunder Wave user and all around surprise in multiple ways. In that she was a godsend against the Avalugg fight because of its low Special Defense meaning that the new Grass weakness could be exploited despite Raimi’s weakness to Ice.

Youkitsune the Zoroark. Her name comes from “Youki” meaning “Ghost” and “Kitsune” meaning “Fox.” Despite being the newcomer, she has been very effective in combat. Bitter Malice is great for just screwing with a lot of things thanks to Frostbite. Also...this poor line needs cuddles for what they went through in the past! I even have another Zorua in the box who will never Evolve and exists just to cuddle!

Honorable teammates are Yaku the Rapidash, Kaiyou the Floatzel, Hakubutsu the Liligant, Zekkyou the Staraptor, and Inazuma the Luxray (who stuck around the longest due to having the three Elemental fangs making her useful for any situation).

#pokemon legends arceus #commentary

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violetnotez · 5 years

Text

HC: Telekenesis Quirk! Reader

Anonymous: You're such a good writer lmao can't relate. But Deku and Todoroki with a s/o who has a telekenesis quirk that gets harder to control the less she concentrates? Like she'll zone out and suddenly there's books stuck the the ceiling XD idk it just sounded cute to me

Ahhh thank you ya made ma heart feel all squishy :) And this is SO AdOrAbLeEeeeeeeE (PS- I havent written for Todoroki for a while so forgive me if my writing for him is a little rusty!)

(P.S.S)- I broke up the parts front Fluff and Angst for each boy because I felt this request could do well for both genres

(RULES | MASTERLIST| REQUESTS OPEN!!! :))

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

DEKU

Fluff:

Izuku thinks your quirk is SO FREAKING COOOOOOOL

He obviously made a journal about your quirk, because you’re his girlfriend, OF COURSE he’s going to study your powers!!!

The journal first started out as just another addition to his superhero notes

He has little notes from when you two train about fighting styles would best suit you and techniques to help you control your quirk, since when you get distracted or daze off, your quirk will sometimes activate by itself

The journal was very sophisticated and platonic, really…. until it became a journal of just YOU

It's chock full of little things he loves about you, like how your laugh sounds like wind chimes that make his spine tingle in the most delicate way ever, or the way your hair smells so lovely like fruit it makes him go crazy every time he smells it

May or may not have went to the shampoo aisle of the grocery store smelling every bottle to see if its one you use

It's also full of little moments between you two that he never wants to forget

One of the most adorable things he has witnessed when your quirk took over (and, of course, wrote down-this boi has written EVERYTHING) was when you had laid your head in Izuku’s lap during a Dekusquad outing to the park

Everyone spent the whole day studying and occasionally running around like children, playing childish games, until everyone had sat down to eat and the tiredness began to set in

You were currently in a peaceful food coma, letting Midoriya play with your hair as the sun began to set, turning the sky into a beautiful mixture of oranges, pinks, and indigos

While the rest of his friends were busy playing a game of UNO, he took the time to admire how beautiful you were: your skin was tan and rosy from the sunset, your lashes thick, your lips a pretty shade of pink and slightly parted… he blushed, wondering how he had gotten so lucky to have you

Unknowing to Midoriya, you were beginning to daze off from his touch- whenever he played with your hair you were instantly calmed and, 9 times out of 10, would fall asleep

You sighed contently, allowing the softness of sleep to drape you, until….

“Y/n….y/nnn..wake up princess,” you heard your boyfriend’s sweet voice, muffled by the thickness of sleep you were still in. But something was wrong- he sounded almost ...desperate? Scared?

Your eyes shot open, a terrifying realization hitting you- you were levitating yourself.

You, of course, had done this before while sleeping, but there was always a roof over your head. Yeah, you would hit your head and it would hurt, but at least you weren’t flying into the open sky.

You gasped loudly in shock, feeling yourself drop rapidly to the ground

Izuku instantly reacted, using a tiny bit of One for All (like .00000001% of it) to make him rapidly sprint to catch you from your fall

You grasped Izuku’s shirt, feeling the soft skin and toned muscles that always made you feel safe, trying to make your heart stop pounding from the slight scare

Izuku looked down at you, blushing slightly from how quickly he reacted and how cute you looked cuddled up against him

“Are you alright?” he asked, worry laced in his tone

“Of course I am,” you replied, your voice still groggy from sleep, “you’re here.”

Angst:

*Warning: mentions of blood

You woke up, your hair matted to one side with dirt and- blood?- your head hurt, your ears ringing, the arm you landed on felt so sore you didnt even want to look down at the damage

You looked around, your vision fuzzy at the sides, trying to process what was going on- you could hear cries, screams, the crackling of fire- “that’s right” you thought, “Im fighting villians”

You then heard a voice that made your blood run cold

“I wont let you hurt her anymore!” Deku screamed, making you look desperately to find him- there he was, badly tattered and limping, holding one side of his suit, where red and purple was staining his skin, the mint green sleeve of his suit ripped away

The powerful villian laughed a cruel chuckle, advancing on poor Deku’s broken stance

“You think your little whines are going to stop me, kid? Your lucky your little girlfriend is pretty, or would have killed her by now. But a pretty little thing like that could be of use to me.”

He smiled a disgusting grin, his perverted thoughts making Deku instantly furious

“No, you won't touch her! I WONT LET YOU !” he screamed, his quirk creating a ball of green energy erupt around his body as he charged at the gigantic villain now running at him.

You stared desperately at the exchange, the whole time wondering how Izuku was even still standing while the villain looked untouched

Seeing your boyfriend charge him- you couldn't take it- you were terrified and angry and scared for his life, knowing he couldn't keep this up- he'd killed himself

“NOOOOOOOO!” you screamed with all your might, not realizing you were making the rubble around you float violently, giant pieces of fallen building flying into the sky, heading to the thing that was causing your pain- this villian who had the audacity to hurt your boyfriend

The villain tried to block the rubble from hitting him, with no luck- it overtook him, instantly burying him in a pile of rubble

Deku stared at the now silent villain, turning slowly to see you, battered and bloody, before you fell to the ground from over use of your quirk

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

TODOROKI

Fluff:

Todoroki first began to have feelings for you very early on- he found you to be the most beautiful girl he had ever seen with a heart made of gold.

Whenever you two talked, he felt like you treated him like a person, not the “Son-of- Endeavor”, or “The-Boy-Who-Got-In-With-Reccomendations”- you truly talked to him to get to know him for who he was

It was refreshing and irritating at the same time- he was scared of any love and affection after what his father did to his poor mother, even though he desperately needed it

After months of containing his love for you, he realized-slowly- that you liked him back

You two were both in the library, completely alone

You of course didn't think Todokroki had feelings for you, as you did for him- you had accepted that you had a pitiful one-way admiration

With Todoroki’s presence merely a few feet away, you couldn't concentrate on your studies, but you couldnt bring yourself to leave

All you wanted to do was stare at the perfect separation of red and white in his hair, the scar that felt so mesmerizing and so him, that strong jawline that always made you feel weak in the knees….

Todoroki felt the tips of hair begin to lift slightly, as if a soft breeze was carrying him up. He watched as his book began to mysteriously lift in the air, the uncanny feeling of being watched making him turn sharply to look at you, an unreadable expression on his face

Todoroki’s piercing, mismatched eyes made you break from your daze, realizing you had been staring- and had used your quirk by accident

His book slammed back onto the table, his hair flopping back to his body, tickling his skin

He watched as you instantly looked down, fidgeting to get your books together hastily together, your cheeks a bright cherry red

He thought it was pretty cute, to see you so flustered

Just as you were practically pacing out of the library to escape the embarrassing situation, Todoroki stopped in front of you, forcing you to stop as well

“I know you were staring at me.” he said matter-of-factly, making your whole face red

Why did he find that so irresistibly cute?

“I-I-I-uh-” you stuttered, having know idea what to say

You instinctively reached up to brush your hair behind your ear, but-

Todoroki grabbed your hand, his hand warm and calloused

“Would you like to accompany me... on a date tomorrow night?”He swallowed, a twinge of nervousness visible on his calm face

You stared, dumbfounded at the mysterious boy in front of you, not knowing really how things turned so well for you

“I-uh-yes!” you smiled, “I’d love to.”

Angst:

You watched helplessly as the whole forest erupted in flames, the orange tendrils lciking up the sides of the trees, dangerously close to your reddened face

“What was going?” you thought desperately “How did I get here?” Everything was destroyed, every object turning to ash before you...you had to get out...but where was Todoroki?

You began running, flying through the charred leaves as the flames crackled around you

You didn't know where you were going, until you were met with a clearing, the once healthy grass now nothing but dirt and ash that was attacking your airways

A fierce battle was going on, it definitely being the source of the flames- both attackers were fire wielders, going at each other mercilessly- but one of the attackers was different-he was using ice as well

“Todoroki!” you tried to yell, unable to use your throat- it was like someone was choking you, making you unable to talk

You tried to move, to grab your boyfriend and escape, but- you couldn't move. None of your body parts working properly.

You stood there paralyzed, helpless to the situation, unable to move as you watched your boyfriend fight his father, Endeavor, no mercy being evident on either side

Panic flooded your system, only able to watch as the battle began to go in Endeavor's favor, your lover getting hurt more and more and more...

Todoroki rolled over, reaching out his hand to find the warmth of your body, confused to find that you weren’t beside him

He had at first groggily thought you had gotten up to go to get some water, only to look up and be shocked out of his sleepiness

You were floating a foot above the place you were sleeping, your body in the shape of a “T”

Your arms were limply spread out, away from your body, as your head lolled back as if someone was pulling the strands of your hair

“Y/n!” he gasped, quickly pulling you back to the bed

You face was contorted in such a look of pain, Todoroki then began to realize you must be having a nightmare

He began to shake you awake gingerly, calling you by your name and his pet names he had for you

You finally woke up, gasping loudly as if you had been drowning in water

You looked around, panting, not recognizing where you were at first, finally realizing you were in the strong arms of your boyfriend

“How did you-what happened-I” you asked confused, grasping his face between your hands and just relishing the feeling of his skin, his scar, his hair, terrified this was a dream and your nightmare was real

“You were having a nightmare,” Todoroki stated, placing a hand above the one you had on his cheek, “but youre okay, I got you now. Youre safe.”

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

Requests open!!!!

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soopersara · 4 years

Text

Celestial

Zutara Week 2020: Day 4

AO3 | FFN

@zutaraweek

An unexpected dip into the koi pond at the North Pole brings Zuko in contact with the spirits and grants him insight to his destiny. A destiny he isn’t sure he wants.

Zuko is used to being at a disadvantage. In every fight, against every opponent, he is always the weaker combatant.

But the waterbender has never been much of a problem for him. Until now.

"Stay—" she hurls a blast or water at Zuko, "—away—" a wave washes in from the side, catching him off guard, "—from him!"

Zuko is already at his limits. His face, his ribs still ache from the explosion that took his ship, and in the dimness of evening, his flames lack their usual force, their usual heat. Uncle would tell him that he needs rest. Uncle would say that Zuko isn't focused enough on his breathing, on the fundamentals of his element, and that the trek through frozen landscapes and hellish black waters to reach the Avatar in this city of ice has drained him. That Zuko would do better to retreat to some warm, hidden cavern to sleep and allow the sun's weak, watery rays to refuel him.

But he can't wait. He needs this victory. Taking the Avatar home to his father is Zuko's destiny.

His flames sputter in another deluge from the waterbender, and an icy tendril of water wraps around his ankle and lifts him off the ground. Zuko braces himself for the inevitable impact.

It doesn't come. Or the impact he expects—an impact with the rocky banks of the pond—never comes. Instead, he is plunged into the center of the water, and down, farther and farther below the surface.

The water is warmer than he expects. Certainly warmer than the channels he swam in the dead of night, warm enough that the little air left in his lungs isn't forced out by the shock of the cold.

Light shines through his eyelids, and Zuko opens his eyes to a flash of brightness. It shouldn't be so bright underwater, it shouldn't be warm at the North Pole—everything is askew, but he has no time to think about that, and he swims for the surface with the strength he has left.

The light moves with him, and through the muffled sounds of the world above he hears something else. Something close. Something clear.

That doesn't make sense. Nothing should sound clear down here. And yet it almost feels as though something is whispering in his ear.

"Off to a rough start, my prince."

He flinches. The voice is just over his shoulder, like a person whispering to him in an odd, high voice. He almost looks back. The clarity of the voice should be impossible down here, and a part of him burns to know where it is coming from, what kind of being is in the pond with him—surely there has to be something other than those two fish—but he is running out of air. He needs to get out. He needs to reach the surface.

His hands reach upward, but rather than closing on the stones of the bank, they stop short at the water's rippling surface, held back as if behind a wall.

No, no, no, no, no. He swims closer, and again he is unable to reach the air above. It is close, so, so close, and he can't break through.

"There is no need to hurry," the odd, high voice whispers to him. "Time means nothing here."

No. No, no, no, he needs to get out of the water. The waterbender must have frozen him in the pond. He can't see any ice, can't feel any ice—the boundary between the pond and the air is just as warm as everything else, but ice is the only explanation that makes sense. His lungs protest, but he channels all the energy he can muster into his hands. He's done this before. If he can melt his way out again, he'll be able to survive. He'll be able to claim his destiny, his honor, and return home.

"You have seen your destiny already, my prince. But you have not realized it. You have not stopped to recognize—"

Desperate for air, he swipes a hand backward in hopes of driving away the voice. The ice isn't melting. Why isn't it melting? Why is the surface still rippling overhead? Ice doesn't ripple. Does it?

He is stuck under the surface of the pond. He's going to die here. He's going to drown, and he isn't even certain whether the waterbender is to blame or not.

"Turn around." The voice is even closer. "You must see and you must listen."

No. He can't. He can't turn around. He can't waste his energy. He needs to breathe.

"You will not drown, my prince. Turn and recognize your destiny."

The voice is still clear, so unbelievably clear through the water, even over the frantic roar of his pulse. How is the voice still clear when his vision is beginning to darken at the edges?

He turns his head, and everything spins. He could almost swear that the koi are staring at him.

"You are one of a pair." It almost looks like the fish—both of them—are speaking. "You have found your match, your destiny. Recognize her and you will be free."

Her? Who is her? And why are fish talking to him? Fish don't talk. Or they shouldn't.

Stabs of pain rip through his chest, demanding air.

"She is before you. See her. Know her."

Zuko blinks, his vision spinning, and for an instant, he thinks he sees the waterbender across from him. Only she is different—possibly older, her hair hanging loose, and smiling—laughing. Her hand extends toward him and almost touches his scar.

"Her name," the fish say. "Know her name."

His mind is foggy. He's heard her name before, he knows he has. But princes don't remember names of those below their stature, he learned that lesson well. He has done his best to forget the names he shouldn't know—but then it surfaces. Katara. The waterbender is named Katara.

There is a surge of energy and motion, and before he knows it, Zuko is propped on his elbows, hanging halfway out of the water. He coughs over and over again, ribs aching. Air. Precious, precious air.

It takes all his strength to pull himself to his hands and knees on the edge of the pond, and he remains there on his knees, shaking with the effort to regain his breath. He wants to lie down in the unnaturally soft grass, to succumb to the exhaustion that weighs on every limb, to allow sleep to drive the eerie voice out of his mind. But he can't. He can't drive out the echoes of the voice, and he doesn't have the luxury of time to consider its meaning.

He staggers to his feet and turns on the spot, head spinning, to search for Ka—the waterbender.

No, not her. Not the waterbender. The Avatar. Zuko needs to find the Avatar.

The oasis seems different than when he plunged beneath the waves, darker, and when his eyes finally focus, he finds Zhao beside the pond. There is a flash of flame, and when Zuko blinks, the sky turns red as blood. He blinks again and Zhao is gone. In his place, the waterbender's friends—the Avatar's friends kneel at the edge of the pond, and a girl with white hair touches the surface of the water. Another blink, and the white-haired girl is gone, and Kata—the waterbender—stares up at him.

She can see him? It feels impossible, it feels like Zuko is hardly present.

"Where did you come from?" Her tone is accusatory, like Zuko's disappearance into the pond was some sort of cruel prank.

Where did you throw me? he wants to ask. How long was I gone? The darkened sky is growing lighter, though he only remembers mere minutes in the pond—longer than he should have survived, but minutes nonetheless—and a few blurry moments after he emerged.

Before he can form the words, Uncle rushes in and wraps him in a crushing hug. It hurts. Breathing hurts—but then Uncle releases him and steps back, holding Zuko's shoulders.

"We must go, Prince Zuko. The siege has failed. There is little time."

Zuko is aware that he should look for the Avatar. That if he can spot the little monk, there might still be a chance, however faint, of bringing him back to the Fire Nation. But Zuko can't seem to tear his eyes away from the waterbender. Her gaze, though full of loathing, holds him captive. Part of him thinks that she might have the answers, that if he can only ask, she will know what the voice meant. You have found your match. It can't be what it sounds like. It doesn't make sense. His match in battle? His match in—some other way?

Uncle shakes him. "Prince Zuko!"

He can't stop staring. He feels like he's staring into twin pools of water, like he's falling, about to be pulled in—

Uncle pulls him away, and Zuko can feel the old man staring, but the instant he breaks free, Zuko begins to run. He can't stay here, he needs to get away, to go anywhere else in the world if it means he won't drown in one of those pools again.

Uncle leads him down to the gates of the city where a raft awaits. Zuko hurts from the running, hurts from the fight and the exertion of—everything. When Uncle tells him to rest, Zuko doesn't think twice. Adrift on a few meager planks on the half-frozen sea, he closes his eyes.

⁂

"You must be the one."

Zuko jolts awake, the motion disrupting the raft, and he groans, pressing a hand to his ribs. It still aches. Even though the explosion was days ago, and the near drowning was hours ago, his chest still hurts.

Uncle snorts and rolls over, and Zuko blinks until his eyes focus. A girl perches on the end of the raft, faintly glowing, legs crossed, white hair flowing as if underwater.

The girl tilts her head. "I can feel it. You are Katara's match." She stretches forward to inspect him, and Zuko slides as far back as he dares. The girl frowns. "You seem scared. I promise you don't have to be. Katara is very nice. She is—she was my friend."

Zuko shakes his head. He has to be imagining things. Again. There's no way a glowing, white-haired girl is on the raft. Just like there's no way that two fish nearly drowned him to tell him some nonsense about the waterbender. Katara, something in the back of his mind whispers. Her name is Katara. He pushes it back down. He will not use the waterbender's name. That is beneath him.

Or it was. He's not sure what, if anything is still beneath him now, as disgraced as ever and floating out to sea on a raft.

"What—what are you talking about?" he croaks, voice rough from disuse. When was the last time he spoke? He isn't sure he can remember that far back. "What does that even mean? My match?"

The girl sits back and shrugs. "I'm not sure. This is my first day as the moon spirit. All I have is the knowledge that Tui left me."

"And your little fish told you—"

"That you and Katara are matched. I don't know what it means, but I can feel that it's true. Your destinies are intertwined."

Zuko jerks backward. No. He refuses to entertain the thought. He is not tied to that—that peasant. Her name rises up in the back of his mind and he forces it down. No, no, no. His destiny is to capture the Avatar. His destiny is to go home, to restore his honor, to take his rightful place as heir to the throne once again. He can't—won't entertain this madness.

The glowing girl looks sad. "Fighting it won't help you, Prince Zuko. You and Katara are a matched pair. Nothing can change that. But if you accept it, then maybe it will be easier for you. Maybe destiny will be kinder."

"No," Zuko chokes out. "You're wrong. I know my destiny, and it has nothing to do with—" He nearly says the waterbender's name and stops short. His mind is playing tricks on him, trying to convince him that these lies are real. He won't fall into that trap. He will not use the waterbender's name.

"I'm sorry, Prince Zuko. I'm sorry that I don't have any truths to comfort you." The girl sits a little straighter. "I will watch over you. You and Katara both. I'm not sure what I can do as the moon spirit yet, but if it's in my power, I will make the path easier for you."

⁂

On nights when the moon is visible, it's almost impossible to sleep. Even in the daytime, Katar—the waterbender—breaks into his thoughts. The shimmering vision of her smile, of her hand stretching toward his scar, is hard enough to escape at the best of times. When he is too slow to drive the thoughts away, he can almost feel the tug again, the strange pulling sensation in the center of his chest trying to draw him toward the waterbender. But at night, when the world descends into quiet, there is nothing to push the thoughts from his mind, and when the moon shines down on him, the other girl—Yue, the one who claims to be the moon—comes too.

She is courteous enough to remain quiet most nights, to allow Zuko to sleep—at least as much as he can sleep while starving aboard a tiny, unstable raft. But when he is awake, Yue sometimes tells him stories about Katara.

He doesn't want to hear them. Every story, every small reminder of the waterbender takes him back to those horrible, breathless moments below the surface of the pond. He doesn't want to listen to anything Yue has to say.

When they finally make it to land, Zuko shuts every door, every window, every curtain in his room. He ignores Uncle's protests about the benefits of fresh air at night and blocks out the moonlight every way he can. And for the first time since the North Pole, he sleeps soundly, without Yue there to fill his head with stories of the waterbender.

But then Azula arrives, and they are uprooted again. It is harder to block out the moonlight on the run, and Zuko is grateful for every new moon, every cloudy night, and every darkened cave they sleep in. Any night that passes without the girl made of moonlight coming to tell him again that the waterbender has a place in his destiny is a welcome relief.

And eventually, Yue seems to understand that. On the rare occasions when his precautions are not enough, she appears, but she is silent. She watches Zuko, she looks sad, but she doesn't remark on the waterbender or Zuko's supposed tie to her. It feels almost like freedom.

Except that Zuko is a fugitive, and the Avatar is still his only way home. Meeting the Avatar means seeing the waterbender again, and he doesn't know if he can bear it. The fleeting images that pass through his memory, the momentary remembrances of his time beneath the surface of the pond—they fill him with an indefinable terror, and he can feel threads tightening their grip inside his chest.

He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about her. He does his best not to.

⁂

"Zuko, I can help!"

Her voice sounds earnest enough, but Zuko knows better than to trust it. He can't trust anyone. Much less the girl who the two koi and the spirit of the moon seem to be pushing him toward. He can't risk it. Least of all now, when Uncle is hurt. Uncle, who is the last—the only person Zuko can still trust.

Zuko isn't sure how he manages it, but he drives away the waterbender and all her friends and manages to drag Uncle into a dilapidated shack at the top of the hill. He scarcely realizes how close the Avatar was, how little effort it would have taken to grab the monk. It doesn't matter when Uncle is wounded. And it doesn't matter when letting them stay would have meant that Zuko would be near the waterbender. The few minutes of proximity in battle were enough—he could feel the threads drawing them closer, and he cannot bring himself to think of what it would mean if the threads ever succeeded.

Though he does all he can for Uncle, the old man doesn't wake before the sun goes down and moonlight floods through the broken remnants of the roof and walls. From the corner of his eye, Zuko sees Yue arrive, and his forehead creases as he bows over Uncle again. He isn't in the mood to speak, and even if he could sleep with the girl's glow illuminating the shack, he can't leave Uncle unattended. Not now. Not like this.

"Katara meant what she said, you know." Yue's voice is quiet, like she's afraid of disturbing him, but can't keep the words in. "She wanted to help."

Zuko finds himself shaking, his vision blurring. He blinks the tears away and turns his eyes downward, toward Uncle again. "I don't want to hear it." His hands lock on the singed, frayed edges of Uncle's tunic. The waterbender would never have helped him—she hates Zuko. She always will.

And the idea of entertaining Yue's claims, the possibility that the waterbender could have somehow made this all better—that's even worse.

"Why don't you go bother her instead and leave me alone?" The words burn on their way through his throat.

Yue is quiet for a while, and Zuko manages to gather himself enough to change the damp cloth on Uncle's forehead. This cycle will continue all night, and he wishes he could tend to it without Yue watching over his shoulder.

"I am with Katara as well," Yue eventually tells him. "I am everywhere my light touches, and I can always feel the ties between you. Today your destiny came closer than it ever has before."

He shakes his head. He won't believe it. He refuses to. "Just go."

"I'm afraid I can't leave you, Prince Zuko. You can see me because you had a connection with Tui. I can't break that connection." A pause. "But if you wish, I will stop speaking to you."

Zuko nods. He feels as though he will break. He sees the vision of Katara again, and he is too tired to push it away this time. Would she have done it? Would she have helped Uncle? Would she have helped him?

⁂

Uncle heals, though slowly, and they make their way across the Earth Kingdom at a slow, plodding pace. On the nights when Zuko doesn't manage to block out the moonlight, Yue still comes, but she is silent. Exactly as she promised.

The silence is almost worse. The eerie glow still washes over him, still makes it difficult to sleep, and still fills his head with the echoes of the koi's voice—You are one of a pair. You have found your match, your destiny. He fights against it with all his strength, but it isn't enough. With no noise to drown out the memories, he can do nothing but lie staring into nothingness and remember.

Recognize her and you will be free. He wishes it could be that easy. He wishes that were an option. But it isn't, and Zuko will not dwell on the impossible. Nor will he take back his request for Yue's silence. Though the thought of conversation is sometimes tempting, he will not admit that weakness. He will find his own way to drive Katara out of his mind.

He doesn't realize that her name has embedded itself in his thoughts, that he can no longer remember to correct himself and call her only by her element.

Together, he and Uncle cross toward Ba Sing Se, and Zuko tells himself that he is leaving Katara and the spirits' idea of destiny behind.

⁂

In the catacombs, she rages at him. Wave after wave of it wash over him, but somehow, Zuko doesn't have the will to fight her. He can feel the threads between them, and for once, the two of them seem caught in equilibrium, neither falling toward one another nor straining apart. The balance, he finds, is bearable. More than bearable.

When Katara's voice breaks and she curls into a ball, mourning a loss Zuko knows all too well, he turns back toward her. He can feel the grief, the pain. Even without the threads binding them, he can feel it. He knows that ache. He knows that hollowness.

"I'm sorry. That's something we have in common."

In the space of a breath, the balance topples, and the threads draw them closer. Katara faces him again, and this time, there isn't anger in her eyes, there isn't hatred, there is something else. Something softer. Something raw and exposed, but warm. And when they fall into conversation and her hand drifts up toward his scar, he doesn't flinch away. He trusts her. And maybe, maybe there is some element of truth to what the fish spirits told him. If this is what they meant about his destiny—this tiny moment, alone with her in the catacombs—then maybe he doesn't need to run from it anymore. Maybe this is right.

But it doesn't last. For the briefest instant, her fingertips brushing the lower rim of his scar, Zuko believes that there could be something good, something right about the threads that bind them together. Then half the cavern explodes, and Katara scrambles away from him as fast as her legs will carry her. It feels as though his lungs are being torn from his chest. Even the sadness in her eyes in the slight glance she spares him isn't enough. It hurts. The threads wrapped around his heart rip away as she leaves, and even Uncle doesn't seem to notice the ache concealed beneath Zuko's scowl.

He can't do this. Not ever again. If it hurts this much when a connection breaks after a few minutes, Zuko can never allow a connection to form again.

⁂

He makes his choice. The destiny he has longed for over years of banishment, the destiny that Zuko has almost forgotten, thanks to the spirits' interference, comes to him, and he takes hold of it with both hands. He expects relief. After three long years, he is finally bound for home, but he feels hollow inside.

Zuko stands on the deck of the ship all through the night, staring up at the sky. He has what he wanted. He has a way home, and he can no longer feel the threads that tie him back to Katara. He should be happy. Instead, he cannot sleep, even with the light of the moon blocked out, and the force of his loneliness crushes him. He can't speak to Uncle. There are too many guards around the old man's cell to allow for meaningful conversation. He can't speak to Azula—with her, honesty is a death sentence. The same goes for the crew, Li and Lo, Ty Lee, and Mai.

He is bursting to speak, but there is no one he can safely confide in. So he stands on the deck, bathed in the sickly, fog-tinted moonlight. He can see Yue out of the corner of his eye, quiet and watchful as ever. He wishes he could talk, could spill out all his confusion, the sensation almost like regret that gnaws at his insides. He wishes he could beg for advice, could ask whether he made the right choice. But the words stick in his throat and Yue adheres to her promise of silence. There is no one Zuko can turn to, and even if he could bring himself to speak, he can't risk the possibility of someone overhearing.

Until they dock at the Fire Nation capitol, Zuko does his best not to speak, to suppress the doubts that plague his mind. His guard remains up, and he feels as though his face is a mask. He wishes he had a mask to hide behind. He's never been good at hiding his emotions, and now he has no choice.

At the palace, he has to work even harder to conceal his doubts. The only reprieve comes at night, in the privacy of his own room—the room he thought he'd never see again, still haunted by memories of childhood innocence. The moonlight is easy enough to block out, but on the first night, he lets the curtains hang open and lies awake, staring at the ceiling until the moon rises and Yue arrives.

"What was I supposed to do?" he asks even before Yue can give him her habitual look of sorrow. "In Ba Sing Se—she left. That connection you're always going on about—what does it mean if she breaks it?"

There is quiet for a minute. "You miss Katara?"

Zuko shakes his head. He barely knows Katara. How could he possibly miss her? "You said that we were connected. Isn't that supposed to mean something? I gave it a chance, and she—she didn't." It isn't until his voice starts to shake that he realizes how much it still hurts. "Tell me it was a lie. Tell me that my destiny doesn't have anything to do with her."

"I can't do that."

Zuko sits up so quickly that it almost makes his head spin. "Then what can you tell me? There has to be something. You can't just tell me that she's part of my destiny and expect that to be enough. How is she part of my destiny?"

Yue shakes her head. "I don't know, Prince Zuko. I can feel the threads of destiny, but I can't see where they will lead. I'm afraid none of the spirits can."

He scowls. "I thought you were new to this. I thought you didn't know how the spirits worked."

"I haven't stopped existing since we last spoke. I've learned things." Yue folds her hands in her lap. "No one can see the future for certain, Prince Zuko, not even the spirits. Destiny isn't as fixed as you believe it to be."

A bitter taste rises in his mouth. "But she's still a part of mine?"

A nod from Yue. "The connection may be frayed but it cannot be broken. You and Katara are still bound to one another. You have been and always will be."

A horrid realization washes over him. Destiny—to him, it has always meant that he was meant to be something positive to her. A friend or maybe—maybe something else. And as much as he still resists the idea of being in her life, the thought that it could be entirely the opposite makes him feel sick.

"Am I going to destroy her? Is that what this has been all along?"

Yue studies him. "That isn't what you want, is it?"

Zuko can't find it in himself to respond. His hands are shaking, and he feels like he's at the North Pole again, drowning to hear the spirits speak.

"Destiny takes many shapes, Prince Zuko. If you want to follow a different path, you must find one."

⁂

When he finally leaves the palace, it isn't Katara who occupies his mind. The threads connecting them are still so frayed that he can hardly feel their presence. He can't tell whether he is running toward her or not. All he knows is that he is running, and that he won't stop until he finds the Avatar again. Until the Avatar accepts his help.

He finds them at the Western Air Temple, and Katara is there. He is relieved. Though her eyes burn with hatred, though he knows where the loathing comes from, he can't help but hope. Seeing her again is enough to make him aware of the frayed connections, and though she pushes him away, it still feels possible that someday—someday, she might be willing to give him another chance.

In the meantime, he trains the Avatar, he helps with the chores, and he waits. He won't push her. He knows better than that. He knows what it feels like to be pushed, and he will never ask her to feel that way. And if this is the limit of their connection, the extent of her role in Zuko's destiny—Zuko thinks he can live with that. Standing on the same side of the war as her is more than he ever expected, and it feels right. For the first time in his life, there is no gnawing doubt, no compulsion to keep himself occupied so he doesn't have to think about whether he is right. For once, he fully believes that he is on the right path.

Katara's hostility begins to lose its edge after the first week, and Zuko can finally feel the connections between them again. He doesn't see Yue often—here at the temple, doing the right thing without any doubt, he sleeps well for the first time he can remember. But when he does see the girl who claims to be the moon, Zuko doesn't ask about Katara anymore. The ties are there. He can feel them, he can feel how fragile they've become, but he finds that he doesn't mind not knowing the rest. Whether the ties will heal, what they even mean for him and Katara—all of that will come. For now, Zuko is as close to happy as he knows how to be.

⁂

It almost feels like friendship. On the second day after Katara is reunited with her father, she speaks to Zuko unprompted, she smiles, and Zuko starts to believe that they have come to the end of the hostility. That she has accepted him, and that it will only grow better as time goes on.

But then Azula attacks, and they have to leave without her father. In an instant, they are back where they began.

It hurts more than he expects. He's grown used to the idea of being hated, almost grown comfortable with it in some ways. And yet after a glimpse, however brief, of what it might be like to be her friend, a return to the norm cuts him to his core.

But then she yells at him, and for an instant, he can see all the pain, the grief roiling under the surface. He knows that pain. He's seen it in her before, and he's felt it himself. And after a quick—and awkward, and uncomfortable, and odd—meeting with Sokka, he thinks he knows the answer.

Zuko stands beside her when she insists on leaving, when she drops the Fire Nation captain to his knees with the force of her bending, when she finally faces the man, the monster, who took her mother's life. He only speaks when necessary, and at night, he sees Yue watching them. He doesn't speak to Yue either, he doesn't try to explain himself or assuage the concern in the spirit's eyes. Nothing he could say would matter anyway. This is Katara's journey, Zuko is only here for her.

He isn't certain how she feels when he takes her back to Ember Island, when she waves him off to fetch the others while she explores the estate alone. He doesn't know for certain until he returns and Katara's eyes fill with warmth. She throws herself into his arms, and Zuko feels everything inside him ease. The connection, once frayed, seems almost to glow as he holds her. As she pulls away and smiles up at him, it shines brighter and stronger than ever.

⁂

After, Katara is with him more often than not.

Zuko still doesn't know exactly what it means, but the ties feel stronger, more resilient by the day. If this is what the spirits meant—that this newfound friendship was written in the stars, he is happy with that. Being with her, even as a friend and nothing more, feels right in a way nothing else can match. He learns how to make her laugh, and in turn, rediscovers his own smile, his own laugh. He learns to read her mood and finds that he doesn't mind the loss of his solitude. There are still times when the others become too much, when he retreats from their noise, but with Katara, he never needs to retreat. He could stay by her side forever.

Katara, for her part, surprises him endlessly. She teases and squabbles with him, then asks for help cooking his favorite meals, and springs hugs on him when he least expects it. She trains with him every afternoon, then finds pretty shells in the tidepools and asks him about the creatures that used to live inside them. She gets cross with him when he grumbles, then when he walks into a room, she smiles so bright that he almost can't bear to look her way.

He would do anything for her. For any of them, but for Katara in particular. With her, Zuko can be honest in a way that still feels alien to him, and with him, Katara is vibrant and carefree. He brings her small gifts—seashells with interesting colors and scrolls full of his favorite stories, and sweets that he thinks she'll like. Katara, in turn, gives him her time and her smiles. She tells him stories and asks him questions, and she listens—even when his words get twisted up in his head and come out wrong—and offers him hundreds of small, gentle touches.

For a smile alone, he could win any battle.

For one of her hugs, he could turn the whole world upside down.

⁂

Zuko doesn't have to think when he chooses his companion for the fight. It has to be Katara. It seems like the most obvious choice in the world, and he can hardly remember a time when it was anything less.

When the lightning comes for Katara, the choice is even easier.

Nothing and no one can harm her. Zuko won't let it.

He leaps into the path of the bolt and catches it in his hand.

At the start, it feels exactly the way it's supposed to. The lightning follows the path up his arm, down from his shoulder, and into his stomach. But there, it halts. He isn't grounded, he can't find the path to allow its escape, and the lightning breaks off of the path meant to guide it. He can't tell how far it reaches before he hits the ground and the bolt finally sears its way out his arm, but he knows, somehow, that the damage is immense. With the power still burning through his veins, he tries to raise his head, to reach her—protect her—before it's too late.

He can't make it more than a few inches before his strength runs out and his head hits the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to move.

It's all he can do to keep his eyes focused while he fights to breathe.

He can feel the rush of heat passing overhead as Azula jets around the arena in pursuit of Katara, but everything else is dulled. He feels as though he is underwater. Sounds reach him as faint, distorted echoes, and colors swim before his eyes. It feels like drowning. As hard as he tries, he can't find enough air to fill his lungs, and the small, rasping gulps he manages burn him from the inside out.

He is dying, he realizes. He is dying so Katara might have a chance at survival.

This, he thinks, must be what the spirits meant all along. He is Katara's match because he would happily go in her place. She is his destiny because he is meant to save her life.

He doesn't mind it. He would much rather that she live, even at the cost of his own life. He can no longer imagine what life without Katara would mean, and he will never have to find out.

Blurry minutes pass, and either the world goes silent or he loses the power of hearing. It doesn't matter. He can't breathe anyway. It seems fitting, in a way. He learned of his destiny with Katara by drowning. It's only right that it ends the same way.

There is a bright, bluish light, and Zuko struggles to blink his vision clear. He expects to see Yue beside him to wish him farewell—the moon was full when he fell, he thinks—but the glow is small, and the figure over him dark against the blood-red sky.

The unmistakable shape of a hand presses against his chest, and coolness floods in to wash away the burning in his lungs. Zuko sucks in a full breath, and it doesn't hurt anymore. Or it hurts less than it did before.

"I'm here, Zuko. Don't you dare leave me."

He recognizes Katara's voice, and with another breath, another blink, his vision comes a little clearer. He can make out her face, and he thinks she might be crying.

"Please, please keep fighting."

He raises a hand toward her face, but his strength fails, and it drops back to his chest.

Katara keeps the glowing hand pressed to his chest, slowly reining in the lightning's damage, and the other hand closes around his.

He isn't drowning anymore. He can breathe, and her hands keep him afloat.

#zutara #zutara week #zutara week 2020 #fanfiction #zutara fanfiction #Celestial #soopersara's scribbles

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goth-girlfriend · 4 years

Note

I really LOVE your writing. It makes me happy && really love Endeavor more then I already do. 🥰 But! While I was reading you’re Stain fic I couldn’t help but feel like you would write a GREAT angst. I mean that whole good bye scene had my twisting all the way into my soul. So if you could? 👉👈🥺 would you, could you, please write an Angst fic for Endeavor or Dabi? I’m a sucker for pain 😫😩😩

Dabi x Reader aggressive Angst? Reader x Brief Overhaul/Kai Chisaki

Aggressive angst?

Inspired by a weird dream and the song Daddy Issues

I’ll try to redo it! I want to put more effort and more angst. I wanted them to be lovey dovey at first but my progress was lost so I just came up with another plan. I still hope you enjoy what I wrote! Thank you!

“Touya!” I screamed running up to him. I plopped down beside him, in the next swing.

“We match again.” I pointed to the white bandages on his arms and neck.

“Heh, yeah, I had another quirk accident. Trainings getting harder.” He mumbled looking down at his feet.

I smiled and nodded, “I’m sorry, maybe it’ll get easier?” It was more of a question.

“Yeah, hows you get hurt?” Touya pointed at my own bandaged arms.

“Daddy issues.” I shrugged, that’s what I’d heard mom call them, so I guess that it.

“Oh.” He mumbled.

“Yeah, but it’ll get easier....” I realized how big of a lie it was for the both of us.

“Let’s get ice cream!” I jumped out of my swing and held my hand out to Touya.

“I guess.” He shrugged and took my hand.

I pulled him with me, five year olds, crossing the park, in twining bandages, in the late afternoon, just before dark. Everything seemed okay at the moment, everything was good. For the twenty minutes we sat, staring at the cars passing by, and licking ice cream.

“Whatcha thinking about?” I turned to Touya who had been staring at the bare popsicle stick in between his fingers.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked.

I shrugged, “I wanna be known, a hero, maybe. I don’t know, my dad says I won’t be anything. But I can try right?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Touya mumbled.

The years like this passed, We grew up and we fell in love. We tried to spend more time together, well at least the time we could steal. Spending late nights at the park talking in whispered and hiding when cars or a hero would do a round, fining a hill off to the side of some train tracks and laying down on the grass judging the stars and feeling the summer warmth in the soft grass, the occasional sounds and yellow lights of a passing train up hill. Jumping off of bridges into the water streams, trying to smile when things got hard. Fixing each others bandages and talking through it all. Night walks home on the dark streets the only safe haven being the street lights we’d rush to and stand under. Finding one of the few wooden posts and carving our name into it was a sharp stone. I fell in love, and I fell hard. I smiled like an idiot every-time I turned to look at him, and he’d return the smile twice as big.

I found myself hugging Touya’s chest and crying, he rubbed my back, “what’s wrong?”

I only hugged him harder the tears falling harder as I rubbed my eyes into his chest tears staining his black button up school jacket. I cling to the black fabric on his back still not wanting to let go. My wrist and palms and body was hurting, when I got here I could even stand without wavering, not I’m clinging to his jacket like it’s my life line. I couldn’t get word out, “I wanna runaway an-“ I was cut of by a gasp for air between my sobs.

“It’s okay, I already know you have daddy issues, because I do too.” He sighed, his chin resting on the top of my head.

“You wanna runaway?” He asked and I nodded against his chest, not letting go of the back of his jacket, he sighed, “I guess I can’t let you go alone.”

The day came, I’d packed a bag with necessities, and money I’d been slowly taking from my dad. My mom was long gone and now I suffered the abuse for the both of us. The day had been grey and muggy, humid. Nasty, disgusting, irritating and just infuriating. I was getting antsy, the cop car would do its final round of the neighborhood for the night and then I was home free. I picked up my window watching the tail lights disappear. And dropped my bag out and a second bag of secondary supplies. I pushed everything away from the window and so it wouldn’t look like I escaped through the window. I cleaned the window with ease and closed it from the outside. I picked up my bags and headed out, to meet Touya where he’d promise to meet me.

It was all the way across town, he wasn’t there, not a sign of anything, no bag, no shoe prints, nothing. I dropped my bags on the floor behind a dumpster, I sat on the floor and just waited the night. Touya was supposed to be here, he wouldn’t leave me would he, he wouldn’t break his promise would he? I waited all night, nothing, and all the next day, nothing. I sat in the rain all the second night, I’d found some pallets and a piece of plastic tarp and made a makeshift shelter. After a few months of being homeless and on the move to make a life for myself I had a small apartment and day job. All out of spite I can add, because by the fourth day I’d realized I’d been stood up completely. He wasn’t coming, he left me alone, he lied to me just like my dad. I found myself wondering the streets tonight, it was winter and I could see my breath under the street lights I passed. I shivered at the satisfaction of cold air over taking my body and internal organs with every deep breath I took.

That was until I had to lunge and send my right fist foreword, and ice wall and shard of ice flying at the man who decided to attack me.

“Leave,” I snarled and got ready to attack again.

“What are you an idiot, don’t you know fire beats ice.” The guys voice was snarky.

“Yeah, well frostbite kills the flesh and fire wont bring it back.” I snarled as flames melted the ice and I stopped the and sent more ice flying at the man.

“Feisty,” he chuckled and through the steam I watched a blue light being held at my shoulder height.

“Too bad feisty gets on my nerves.” He growled and the light grew coming at me.

I made a thick and large ice wall

It surpassed the buildings we were between in height. I focused on my feet and made an ice pillar below me shoving myself up. Once Kent he air I melted the ice making a ramp to the roof top and slid in my heels down the ice ramp. Thank God this place was far away from my apartment.

“STAY STILL BRAT.” Fire came flying up catching everything in its path.

I snarled and focused on the ice that and turned to water, I tried to manipulate it and form a ring around me, I focused on the broken building pieces and tried my bets to bright them closer the stones tumbled before forming another ring, and finally I tried to manipulate the air and it formed swirls around me. I felt my hair getting pulling in different directions, not painful just being tossed by the wind.

“Listen here, I don’t know what you want but I just need you to leave me alone.” I snarled and stepped back not knowing where he could come from.

“You’re still as naive as ever, begging wont help you. Nothing will, I’m here to kill you. Nothing ever gets easier.” I shivered the voice finally hit a nerve and I was enlightened.

I snarled and ran to the edge of the biking jumping straight down, splitting a ball of fire in half with the help of ice. I started trying to physically fight the boy who left me, abandoned my after making a promise. I landed a coupe hits but he used his quirk, it resulted to me using my mine, my hands freezing and finger tips almost going number I went to using the rocks and earth to throw things at him and trying to just immobilize him. But he burnt through ice, water, rock, mud, dirt, and his fire was strong enough to break the air currents I was using. All I had was fire but since that day I vowed I’d never use it.

“TOUYA TODOROKI YOUR A DIRTY LIAR, A NASTY HUMAN BY, AND AS BAD As your father.” I snarled and brought my hands up together, a huge ball of colorful flames leaving my palms burning the skin and bringing feeling back to my palms and fingers.

That hit something because attacks got worse, we battled this out destroying half of the abandoned infrastructure around us. I managed to pin him down, and by pin him down I caught each of his hands in a pillar of concrete and and ice and brought him to his knees pulling his hands underneath the ground.

“WHY DID YOU JUST LEAVE ME?!” I screamed wanting answers, the problem was I was full of anger, wet anger, the kind of anger where you care to much and builds up and rushes up to your eyes and then your crying and you don’t want to cry because then you’ll weak. I didn’t want to look weak in front of the boy, because a man wouldn’t hurt anyone this way, but this boy did.

“Couldn’t you tell?” He scoffed, looking up from his place in the dirt, “I didn’t want you, you cried to much, no one could ever want you with how much your cry, look at you, crying right. Go and ahead and cry little girl, because no body can cry like you do. You cry for every little thing, and it’s annoying.”

I couldn’t say anything if it’s how he felt then fine, I’ll just leave, if he thought I was annoying then why did come here, why was I here? I scoffed and closed my eyes, the tears stopping, I looked up to the sky and opened them coming face with a full moon. With a wave of my hands I ripped the rocks away from Dabi and sent them flying into every light post around us, dressing the neighborhood in a dark shade then it already wore.

“You’re right, I guess that’s the problem when you care about someone to much. You trust them with everything, but in the end its all one sided.” I huffed and turned around and walked once a few blocks away I turned a corner and just ran, I was gone, I wasn’t waiting for anyone or anything anymore.

It’s time I live for me, if Touya wants to play villains good for him, but I have my own life to live, and as long as I’m as far away from him as possible, I’ll be fine.

“Overhaul sir, I’m at the meeting spot, I’ve scoped it out and everything seems clear.” I spoke into my phone and quickly disappeared from scene hiding on a rooftop nearby.

“Thank you (Y/n), I’ll be arriving shortly. Make sure to take care of any problems.” He spoke smoothly into the phone.

“Of course.” I nodded my end of the phone and he hung up.

I tucked my phone away and squatted against the wall do a roof top door entrance. The shadow covered me and left room for movement. I pressed my back against the wall and sat my butt on my heels, it prepared me for easy lunges and more forced if I had to run. I watched intensely at the large alley below, just waiting. I watched as a white van pulled up, the side door opened and a group of people poured out, one with hand son his body, a girl in a school uniform, a guy covered in black mist, a another in a grey and black suit, the man driving was a lizard and he made a hand motion and drove off. A few minutes passed and the lizard guy came walking up with someone who I couldn’t help but feel familiar.

They all stood around waiting and talking, until a new It was time, using moisture in the air, I created a cold thick dog to block out the view, I left a clear entry way for Overhaul and his men. I was paid to make sure they got in and out unharmed, so you can bet, it’s what I’m going to do. I watched as a black sleek car pulled up, I was blocking out the sound of commotion, and dropped the temperature causing ice crystals to form in the air.

As soon as Overhaul gave the sign the I split the fog, he wanted a great entrance, so I made sure it showed him first and spread to show the people around him. The crystals in the air slowly dropping forming a wind chime symphony.

“Tomura Shigaraki.” I shivered at Chisaki’s voice.

It’s not hard to admit that I’d found myself tangled up with Kai more then just one way. I sighed and pried my eyes away from him staring at the other group. Form what I had learned they were called the league to villains. I didn’t learn the names, I didn’t need to. All I needed to know is that they work under the man I had a bad run in with. But it was a benefit for me when I escaped his grimy hands. And then fell right into the clean gloved hands of Kai Chisaki.

He forced me to work with him, he knew who I was and learned what I was capable of, and with the new quirks that had been engineered into my DNA, he had even more reason to hold me down.

I let out a silent sigh and crossed my arms over my knees counting the people across from Kai, the same number, so everything was alright. That’s was until screaming started, I noticed a blue light starting up and my shoved myself forward left heel pushing against the wall I was just propped up against. Crashing down I manipulated the blue fire up into the sky in a pillar, quickly the ice crystals forming a thick wall between the two as I landed beside Kai. The sounds on the other side of the ice we’re muffled, Kit barked orders at his team and they quickly went into action, they rushed to the open end of the alley making sure Chisaki got out, I followed in the back among sure no one got hurt. I looked back seeing a large ball of blue fire coming, I quickly brought my palms up fingers spread using my own fire to break through and send a baldy back, it was yellow with streaks of green, red, blue and purple. I quickly erected a stone wall at the alleys entrance as I stepped out blocking their exit.

I rushed and found Chisaki getting into his car, the man held the door open, Kai turned to me, “Get in.” He barked.

Just as I was about to another ball of fire caking crashing near the other cars.

“I’m sorry Kai,” I turned around to face the source, “I promised to get you all out safe and right now you just need to go, I’ll find you soon.” I shut the door and told the man who was holding the door to go.

He quickly left no waiting or denying. I ran back to the cars that were almost being burnt, using the water moisture again I put out the fire and froze it causing another wall of ice.

“GET OUT OF HERE.” I screamed at the men who were lingering trying to fight back.

They listened and rushed off to escape, I snarled standing in the middle of the empty street alone. Facing the blurred figures on the other side of the ice, they came through in black pools of mist. I reached behind my head tightened my lunar eclipse Kitsune mask.

“It must be terrible being left behind, why don’t you join us.” The little school girl spoke up bringing her hands to hold her mask.

“We don’t need her, we just need to know where your boss is going,” Tomura asked hunching over.

I scoffed, “He’s not my boss, and I don’t know where he’s going, Im only here to make sure they get in and out safely.”

I reached down and grabbed the handle to a katana. I slide it up and brought it foreword taking hold with both hands. I examined them hoping to find a weak point on each of them, I did, and got ready to use it if I had to.

“Lets just burn her, she won’t be any help anyways.” The guy with black hair piped up, I looked at him, something inside me clicked, he looked familiar, but why couldn’t I remember him, I knew him.

“I’ll just finish this.” Was all I heard before a hand came in contact with my mask, I was watched it crumble and then a hand planted on my face.

I stood there not knowing what to do, there was literally just a hand on my face. The pressure on my nose cause me to sneeze, the hand was pulled away as I rubbed my nose and used the back of my Katana to knock the guy down.

“What are you doing” I scoffed and turned to sneeze again, “that was my good mask.”

I looked at the crumbles that remained on the floor, Kai is gonna yell at me, and then yell some more, and then some more, and then he’ll buy me a new one.... but when he yells it lasts like an an hour... and a half.

“WHAT?!” He screamed and looked up from his kneeling position.

“I know it doesn’t look like much but it costed a ton.” I picked up the ribbon it was all that was left, “Rude.”

“Why is she alive?” I looked up to see the guy with the grey and black suit looking shocked.

I heard a ding in my ear from the ear piece, they were long gone and it looked like I was in the clear to escape.

“Well, it was nice wasting time here,” I took a few steps back, “But I have to go.”

Using one of the few quirks I opened a white portal behind me but was stopped by a scream and blue fire. I dropped my Katana and quickly counter acted closing the portal and making a wall of cement and jumping on it, with the wave of my hand I ran a stream of fire over all of them hoping they would run or burn. I stopped and noticed they were gone, maybe they’d left, until I felt something hit my back, quickly breaking the ice wall I tuned it into water and whipped it around to smack down whoever had hit me. I looked back to see the same black haired guy. Everyone else was gone, I quickly dropped the cement wall and put distance between us.

“Your little group is gone, shouldn’t you be with them.” I scoffed and brought my fists up preparing to counter act whatever this guy had.

“I could say the same thing,” he fought his right hand up a blue flame igniting, “Do you remember me?”

“Should I?” I asked annoyed and trying to make more distance.

“Eleven years and then some and you forget about me,” he scoffed.

“I guess you aren’t important.” I shrugged.

“Id say I was, you cried when I left you and you cried when I found you after all that time. And now you don’t remember me.” The fire in his hands died out.

“Like I said bud, nothing.” I couldn’t fight the feeling though, I totally knew this guy.

“Well, do you remember your da-“ just before he could finish I sneezed.

“Sorry, my bad didn’t mean to cut you off.” I rubbed my nose, “anyways, I don’t have time to waste, I don’t knew you, and if you know me good. But back to the point no time to wa-“ I was cut off by a cold feeling in my chest.

Not ice cold, but a burning cold, my reaction was to surround myself with ice spikes, the guy in front of my just dissolved, I looked over my shoulder, there he stood, blue fire pressed in between my shoulder blades, and in my body, singeing every organ it could touch.

Looking at his face this close, his eyes, memories quickly flashed in my mind, just brief second of the past.

Dripping ice cream, bloody tissue on the floor, blue eyes, bruises, passing train, cloudy full moon, stars on water, blue fire, snowflakes, bandage tape, red hair, school uniform, dumpster, unknown men, tubes, burning house, cop car, tail lights, hands clasped in the a bush, standing under a street light, (e/c) eyes, screaming, running, laughing, tears on the dry dirt, empty swing moving, crying, balled up fist, blood dripping from finger tips, a bag with money, a black tarp, a little girl screaming Touya

I don’t know when but I held my breath, my insides had frozen over killing off the fire inside, I felt the fist in my flash, my organs immediately starting to regenerate, burning in my lungs, stinging my eyes followed by and echo in my mind “You cry for everything.”

“YOU BURNT BASTARD ILL KILL YOU.” I screamed blood flying from my mouth and a tip as I turned ripping his arm out of my back, my own fists lightly up with fire.

I went for it not nothing to looking which able to feel the vibrations through the ground, the tears dropped forming ice crystals building up as blood dropped from the wounds that were closing, “I TRUSTED YOU, YOU LIED TO ME! YOU LEFT ME AND I SUFFERED, I LET GO AND I MOVED ON I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU CAME BACK ILL KILL YOU BUT THATS NOT IT! YOU SAID WED RUNAWAY TOGETHER, YOU AHD DADDY ISSUES AND I WATCHED YOU CRY, I WAS THERE EVERY TIME YOU CRIED, EVERY TIME YOU WERE HURT, I CARRIED YOU WHEN YOU WERE WEAK, I WAS OUT LATE WHEN YOU COULDNT GO BACK HOME I WAS ABUSED FOR STAYING OUT LATE I GAVE EVERYTHING I COULD IN THOSE TIMES AND NOW YOUR LITERALLY STABBING ME IN THE BACK FOR A SECOND TIME!” I didn’t stop even when he started to fight back, I took burn after burn, not caring about the pain.

I stopped the moment I had him in an all to familiar pose, ok his knees the way that night played out, I snarled and my chest heaved, with quick heavy breaths, “I should kill you.” I mumbled.

“Do it.” He snapped and struggled.

“I won’t, it’s ridiculous. You probably want to die, it’d make it to easy for you.” I snapped at him.

“Whatever, so do you want to know why I’m bac-“ I quickly cut him off with a muzzle of ice.

“I don’t want to know anything, at all,” I turned away from his eyes closed, “I don’t even want to see you, if I annoy you so much why do you come after me, the first time alone, this time alone after your team left. I don’t care, I take that back I don’t even wanna know why.” I turned away completely and opened my eyes staring at the new moon phase of the moon, a void, surrounded by stars.

“Because I keep trying to let you go, but I Can’t,” He spoke to clearly for my liking, “I’m not entirely here anymore, half of me disappeared and I want it back.”

I scoffed not looking back, I took a few steps away from him, “I guess it’s just not your call anymore Touya.”

I kept wasn’t going to look back, I heard a sniffle, I shouldn’t look back, but I did. For once his burn tear ducts leaked, his eyes looked sad for a second, his jaw clenched teeth showing. All I could see was a red haired six year old crying, standing alone in a park, bandages on his right arms as he forcefully wiped his eyes, his left arm hanging down in a fist, bandages falling loosely, bandages skeins his neck tears pooling in his eyes and dripping down his chin hitting the ground. He was crying and sobbing, he was human once, and for a brief minute he was human again. I wanted to join him and tell him and hug him the way I did before, but I was afraid of getting hurt, I couldn’t let myself get hurt again, I wouldn’t.

“It’s disgusting to see a grown man cry,” I snarled and turned away from him, “and it’s annoying watching little girls cry.”

I heard a final sob before I sighed and opened a portal, I entered before I backed out, I found myself immediately in a dark alley across town, I slid down the wall probably ripping my costume as I cried, my fingers digging into the flesh of my biceps as I hugged myself.

I heard a tune around the corner

‘You gotta let it out soon, just let it out, Go ahead and cry little girl, Nobody does it like you do, I know how much it matters to you’

It was cut off, I looked up from my knees to meet a hand, I looked up past the hand.

“You’re dirty, lets get you home,” The voice was authoritative but it’s didn’t hold the cold feeling that usually accompanied it, “(y/n).”

He sighed and reached into his pocket and pulled out a white folded square, he squat informs of my, his left hand coming to my chin, his fore finger and middle finger lifting my chin, his right hand came up the white pocket square soft against my cheeks as he wiped them.

“Don’t expect me to ever do this again,” he huffed and pushed an arm behind my back and the other under my knees.

“Filthy, now we’re both dirty.” He scoffed and walked into the back door of the building we were by, I sighed and dropped my head against his shoulder, “Thank you, Kai.”

Small tears fell from from the outer corners of my eyes as the image of young Touya crying alone in the park faded to a black memory. I fell in love with him, the problem is, I never fell out of love with him, he was just erased from my mind when I became All for One’s year subject..... but how can you love someone when....you can’t even look them in the eye anymore..

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

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I'm thriving on the angsty things you write. Especially with the Cahir/Eskel/Lambert trio. Especially the uncertainty of Cahir being alright or even alive in most situations. I wonder if you have more things with that kind of stuff, I mean, is there a piece where one of them clinically died for some time? And the others were uncertain about this one's fate?

You know how to break my heart Nonnie. Usually I wouldn’t touch a prompt dealing with death. As a general rule, character death prompts get deleted immediately. But it’s a new year, I’m in a very odd funk (all I will say is: fuck you melon in the fridge, fuck you) so, you know. I wrote this. I cried. Eskel cried. Lambert cried. Cahir cried. And one of them died.

CW: Major Character Death

Just because love had magically found them didn’t mean that they could slack off. All three of Lambert, Eskel and Cahir had their roles in the world, tunes they had to march to even if their hearts called to each other. However, they could compromise and pick times and places where they could just so happen to meet. They were few and far between but that made their shared moments that much more precious. Usually, they picked quite out of the way places that they knew to be Witcher tolerant. Having one Witcher in an inn made people nervous, to have two easily turned them hostile. It meant it was usually a little further for Cahir to travel but he always maintained it was worth it.

Knowing what they did of each other’s travelling habits, Eskel was usually first to arrive. He liked to get a room as big as possible, claiming his size warranted a few nights of luxury in a bed he could fit in. Second to arrive was Cahir, always keen not to be late which made him almost early. Despite his best intentions, he had a habit of finding trouble wherever he went, which meant he rarely did get to their meeting point before Eskel, even it that was his plan. Last but not least, Lambert would saunter in, loving the fact that everything was ready, he didn’t have to make nice with the local and beg them to take an unfair portion of his coin for subpar board and food.

Only, this time when he arrived, it was only Eskel there to greet him. Unusual as it was, they knew Cahir attracted trouble by just existing. It wouldn’t be a surprise to have him turn up, bruise and battered but with a somewhat proud smile at having managed to either save the day or outwit some fool who tried to cross him. The sun set, Lambert and Eskel curled up in bed. Just because Cahir wasn’t there didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy each other’s company. They’d have plenty of love and energy for when Cahir arrived.

The next day was equally empty of Cahir. Slowly, Lambert and Eskel began to worry. A day late was fine but this was now three days later than usual. Not only was Cahir late but their room was only paid for one more day. Over breakfast the next morning, Eskel made some enquiries.

“There’s rumours of a beast on the southern road. Been upending carts and spooking horses. Your contact may have run afoul of it.”

Asking around in the village, it was rapidly becoming apparent that there was indeed something haunting the road. The silver lining was that the mayor offered a handful of coin if Eskel took care of it. It wasn’t like they could linger any longer, Lambert left a message for Cahir if he made it that they missed him and were heading south for a contract.

“It’s likely a noon wraith,” Eskel said as he led Scorpion out of the stall. “I hate those so much.”

“You cast yrden and I’ll do the rest. Work to our strengths and all that shit Vesemir banged on about.”

Swords coated in wraith oil, Eskel left Scorpion in the shade when he began to get skittish. It meant the wraith was nearby. Sure enough, there was an otherworldly screech and something buffeted past them, giving them angry shoves but nothing more. Probably a newly created wraith then, still with some memories intact. Eskel threw his hand up as the wraith rounded on them again and cast yrden. Instantly Lambert was throwing himself into the fray, sword raised. Only, he didn’t bring it down in a maiming blow. With an alarmed cry, he took a step back and promptly fell on his backside. It was usually a death sentence for a Witcher to be so clumsy. Yet the wraith didn’t attack. In fact, it slowed down and morphed into a flickering image of what it had once been.

“Lambert?” Hollow, crackling voiced, the wraith loomed over Lambert. “Why did you try to hurt me Lambert?”

Eskel’s sign flickered and failed as he watched Cahir’s spirit waver above Lambert. There was no hiding the gasp of a sob that ripped from his throat. Immediately Cahir’s attention was on him.

“You’re crying. I’ve never seen you cry before.” Cahir floated closer to Eskel, a ghostly hand reaching to try and wipe the tears. It was like being touched by fire and ice at the same time as Cahir’s hand brushed not over but through his scars. The tear’s path down Eskel’s cheek remained unchanged.

Behind them, Lambert picked himself up, looking stricken. He couldn’t do it. The hundreds of wraiths he’d dealt with before had been impersonal. They were malicious echoes left behind by a violent death. None of them had been Cahir who he’d seen laugh, cry and everything in between. His watery eyes met Eskel’s. They knew what had to be done. But they were too weak.

Reaching for the tear again, Cahir watched his hand pass through Eskel’s cheek. His lips formed a soft ‘oh’ and he pulled his hand back.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

Lips quivering, Eskel nodded.

“They killed me.” Cahir looked towards a copse of trees and Lambert knew where they were going to have to go once Cahir’s spirit moved on. “Six bandits-” His hand drifted to his throat subconsciously. “-they wanted my money. I only had a handful of florens but they didn’t think it was enough. They wanted my horse and then they- they-” Moving his hand away from his throat, Eskel could see the bruises forming as the memories came back.

Looking over his shoulder, Cahir twisted to look at Lambert. Taking pity on him, Eskel moved to stand next to his partner so they could both see Cahir.

“What do I do?” Cahir looked so lost and young all of a sudden.

Voice nothing more than a croak, Lambert replied. “You move on. You have to.”

Unable to hold himself back, Eskel reached for Cahir, held his hand in a mimicry of cupping his cheek. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Tears were flowing down his cheek, his nostrils flared with each sniff. It didn’t get easier to watch as Cahir reached up, hand hovering over his while the other reached for Lambert.

“You’ll always be with us,” Lambert promised, his hand clenching over static filled air. “We won’t forget you.”

Cahir offered a wobbly smile of his own. “Our history will always carry our shared footprints.”

A gust of wind scattered ghostly ashes that faded in the grass. Eskel dropped to his knees, sobbing, hands scrabbling to keep even a single speck of it. Not that Lambert was much better. His lips were pressed into a tight, white line and he leaned over, braced on his knees, trying to hold back his sobs. There was nothing left though. Nothing of the man they had loved, only a body they were going to have to retrieve. The only thing left was to build a Witcher’s funeral pyre. Cahir may not have been a Witcher himself, but he’d had two Witchers’ hearts to call his own.

#eskel/lambert/cahir #eskel/lambert #eskel/cahir #lambert/cahir #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #eskel #lambert #cw: major character death #tldr: cahir is late and the others have a contract in the area

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justadram · 4 years

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Fic: In Fallow Fields

Part 3 of 3; Parts 1 and 2

Jon/Sansa, post-series; complete

A warm morning following on the heels of a cool night coats the blades of thin, bright grass with glittering dew. It darkens the hem of her wedding gown, creeping up the hem with every steady step she takes. Until it soaks through the layers beneath, penetrating to the flesh. Standing beneath the spreading limbs that make up what’s left of the godswood, Sansa feels the dampness in the cling of the embroidered stockings she rolled up her calves, when she woke and dressed without aid of a serving girl on her wedding day.

A moon or two ago, wet stockings and dew laden skirts in the chill of the morning air would have raised the delicate hairs on her arms and up the back of her neck. But it is warm. Blissfully so. Blue skies herald the day and the spring sunshine is a bright white that pierces the soil as certainly as it does the eyes, forcing her to blink against each chink of light that breaks the canopy as she approaches. The season has shifted.

With the sun shining in through the trees, the only thing that sends a thrill up her spine is Jon’s hand taking hers and pulling her in close with his eyes fixed upon her lips.

...

Sansa dislikes the taste of sour wine and ale, but Tormund’s fermented potatoes yield a practically flavorless drink. The warm burn it sets up in her belly is the same as if it was a chore to force down, but she manages to sip it without a grimace.

There are no frowns today, not even from her stony faced little brother or Arya, who has made it plain she wants none of the details of their arrangement, save that she might teach any forthcoming children to wield a sword, believing her technique superior to Jon’s. However skilled her sister is--and her skill is considerable--Sansa can’t bring herself to agree with the assessment entirely. Arya might be the only one alive to have watched Jon fight the undead on behalf of Westeros and scoff at his form. Even Tormund, for all his teasing, does not fault Jon on that point.

Tormund is plenty fond of teasing though, and today’s proceedings have unleashed a torrent of jests. She smiles over her cup at Jon--her lord husband--as Tormund claps him on the back hard enough to slosh some of the clear liquid over the rim of Jon’s cup onto his black jerkin. The broad-chested wildling urges Jon to drink. Filling his cup back up even as Jon protests. Again. For a second time and a third. It’s as merry as any of them have been, since they returned to Winterfell. It is their wedding that has made it so, even more so than the drink.

For a wedding toast--that’s how Tormund convinced Jon to grant him some of the harvest. It was not a bad crop, despite their collective lack of skill, and with the threat of starvation put aside, Jon allowed his friend the indulgence. Just so long as it was done in the name of pleasing Sansa.

She could have done without. Though weddings before were celebrated with feasting and drinking and song, Sansa doesn’t think anything missing from their day. Although, she wouldn’t have turned her nose up at a hind of venison in lemon gravy or a towering fruit cake iced in marzipan with candied lemons--anything with lemons, which she sometimes thinks she’ll never taste again, isolated in a North cut off from what feels like the rest of the world. A dress that she didn’t have to mend by the light of the fire might have been welcome too. But the strong burn of this drink will probably serve the bride and bridegroom better.

There were times past, when she drank to drown her sorrows on a wedding night. This isn’t like that. There are nerves, but she doesn’t dread the moment they will be alone. She doesn’t fear Jon’s lips on hers or his hands at her waist.

She has awakened from dreams of a full stream and arching backs on the banks with hair twined around fingers that pull. In that place between sleep and waking, she remembered it, no shadowed figures but clear enough to be a memory, not a figment. Jon’s dark hair, his beard rough on her skin, and his hands sure and eager. It felt familiar and welcome, as if it had always been him.

But there are ghosts. Hers and his. And though not all are malicious--her lord father and lady mother, for one--they haunt them all the same. And so she sips, welcoming the burn, and watches him with cheeks that hurt from smiling, as Tormund claps him one more time.

...

“I’ve had too much,” Jon says, sinking his head into his hands, as she lowers herself beside him on the bed.

Pulling his hands through his hair brings it back. It’s like lightning briefly illuminating a distant corner of her mind--hands in her hair, hot mouth on her neck, and twitching muscles under her questing touch. A moment from a dream as real as if it were out of time, akin to Bran's own warped vision of the world. He’s left her panting in an empty passageway, from his kisses, but they’ve never touched like that.

She swallows thickly and moves to touch his leg, grounding herself in what’s real. Looking down at her pale fingers against the dark of his breeches, as his comforting warmth seeps through the coarse fabric.

The icicles are gone. Melted by the sun and sent crashing down to the ground, where the mud became so thick, it could suck you in with its viscous pull as much as from its earthy fecund smell.

But she still hears it, in the silence of the room, the awakening water, tip-tapping to the beat of her heart.

“You needn’t keep your wits about you. It’s only me.”

It’s a trick, getting the words out, as an unfamiliar desire urges her to test the firmness of his thigh higher, following the rise of muscle.

“Only you?” he says with an awkward smile, the one she’s loved too much for too long.

Over tables shared, whether talking of the past, worrying about the future, or dining on meager fare, she’s looked on it and felt an answering flutter. Sometimes a pleasant sensation and other times a shock of terror, since everything she has ever loved has been ripped from her grasping hands.

Surely he wore it when they were children, though she struggles to summon images of them as children, running through the halls of this shell of a great caste. But she knows she felt no great fondness for it. Not then. Not like Bran’s smile delighted her, the one he no longer can summon.

“You are my weakness.”

The low gravel of the confession and his gaze raking over her, swells her chest in anticipation of something so close. Her cheeks, growing warm, betray the pleasure his words awaken in her. She ought not to want it, but she longs to be more than a convenient match, something that might bring them both a small measure of happiness.

He reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, his rough fingers following the curve of her ear with impossible care. “Weakness or strength. I’m not certain which.”

“Either way,” she says, fingernail toying with the weave of his breechcloth, “you overstate my importance.”

A wedding night pronouncement perhaps. Made to assuage whatever jealousies she might wickedly harbor. It isn’t necessary. He is more than enough, his being hers is plenty. She will never cease being grateful for what remains.

His dark brows climb high, as his fingertips tease at her hairline. “I couldn’t even put up a good show of refusing, when Arya came for me.”

Her head tilts, as she takes in the long slope of his nose, the rise of his cheeks, his dark eyes. No one is as formed for this place than Jon--the spitting image of their father, of a long line of Starks.

“These walls call us home.”

“No, it’s the people in them,” he says, the curve of his finger lazily tracing her flesh, up and down. “I turned down Winterfell before, when it was offered. You I could not refuse. I’d tried. I left, I went south because of you.”

Sansa would have never sent him South. She begged him not to go to an early grave like their father, uncle, and grandfather before him. “Not for me.”

She can’t make herself say Daenerys’ name aloud but Jon’s eyes cut sharply to hers all the same, the unsaid plain.

He might have mourned her and loved her once and her dragons may have played a role in the fight for the dawn, but Daenerys was a threat to everything Sansa wanted from the moment the Dragon Queen stepped foot on Westeros’ soil. She is a apparition better unnamed.

“When I left for Dragonstone...” With his fingers lingering at the bend of her neck where her gown ends, his throat rolls above his collar. She wishes they’d go farther, sink into the thick of her scalp. She’s ready to lean into his touch, rub against him like a mewling kitten. “You are not a Lannister, but I may be.”

She blinks, as the words sink into her, clearing her fogged mind. It rearranges conversations and looks that passed between them into a slightly shifted reality, and she sits there, letting all the pieces settle.

Would the acknowledgement have unnerved her then? As he was taking his leave? She felt so desperate to keep him close, so fearful of losing a piece of her family that felt as vital as a piece of herself, she can’t be sure.

However she might have felt, it doesn’t matter now. The past is just that and they have survived until now to face a future together.

She bumps his shoulder with hers, hoping to draw another hint of a smile from him. “Of the two of us, I am the only one who was--for a time--a Lannister. You are a Stark.”

“Targaryen then.”

“Yes, and in another world,” she says, letting her hand slide up as she imagined doing, the heavy fabric rasping under the brush of her hand, “where Father did not have to pretend you were something you were not, I might have always been yours. He might have wanted us to wed, and saved us both some trouble.”

“Trouble,” he repeats at the minimizing of their miseries. At that he finally does smile, something broader than his upside down twitch of a smile. “We still would have argued.”

“Oh, worse,” she agrees. “In the end, though, it’s all the same. I am yours.”

#jonsa #jon x sansa #gotfic #fanfic #game of thrones

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sabraeal · 4 years

Text

In Plain Sight, Chapter 4

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Written for @k-itsmaywriting‘s birthday! I hope that, despite how weird the world is right now, you have an amazing day!

Shirayuki understands how this is supposed to work. She’s seem movies after all-- Witness, of course; Sister Act 1 & 2, if only because Opa thought Whoopie Goldberg was a national treasure and Oma thought she was too young to be watching Ghost; and Our Lips Are Sealed about eight times on video cassette, since she’s old enough (and Opa resisted DVD long enough) have both VCRs and wholesome Olsen twins content as a part of her childhood.

(Her favorite formative twins were Annie and Hallie from The Parent Trap; they were red-headed, just like her, and one of them had a British accent. She’d been devastated to find out that not only were both of them American, but they were also only one girl. She’d watched Double Trouble to console herself)

In any case, she knows how this goes, at least narratively. She lays down in this amazingly comfortable bed, stares up at the ceiling in a tense yet melancholy fashion for hours, and dreams in plot-relevant flashbacks. Extra points if they reference the crime she witnessed.

The problem is: she didn’t. She’s just the unfortunate collateral to her father’s personal redemption. All the life ruining without ever being part of the A plot.

There’s an upside though: the second she hits that firm cloud of a mattress, she’s out like a light.

Absolutely nothing wakes her, but Shirayuki jolts into consciousness anyway, as unpleasant as any false start. She expects to be confused; she’s not a graceful riser to begin with, and every morning in temporary housing, she’d bounce off three walls at minimum trying to find a bathroom that didn’t exist.

(Well, the bathroom did exist, it just didn’t exist where it should, which was down the hall to the right, and was compounded by the door being in exactly the wrong place too.)

Instead, she knows exactly where she is. Knowledge which is quickly followed by the low-key, seething resentment for the man who put her here.

She groans, lifting her head from the pillow. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s just--

7:00, her alarm clock says. Tuesday, her brain provides after a long moment.

She should be getting up, habit told her. Getting her morning fix of avocado toast and orange juice with Paul Newman’s face stamped on it.

There’s worse ways to start your day than having a fine pair of eyes smiling at you, Oma would say.

What can I say? Opa’d grumble back, flipping through the paper. It’s impossible to compete with Butch Cassidy.

Her fingers curl into the sheets. There’d be none of that today. Agent Jiang-- Obi’s assistant had gotten her Simply Orange instead. A small mercy. It’s hard enough to be someone else when there’s still so much her clinging to the edges.

It’s tempting to linger in bed; she’s always been a morning person, up with the birds, but maybe Claire isn’t. Maybe Claire likes to stay up late and sleep in, sleeping past the three alarms she sets for herself. Maybe she likes to have waffles for breakfast, straight from a box, and drinks pomegranate juice. Maybe she doesn’t bike into the lab at eight because--

She groans. Because Claire doesn’t have a job. A thing that will have to change soon, since Claire has to pay for this house.

There’s a great deal of compromise that happens between bedside and bathroom; habit insists she needs to be fully dressed, ready to greet the day, but everything else--

Well, she’s not going anywhere is she? There’s no reason she couldn’t wallow in her pj’s all day

Standards, habit insists. But those belonged to Shirayuki, not Claire. Claire has no job, no friends, and nothing to do on a Tuesday morning besides--

Oh no, the recycling.

The bin is nearly two-thirds her height, but with only one day under her belt, it’s already overflowing. Good thing she’d looked at that brochure when it slipped out from between the takeout menus.

She shrugs her hoodie a little tighter, pulling it down over her leggings-- habit and hedonism settled on exercise wear as a happy medium-- and grips the handle, tugging it out the opening garage door, right into the fresh Texas morning--

And promptly throws her hoodie back into the garage. She might need that with the downright frosty temperature the house is set to, but oh, she was not going to cover her skin out here any more than necessary. Even now, she’s starting to sweat in impossible places beneath her leggings.

Hooking her palm back around the handle, she tugs the bin down the drive. Her gaze fixes to the pavement-- the last thing she needs is to trip right over herself on her own driveway taking out the trash-- and she doesn’t look up until she hits the sidewalk. It’s a struggle to get it to sit right-- these are proper curbs, white poured cement with squared edges meant to puncture cheeky tires; one of the wheels catches in a gap and refuses to budge until she hip checks it out onto the next slab.

She’s damp at this point, skin dewing with giant drops of sweat she’s tempted to shake off like a dog, but--

But Martha Kino has an arm slung along their fence, holding a tall glass of iced tea that makes her mouth water just to look at.

“Oh, um, good morning!” she calls out with a weak wave. “I didn’t, um, see you there.”

It’s only when Martha slides her gaze to her that she realizes her neighbor hadn’t been looking at her at all. Her mouth curves into a knowing smile at the sight of her. “Good morning, honey. You here for the show?”

Shirayuki blinks. “The show?”

“Mm-hm.” Martha takes a long drag from her straw, ice clinking against the glass. “Here it comes now.”

Shirayuki tracks her line of sight right across the cul-de-sac, squinting at half acre of immaculately trimmed, completely invasive Bermuda grass. Their front garden is well-kept, as well; thickly mulched with giant hibiscus blooming blood red against pristine stone facade.

Oh, and there’s a man as well. That’s probably what Mrs Kino is looking at.

He’s tall. No, tall is an understatement; he’s a giant, six foot four at least with shoulders to match. He’s trimmed with the same military precision as his lawn, clean shaven with an undercut that could scratch glass. Heavy brows draw sharply over his nose, forehead rumpling as he tears a box right down the fold--

Ah, well, all right. It’s not doing much of anything for her, but the Vitruvian man’s more ideal cousin ripping up boxes definitely counts as a show. Halfway through, he grabs the hem of his shirt, mopping his brow, and ah, hm, he could definitely have made money as an anatomical model. His rectus abdominis are, ah...very defined.

“Is he--” Shirayuki searches for the words-- “from around here?”

“Oh, him?” Martha’s gaze doesn’t stray for a second, not even as she sips at her tea. “That’s Scott. Aspen’s husband. They just moved in a few weeks ago.”

Shirayuki glances around the neighborhood. Seems like more than a few of her neighbors hope they’ll never leave either.

“Quite the pair, those two,” Martha hums. “She’ll be at the luncheon. I know you two will just get on like houses.”

More like houses on fire if she mentions she’s seen her husband’s floor show. “Oh, right. The um, luncheon.”

Mrs Kino grins as Scott hops back inside, out of this heat, just like she’s dying to do. “By the way, he mows the lawn on Sunday, just before lunch.”

“Oh, um, great.” She’ll be sure to miss it. “Can’t wait.”

It’s too early to bake cookies.

There’s not a baked good on earth that tastes as good two days later as it does fresh out of the oven; Shirayuki knows that down to her toes and bones, but still--

Stress baking. It’s a thing. And she doesn’t have to make anything right now. She could get all the ingredients together, just to make sure she has them. And then...just not do anything.

She can. Definitely. Absolutely. She’s Claire now. Claire probably doesn’t even like chocolate chip cookies.

Oh gosh, who is she kidding? Only monsters don’t like chocolate chip cookies. What next, Claire doesn’t like brownies? Apple pie? Snickerdoodles?

It’s a slippery slope, not liking things. Best to just keep it simple and eat everything, that’s what Opa always said at the church potluck.

The morsels and brown sugar already sit out on the counter when her phone lets out a piercing ting. She’s half tempted to ignore it; she’s having a contentious battle with the ten pounds of King Arthur flour that’s tucked away in her cabinet-- what was she thinking?-- and she refuses to show any fear in the face of baking supplies but--

Ting. No one knows her number. Well, no one except the government.She settles back on her heels with a sneeze. The government probably doesn’t take kindly to being left on read.

Her hands clap against her thighs, flour misting into the air as she leaves two partial prints right over the helical print. She frowns, plucking at the fabric, nose wrinkling as more powder burst into the air. Ting.

“I’m coming,” she mutters, stumbling over to the island. “I’m coming.”

Sugar Daddy i got just what u need pumpkin check ur email

The corners of her mouth dig furrows into her cheeks as she clicks on the notification. It’s the only message in her inbox, aside from the ubiquitous Welcome to Gmail spam and a few coupons for Banana Republic and a couple of other retailers. They’d taught her about this at orientation; they couldn’t do much about an empty inbox, but everyone had at least a few mailing lists they’d either forgotten to opt out of or regularly used.

Still...what about her said Banana Republic? She glances down at her spandex-clad legs. If they were going to go for a too-expensive clothing line, they could have at least sprung for Lululemon.

Ah, but that wasn’t the point. Marshal Jiang-- Obi hadn’t texted all...that...to show off some spam. Sitting at the very top of her inbox is a Cornell email address-- Cornell-- with an attachment.

Dear Claire, the message reads, We’re so sorry to see you go, but I’m glad we’re able to keep in touch. Of course we kept the copy of your old CV. Good luck to you in all your endeavors.

It’s signed by some professor; not high profile enough for her to have heard of, but she doesn’t doubt that he’s real, someone a curious party could look up on Cornell’s directory. Well, at least for the next six months.

The Columbia alumna inside her writhes in agony. Cornell. She doubts it’s a coincidence.

Me Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me?

Not that she’s very, um, up on the specifics of such a relationship, but she’d been under the impression that sugar...children?...were supposed to be fully reliant on their sugar parent. Her mouth pulls thin. Already she’s thinking about this far more than she’d ever hope to.

Sugar Daddy a good daddy makes sure his baby can take care of herself ;)

This declaration is followed by a stream of emojis, ending with an eggplant and a peach, and she just-- doesn’t need to know. She wipes away the sweat that beads at her hairline-- from embarrassment, of course-- and downloads the attachment.

Me I’ll take a look. Thank you.

She sets the phone back on the island, face down, and glares. He can’t possibly be like this to everyone. People would complain. They wouldn’t just let him insinuate that he-- that they--

Ting.

Sugar Daddy good girl

All right. Maybe they would.

Shirayuki doesn't get homesick.

She’d been the first brownie to leap out of her car at summer camp; Opa barely had time to lurch into park before she was traipsing across the field, backpack slung over her shoulder and duffel bag dragging on the grass. Freshman year, she moved into the dorm by herself, pressing kisses to wrinkled cheeks as she lugged her suitcases onto the train; she’d almost forgotten to wave from the window.

But as soon as she lays down in bed, the lights snuffed out and the world still, it hits her. Just a soft roll of her stomach at first, the barest itch on her skin, like wearing a wool sweater on a spring afternoon. It’s fine; too much to ignore but nothing that would keep her up too long.

It doesn’t stay that way.

Her stomach clenches, tears pricking at her eyes, and it’s everything she can do to just roll onto her side, letting the chills wrack through her body. She shivers so hard her teeth chatter, and this-- this isn’t the gentle ache of nostalgia her books prepared her for. This is an illness, plain and simple, like when she caught norovirus in eighth grade can could hardly do anything but lay on the bathroom floor and wait for the next wave to begin.

This isn’t her, she isn’t like this, she doesn’t get like this, but-- but--

Before she always knew her home was waiting for her; she could leave but Oma and Opa would always keep the front lamp on, waiting for weary travelers and last minute bookings.

It’s different now that there’s no home to come back to.

7:00, her alarm clock says. She watches it tick over, like she has for every hour before it.

She must have slept at some point; it’s impossible that she’s lain awake, staring at the clock for eight hours. But that doesn’t make her any less tired, and so when her alarm starts up, beeps cutting through the quiet white noise of the air conditioner, she reaches out and slaps it off.

Shirayuki may not sleep in, but Claire is certainly warming to the idea.

Her notebook sits open on the island; neat, looping script stretches across the page, straining the boundaries of the blue lines that contains it. She’d done her homework yesterday, combing through job sites to find the most likely candidates. There’s five on her list right now, ranked according to preference, and oh, is Shirayuki glad she had the gumption to do this before, because this morning she feels like roadkill being scraped off the blacktop.

Still, she worries at her lip as her laptop boots up, peering over her list. In the cold light of the morning, five seems too few, but...desperation hasn’t set in yet. She’s allowed to still have standards.

Wrapping her hands around her mug, she glances at the next page: another list. No, a set of instructions. Edit CV. Write cover letters.

Shirayuki groans. Even with the bullet points she left for herself, composing cover letters is a circle of hell all its own. With only three hours of solid sleep under her belt, it’s an insurmountable hurdle to getting hired.

“Right,” she murmurs, hooking an ankle around a stool and pulling it under her. “Editing it is.”

She clicks on the pdf Obi sent her, scrolling down and--

“Oh no.” She rears back from the screen, heart pounding. “No, no. There’s got to be a mistake...”

“Hey, baby,” Obi’s voice rumbles through her speaker. It’s thick and warm and would be utterly distracting if she were in any less of a crisis. “A little early for a b--?”

“What happened to my papers?”

“Uh.” All the suggestion in his tone evaporates. “What?”

“My papers.” Her hand grips the phone so tight it creaks. “They’re gone.”

His end goes silent. Silent enough to make that weird click, like the line’s cut out, and she pulls back to check--

“Someone stole your passport?” He laughs, incredulous. “Some sort of luck you have, Miss. Barely had it for a day and already you’ve gotten your identity stolen.”

She blinks into the barren air of her kitchen. “What?”

“You know,” he hums, too amused, “I picked out a cute house in the suburbs for safety, and here you are, getting robbed. Did you leave them in your car? Or did you just go out--”

“N-no!” She’s honestly half tempted to say what car, until she remembers the tasteful mid-sized SUV in the driveway, the one she’s still been calling the girlfriend car in her head, and realizes-- it’s hers. She’s the girlfriend.

Except she’s not. At all. Which is fine! She doesn’t even want that! If she’s still thinking about what his mouth feels like as he wraps them around his words, then--

She really can’t be thinking about this right now. “I mean my papers! I just looked at my CV and it’s a page!”

He hesitates, though not enough for the line to click again. “Isn’t that long enough?”

“CVs aren’t resumes,” she informs him patiently, pen twisting between her fingers. “They’re dick measuring contests--”

Her teeth snap around the words, but oh, it’s too late. They’re already out there in the aether, and he’s laughing.

“Now there’s something I didn’t think I’d hear out of you, Miss.” He doesn’t need to sound so pleased about it.

“It’s something my old PI used to say,” she mutters. Oh, Garak would be so proud of herself if she knew. “It’s not very polite, but she’s not, um, wrong.”

“I’m sorry the US government made you under endowed.” His words practically rattle as he says them. “It’s not the size that matters, Miss, but how you use it.”

“Obi,” she huffs. “All the work I’ve done for the past ten years of my life now is attributed to my birth name and my birth name only! According to this CV I have the same level of experience, but less papers than an undergrad! And you can’t tell me that any of these are searchable on PubMed.”

And none of them are first authors, is what she doesn’t say. It’s a petty thing to worry about when her entire academic career is functionally extinct.

“Hm.” His fingers drum quickly on a table. Desk? It’s strange not knowing anything about the man who is her only lifeline. “I’ll look into it.”

“I don’t want to be, um, alarmist, but I can’t get a job with this.” Her hand shakes as she scrolls down her screen. “No one is going to hire a post-doc with a one page CV.”

“Don’t worry, Miss. There’s a plan for this, somewhere.” She can feel his grin when he says, “You can’t be the first academic who’s had to go into hiding.”

She smiles, despite herself. “Considering some of the conferences I’ve been to, I can believe it.”

“Besides, you could always apply to pharmaceuticals.” The very word is like a donkey kick to her gut. “The pay’s supposed to be better--”

“I can’t work for Big Pharma.”

He hesitates. “You...can’t?”

“Obi, they make little old grandmas pay eight hundred dollars for insulin!” She presses a hand to her chest. “Banting and Best didn’t sell the patent for one dollar so that people could get gouged by--”

“I get it, I get it,” he assured her. “Preaching to the choir. But as a safety, I’m sure you could find one that isn’t stealing candy from babies.”

She huffs. “I doubt it.”

He rasps out a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do. As I said, can’t be the first PhD on the lam.”

Her mouth twitches. “Just yours?”

“You are certainly some kind of education, Miss.” He hums. “Give me a day. See what I can turn up.”

“You have two,” she informs him magnanimously. “I have the luncheon tomorrow.”

“Oh, right.” She doesn’t need to see him to know he’s lounging, smug like a cat post-canary. “Looking forward to joining the neighborhood’s Ladies’ Committee?”

“Ha ha,” she drawls flatly. “Very funny.”

He is unnervingly silent on the other end.

“You’re kidding, right?” Her voice certainly does not fill with a nervous quaver. “You guys don’t have things like that around here.”

Obi hums, humoring her.

“W-what would they even do?” She picks nervously at the sticker on her laptop, prying up part of NVIDIA. “Plan potlucks? Organize the Neighborhood Watch? Cotillions?”

She doesn’t know how he makes his grin so palpable over 4G. “Looking forward to your debut, Miss?”

Shirayuki scowls down at her screen. “I think I’m firmly up on the shelf, thank you. Now if you don’t mind, I have cookies to make.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #witness protection au #ans #i wanted SO BADLY to get to the ladies lunch this chapter #but a lot of the lead up in here got too long #and in the interest in cutting it at a place that made sense #it all got moved one chapter over #BUT it is almost to where the true conceit of this fic arrives #always a nice place to be

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

Text

I Know

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: character death, angst, cursing, mild descriptions of wounds and torture.

Summary: almost a year after the readers death, Dean finds himself at the mercy of a witch who knows one of his only weaknesses. You.

A/n: because I’m slowly dying of boredom I decided to do Bad Things Happen bingo. Please send in your preference for the next square!

Fucking Witches. Dean Winchester was officially done with their shenanigans and messed up thought processes. It was like they had a flare for the dramatic. If they were so into killing folks. Why couldn’t they just do it quickly?

Finding himself bound tightly to the old chair in the rundown house the witch had been residing in, Dean for once wished he had dragged Sam along with him on this case. If Sam was here there was no way the witch would still be alive.

Instead here he was. Tied in place and basically steeping in thick silence. How this bitch has got the drop on him was still beyond him. The last thing he remembered before waking up here was driving to one of the witnesses house. He didn’t remember getting out of the car or being tied up. It was almost as if it had all happened in the blink of an eye.

He had already tried struggling and pulling at his restraints but to no avail. The ropes were probably laced with spell work along with the chair, seeing as he couldn’t even shift the price of furniture across the floor. Either that or it was bolted to the floor.

“Son of a bitch-“ he hissed, slightly out of breath from pulling on the ropes. His head whipping around in hopes of finding something to help him get out, but the room was empty of everything except himself.

“Well look who decided to wake up.” It was like she was waiting for the perfect moment, because not a second later the young witch stepped out from beyond the shadows, her black hair hanging in ringlets as her lips twisted into a bright red smile.

Going through his choices quickly, Dean chose to go with the playing dumb act, pretending he had no idea what was going on. Maybe, just maybe he could somehow gain the upper hand.

“I feel like there’s been a misunderstanding. I don’t have a clue as to what is going on.”

“Oh but I think you do. You're a hunter.”

“A what? I don’t know what that is. I was just in town to meet up with some old friends.”

The witch smiled again, stalking closer to the bound Winchester, a small hexbag gripped in her freshly polished nails, the polish reflecting the orange candle light slightly. “Oh don’t play dumb with me. You're not just a hunter. You're Dean Winchester.”

Oh for fucks sake. Of course this witch knew who he was. Could he ever catch a break?

“Oh well, ya caught me.” He gave in, flashing her a grin. “Now you want an autograph or something?” Time to think of another plan. If he had enough time to that is.

“Oh no, I thought we’d have some fun first.” Her white smile becoming more menacing as she stopped in front of him, tilting his chin upward and fully catching his gaze.

“No offense Sweetheart, but I ain’t interested.”

“Oh I know. You only ever had eyes for miss Y/N Y/L/N, isn’t that right?” She cooed, her smile widening when his face hardened, his mouth snapping shut, eyes blazing. “Oh struck a nerve did I?”

“How do you-“

“How do I know about her? Oh well that’s easy. I’ve been watching you Winchesters for quite sometime.” She explained, moving to tuck the hexbag into one of the inner pockets of his canvas jacket. “Dean and Y/N. Friends to. . .- well not quite lovers. You were too late for that, weren’t you?”

Everything in him wanted to lash out at her, make her regret ever saying your name, but once more the ropes restricted him from doing so. His struggle barely doing anything to loosen the binds. “So help me if you don’t shut up I’m gonna rip your tongue out.” He growled, feeling the pure white hot rage crawl up his spine.

“Must have been painful losing her, especially when you loved her so much. Only- you never did tell her that did you?”

“I said shut the hell up!”

She was toying with him. Pulling at all the loose strands of his soul. If people really knew Dean Winchester they would know that the key to fully unraveling him was to bring you up. You death had crushed him in more ways than one and now this bitch was using it against him.

“Like I said before, Dean. Let’s have some fun.” She smiled, tapping him on the nose before muttering an incantation under her breath, backing away slowly.

“What the hell did you do to me?”

The hunter was met with silence as she gave him a wink, disappearing around the corner. “Just having some fun and games. Good luck, pretty boy!”

And just like before he went back to struggling against the bindings, the thick rope burning his wrists as he twisted and pulled. He had to get the hex bag off him before it- before it-

It was like a switch had been pulled because not a second later he felt his eyes get heavy and his shoulders slumped, pulling him head first into unconsciousness. When he opened them again he found himself no longer in the rundown house but on a darkened hillside,the moon being the only source of light across the black landscape.

It took him a minute before he finally realized where he was. His eyes falling shut in hopes of finding himself anywhere but there. This was where he had found you, your blood caked body sitting limp and cold against the lone tree not too far off.

This was the night he lost you.

It was like a bucket of ice had been dumped down the back of his shirt as memories came knocking into him like bricks. It was just some fight. You had yelled yourself hoarse after Dean and Sam had returned from a hunt they decided not to tell you about. You had been furious and scared when you didn’t know where they were. And Dean ended up yelling right back, saying things that to this day haunt him. He was trying to keep you safe- and yet everything back fired right in his face. You had stormed off in a rage only for some vamps to find you and—

He clenched his jaw, battling down the memory. He had to figure out how to get out of this magically induced nightmare. He couldn’t live through this again. The first time nearly killed him.

“Dean.”

At the sudden voice he felt his body seize up. No. No this wasn’t real. It wasn’t you.

“Dean.” This time there was more force in your tone, and Dean let himself turn, his breath leaving his lungs as the sight of you.

When he woke up he was gonna gut that witch six ways from Sunday. That bitch was taking evil to a whole new level.

Sure enough, there you stood. Your hair framing your hollowed face as you bore into him, your throat covered in gashes and cuts littered your arms and legs. You looked exactly the same as when he had found you.

“Y/N-“ struggling to speak, he inhaled.

“Words, Dean. Use them.”

“How is this-“

“Witches Dean. C’mon use your damn brain for once. “ your tone becoming menacing as you stepped closer, your bare feet moving heel to toe as you moved through the grass. “But it’s me.”

“You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you?” He sighed, jade eyes glazing over with unshed tears as he watched you. He had so many things he needed to say and yet? They were caught in his throat, a part of him still telling him you were just a hallucination conjured up by the witch.

“Slightly, yes.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I never should have yell—“

“Don’t.” You raises a hand, silencing the hunter in front of you. “You don’t get to be sorry. I’m dead, Dean.”

“I know. And I never should have let you walk out of the bunker after that fight.”

“That was the whole reason for the fight in the first place!” You yelled, eyes widening. “Because you wouldn’t let me go on the damn hunt! You put me on lock down without telling me! Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up and find the people you love the most gone without a word? And then you said you were keeping me safe!” You paused, sucking in a breath. “ Im a hunter, Dean! Or was. Either way you stopped me from helping and doing my job!”

“I know that now, and I am sorry.” His voice breaking as he looked at you. You didn’t deserve this. You deserved so much better. “I loved you too much to risk putting you in danger.”

Your jaw clenched, eyes on the verge of creating tears. “Then why didn’t you tell me that when I was alive?”

“Because I didn’t know how. And you can hate me all you want but I need you to know that I am sorry.”

He could practically see the anger draining from your face- only for it to be replaced with heartbreak and tear stained cheeks. “I bet you are. And do you want to know what the worst part of it all was? I died alone and I died scared.” You own voice wavering as you looked at the older Winchester, successfully shattering his heart all over again. “I died thinking you hated me.”

That. That was what he had always feared. Ever since he found you he had wondered what you had been thinking. With those six little words you broke the remaining pieces that had somehow managed to stay together inside him. He could never make this right. It was too late.

“I think we’re done here. You better wake up.” You have him one last glare before turning on your bare heel, walking off into the dark, the moon casting stark shadows across your frame.

“Y/N, wait!”

With one more blink he found himself back in the falling apart house. He expected to be looking up into the eyes of the witch but instead he was met with the worried cobalt blue eyes of a certain trench coated angel.

“Cas?” The words coming out confused as he felt the hallucination induced tears slide off his face. “What the hell happened?”

The angel tilted his head as he began working on bindings around the hunters wrists. “You prayed earlier. I came.”

“What about the witch?”

“Dead. When I killed her it broke you out of your trance.”

Slowly rising from the chair, Dean rubbed at his tender wrists. “Shame.”

“That I saved you?”

“No, thank you for that by the way. Shame that she’s dead. Would’ve liked to end her myself after what she did to me.”

Heading towards the door, Cas was hot on his heels, curiosity easily getting the best of the celestial. “What did she do?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore. It’s done with.” Digging through his coat pockets, Dean produced the keys to the impala, his new mission already set in stone inside his head.

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere I have yet to visit in a while.”

“Would you like me to come with?” Cas spoke, knowing exactly where Dean was headed without him having to say so. Whatever the witch had made him see it was the final push Dean needed.

“Nah. It’s alright.I need to do this alone.” Throwing open the driver side door, Dean paused to flip the keys in his hand. “But thanks man. You know for coming and pulling my ass out of the fire. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Anytime.”

*. *. *. *. * .

Even if the numbers on the dashboard read 1:30AM, Dean still found himself putting the impala in park at the edge of the cemetery on the outskirts of Lebanon. Moonlight curved around headstones and the grass was still damp from the earlier rain. Lampposts still lit up the space partially with orange light as the hunter weaves through the headstone, stopping in his tracks once he found yours.

He and Sam had given you a hunters funeral but he still insisted on getting you a headstone. It gave him a place to visit- even if he had yet to until this moment.

“I know it wasn’t really you in the hallucination.” He breathed, hands stuck deep into his pockets as he stared down your name carved into the piece of granite. “But it didn’t hurt any less. That- that illusion of you said some things that in truth made some sense to me. Things I have been telling myself ever since I lost you.”

A soft warm breeze ran through the cemetery, ever so slightly tickling his skin. It was easier to find words here. It was quiet. It allowed him no worries over who else might be listening. You used to say that the dead speak to those who listen. He was listening as best he could.

“If you really died hating me I am so sorry. I should never have held you back. If I hadn’t we never would have gotten into that fight and you never would have stormed out. In the end it was still my fault.” He paused.”I could never hate you.” He could feel the hot tears gathering in his eyes again as he inhaled, bringing his gaze skyward in hopes of keeping the tears in. “I think I was just scared. When I realized I loved you - that I was in love with you. I just wanted to tuck you away and keep you safe from the world. But that’s not how those things work. It took me too long to realize that and I’m so sorry.”

His eyes went back to the granite headstone, the moonlight catching the polished rock just right so that your name shone.

Please be listening.

“I should have told you. I should have told you and not tried to bury it.” His voice cracked. “I love you Y/N. Always have and always will.”

And with that he kissed his index and middle finger, pressing it lightly against the cool granite that was the last piece of you on this earthly plane. It would be the closest he ever came to kissing you.

As he turned to walk back through the cemetery another warm gust of wind went past him, ruffling his hair and he swore- even if it sounded insane out loud that he heard your voice interwoven through the breeze.

“I know.”

End.

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