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mothdruid · 1 year

Text

Homemade Dynamite

pairing: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader

summary: You and Bradley had a history, not a positive one. After growing up together, your relationship ended in shambles. Being called back to Top Gun is forcing you to face him again.

wc: 10.3k

warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, angst, this is mainly smangst, lots of crying, best friends javy and jake, bradley and natasha best friend dynamic, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex, vaginal fingering, use of "i love you"

a/n: i've been working on this intermittently for about two months now. i got the idea from Lorde's song Homemade Dynamite. that song just felt tragic yet happy at the same time, so here we are. also i know it seems a little quick to forgive but that's my red flag with emotionally unavailable men, so here we are. ps. i use my own call sign for everything i write now cause it's easier on my brain

Years had passed since you were last here. Top Gun. A hatred had festered inside of you ever since you were a trainee there. Memories plagued you as you drove through the surrounding town. You never thought that you would have been called back here, especially not after getting the cushiony test pilot spot. Even though it had been years everything felt unchanged, the exact same as when you left five years ago.

That unchanged feeling brought you to the Hard Deck. The Hard Deck was a Top Gun staple, every pilot knowing of the bar. You climbed out of your car and made your way into the bar. A sense of familiarity took over you as you walked in. The Hard Deck was filled to the brim with people, a healthy mix of civilians and naval aviators. A smirk gathered on your lips when you saw a familiar face.

“I can’t believe it. Howler, is that you?”

“Hey, Penny.” You gave her a curt nod.

“Haven’t seen you in a minute.” She flashed you a smile before gesturing at the bar around her. “What can I get you?”

“Got any CiderBoys?” Penny nodded as she retrieved the bottle from the fridge under the bar. Your gaze searched around the bar, seeing a few recognizable faces. The noise of Penny removing the lid from your cider pulled your attention back to her. “Anyone still floating around here?”

“You mean, is Rooster still around here?” Your stomach dropped at the mention of his call sign. Bradley Bradshaw. He was once one of your most trusted friends. The two of you grew up together, went to naval academy together, even graduated from Top Gun at the same time. But everything had changed while at Top Gun. The cool tart taste of your cider coated your mouth as you took a swig.

“That wasn’t what I meant.” You took a few more drinks.

“I know you, Howler. You’ve spent way too many nights getting too drunk in my bar, for me not to know.” You gave her a look, one she hadn’t seen in a while. It said that you had walls now, walls that weren’t coming down anytime soon. The mom in her gave you a specific look, one that was laced with concern. “I’ve seen Hangman and that’s really been it. He is actually just over there.” Penny nodded off in a direction.

Truth be told you had never completely liked Hangman, him being the reason for your embarrassing call sign. But if Hangman was all you could get right now, you weren’t gonna complain. You quickly asked for one more cider before heading off in his direction. A pleasant feeling washed over you as you saw more familiar faces the closer you got to him. It was a classic scene you walked over to, Hangman and Coyote playing darts. The both of them were in civilian clothes, just a t-shirt and jeans.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” The Texan called out as Javy threw a dart. You held your arms out, a cider bottle in the both of them. “What are you doing back here? Last I heard you were out in Maryland.” You took a drink then flashed a smile. You turned to see Javy who was shooting you a big grin.

“I was! After coming back stateside I went to do jet testing.” A surprised yet proud look covered Jake’s face. Javy came over and gave you a small cheers before the both of you took a drink. Coyote threw his arm around you and pulled you in for a hug, one you happily obliged.

“Testing? How did you get that lined up?” You looked up at him while being tucked under his arm still. Javy had always been a good friend of yours, ever since the academy. Coyote and Fanboy had always been there for you, and on occasion Hangman. You shrugged slightly as you walked over to the table that had their beers and items on. You set your spare cider and light sweatshirt down on the table.

“Not quite sure, I guess I’m just lucky.” A thud from a dart hitting the board is what you were greeted with when you turned around. Coyote gave you a goofy look and Hangman a chuckle as he placed a toothpick between his teeth. “What?”

“Sure, Howler.” Heat bubbled up to your cheeks immediately at the mocking of your call sign. Jake’s lips curved into a shit-eating grin as he watched you. Jake would never forget that night, the night he found out there was something more going on between you and Rooster. That was also the night he found out you were loud in bed, ‘howling’ all night as Bradley fucked you.

Coyote snickered while you brushed off your slight irritation, rolling your eyes. “You realize this is why some people don’t like you?” Jake walked towards you, cockiness oozing from him.

“Doesn’t matter, I got you and Coyote here with me. That’s better than anyone else.” Hangman grabbed his bottled beer, cheering it to the both of you before taking a long drink. You and Coyote exchanged glances for a moment.

“What a sight for sore eyes.” A new but familiar voice spoke up. The three of you turned to see the old cohort. Phoenix, Fanboy, and Payback were staring at the three of you. Mickey flashed you a smile as he walked towards you, gesturing for a big hug. Even though sour memories were plaguing your mind, seeing everyone again was worth it in the long run.

“How ya been?” Fanboy asked while in the embrace.

“I’ve been well! You?” You gave a nod to Natasha as she walked past the two of you.

“Good, it’s been good.” Payback came up behind Fanboy, holding his fist out. You gave him a fist bump as the three of you started talking. Phoenix was bantering with Jake and Javy while you told Mickey and Reuben about your time up in Maryland.

“Who are you?” Hangman’s voice was loud enough to pull everyone’s attention. All of you turned around to see a man sitting near you all, munching away at a cup of peanuts. His large wired frames looked oddly familiar. You stood there for a moment racking your brain as he started to talk.

“I’m Bob.” Not a sound came from any of you. “I’m a weapon systems of-”

“A WSO, right?” You asked briefly. Bob nodded as he cleaned broken peanut shells off his lap. “I think you’re on the thing I got called back for.” Bob flashed a half smile as he ate a few more peanuts. Phoenix tilted her head as she stared at Bob.

“Bob Floyd? My new WSO?” Bob smiled again.

“Call sign?” Hangman questioned.

“Bob.” Hangman knitted his eyebrows together in a questioning manner.

“That’s it?” Bob nodded with an innocent look on his face.

“Badass on board.” It slipped out of you without a thought. Bob sent a full smile in your direction as some of the others laughed. You pushed your elbow out, knocking against Mickey who quickly stopped laughing.

“Looks more like a baby on board.” Hangman quipped as he threw a dart at the board. Phoenix rolled her eyes at Hangman’s reply.

“Always got something to say, huh?” Natasha tended to have a short fuse when it came to Jake. It was an understandable short fuse since Hangman was an ass to her all through training. Hangman winked at her before throwing another dart. You moved back to your table, watching everyone as you cracked your next cider open. You flicked your gaze to the doorway, watching as the doors opened. Your light mood immediately dropped.

Bradley Bradshaw.

The glass of your beer bottle touched your lips as you started downing the cider. Hangman and Fanboy’s eyes watched you both with concern, seeing you chug your cider. They exchanged a look between the two of them before Rooster came into view of them. Hangman flipped the toothpick in his mouth, pulling it out to speak up.

“Look who decided to join us.” The rest of the gang looked up to see the tall brunette. A loud thunk came from your now empty bottle as you set it on the table. Phoenix and Payback greeted Rooster gleefully as he approached the group. A devoid sensation settled over you, waiting for the world to slow down around you. Slow motion never came though, just a panicked feeling. Your nails subconsciously dug into your palms, creating crescent shapes.

Rooster smiled as he talked with Phoenix and Payback for a moment. He looked around to see who all was there. A curiosity prodded inside of him when he saw Hangman moving swiftly to a table. Anything that distracted Hangman from shooting an insult had to be interesting. Rooster followed the direction Hangman was walking in, his gaze landing on you. His lips pressed firmly together as he watched your still being.

An annoyed feeling pooled in him as he watched Hangman get to the table. The relationship you and Jake had always seemed to put him on edge. His eyes followed Hangman’s hand, grabbing your hand as he spoke in a hushed tone. Bradley bit at the inside of his lip as he pushed his feelings deep down inside of himself.

“Do you want me to take you home?” You looked up to see Jake’s concerned look. His hand covered yours, providing you a small sense of comfort. Bradley’s gaze became noticeable, your eyes meeting from across the short way. A conflicted look sat on his face, hazel eyes boring into your own. You pulled your hand away from Jake’s, not wanting Bradley to get the wrong idea.

“No, I’m gonna head off though. I gotta unpack some stuff anyways.” Hangman nodded before gesturing towards the door. He gave you a soft pat on the back as you headed out. Your gaze stayed straight as you walked past Bradley, his gaze landing on you for a moment. Jake watched Bradley’s gaze follow you, Bradley turning around to watch you leave.

“A picture might last.” Natasha elbowed Bradley, trying to catch his attention. Bradley’s lips tilted as he brushed her arm away. Natasha and Bradley’s eyes met, Natasha giving a concerned look to him. “Bradley, you know you shouldn’t.”

“I don’t even know if she’d let me.” Bradley said while scratching at the back of his head.

“You never know, but I wouldn’t push it.” Natasha watched as Bradley’s gaze drifted again. The both of them watching the door close behind you. Bradley felt his heart drop at her words. The damage to the relationship had already been done, and possibly could never be mended. Bradley patted Natasha’s back for a moment before heading towards the door. “Roo-” Nastasha felt a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from getting Bradley’s attention. She turned to be greeted by a slightly annoyed Jake.

The fresh air outside had never felt so refreshing. The temperature had started to drop, which helped your emotions calm down. The devoid feeling started to escape you as you made your way to your car. Your breath felt a little shaky once you approached your car. You paused for a moment, trying to recollect your thoughts and emotions. The gravel of the parking lot crunched behind you, signaling someone was near you. You rolled your eyes before turning around only to be surprised.

“Hey.” Bradley’s face looked forlorn with his husky voice. Your heartbeat picked up, adrenaline pumping through your system. Anxiety started to set in as the two of you stared at each other. Your hand drifted into your pocket, grabbing your keys out of it.

“Hey.” The single word was shaky as it left your lips. A small smile tugged at one side of Bradley's lips. You leaned back against your car, looking up at him. Bradley looked down at you with a look of fondness, thinking about all the good times you used to spend together.

The orange hue of the sunset casted over Bradley’s body while you stared at him. Fond memories flooded your brain for a moment. The one time the two of you snuck out and walked on the beach, talking about your plans after Top Gun. Quickly your brain switched gears, flipping to the memory of him leaving you alone and sobbing in the break room.

“I heard you were out in Maryland.” Bradley caught on the change in your stare, making him step next to you. He made sure to put a small amount of space between the two of you before leaning against your car.

“I heard you were in Europe.” Bradley nodded at your words. You kept your gaze low, staring at the gravel near your feet.

“I was.” An awkward silence was starting to settle. Bradley looked over at you, seeing your low gaze. He awkwardly nodded to himself. “What are you doing back?”

“I got called back. Apparently they needed the best of the best.” Bradley snickered, thinking back about how skilled of an aviator you are. “You were called back too, weren’t you?”

The question didn’t take him by surprise, but he wasn’t expecting you to ask. You brought your gaze up and looked at him. His hazel eyes were filled with that warmth you had missed. You tried keeping your face as blank as possible, but couldn’t help when you bit your lip. Bradley’s expression dropped a little, making your own drop. Bradley gave you a small nod, “They need the best of the best.”

A small smile appeared on your face when you looked away from him. Bradley smiled when he heard a small chuckle come from you. “This is gonna suck.” Bradley nodded again. “Don’t make it suck anymore than it already will.” Bradley gave you a questioning look. “Don’t act like you don’t know.” A small anger had started to boil in you, his facial expression adding more fuel to the fire.

“That was four, almost five years ago.” Bradley pushed off your car and turned to face you. Irritation settled on both of your facial features. His nostrils flared for a moment as the both of you stared at each other. You crossed your arms across your chest while staring at him.

“Bradley.”

“I know. I fucked up.” His words were harsh, not to you but to himself. Your anxiety had changed and turned into annoyance. “What more do you want me to say? How do you want me to fix-”

“Not everything can be fixed, Bradley. You haven’t tried to fix anything for almost five years, why try now.” Your words were bitter. That was the main question floating in your mind. Five years. Five years of silence. What was so special now?

Bradley sat in silence, not knowing what to say. A pain twinged in his chest as he watched you become a little more heated. “Now I have to go. Go inside, have a nice cold beer, play some darts, and just enjoy it.” The click of your car unlocking ended your sentence. Bradley watched silently with an irritated look as he watched you get in your car. You backed out of your parking spot, watching as Bradley stood there to watch you leave.

The car ride home was painful, tears pricking at your eyes every now and then. The silence in your car was painfully loud as tears slowly started to stream down your face. A loud slam of your car door felt like the only appropriate thing once you got to your house. You dragged your hands over your face, this was gonna be a long few weeks.

Five weeks. Three for the mission and two to find a new assignment. It seemed like a reasonable enough time frame. It wasn't too long or too short. But it was too much time around Bradley. Even though you two didn't fly in the same jet, he still managed to get under your skin.

“Go get ready. I’ll see you all in the sky.” The sound of everyone’s chairs filled the hanger after Maverick’s dismissal. Jake caught your gaze, flipping the toothpick between his teeth.

“Rooster and Howler, hang back for a moment.” Your eyes flicked up to meet Mavericks, shifting in your seat under his stare. Bradley adjusted in his own seat, correcting his posture a little bit. The shuffling of your teammates was the only noise between the three of you. After everyone left the hanger the both of you stood up, hands tucked behind your back. A stoic look dawned on both of your faces.

Maverick smiled, seeing two kids he practically helped raise standing in front of him. It hadn’t all been easy flights and sunshine though. He wasn’t present for either of your Top Gun training, but he had heard about what happened. Maverick raised his hand and dismissed your formal stances. “It’s good to see the both of you.”

A curt nod was all you could give. Rooster gave a small smile with his own nod. Maverick motioned for the both of you to come forward, closer to him as he talked. “Now I know you two are both professionals,” you and Bradley stood almost shoulder to shoulder as he spoke, “but I have to give a warning.” Your gaze wanted to look at Bradley, needing to know if he was wearing a similar expression to yours. Your gaze stayed forward though, watching Mav’s expression.

“What warning?” Bradley’s voice was laced with a hint of annoyance. You didn’t blame him, you would probably have a similar tone.

“You both know what I mean. Whatever is going on with the both of you.” Maverick’s eyes flicked between the both of you, a hidden concern plaguing him. “You have to set it aside.” Your teeth gnawed at the inside of your cheek after he spoke. You and Bradley nodded, neither of you wanting to verbally agree. Maverick nodded at the two of you again. “Good, now go get ready.”

The walk back to the locker rooms was silent, only the sounds of your boots on the floor. You slipped into the women's locker room. Callie and Natasha greeted you in the locker room, both of them ready to go.

“What was that about?” Callie asked. You knew that Natasha wouldn’t want to speak about it. Nat was good friends with Bradley, but she tried not to push and pry at the relationship you two shared. Natasha had been there when the initial discovery of the relationship was made.

“Nothing, Mav just making sure we are good.” The both of them nodded. You quickly grabbed your items and finished suiting up. The three of you knocked helmets before you left the locker room, a small ritual the three of you always did.

Most of the others were down the hallway, heading out to the tarmac. Bradley leaned against the wall, helmet hanging from his hand. He turned his head to see the three of you coming out of the room. Callie and Natasha gave him small waves as they passed him. Natasha briefly looked back, shooting you a concerned look. A small wave was what you gave her to fully dismiss her. You stopped only a few steps in front of Bradley. The both of you waited until you heard the door close finally.

“Hmm?” You made a small questioning noise at Bradley. Bradley’s eyes were locked on you, even though you were looking straight ahead.

“You good?” The question made your eyebrows knit together. You turned to look at him, his expression was still bordering stoic.

“Yeah, I’m good. You?” Bradley shrugged and raised his eyebrows briefly with his shrug.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” After pushing up off the wall he stood next to you, his helmet close to your own. An annoyed smile pulled at the corners of your lips. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. Bradley had always been like this, acting as if what happened never did. Bradley knocked his bright red helmet with your pearl blue helmet. “See you up there.”

It had to have been the universe. Why else would you and Bradley end up in the sky together? The two of you had barely been in the sky for five minutes before he spoke over the radio. “You good?”

You looked out your cockpit at him, squinting your eyes at him. Why the fuck does he keep saying that? It was like he was teasing you, knowing that you haven’t been the same since you two split.

“It’s not like you care.” It was Bradley’s turn to squint at you.

“And who told you that?” An irritation started to boil in your stomach. He had always been like this, acting oblivious to the pain he caused you.

“Didn’t need to be told, you showed me that. Or did you forget that?” There was a harshness in your voice that Bradley didn’t like.

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t play stupid.” You looked at your radar, looking to see if Maverick had popped up. It was still clear which made you think he was below or behind you two.

“Look, I know that what I did was shit.” Bradley started to plead with you in a sense. “I’m sorry.”

“Rooster, I’ve heard it before. I don’t want to hear it-”

“You’ve never heard it. Always shoot me down first.” The boiling irritation turned into shock. Bradley had never spoken to you like that, or at least never with that tone. You looked back at him, nostrils flaring.

Maverick came in over the radio, “Cut it out the two of you.”

“The fuck did you say?” Bradley shot a wave out his window, knowing damn well he was pissing you off. Bradley shot up a peace sign before diving down. You dove down behind him, the two of you falling into a rolling scissor maneuver.

Back in the ready room everyone listened to you, Bradley, and Maverick over the coms. Bob was listening intently, not sure why the two of you tended to argue so much. Bob had a slight idea but wanted to confirm the exact reason. Bob elbowed Natasha softly, gaining her full attention. “Can I ask a question?” Natasha nodded while hearing you call Rooster a cock over the coms. “Why are they like that?”

“Oh.. They have a bit of a history.” Natasha gave him an awkward smile. Natasha hated it. She loved the both of you dearly, but god did she hate how you two acted. She tried her best not to take sides. Natasha had been very vocal to the both of you when your previous relationship had been found out.

“Is that what you call it?” Bob and Natasha looked over to be greeted by Javy and Jake. Jake’s lips were curled into his devilish smirk.

“Yeah, it is.” Natasha said. Bob watched as Jake walked closer to them. Jake’s eyes were locked with Natasha’s, making her protectiveness of Rooster come out. “You don’t need to air it out, Bagman.”

Jake tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicked from Natasha’s to Bob’s. Bob averted his eyes, not wanting to fully meet Hangman’s intense gaze. “There you go Phoenix, being a good wingman for no reason. We all know what he did was wrong.” Jake kept his gaze on Bob, even though his words were directed to Natasha.

“Bradley isn’t a bad person.”

“Nobody said he was.” Coyote replied. Coyote and Hangman had both been there on that fateful night. The night that Bradley had left you broken and alone. Jake had held you close to him while Javy comforted you. Your sobs were something that they could never fully expunge from their brains. But while they were comforting you Phoenix was with Bradley, listening to his drunken ramblings. The ramblings consisted of him regretting ever ending the relationship to how he was a terrible person who didn’t deserve you.

“What exactly happened?” Bob piped up, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Sorry, it’s just everyone seems to know. I feel a little out of the loop.” A loud shout from Bradley came over the coms.

“Rooster and Howler were childhood friends, both military kids. Came to the academy and everything together.” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together in a questioning way as he listened to Javy.

“Why then are they like this?” Bob gestured to the coms, Maverick calling out and telling you two to head back to ground.

“They started fucking, giving Howler her call sign, then Rooster broke it off abruptly.” Bob’s eyes widened when he heard the bit about your call sign, making his mind wander slightly. A part of him thanked himself for having a generic call sign.

“And she’s been bitter about it since.” Phoenix spoke up.

“But Bradley left her alone, ghosting her afterwards. So, I’d say her bitterness might be a bit warranted.” Jake chimed in. Bob nodded, knowing a bit more about you and Bradley now. Fanboy then spoke up.

“Can’t you guys just stop bringing it up?” Everyone looked at him. A pensive expression was what Mickey wore, wanting to get his point across. “We were all affected by what happened. Howler was hurt and Rooster was never the same. So just stop.” Payback nodded at Fanboy’s words. Hangman let out a chuckle as he backed off of Phoenix and Bob.

“What the fuck Bradley!” You grabbed his inflation device, shoving him back. An angry but flabbergasted look was on his face after you shoved him. Everything in you wanted to throw your helmet at him. The others rushed out of the building, running to separate the two of you.

“What did I do wrong this time?” Bradley yelled at you, frustration settling on his features. His chest heaved as he looked at you, walking towards you. The two of you came face to face, only a few inches separating your face. Bradley’s eyes scanned your face, eventually landing on your lips. It took you by surprise the way he was looking at you. Your eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips, making you question your anger for a minute.

Maverick ran over, pushing the two of you apart as everyone finally arrived. Hangman and Coyote pulled you back, their words went in one ear and out the other though. Bradley was pushed back by Phoenix and Fanboy, his eyes not leaving you. A part of Bradley wondered what would have happened if nobody had shown up.

It was a flurry of words thrown about but none of it mattered. Your brain tuned it all out, trying to find some form of calm. Hangman and Coyote started to usher you towards the hanger, taking you into the ready room. Your breath was heavy when they got you in the ready room. Hangman came around to face you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Hey.”

You tried to focus on his face, not paying attention to whatever Coyote was doing. “He…”

“No, Howler.” Jake brought both his hands to your face, centering your face with his. “Focus on me.” Your eyes locked with Jake’s, focusing on the green irises staring back at you. You nodded to Hangman, showing him that you finally were focused on him. As you stared at Jake tears started to prick at your eyes, your anger turning into sadness. Hot tears started to stream down your face. A sob racked through you as you started to cry. Jake pulled you into a hug, holding you close as you left a wet spot on his green jumpsuit.

Jake shot a look over to Javy, a knowing look. Jake stroked your hair, trying to make sure you were as comfortable as possible. “I hate him..”

“I know, it’ll be okay.” Jake’s words were soft and comforting.

“...But I still love him.”

“Roo..Bradley..” Your voice was barely a whisper, his lips traveling along your neck. His hips were slotted against your own, a small rocking rhythm being made. Bradley’s breath was hot on your skin, hands traveling up your sides to your breasts. He pulled his head back from your neck, looking down at you.

“So fucking pretty for me.”

You had never shot out of bed so fast. The clips from your dream kept repeating, making you rub your eyes aggressively. You sat there staring into your lap for a moment, wondering what the fuck that dream was. That’s when you remembered what happened last night. Your suspicions were confirmed when you looked over the edge of your bed, a sleeping Jake Seresin on your floor.

Tequila never mixed well in your system.

After you climbed out of bed, avoiding waking Jake up, you stopped at the bathroom then went to the living room. Javy was already awake, phone propped up on his chest while he scrolled. A small hand raise was all you gave him, receiving a similar one back from him.

“Jake asleep?” You nodded your head as you picked out a Keurig pod, placing it in the Keurig and waiting for the water to heat. Javy stared at you with a curious gaze, one eyebrow cocked. “You good?” No, you weren’t good. If he remembered anything from last night, he knew you were far from good. A shrug was all you offered him with a pathetic smile. “You don’t have to hide around me. Plus, Jake ain’t here right now.”

“I know, Jav. It’s just,” a stupid smile spread on your lips before you spoke again, “I had a dream about him.” Javy sat up on the couch while he gave you that look you hated. It was that stupid knowing look, the one he liked to give you back in the day. “Go on, say it.” Javy threw his hands up in a defensive manner.

“Hey, it could have been the tequila shots Jake had us taking.” Javy chuckled when he saw you give him that “yeah, bullshit” look. The sound of your Keurig pushing out your coffee filled the silence, your gaze drifting away from his. “You said you still love him.” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. You hated that Rooster still had this effect on you somehow.

The emotional damage had never fully subsided. How could it have? The two of you had grown up together. This was never supposed to be the outcome. Hell, fucking was never even apart of the plan. But you couldn’t help it, your emotions getting the better of you on one fateful day. But it wasn’t just you, he had reciprocated it. Kissing you back just as passionately as you kissed him. But the more confusing parts were when the two of you would stay up late, laying in bed while talking for hours. Or the late night beach walks so no one would find out, even though everyone already knew. It didn’t last though, falling apart in an instant.

“I know I did.” Javy threw the blanket off his lap, standing up and moving to the bar of your kitchen island. He gestured towards the Keurig, you picking up his silent asking for a cup of coffee. You just gave him yours that finished, popping in another pod after.

“You gotta face him, eventually.” You fetched the creamer from your fridge, offering it up to Javy. “I’m not trying to be pushy or anything, it’s just that..”

“He acts like we are just supposed to move past it.” You wrapped your hand around the back of your neck, sighing as your coffee finished. “As if he didn’t emotionally wreck me.” Javy poured a small amount of creamer in his coffee, grabbing a stir stick from the basket of goodies on your island. He pointed it at you intensely with the small wooden stick.

“Does he know that?” A slightly annoyed look pulled over your face.

“Really?” You snatched the creamer from in front of him. Javy took a drink from his cup, hiding a snicker. “Javy, you know damn well th-”

“Men aren’t always that smart.” You squinted at him, bringing your own cup up to your lips. You hated when Javy was right. You appreciated it but god did it annoy you. At least it was better than Jake being right.

“Except you, right?” A big smile spread across his face.

“Except me.”

The two of you hadn’t spoken since the incident. Maverick doing you both the favor of separating two from flying together, seeming as the two of you had been hazards the last time. The entire atmosphere of the group had changed too, almost like a divide had formed. You didn’t really mind, counting down each day until you could leave anyways.

You stared out at the water, toes digging deeper into the sand. As much as Jake insisted he should come with you to the beach, you told him no. You knew he just wanted to make sure you were okay, distract you from your own thoughts. But you needed your own time. Time alone to sort out your thoughts. The sun had already started lowering, an orange hue casting over your skin and the sand around you.

This was one of the few things you actually missed about Top Gun. The beach was unmatched, no other collection of sediments brought you this type of comfort. The sound of water softly beating at the sand, wetting it over and over.

Did Bradley know? Did he know how he hurt you? Broke your heart? Damaged your ability to love? But yet still had you wrapped around his finger?

Your conversation with Javy kept replying in your head, along with the memory of that terrible night years ago. The memory was so clear yet fuzzy, something you had tried not to think about for years. The forlorn look on Bradley's face compared to your distraught one. The tears ran down your cheeks as he told you 'We can't do this anymore.' As if you had agreed to end things prior. He didn't even try to comfort you, no wiping away tears or anything. Just a 'sorry' and he was gone.

You pull your knees close to your chest, tucking your face into them. Tears hadn't started to form, but you knew it'd be only a matter of time. It was such a hard concept for you to understand. How could he do that? Fuck his childhood best friend then disappear? None of it made any sense. You looked back out at the water, a deeper orange hue covering everything now. You went to lay back on the sand, but collided with something. Well, more like someone. You turned and looked up, a familiar face looking down at you.

"Hey." It had been days since you last heard him speak. His voice was soft and almost hesitant. You wondered how long he had been there.

"Hey." You turned back to stare at the sunset. You couldn't help wanting him to leave, but a small part of you wanted him to stay. Which is what he did. You could barely feel the sand shift behind you before you saw his legs extend out around your body. You turned to see Bradley had taken a seat behind you.

“Hmm?” Bradley hums.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting down?” Bradley gave you a similar questioning look.

“Wh-why are you sitting behind me?” As much as you hated it, a part of you missed this closeness. You missed these small things your friendship used to contain. It was a friendship you were never able to replicate.

Bradley had just always provided a different level of comfort. Him buying your favorite candy without you asking, even the few comforting fucks you two shared. But maybe those gestures were what started to scare Bradley away. It was true that emotions were never something he could manage well. Even as a long time friend he had a hard time discussing them with you. He was much better at showing emotions through action, not talking about them.

“It just.. it felt natural. I can move.” Bradley’s legs started to retract from around you. Without a second thought you brought one hand out, touching the tanned skin of his knee and thigh. The two of you stared at each other for a moment. You missed those hazel eyes, full of so much untold truth.

“Stay.” Bradley nodded his head, settling back down behind you.

There was still a space between the two of you. Silence settled as the two of you watched the last slivers of the sun. Bradley remembered the last time you were at the beach. Glimpses of your bare skin barely visible underneath the water. The warmth of your body against his in the cold water. It hadn’t been the first time he had skinny dipped, but it was the most memorable.

There was a small nervousness in you. It felt almost as if years of irritation had melted away. Bradley thawing out your heart, reversing the frozen state he had left it in. You decided to test the waters of his comfortability, and a bit of your own. You leaned back slightly. Bradley welcomed you, letting you lay back against his chest. Your heart fluttered when he wrapped his arms around you, supporting your weight against him. Your legs stretched out into a more comfortable position. Once the sky started to shift from orange to black you both started to speak.

“I uh.. We should talk.” You looked up at Bradley, still leaning back into his chest. Bradley looked down at you, the mustache on his upper lip quivering in the slightest. He nodded, confirming that he also wanted to talk.

“Yeah, we probably should.” Bradley broke his stare, looking out towards the darkened water. You could see the small details of him chewing the inside of his lower lip. The small tug from the inside being barely visible on the outside of his lip. There was another silence between the two of you before you spoke up.

“What should we.. where should we begin?” As much as you wanted to attack him, the small angelic Javy on your shoulder told you else wise. Bradley shrugged, neither of you sure where to start the conversation.

“How was Maryland?” It was such a generic question, and you knew it was just to avoid the true topic.

“Maryland was nice. Lots of history there and that was about it.” Bradley smiled when he heard the history bit. “How was Europe?”

“It was nice.” The smile was still on his lips, but he had turned to look at you. “Nice to kind of get out of here, the US I mean. Just experiencing somewhere else.” You knew exactly what he meant. Right after you graduated from Top Gun you went to Japan, running away from all your emotions at the time. You were there for three years. Three years of shelving your anger and sadness towards the man you were currently cuddled up to on the beach.

“Italy, right?” Bradley nodded at your question.

“Wish you could have seen it.” Another silence. You sat up and looked at him.

“Bradley.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Do you really know what happened?” Bradley’s eyebrows knitted together a little bit. “Bradley, you broke me.” It felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest, finally admitting to him what happened. Bradley’s lips tightened together, his gaze shying away from yours. “You really have no idea, do you?” You stood up, turning to stare down at him.

Bradley sat there with his hands in his lap. He was staring at your feet, still not wanting to meet your gaze. You stared at him for a moment longer, your eyes starting to water as you looked at him. As much negative emotion you had towards him, you couldn’t help the warmth and love you still felt for him. That was when he looked up at you. Eyes watering just like yours, lips parted as he ran his tongue over his lower lip.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t like any previous apologies he had half assed to you. This was a vulnerable apology, just the two of you. The first time he didn’t mention fixing the relationship. The last time you had seen Bradley this vulnerable was after the last time you had sex. You had categorized that night as making love, not just fucking. It was the first time you had told Bradley you loved him, even though he couldn’t say it back.

You lowered to your knees, neither of you breaking eye contact. Bradley’s knees bent, bringing his legs a bit closer to himself. You were kneeled in between his legs, one of your hands going out to stroke his cheek.

“I was scared,” Bradley had finally started to say, “I was scared to lose you.” Your eyebrows knitted together, confused by his words. He had lost you though. “I didn’t want to lose you like I lost my dad.” Tears had started to fall down his cheeks. You swiped one of them away as he looked away from your gaze. “I didn’t want to lose you abruptly. I watched what that did to my mom and I was.. I didn’t want to experience that again. So, I thought if I broke off our arrangement I’d feel better. But I didn’t.”

“Bradley.” His name was barely a whisper on his lips.

“I love you.” The three little words that you had been waiting years to hear from him. The two of you had said it as friends prior, but this was the first time it meant a little more than that. Wet streaks started to form on your own cheeks, tears rolling down them.

One of your hands snaked around his neck, the other cupping his cheek. You pressed your lips to his, conveying more than what words could. Bradley’s hands moved to your jawline, one cupping your cheek while the other cradled your jawline. It wasn’t anything sexual, only emotion. Emotions that neither of you could fully express with words. When you pulled back Bradley tried capturing your lips again, you placed a hand on his chest to stop him. You placed your forehead against his, a hand on the back of his neck and the other still on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley whispered. You smiled softly at his words.

“Don’t be.” You pulled back and looked at him again. His hazel eyes looked different now, studying your every feature.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

The next twenty minutes were a blur, moving a bit too fast for either of you to fully register. You and Bradley drove back to your house, him tailing you in his old Bronco. The two of you quickly made your way into your house, Bradley kissing at your neck as you tried to unlock your door. After your nerves allowed you to unlock the door the both of you were tumbling into the foyer. Bradley’s hands were on your hips as he kicked the door shut, pulling your ass back against his hips.

“Bradley.”

“What?” His mustache tickled your skin as he mouthed your neck. “Been thinking about this for years.”

“You could have had it the whole time.” You quipped to him. You were testing the waters, seeing how far you could push him. His hands tightened on your hips, flipping you around and backing you into the wall.

“Yeah, don’t remind me.” Bradley pressed his thigh in between your legs, rocking his hips with yours. His hands guided your hips while resting his forehead on yours. His hot breath mingled with yours, making everything seem a few degrees warmer. His mouth smashed into yours, a messy kiss ensuing. His lips were wet on yours, tongues battling for dominance inside of your mouth. Bradley’s hands snaked around to your ass, grabbing and pulling you somehow closer.

“Bradley.” His lips trailed down your jawline, connecting with your shoulder. He rested his forehead on your neck, taking deep inhales of your scent while rutting into your hips. His cock was already hard in his shorts, digging into your hip as the two of you rutted. Everything Bradley did was rushed and needy, as if it would be the last time he would have you like this. He pulled back to look at you.

“You look so beautiful like this.” A heat boiled into your cheeks, a part of you somehow forgetting how Bradley used to praise you in bed. The way he used to praise you through your orgasm, telling you how tight you were squeezing him. Your core clenched around nothing at his words, rutting your hips into his. Even though it had been years, you felt that familiar squeeze on your ass that Bradley used to get you to jump.

Bradley caught you when you jumped, pressing your back against the wall and adjusting your legs to wrap around his waist. The way his hard on was pressing against your still clothed core made you wish you were bare underneath him. Bradley groaned as he kept rutting into you, dipping his head into the crook of your neck. His mustache tickled the skin lightly as he mouthed from your jaw to shoulder.

One hand moved from cradling your ass to your shoulder, pulling the collar of the old t-shirt you wore down and to the side. His tongue traced the same exposed section of your collar bone. Your fingers threaded through his hair while your other arm snaked up around the back of his neck. You hadn't even noticed that Bradley started to move the both of you.

Both hands were planted in your ass as he walked over to the couch. The plush couch hit your back as Bradley laid you down. His hands quickly grabbed at the hem of your shirt, pushing it to feel at the newly exposed skin. The skin that was so familiar yet distant to him. The familiar ghosting of his hands over your midsection, sliding up to cup your breasts over your thin bralette.

"Fuck, I missed you so much." Bradley's heavy breaths we're hard on your skin, making goosebumps blossom all over you. His hips were still rutting against yours, practically pinning you to the couch.

"You have no idea Bradley. All the nights I thought about, fucking myself to what we used to have." Bradley stilled, panic quickly flooding your system. But then he kissed you. It was different from the make out session prior. It was more akin to what you shared on the beach.

"I missed you, not just fucking you." Bradley said when he pulled back. The look in his eyes was sincere and full of emotion. "You've always been more," a trail of kisses started down your neck, "than just a fuck to me." His hands pulled your shirt up, helping remove it and your bralette so you could receive more attention.

"Bradley," you cupped his face and pulled it to face yours, "I know. Even though you never said it, I always knew deep down." Bradley leaned forward and kissed you, that spark of passion reappearing.

"Good, cause I'm about to show you again and again and again." Bradley's lips trailed down your neck, one arm propping himself above you while the other ghosted down to your chest. He kneaded your breast, thumb rubbing and flicking your nipple. "Gonna show you til you beg me to stop."

"Don't know if that'll happen." Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly. A small groan left his throat, a smirk pulling at his lips. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."

You smashed Bradley’s lips to yours, passion flowing between the two of you. The hand on your breast continued to knead the mound. The hand that was propping him up, moved closer to your head, fingers grabbing onto your hair and tugging you back away from him. The tickling trail of his mustache leads down your jaw and neck. He left a few nips on the way down, stopping to suck on the sensitive spot along your collarbone.

The soft tickling sensation continued down your skin, his lips wrapping around your left nipple. His tongue swirled around the hardening bud, flicking it every now and then. Soft moans fell from your lips, urging Bradley on. He wanted them louder, needed to hear how much you missed him. His hand left your hair, coming down to rub your cunt over your shorts. His other hand ghosted down your side, grabbing your hips as you started to roll them into his hand.

“Sound so fucking good for me.” Bradley groaned as he pulled back, watching your body react to his every touch. Your hands moved out to pull at his own shirt.

“Off. Now.” Bradley smirked, his hands leaving your body to tug his shirt off. It was as if he hadn’t changed in years, still toned and tanned. An acute nostalgia washed over you, yearning to become familiar with his body once more. The feeling was quickly replaced with excitement as you reminded yourself of what you were doing.

Bradley let out a groan when your fingers graced his skin. You sat up to meet him, hands roaming all over his chest. A smile stayed on Bradley as he watched you admire his body. Your eyes flicked up to connect with his hazel ones. One of his hands cupped your face, thumb rubbing your cheek lightly. With your eyes locked, you leaned forward and licked at one of his nipples. Bradley jolted a little bit, not used to the sensation. Groans started to fall from his lips, hand shifting from your cheek to the base of your neck. You wrapped your lips around his nipple, tonguing the bud just as he did to yours.

The air filled with soft groans and moans from the both of you. The hand at the base of your neck grabbed your hair, pulling you off his chest. Bradley kissed you once more, hot and passionate open mouth kisses. He guided you back down, laying you on the couch once more. Your fingers threaded through the soft brown locks, tugging as his kisses continued. A moan was ripped from you suddenly, Bradley’s hand now pressing against your core again.

He pulled back from you, staring at your almost breathless form. You felt the waistband of your shorts loosen, looking down to see Bradley had flicked open the button. He pressed his forehead to yours, “This okay?”

“More than okay.” You placed a kiss on his cheek. Bradley slipped his hand underneath your panties, fingers diving between your folds. Bradley listened to your moans as he rubbed circles on your clit. You let your legs fall further apart, the fabric of your shorts and panties keeping his fingers close on you. Bradley mouthed at your neck, moans filling the air as you let him have his way with you.

Bradley was nuzzled into the crook of your neck, fingers still building that sweet mountain of pleasure inside of you. An endless mantra of his name fell from your lips, fueling him further and further. The wetness coating his fingers was driving him mad. “I gotta taste you. You’ve always tasted so good.” A heat crept up your cheeks when you heard his words. A moan and nod was all you gave him, signaling you wanted him to taste you too.

You barely had time to register Bradley’s hand leaving your panties, tugging your shorts and panties down quickly. Your legs fell open, waiting for him to take his place between them. His hand gripped the inside of your thighs as he settled. He dragged his lips along the inside of your right thigh, the prickle of his mustache tickling your thighs. He breathed out a hot breath on your cunt. He snaked an arm around your thigh, fingers spreading your folds as he started to lick and suck on your clit.

“Oh fuck, Bradley!” Bradley’s locks were soft in your fingers, tugging lightly as he started to shake his head back and forth. His tongue flicked on your clit, sending small shocks of pleasure through your body. A tightness had started to form in your lower abdomen from Bradley’s actions. The hand gripping the inside of your thigh disappeared, reappearing when his fingers prodded at your entrance.

One long finger slipped inside of you, finding that soft spongy spot quickly. It was as if Bradley had never forgotten. The map he had of your body years ago, still fresh and untattered in his mind. Another finger was added inside of you, both fingers fucking into you. The combination of his fingers and his mouth was starting to become overwhelming.

“Mmm, there you go baby. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Bradley groaned, looking down to watch his fingers push in and out of you.

“Bradley, if you don-” His lips were back on you, tongue assaulting your clit. With a few more flicks of his tongue and thrusts of his fingers you let go. Bradley didn’t let up as your moans turned into whines. Your body had started to shake the longer you rode out your orgasm. All of your muscles were tense, your legs starting to tighten around Bradley.

“Fuck, you taste so good.” Bradley finally let up, moving up your body as you laid there in your post-orgasmic glow. “So pretty when you come for me.” Bradley kissed you again, the taste of you flooding your senses. His hands crept up your sides, rubbing and kneading the flesh.

“I need you.” You whispered, putting your forehead to his once more. “Need to feel you in me.”

Bradley let out a groan at your request. One of his hands moved to the button of his shorts, undoing them quickly. Your hands pushed at the waistband of his shorts and underwear, him helping you pull them off. Once both articles were removed you wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking lightly.

A small shudder ran through Bradley, the distant yet familiar feeling of your hand wrapped around his cock. He would never admit that he dreamed of it multiple times over the past few years, dreaming more of his cock being deep inside of you. His head lolled for a moment, basking in the feeling of your hand.

“Fuck, I need to be in you.” Bradley nuzzled into the crook of your neck once more, lips and mustache hastily working over the exposed skin. He guided his hips closer to the apex of your legs, your hand still stroking him. When he got close enough you lined him up, his cock resting at your entrance.

He guided your legs around his waist before pressing into you. He pulled back just into time to watch your face contorted in pleasure. Your mouth was agape, a strangled moan coming out of it as he bottomed out inside of you. The stretch was intoxicating, something that you had truly missed. Bradley kissed your jaw and cheek, waiting for the approval to move.

When Bradley noticed the smallest hint of a nod he pulled his hips back a little bit. His rhythm started with slow deep thrusts, moans and groans coming from the both of you. Bradley kept nuzzled against your collarbone and neck. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders, one hand was laced into his hair. You weren’t tugging or pulling this time, just cradling the back of his head and neck as he fucked into you.

Words were lost between the two of you. Rambling sentences fell from Bradley as broken ones fell from you. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Bradley whispered as he mouthed your neck. “You feel so fucking good. Always felt so good wrapped around my cock. So warm and inviting, makes it so hard to leave. God, you’re just amazing. Everything I could ask for. I love you.”

You weren’t sure if he said it on purpose or accident, but you didn’t think twice about saying it back. “I love you too, always have.” Bradley’s thrusts became more powerful, the speed casually increasing. His cock kept hitting that sensitive spot inside of you, sending waves of pleasure through your system.

Bradley’s arms snaked underneath you, one hand cradling your head while the other settled on the center of your back. It was similar to a cocoon, a cocoon of just Bradley. Bradley wasn’t sure what possessed him to need you that close to him, but he needed you. Wanted you to flood his senses more than the current situation. He wanted you to consume him, take away all of the bad that had ever happened between the two of you. Throw it out the window and start anew, which he felt was currently happening.

You tightened around his cock, moaning against his chest. Bradley groaned as he could feel you getting closer and closer to your orgasm. It had been years but he remembered all of the telltale signs. He let your head fall back a little, still cradling it as he pressed his forehead to your temple.

“Let go baby, let go all over my cock.” His words were slurred with pleasure but still had the same effect. The familiar tightness in your abdomen that had been mounting snapped. Your hands were reaching and clawing, trying to touch anything that was Bradley.

He let out his own string of groans from you tightening around him. With only a few more thrusts Bradley was coming inside of you. His name fell from your lips when you felt him fill you. Bradley kissed your jawline, his hips barely pumping in and out of you know. The two of you laid on the couch like that for a moment, Bradley on top of you with his softening cock still inside of you. He rested his head on your chest, the two of you laying in bliss. It was Bradley who broke the silence.

After a bit longer of laying there you tapped his shoulder, signaling for him to get up. The both of you went to the bathroom, cleaning up and using the bathroom. Bradley went to head back to the living room, but you grabbed his wrist.

“Let’s finish this in the bedroom.” Bradley gave a gentle smile before nodding towards the living room.

“Can I grab my underwear?”

“Of course, can you grab my t-shirt too?”

Bradley greeted you in the bedroom, tossing your shirt to you. He watched quietly with a smile as he watched you put it on, your lower half already beneath the covers. Bradley climbed into the bed, sitting next to you under the covers. You looked over at him, a light smile on your face. Bradley tilted his head, giving you a soft but embarrassed look.

“What?” You asked.

“I just, if you would have asked me a few days ago about this.” He made a gesture between the two of you. “I wouldn’t have imagined this. I’m sorry.”

“Bradley, you don-”

“Yes, I do.” That injured look from the beach had returned to his features. “I hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.” You reached out for his hand, thumb rubbing the back of his hands.

“I know you won’t, but you can’t be constantly apologizing for it.” Bradley shook his head, trying to avoid your gaze now. He felt tears prick at his eyes, lips pressed tightly together at your gesture.

“I told Nat that night. I got really really drunk and told Nat everything.” Your heart hurt, hearing Bradley slowly start to open up about everything was painful. Everything you heard on the beach you could have assumed. Growing up you knew he had some type of trauma from losing his father so young.

“I told Jake and Javy.” It was now or never to get everything out and on the table, being the type of vulnerable you should have been years ago. Even though you two were partially best friends growing up, Bradley was always keeping you at some type of arm's length.

“I could have guessed that one. They seem to be your two glorified guard dogs now.” Bradley chuckled at his own comment, earning an eye roll from you.

“They were the only ones that cared,” you noticed Bradley bite the inside of his lip, “or at least seemed to care.” Bradley nodded, put his hand over the one you were holding his hand with. “Bradley, I know you cared. It was just hard for you to show it and everything.” Bradley nodded again while fighting back tears.

“You deserved better. You deserved so much better than what I gave you.” Bradley looked at you, tears starting to create trails down your cheeks. “I should have been protecting you, but I ended up hurting you. And yeah, I had shit going on mentally but that doesn’t mean I had any right to treat you like that.”

“Bradley-” You reached out to run a thumb over his cheek, whipping away the tears.

“No, it’s no excuse.”

“Bradley, will you let me talk!” You raised your voice slightly. Bradley bit the inside of his lips, holding back his words. “Yeah, you did suck, but you want to try to be better?”

“Obviously.”

“Then there. You’ve admitted to me that you fucked up. Do I completely forgive you? No, but am I willing to give you another chance? Yes.” Bradley looked at you, a hopefully but still hurt look on his face.

“Why?” A slightly confused look was on his face.

“Because I love you. I’ve been saying that.” You brought a hand up to his cheek, cupping it while you kissed him. Bradley let his tears fall as the two of you kissed, a gentle and emotional kiss. The both of you pressed your foreheads together, resting and taking each other in.

“I know, I love you too.”

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster smut #rooster angst #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x f!reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster x reader #top gun fic #top gun smut #top gun angst #top gun x reader #top gun fanfic

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agonyaster · 2 years

Text

got the idea that ingo and dawn went home on a train in my head and once i saw @alfheimr’s ghibli train studies i knew it was a sign

companion piece about emmet and elesa here!

…

Dawn doesn’t like the Spear Pillar anymore, she decides.

It’s cold, for one, which is a strange thing to hold against it. She never really minded the cold before; loved to spend hours frolicking around in the snow with her sister until their father dragged them inside and swaddled them in blankets to make sure the tips of their noses weren’t going to fall off. Grandfather would keep them from sneaking back out with stories, ones he probably made up on the spot, now that she thought about it.

As strange as it sounded, that cold was… warmer, in a way. Just the memory of catching the falling flakes on her tongue or making an army of snow-Bidoof outside their little house in Sandgem has a warm, fuzzy feeling gathering in her stomach, one that spreads out to the rest of her body in waves. Her grandfather would probably say it was the love in the air, warming her straight to her bones. Back then, Dawn would’ve rolled her eyes and told him to stop being such a sap. Nowadays she would give anything to hear his voice, rough and low but kind all the same.

There is no love atop Mount Coronet.

Perhaps there was, once, back when the Celestica people lived on this land. A temple constructed from gratitude, statues of heroes carved from worship; the sweet reverence oozed from every surface of the Temple of Sinnoh.

There is even some awaiting it in the future, Dawn realizes, thinking of Cynthia and all the other people of Celestic Town. Even herself and Professor Rowan, with the way he looked at her— so damn proud— and put a comforting hand on her shoulder after their search. It was love, in its own way.

But now, standing atop the peak of Mount Coronet, Dawn couldn’t find it within herself to give ‘Almighty Sinnoh’ anything.

The air is completely still up here, but Dawn hates it more than wind. The cold seeps into her bones and locks up the joints in her fingers; whenever she moves it slices right through her Survey Corps uniform and grates her straight to her core. As she draws a breath, Dawn winces as the frigid air stabs her chest, prickly in a way that makes her want to turn her lungs inside out.

Standing on top of the world isn’t as fun as you think it is; especially when you’re standing alone. Not even her pokémon are by her side anymore. She wonders how the hero would have reacted, seeing the temple to their god in shambles like this, the statues of their partners turned to rubble. Distantly, she thinks about how she is a hero of Sinnoh now too, alongside them and Lucas.

Will she be in history books? Is she already? She wasn’t before, but none of that has happened yet, technically, so maybe? Dawn didn’t know. This time travel stuff hurt her head.

She takes another breath. It stings less than the last one.

Footsteps strike softly on the stone behind her and then there is someone standing by her side.

“I apologize for the delay,” Ingo says, voice hovering in the air just a smidgen longer than it would have at sea level. “Departure is proving much more challenging than anticipated.”

Dawn gives a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s alright. We’ve waited this long, what’s a few more minutes?”

“You young people treat minutes like they’re the most valuable things in the world.”

Dawn agrees, somewhat, but has to resist the urge to laugh at his words. He sounds like Calaba, which is a little scary because even though no one knows how old Ingo is, he’s definitely not anywhere near Calaba’s age. Maybe once they get back, they’ll learn his real age. That would be nice to know.

“Are you not going to say goodbye as well?” Ingo asks.

“I wouldn’t want to hold us up any longer,” she fibs.

“We’ve waited this long, what’s a few more minutes?”

Dawn grimaces and lets her shoulders sag. “I don’t… want them to remember me like this.”

Ingo hums. “They wouldn’t mind, I think.”

“I do.”

“Oh. I see.”

Ingo doesn’t press any further. Dawn is grateful. Facing Rei and the professor was hard enough the first time around; she didn’t know if she could do it again.

“How are we to reach our destination?”

“I- uh, I’ll get it ready now.”

Dawn reaches into the satchel tied around her waist, fingers finding grip around the flute and pulling it free.

The Azure Flute feels strange in her grasp. It’s cool to the touch, yet pulsates with an energy that makes her skin tingle. She’s only played it once before, having kept it tucked away in her satchel ever since its transformation. As childish as it sounds, something about it freaks her out.

Slowly, Dawn brings the flute to her lips and lets out an experimental puff of air. It travels through the flute, the sharp sound ringing in her ears. Dawn draws another breath and blows again as her fingers start to move on their own, tugged this way and that like a marionette on a string. Echoing sounds are strung together in a haunting melody that charges the air around her with energy. It thrums against her skin, insistent, and anticipation builds in her gut as the music calls into the void above.

Before she knows it, Dawn is out of breath and she’s lowering the Azure Flute from her lips, tucking it into her satchel on instinct. When she opens her eyes, they burn at the sight in front of her; the stairs from before, their brightness a shining beacon leading up into the heavens and beyond.

Wordlessly, she extends a hand to Ingo, who takes it. His grip is firm, rough skin keeping her prickling anxiety at bay.

Together, they ascend.

Dawn doesn’t remember how many stairs they climb. It might’ve only been one, for all she knows. Her head spins as the silence presses in around her, this world above devoid of everything but her and Ingo, sitting and waiting to be judged.

“Almighty Sinnoh,” she calls out, voice trembling the slightest bit. The title feels foreign on her tongue. Improper, almost, like it was something she stole.

“Arceus.”

The name is swallowed up by the void all around them, but Dawn doesn’t dare speak it again. It heard her.

She blinks, and when her eyes open again it is waiting for her.

Sweat drips off of her brow and her stomach seizes. Her grip on Ingo’s hand tightens as her eyes itch uncomfortably, like this isn’t something she’s supposed to be seeing. It probably isn’t, in all honesty.

“Take us home.”

Waves of nausea roll over her as Dawn stares into the eyes of Arceus, which seem to pierce her very soul. This was wrong, so wrong— making demands of the creator of the universe wasn’t something someone like Dawn did.

Arceus stares down at her before letting its eyes slide shut. It almost looks peaceful.

Thou hast done well.

Arceus speaks directly into her mind and Dawn’s head throbs in protest. Mortal minds weren’t meant to comprehend the speech of a god, no matter if it wanted to assist or not.

Rest, my child.

The next thing she knows, Dawn is falling through empty space; wind whistling in her ears and heart thumping in her chest as she falls faster, faster.

“Do your best not to become uncoupled from me, Lady Dawn!” Ingo shouts. He’s got their elbows locked together, and through the darkness she can see his eyes glowing faintly, like dying headlights. Despite herself, Dawn giggles at the thought.

How long they spend falling, she doesn’t know. Everything melts together, then fades away, until all Dawn knows is the blackness around her. The first sensation Dawn feels is a coolness against her cheek, the next a strange clicking sound coming from somewhere below her. She pushes herself up off of the floor, blinks the blurriness out of her eyes as she looks around.

The floor is wood, polished and waxed so thoroughly Dawn’s reflection stares back at her from it. Two long rows of seats line the room, breaking only near the ends and in front of a pair of double doors; looping handholds dangle from the ceiling, bouncing to and fro as the room moves through space; long windows break through the rich brown of the walls, revealing the dark void beyond. There are signs posted on the walls and stuck to the poles running from floor to ceiling, written out in the script of the Unown.

“A train,” she says, a little breathless. “We’re on a train.”

Beneath her, the car jostles a little, like it was confirming her suspicions.

“Yes. A train.” Ingo sounds sure in his words, like he’s not just parroting back an unknown in an attempt to understand it.

He’s a few feet away, stood at one of the pairs of twin doors and staring absentmindedly at his reflection in the windows set within them. His left hand rubs at his wrist where the band marking him as Lady Sneasler’s warden used to be.

“You know what a train is?” Dawn asks, rising to her feet and joining him by the doors. He barely seems to notice.

Ingo nods, still staring into the abyss. Through his reflection, Dawn can see the twinge of regret in his eyes. “I can’t believe I ever managed to forget them in the first place.”

“Well, it’s progress, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Ingo chuckles to himself and draws his gaze away from the window. “But it is incredibly dangerous for us to be standing like this! Please, Lady Dawn, take a seat.”

She does and Ingo sinks down onto the spot next to her. Beneath their feet, the train rattles, rhythmic thumping jostling her ever so slightly. Dawn squints at the sign plastered above a set of doors, but only sees meaningless words in a language she doesn’t recognize. One lost to time, or maybe one that had never been found.

“So. Any guesses for how long we’re gonna be here?”

“I’m afraid not. We must sit and wait, it appears.”

“Yeah. Guess it’s kinda hard to put an ETA on moving through space-time.” She thinks of the cracks in reality that would spring up in an instant, and the pokémon brought with them. She hopes they made it back okay, once the distortions faded.

The silence presses in around them. Dawn thought she had grown used to silence, but she was wrong; tt was never really silent on her surveys, the rustling of grass or distant chirping of a Starly filling the void. There was no grass and certainly no Starly here.

“I, uh, is it weird for me to be grateful, in a way? For being sent to Hisui? Like, I get my entire life uprooted and I’m sent back to a time that doesn’t even have indoor plumbing with people who distrust my every move—“ Dawn says, wringing her hands in her lap. “But I don’t… If I could go back, and had a choice to do it again or not, I think I still would.” A sharp, awkward clear of the throat, and Dawn laughs. “That’s like, a little weird, right?”

“I don’t think you should let other people tell you how to feel.” Ingo hums. “Are you truly grateful for your time there?”

“Yeah. I am. If I hadn’t been sent I wouldn’t have been able to gather all this research, o-or learn so much about the way of life in the clans and meet so many people.” She pauses. “I wouldn’t have ever known you. I wouldn’t have been able to help you.”

“You have a kind heart, Lady Dawn.”

“Thank you.”

“Do not thank me for speaking the truth.” Ingo looks up at the ceiling, eyes squinting at the writing on the emergency hatch. “You remember your time before. You’re sure we didn’t know one another?”

“Pretty sure. I don’t even think we’re from the same region.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A few things, I guess.” Dawn shrugs. “You’ve kinda got an accent, and you mention pokémon that don’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard of. You’re a really strong trainer, too, even in a world where training and battling is unheard of and pokémon aren’t used to taking commands from people. In one where it’s normal, I’m sure you would’ve been even better. I think I would’ve heard about you if you were from Sinnoh.”

“I see. Did you seek out challengers?”

“Not really. My friends were more into that sort of thing.” Her heart sinks a little as she thinks of the two boys who rummaged through Rowan’s briefcase. “I’m not, uh, not really the best at pokémon battles.” Barry tried to get her into them, back then, but she never really got it. Turtwig never really wanted to battle anyway. Felt wrong to force him to.

Ingo’s brows raise. “I beg to differ.”

“Akari’s good at battling, then.”

His brows drop and furrow, the lines around his mouth deepening. “She still is you, Lady Dawn. That much you cannot deny.”

“Akari was a necessity.” Dawn exhales through her nose harshly. “I don’t want to have to be her anymore.”

“And I’m sure you won’t have to, but pretending that things never changed won’t help anyone. When I return to my life, my family,” Ingo’s voice catches on the word, “wherever and whoever they might be— adjustments will have to be made. The same is true for you.”

Dawn thinks of days spent in Snowpoint with her father, years ago, when her only aid to research was running around delivering it to other assistants. He promised to take her out on her first proper study, but the time for that had long passed. She couldn’t even remember how many studies she went on in Hisui.

Her stomach clenches. “What if I don’t want things to change?”

“I’m afraid we cannot always get what we want.”

“Why not?”

“The forces which control this world… They did not build the world to accommodate humans and they do not change it to do so.”

Dawn wonders how Ingo even came to Hisui in the first place. He wasn’t brought to save it by Arceus, like she was, but he was there all the same; just another casualty of the conflicting nature of living.

“I… do you-” She bites down on her tongue, distrustful of the words that it might say. “I’m sorry, Ingo. I’m so sorry.”

“Why?”

Dawn startles. “Why? I lied that’s why. I lied to you, I-I said that my name was Akari and that I had amnesia like you did and it was wrong.” Her voice drops. “I tricked you into thinking there was someone else like you.”

“You are like me, Lady Dawn.”

“Not in the way you thought I was.”

“Within Hisui, you were the only one who understood, even the slightest bit.” He shakes his head slowly. “You were a frightened child, Lady Dawn. I do not blame you for your actions.”

“I still did it though.”

“That’s true, but there isn’t much we can do about it now.” Ingo twists his head to look at her, silver eyes cloudy with emotion. “Nothing but move on.”

“Yeah, that’s… Yeah.”

Silence falls over them as Dawn stares out the window, watching as the inky black slowly bleeds into something resembling the twinkling night sky.

“I want to help you,” she says, voice steady.

Ingo shakes his head. “You’ve already done so much for me, I couldn’t possibly ask you for any more.”

“You’re not asking, Ingo, I-I want to help. I really do. You still haven’t gotten all of your memory back or met the man in white—“

“Lady Dawn, I wouldn’t wish to be a burden to you any longer. You deserve to go back to your life without worrying over me.” Ingo’s eyes burn into her, filled with so much regret that it makes Dawn sick to her stomach.

“I’ll worry more if I don’t know what you’re up to,” she protests, the hands in her lap curling into fists. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said adjustments will have to be made? Why can’t you be one of them?”

Ingo snorts. “You’re very stubborn, aren’t you?”

“You just learned that?”

He snorts again, but says nothing. Dawn fiddles with the end of her scarf, picking at the fraying threads. She knows she shouldn’t, she doesn’t have anyone to fix it for her anymore, but she does anyway.

“Of course you can help, Lady Dawn. I would be honored if we were to work together once more.”

She beams.

It’s almost as if the train can feel her excitement, because it starts to speed up. The thudding of wheels passing over tracks grows faster and louder beneath her feet until the entire car is shaking around them. They’re moving faster, faster until the world outside the windows is nothing but a blur. Her hand finds Ingo’s, their fingers interlacing as she draws breath, deep and slow. He does the same.

Soon enough, the train screeches to a halt, the sound of metal against metal grating Dawn’s ears.

The world is quiet and still. Beside her, Ingo huffs out a breath.

“I believe that this is our stop, Lady Dawn.”

He stands, gently tugging Dawn to her feet, and guides her across the car until they’re stood in front of the pair of double doors.

“Are you ready for departure?”

Dawn’s own wild eyes stare back at her from the reflection in the window. Her hair is frizzed and her scarf is fraying, the foreign clothes of the Galaxy Team highlighted by the modernity of the train around her. She may look like a piece of history, but she was returning to her time. The right one. Maybe even bringing a little bit of history along with her, with tales of Beaufort the Dustox and clan rivalries and festivals filled with laughter and music and potato mochi. Even by bringing back the man who fell through spacetime.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

Ingo doesn’t quite smile, the corner of his mouth twitching up only the slightest bit, but it warms Dawn from the inside out anyway.

“Please stand clear of the doors,” he says, reaching forward and flicking the latch free. Dawn’s eyes fixate on the movement, on the doors slowly sliding away to reveal the other side. “And watch your step while departing.”

Together, they step forward and out into the world. Dawn can feel the cool hardness of the concrete beneath her feet, even through her sandals. It’s a feeling she’d never thought she’d miss, but it grounds her now.

Her eyes take in a quick scan of the surroundings. They’re at a proper train station, based on the board of arrival and departure times and the map of all the lines plastered on the back wall. It’s surprisingly empty, too, the only people she sees are the loose half-ring of trainers surrounding them.

Most of them are in green uniforms, pokéballs in hand— real ones, with that shiny finish and sleek design and perfectly round buttons— standing at attention. Or they would’ve been, if they didn’t look so shocked. One of them looked ready to burst into tears, another more angry than anything else. Dawn forces herself not to shrink underneath their gazes.

There’s a tall woman standing near the center, with two coils of dark hair and a large yellow coat. She looks ready to cry too, a dangerous mixture of confusion and relief swirling around on her face. Her eyes are fixed onto Ingo, but she keeps blinking like she expects him to disappear when she opens them up again.

But most importantly, there is a man. He stands in-line with the woman, eyes just as wide as hers, clutching a pokéball within his grasp. His posture is stiff as a board, his clothing pressed to perfection, all straight lines and sharp edges.

He is the man in white. The one who shares Ingo’s face.

The grip on her hand tightens and Ingo tenses, drawn taut like a fishing line. There’s something in his expression that she can’t quite read, even as Dawn searches over and over.

Then, all she can do is watch as the line snaps. Ingo’s grip in her hand goes slack and he rushes forward, pure joy blossoming on his face as he and the man in white slam into each other, collapsing into a tangle of limbs and tears and delight.

Quietly, Dawn sends a prayer of thanks up to Arceus.

#submas #ingo #emmet #pla dawn #pla akari #pokemon legends arceus #pokemon #pokemon bw #elesa pokemon #can you tell i love it when characters hold hands and just talk it out #can you #shippers dni #this is not romantic #blankshippers dni

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bcbdrums · 2 years

Text

A Sock or Two of Bother

A/N: Oops, I turned an old convo with @split-n-splice into fanfiction... Inspired by a true story. Hopefully you will enjoy lol.

Read on: FFn AO3

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

Searching for Drakken was becoming commonplace, Shego thought to herself with an eye-roll as she opened a third closet door in her latest hunt for the mad scientist. Though no matter how frequently she had to do this, and how often the explanation was simple and had her shaking her head at herself, she was still always a bit worried each time she couldn't find the blue-skinned, absent-minded evil genius.

At least he'd not been eaten by his own sharks, or been the victim of one of his questionably functional evil robots. But missing, he most certainly was.

She had turned the lair upside down in routine fashion and had at last made her way down to the lower level. The laundry room was next, and then the mud room, and finally she'd have to leave the lair and search the rocky beach that surrounded their island. That was one of her biggest fears, was discovering he'd somehow fallen to his end, but he spent so little time outdoors she convinced herself it was unlikely.

The sound of familiar frustrated grumblings reached her ears and sent relief flooding through her chest. She took what felt like her first deep breath in an hour while at the same time she felt the muscles of her neck flare in pain. She realized she'd been holding herself too tense during the search.

"Lousy...flim-flangling...zippity-zoobity..."

"Dr. D.?"

"Gahhh!"

Something metal clattered upon stone, and as Shego pushed open the cracked door to the laundry room, a screwdriver wobbled out across the floor and hit the toe of her boot. She looked up and lifted a brow to see a gasping, furious Drakken seated cross-legged on the floor wearing only a t-shirt and dark red sweat pants.

"Shego! How many times have I told you not to—"

"What exactly are you doing, Doc?"

"Neghn. I'm about to solve an age-old problem for the entire first world, that's what!"

She surveyed the open tool box and scattering of screws, wires, bolts, and other paraphernalia. But what really drew her attention was the strange device in Drakken's lap.

"What...is that?"

"Nnh... It's a cowcatcher for socks."

Shego smirked. "Wouldn't that make it...a sock catcher?"

"Ngh, yes, but the design is based on that of a cowcatcher. Which has a fascinating history if you—"

"No, no, I don't wanna know. What I do wanna know is why," she said, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to lean on one foot.

"Because, Shego, more than half of my socks have gone missing! And these...dated contraptions are the culprits!" he declared with an emphatic gesture toward the washer and dryer.

Shego raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously..." Drakken said with a defeated sigh. "I've looked everywhere. Thus, my brilliant idea to—"

"Just...keep building the thing. I'm gonna go look for your socks," she said, turning on her heel.

"You won't find them!" Drakken called after her as she ascended the stair.

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

Shego was far from a frequent visitor to Drakken's bedroom, but she was familiar enough with it to know generally where to start looking for the missing clothing. She knew how the argument would have gone had she persisted in the conversation downstairs anyway—asking which places he'd checked, listening to his rambling defense until it came to light that he'd missed some place obvious like under the dresser, and then dealing with his pouting at there having been a more simple solution than the cockamamie invention he was working on.

What shocked her, however, upon opening the door, was finding the room in a total shambles. Drakken had been true to his word when he said he'd looked everywhere.

As she picked her way forward among the clothing and paraphernalia that littered the floor there was no sign of a single stray sock. There were a few pairs folded meticulously in the bottom drawer of his dresser, which had been shifted away from the wall, but none on the floor. She cast a curious glance at a box of what seemed to be medieval weaponry near the closet door, and then headed directly toward the bed. The covers were turned down and folded over the foot, and upon them was a neat row of unmatched socks, clearly part of the missing hoard that Drakken was referring to.

She surveyed the row for a moment before gathering them all and shoving them into a single pile near one of the pillows that had had its pillowcase removed, a search clearly having been conducted even there for lost socks. She then pulled away the neat folding of the blankets and took care not to let the ends fall into the moat as she dragged them down from the foot of the bed, yanking a bit to get the tucked ends out from under the mattress.

She smirked in satisfaction when two socks appeared that had been wedged at the very bottom of the sheets where they tucked under the mattress, along with a great deal of lint and some strands of dark hair. However the mass of socks she had expected to see did not appear.

She picked up the two socks that had been revealed, sparing a moment to smirk at the Snowman Hank sock before tossing them onto the others, and then looked down at the sheets. Those were definitely the only two that had been hidden in the well-made bed.

Like a light bulb coming on, she suddenly realized what she'd just done and surveyed the mess she had made of the single ordered object in the room before scanning beyond the moat. Clothes littered the floor around the shifted dresser, while others from the walk-in closet were draped over a chair that was most definitely not in its place. Next to the closet was also Drakken's bowling bag, along with that strange box of medieval weapons that gave Shego a disturbing mixture of pause and curiosity, as well as a dusty stack of photo albums and other cardboard boxes. Her brow rose when she noticed what seemed to be Jack Hench's Attitudinator sticking out of one box, but she shook her head and turned to take in the rest of the space.

She realized that she'd never really looked at Drakken's bedroom before, not that she'd had reason to, and she started taking in more of the view through the clutter. There was a large vanity that she wouldn't have expected in a man's room, also pulled back from the wall, and a second closet next to the bathroom with a full-length mirror on the door.

She frowned at the sight of various wires, motherboards, and other technical equipment that was pouring out of various places of concealment, wondering how much Drakken might accomplish if he would keep his tinkering confined to the lab instead of wherever he happened to be when an idea struck him.

As her gaze drifted back to the massive, round bed with its "tricked out" headboard, she noted the tiny drawers that were ajar, indicating Drakken had even looked in those impossible places.

Perhaps there was something to his assumption that the washer or dryer were somehow stealing his socks.

Shego shook her head and picked up a pillowcase that had half-fallen to the floor during her searching. She shoved the socks she'd displaced into a pile in the center of the mattress, and then began pushing a pillow back into the case. The least she could do was fix up his bed before going to see if there was an easier solution than installing questionable technology into the only washer and dryer in the lair.

As she lay out the un-paired socks again as Drakken had had them, including the two she'd uncovered, she hoped this would be a start to the resumption of evil productivity, since she knew the mess would stall him just as much as the lost sock obsession would.

Her thoughts were arrested suddenly as she got to the end of the sock pile and realized...the Snowman Hank one wasn't there. Glances over the massive bed and at the pile of blankets led to turning around entirely when she couldn't find the sock.

"What...the...?"

It wasn't on the bed or on the blankets, but she distinctly remembered putting it with the other socks.

She lifted up the blankets and shook them out, but no sock appeared. She checked under the pillows and inside the pillowcase she'd just replaced, but still found no sock.

She looked in the moat, at the stone floor around her feet, on her person, and then started pulling out the drawers of the headboard.

"I only set it down for a second!" she muttered anxiously, starting to wonder if something more sinister than malfunctioning appliances was afoot.

"I don't believe in ghosts," she said a little louder, in answer to her own thought, and then looked around the room as if expecting an answer from somewhere. Had the moat waters always flowed so quickly?

She gasped suddenly as she nearly lost her footing, her right foot sliding on the stone beneath her, and she looked down to see a small puddle of something clear and viscous.

"Ghost goo," she heard Drakken's voice in her head. A shiver ran up her spine and she shook her head to rid herself of both the feeling and her excitable boss's projected imaginings.

"I don't believe in ghosts," she said through gritted teeth. But...that puddle hadn't been there before.

Had it?

She wiped the sole of her boot off on some dry stone and took a step back to examine the sticky puddle. Its edges had a familiar slight foaminess that made her cringe, yet didn't provide an answer.

She grimaced, and after stepping well away from the puddle and about two feet back from the bed, she knelt down and peered underneath the frame. She felt a loosening in her chest when the narrow space proved to be bare, the light shining from the other side further calming her nerves. Drakken had even searched there, it seemed, and cleaned out whatever may have been in the small space under the bed.

'Grrrr!'

Shego startled away at the sound of a threatening growl that clearly came from the supposedly empty space she was staring into. But...there was nothing there.

Right?

"Shego!"

"Aaaghh!" she cried, nearly falling into the moat as she spun.

"It's finished! After I install this, not a single sock will... Shego, what are you doing?"

Shego was embarrassed that Drakken's silent entrance had startled her, but she couldn't formulate a response to his words or to the quizzical expression on his face as the menacing growl sounded once more.

"There's...something," she gasped out, beckoning him closer and pointing under the bed.

Drakken set his invention on the ground and crossed the room to kneel at her side as she peered under the bed again, his expression slowly morphing to fear as he took in her unsteady demeanor. They both bent their heads to the floor to see into the narrow space that was still empty, and Drakken's brow twisted in confusion.

"But there's nothing—"

The growl came again, louder, and Drakken grabbed Shego's arm tightly as he choked in fright.

"Ghosts!" he cried, sending the familiar chill across Shego's skin once again.

"Rrgh!" she snarled in frustration, shaking him off and igniting a hand before they both bent down again.

The green glow illuminated the stone floor beneath the massive bed frame, and then suddenly, reflecting back the verdant light, two tiny luminous orbs appeared out of the dark at the base of Drakken's custom headboard.

"Shego!"

'Grrr!'

The orbs vanished and reappeared in an instant, and Shego shifted to move her hand closer to the mysterious source of the sound. Drakken's grip on her arm tightened as he moved with her, and in a moment a nebulous, pale shape took form around the orbs. And then it moved toward them.

'Rrarf!'

"Commodore Puddles!" Drakken declared, and Shego watched wide-eyed as the feisty pink poodle emerged from seemingly nowhere and rushed up to Drakken's knees. "Why are you growling at Shego?"

Shego leaned further under the bed, curious how the dog had seemed to appear from nowhere. As she stretched her glowing hand further toward the base of the headboard, an opening in the custom furniture soon became evident.

"Doc... What's this?"

"What's what, Shego?"

"This...hole back here."

"Oh, you mean Commodore Puddles's lair?"

Shego blinked again, carefully avoiding the trails of dog drool as she shimmied under the bed and nearer to the secret kennel while Drakken prattled on about the most evil poodle needing his own secret lair, and how he simply wasn't happy with a regular crate. The glow from her hand illuminated a shallow entrance, an engraved nameplate above it, and inside the kennel...

"Hey Dr. D.? You're not gonna need that cowcatcher thing."

"And he often practices his evil growl— Nyeh, what was that?"

"Take a look."

With some grunting and complaining directed at the small dog licking his face, Drakken wriggled under the bed next to her. And then he gasped in affront at the sight of what Shego's search had finally revealed.

Inside the kennel, countless socks, a couple of t-shirts, and even some pairs of underwear had been gathered and arranged into a bed. Some bore signs of having been chewed, clearly indicating who the culprit had been.

"Ghosts and defective washing machines, huh?" Shego said as Drakken started pulling out all the missing articles of clothing.

"My Snowman Hank drawers! That is, uh...heheh... You didn't see those."

"Yeah, and I also haven't seen the 'Put Away Those Petty Problems' tank top you wear under your coat," Shego said, giving him a wry look.

He grinned sheepishly, and she found her irritation fading to amusement as he grumbled and continued to pull every last stolen sock and other items out of the hidden kennel.

"Commodore Puddles! My blueprints for the Jupiter laser, how could you!?"

"...Doc, we saw how well 'moon laser' went. Maybe you should leave some of that in there."

'Rrarf rarf arf!' the dog barked in protest as Drakken disassembled its carefully-constructed nest.

"Had I been able to enact this plan, I'd be ruling the world by now!"

"Uh-huh... And why didn't you put a dog bed in there for him in the first place?"

Drakken scooted backward out from under the bed, dragging all of his found possessions with him. The dog growled and tugged at the already-torn blueprints, which Drakken relinquished in favor of saving the rest.

Shego followed him out and smirked when Drakken dumped the armful of socks, underwear, and other paraphernalia on the mattress and then sat down heavily, catching his breath. In the light now, many of the clothes bore signs of having been chewed upon and were sodden with drool.

"He had a bed but...he...chewed it all up," Drakken said in defeat, holding up a pair of ruined socks before tossing them aside.

Shego chuckled and sat down next to him, holding off the protesting dog with a gently raised foot as it jumped.

"Maybe next time actually look everywhere before you spend all that time building a device that'll break the dryer," she said, giving him a knowing look.

Drakken looked embarrassed again, but then a grin slowly spread across his face.

"It might not have been a waste of time after all, Shego."

"Oh?" she asked, tensing as he looked suspiciously smug.

"If I do install the device, perhaps I won't be having to pick your lacy bras and panties out of the drum before I do my wash."

Her eyes widened, and Drakken hummed to himself as he started sorting socks. She stared at him with her heart pounding until she remembered something, and the happy ditty he'd begun whistling halted as he looked at the cocky grin on her face.

"Dr. D..."

"Yes...?"

She pointed across the room toward the closet, at the box of medieval weaponry.

"What are those for?"

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ignifilis · 11 months

Note

It isn't a balcony this time, but a gazebo lit by tiny, flickering stars. Tailtiu twirls at it's center, eyes skyward, watching as each light goes in and out.

And when she falls back to center, skirts falling still and hands clasped behind her back, he's standing there before her. A smile warms her face, eyes reflecting stars of their own little night sky.

Perhaps, in some capacity, history is meant to repeat itself. They've met like this before in a time of war, with futures undetermined and the world in shambles around them.

And here, now, they're safe. This moment isn't stolen, but earned -- given to the both of them for the pain they endured in the life before.

Tailtiu smiles, reaching to twine fingers between his and to pull him closer. He feels it too, she's sure, the familiarity in this moment.

"Not as cold this time, is it?" Eyes search his, fingers wandering up his sleeve. How strange it feels to have time, to get to love without fearing that tomorrow such a privilege may be gone.

"It's my turn to give you something," tucked behind her ear is an ivory petaled flower, which she carefully undoes in favor of tucking its stem into his lapel pocket. With a satisfied hum, Tailtiu pushes up onto her toes and brushes a kiss to his cheek.

"Now we're even."

They say history is a circle, a snake eating its own tail for all eternity. Azelle was inclined to agree with the historians of old, though he never dared believe he would live through the snake's fangs piercing its tail.

He'd gladly live a thousand years if this was the moment they were fated to repeat.

Mesmerized, Azelle halts his approach, watching her twirl with a freedom he hasn't seen since their shared childhood. It clicks for him then, that they are well and truly safe, their duty to their cause and countries finally fulfilled. Here, they can exist without a proverbial sword hanging over their heads.

He smiles in reply and shakes out of his thoughts. She's beautiful, surrounded by flickering starlight or not.

Moments alone at grand celebrations are a tradition. Limbs move almost of their own accord as she tugs him closer, the action of following wherever she leads so ingrained in him he hardly realizes there's an inch of space between them. A huff of a laugh escapes parted lips. "No, and I am incredibly grateful for that."

Left arm slides around her waist in order to hold her closer. "Me?" He asks in genuine surprise. Again he stares while she presents her gift, falling more in love with her as she arranged the flower just so.

He abandons his hold on her waist, brushing his knuckles against her cheekbone, tracing the soft curve before he tucks a stray strand of lilac hair behind her ear. "Thank you," he whispers, cupping her cheek, leaning in and capturing her lips in a sweet kiss.

#support: tailtiu #toaball2023 #BWEH. B W E H #cinderblock image

0 notes

sexhaver · 2 years

Note

Hey didn't you reblog something a while back that was about that Bad Art Friend drama going on with like 4 high-profile writers? Do you still have a link to that? You reblogged it from someone who was writing these really well-considered analysis of everything going on and I wanted to find them so I could follow them.

i got this ask while drunk last night and my google search history from then is in shambles

i can remember so much about this story but i cant find the post on my blog and i cant find any mention of it online so i know what names to search.

iirc this was the one where one writer accused another, more popular (?) writer of stealing parts of her (first writer's) life for her (second one's) novel, and the accused writer denied everything and called her accuser jealous and delusional and got friends to back her up, and then it came out that she absolutely had stolen parts of that woman's life (including parts lifted verbatim from a facebook post she made about cancer i think? bit fuzzy on this part) and there were chat log screenshots of her admitting to exactly what she was denying and laughing about it with the same friends who backed her up when she called her accuser insane, and the analysis was about the shift in attitude of the Disc Horse before and after the chat logs leaked, but i just. cannot fucking find mention of this. i know it happened because my imagination isnt this good. please does anyone remember who im talking about

#also entire swathes of this summary might be wrong

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bukojuiice · 3 years

Text

merry go round of life.

ೃ pairing: (magical prince! shoto todoroki x fem! reader)

ೃ tags: howl’s moving castle au! studio ghibli au!

ೃ warnings: slight angst, mention of endeavor and war.

ೃ part 1/2 of the howl’s moving castle au.

ೃ word count: 3,807 words

ೃ my nav → my mha writing masterlist → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ as the tags and the au suggests, this fic is pretty much the premise of howl’s moving castle except shoto is a magical prince. i’m super excited to complete the rest of this studio ghibli au series and i hope you enjoy reading! ♡

ೃ please do reblog if you enjoyed!! (feel free to add tags too because i love reading them and my heart swells with happiness when people love my work!) ♡

“Find me in the future!”

The voice of a young woman who he didn’t recognize. Amongst the shooting stars and the demons falling from the night sky.

Tonight was the night.

The grassy plains and the meadows that were surrounding the warm cottage that he called home. The loving home that he, his mother, and his siblings lived in. The home that kept him away from the real world.

Things will never be the same ever again.

This was going to be easy right? All he needed to do was trade his heart for the demon’s power and he’d see his father again right?

He’d finally see the real world. The magical world that he always yearned for.

Being confined in a cottage all his life did leave much to be desired. He couldn’t just run around the lush fields with his older siblings and learn magic through spell books all his life, can he? There were things out there that he had to discover.

Now that his mother had passed, his siblings vanished into thin air, and a letter sent by his father, the tyrant king of the Kingdom of Ingary, detailing that he must learn magic on his twelfth year, in order to secure a position of royalty and rule the land with him.

This intimidating man he had never met all his life, except seeing him on newspapers and in history books, would suddenly write a letter to him out of the blue- it must be urgent right? Maybe, this was his calling? Maybe the passing of his mother is the reason the king, his father, contacted him in the first place? Did the most powerful man in the entire continent know about his whereabouts all along?

Was he living a lie all this time?

Shoto needed answers. The king’s invitation and this letter was his only clue.

But, before that, he needed to learn magic and sorcery first.

He was going to turn 12 in a few month’s time, how is he going to do this? He can’t just snap his fingers and manifest magic on the spot, right?

“A m-meteor shower? I-in a few months?” The handsome young boy with half-and-half colored hair and the prettiest heterochromatic eyes, whispered to himself in disbelief. “Take your chance and meet a fire and ice demon who will give you their magic.” He continues to read along the lines of the tabloid, grabbing a worn notebook on the table next to him, and writing down every piece of information that entailed the phenomenon that was about to come. “It doesn’t say when though.” He continues to whisper to himself, his shoulders dropping in defeat as if he had just hit a slump.

The only hope that he was holding on to right now was his luck guiding him on that fated day.

And it did guide him. At a cost.

The fire and ice demon who were to give him his magical quirks, weren’t all that he had seemed.

In exchange for his humanity, he was to become the most powerful and the only wizard prince in the entire world.

Several years have passed.

The once lost boy, who is now a famed prince, was in search for something again.

The effect of the demon taking his heart had made him soulless. Lifeless.

Clinging on to material things and fake temporary pleasures in life were the only things keeping him going.

The once newly crowned prince had wanted to escape his hellish kingdom, in search for peace and solace, a feeling that he did not experience while living in such a wide and empty space and with an estranged father who knew nothing but war.

His skills of wizardry grew stronger and stronger, expanding to more than just fire and ice; the magic that Calcifer, the demon whom he had made a contract with, bestowed upon him all those years ago. He had collected enough knowledge and learned enough encantations to get him out of this castle, and travel the world by his own blissful means.

Calcifer, the oh so powerful yet surprisingly comical demon helped him with his plans.

And what better way of an escape than with a magical moving castle?

This led to Shoto and Calcifer coming to another agreement that the demon would power the castle as long as Shoto would find someone in this world that would break the contract between them.

The prince and the demon were able to escape the confines of the castle scotch-free, however, it was not long until King Enji realized that the heir and the next in line to the throne, disappeared without a trace. Immediately warranting a search party consisting of his most elite soldiers. This prompted Shoto to adopt different identities and aliases, changing his appearance in every other kingdom he visited and lived in so he wouldn’t be recognized. Along his journey, he took in a sweet orphaned young girl, named Eri who became his assistant and apprentice.

The king was growing impatient. It had been a few years and his men have not found a trace as to where the prince might have gone.

He was running out of options.

He wanted Shoto to excel. To be powerful. He never ever planned to see him or even bothered to send a letter telling him that he was the son of the most powerful king in the land, if the boy did not have anything special about him.

The magical genes passed on to the younger Todoroki by his sorceress mother. That’s all that he wanted. Use him. Use him for his power. Make him a prince, raise him, and then throw him away if he was of no use anymore. His son’s magical prowess was all he needed for his quest to conquer the entire world.

The only option he had left was to choose violence.

The king called up his war council and declared war on the neighboring kingdom.

If nothing was going to bring Shoto back, then conflict will.

With the entire continent falling into shambles, kingdoms fighting each other left and right, the peace and the freedom Shoto Todoroki had always wanted to achieve had become short-lived.

He knew he was the reason why a conflict had arisen in the first place, yet, he couldn’t help but fight his father’s forces behind the scenes, and continue to run away, still seeking for permanent liberty. For a permanent home.

He found his home.

In a simple girl working in her family’s hat shop.

And finally, Shoto had something to live for and to fight for.

“Calcifer!”

“Shoto’s heart! It’s MINE!”

“Please! Let go!” You struggle to fight your way through the igniting fire coming from Calcifer and the ember that was about to consume the Witch of the Waste. Her old and wrinkled hands clutching on Shoto’s heart as if her life depended on it.

The remains of the moving castle continue to crumble, as the only power that was keeping it alive which came from Calcifer had become unstable as the Witch of the Waste was holding Shoto’s heart.

“Put it back now! Please!” You try to fight back your tears, still trying your best to remain kind to the old witch yet she did not budge.

“It’s hot! It’s hot!” She continues to ignore your pleas, reacting to the delicate burning material that was on her hands instead. The grip that she had on Shoto’s heart had grown tighter and tighter and you had to do something to stop her.

Time was ticking.

You look around the rubble and the debris, weighing out your options when a bucket of water had appeared in front of you. It was as if telling you that this was the only decision left to make.

You take a deep breath and throw the bucket of water at the Witch of the Waste which also resulted in Calcifer, the demon who has manifested into a form of a destructive inferno for thousands of years, had been put out just like a regular old fire.

Like it was nothing.

There was a short moment of silence.

Eri was clinging on to you, looking for reassurance your face, yet you could not give her that. You hold her tight to try and help cheer her up just a little bit, while Heen, the old service dog given to Shoto as a gift, had his paws on your feet, as he did not know what was going to happen either.

The castle that was still moving with its last remaining energy, grinds to a halt.

Is this it?

“(Y/N)!” You hear Eri call out. You open your eyes and see her hands trying to reach out to you. But, before you could reach her, the remaining part of the castle that all of you were standing on, split into half due to the lack of non-existent energy powering it.

You feel yourself falling.

Heen, the dog, jumps to you before the latter remains of the castle subsequently falls down the cliffs of the Waste. You brace for impact until… you feel light. As if you’ve landed more comfortably than you thought.

You raise your head to take in your surroundings, aside from the few dirt and rubble sprinkled on your hair and on your dress, you were safe. Heen was safe too although the debris that was left of the castle was not salvageable anymore and there were no means to get out of this place with the few materials left.

It looked like there was no way out of here.

Tears swell in your eyes. All these frustrations and all this pain you had to endure because you wanted to save Shoto, was all for naught. Was there still a chance to save him at this point? Or rather, did you even ever have the slightest chance of saving him since the beginning?

Heen quickly trots all the way to where you were. However, you ignore him and continue to stare off into space, thinking about the careless decision you had just made and if what you did was even the right thing.

He barks softly, trying to get your attention, but you barely move a muscle. Even more tears forming in your eyes.

“Heen.. what h-have I done?” Your voice shakes, still trying to process everything that had just happened. “I poured water on C-calcifer… What if I killed Shoto too!?” You bent forward, kneeling down on the rubble around you. Drops of water began to pour out from your eyes, tears streaming down from your cheeks.

Hopelessness and Uselessness.

These were the only emotions you were feeling right now.

You continue to break down in your sorrow. The thought of doing everything in your power to help Shoto but knowing that nothing was enough aches in your heart.

He doesn’t deserve all this pain and anguish.

All you wanted to do was to help him.

Why was fate doing this to you? To you both?

All hope was lost until a glimmering light reflected on the remains of one of the magical doors still connected to the Castle.

Heen continues to bark at you until you turn your head to him and then notice the light glimmering from your ring. The ring with magical properties that Shoto had given to you, to keep you safe and to help you when things go awry.

“It’s moving?” You wipe your tears and stare bewilderingly at the ring that was vibrating on your finger. “Is Shoto still alive!? Can you lead me to him?” You ask softly, slowly regaining your hope and your confidence that maybe you can still save him.

You stand up from the ground, running to the corner of the cliff. The ring continues to guide you, it’s light reflecting on a door that was hidden behind the debris of an iron sheet that was once a part of the castle.

You push it down with all your might, Heen trying his best to help you. The metal sheet falls down with a loud “thud” and the blue energy emanating from the ring continues to glow brighter and brighter, the light pointing to the direction of the door.

You turn the knob, the ring trembles even harder. You slowly pull the door open and a sudden rush of wind blew across your face. The inside was dark and empty. There was nothing of interest here.

But, why did the ring want you to go inside?

You hold your hand to your chest, letting the ring guide your way through the darkness. You stretch your hand out to the pitch black of nothingness, and it ripples at your touch.

It was a portal.

Of course it was a portal. What else would it be? You thought to yourself.

You take a deep breath and with Heen following close behind you, you take a step into the darkness. Praying that this portal takes you to where you need to be.

You were keeping count of the passage of time. It’s been several minutes of you just walking in darkness. But, even if you turned back, was there even a place to return to? You continue to hold on to the little hope you have left. The ring still doing it’s best to guide you to where it was telling you to go as you continue to explore the endless cave of darkness around you.

The ring starts to quiver again, as if it had caught a signal or had detected something. You walk faster, following where the ring was leading you until you catch site of a speck of blue light. Walking even faster, you arrive at the inside of a dimly lit cottage.

It was old and simple. For some reason, it felt like you’ve seen this place before.

There was a table at the center, with papers and books sprawled about, a bookshelf next to it, a worn bed at the side, and a hearth near the edge of the room.

You approach the table to examine the papers that were placed upon there when the ring suddenly stopped shaking on your finger. Heen was barking at you again, so that you would turn your attention to him and see him scratching the door that led to the outside.

“Heen?” You mumble, looking out the window. You approach the door he was trying to open without taking your eyes off the windowpane that reflected a gloomy and plain image of the night sky outside.

You leave the cottage and suddenly, it dawned on you that this was the cottage that Shoto had lived in when he was a child.

This is the same beautiful place he had taken you a few days prior. Yet, there was a sort of melancholy feeling to it. It felt lonely, barren, and there were no colorful array of flowers in the meadows. It felt like a major downgrade to the wonderful place he had shown you. Was it not true? Were the beautiful flowers and the serene view just an illusion? Was this the reality of the place he had lived in most of his life instead?

Before you could even fully process your surroundings, an array of shooting stars began to fall from the sky. It was burning blue and bright, it was ethereal but at the same time, terrifying. These were demons and magical entities from an otherworldly universe. Seeking to make contracts with human beings who wanted to learn more about magic.

“This is the time where Shoto met Calcifer.” You whisper to yourself, still looking up the bright night sky, taking in the beauty and the wistfulness of this particular event and what happened to Shoto because of it.

You look out into the pools of water surrounding the cottage, the shooting stars falling down into the ground from afar. A shrieking yet soothing sound echoed around the area every time a star fell.

You look up to see an unusual shooting star, shining brighter than the others. You continue to look on in awe until you feel the the ring on your hand quivering again, slowly disintegrating.

You were preoccupied with the ring suddenly disappearing that you had not noticed the big and bright star had already fallen down the ground near you, closer than the others did. The rays of the star reflecting brighter and more scintillating than the others. It was drawing you in, like that of a beautiful phantasm.

You notice someone from afar approaching the star that had fallen.

A young striking boy with half white and half red hair, his eyes shining bright different colored hues and his presence, even from afar, was so comforting to you.

This is the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. The man you want to save, the one who made you feel like yourself again, the one who loved you for who you are even though you transformed into an 80 year old grandma with a back problem. He has loved you in your darkest times. He has loved you for who you are.

Will you be there to love him back? Just like he had loved you?

You continue to watch the boy go around the star, examining it ever so curiously. From there, you feel the emotions that Shoto was feeling at the moment.

You could sense the loneliness and the feeling of isolation that Shoto Todoroki has felt all his life.

“That’s Shoto...” You whisper once again, continuing to watch him from where you were standing.

More and more shooting stars fly through the night sky, and you instinctively knew that something was going to happen.

You run down the stairs and sprint your way towards Shoto, ignoring the stars falling down into the ponds, taking forms of dancing wisps, then changing into running pigmy as if they were trying to reach Shoto.

Shooting stars begin to fall around you, barely missing you yet you continued to run with no care in the world. Saving Shoto was the only thing going on in your head at the moment and nothing will stop you from doing so. Something in the grass had pulled on your heel, causing you to fall and flail on the ground. The half and half prince was a small pond away from you yet a dark oozing liquid was taking a hold of you from below, preventing you from doing so.

Before it fully took a hold of both your feet, You quickly stand up from the ground, stomping your feet then backing away quickly. Another shooting star falls down from the sky, and you watch as it swiftly falls into Shoto’s hands.

The sound of the fallen star shrieks and tingles your ears, and you had no choice but to watch in agony as the little Shoto begins to move his lips, talking to the demon known as Calcifer. He had a small smile on his face as he continued to speak. There was so much hope and innocence in his eyes, he was so excited to receive his magical abilities, blissfully unaware that he was about to make a deal that would be the cost of his humanity and his heart.

All he wanted was to see family and go to places he’s always dreamed of.

Was that too much to ask for?

Shoto slowly but surely, brings the demon into his mouth. There was slight hesitance but he gobbled it up then swallowed it. He felt a tinging pain as he clutches both of his hands to his chest, then coughing up Calcifer who had now become his heart.

For a moment, it was as if time had stopped.

You continue to look on but before you could try and run to him again...

Your ring shatters.

A black hole appears from below your feet, slowly sucking you in. You try to move but your body doesn’t want to. Keeping you still, your legs swinging, as if you were in a body of water. All the color around you begins to fade to black, and so does Shoto and Calcifer.

You turn to look at them once more, hoping they would hear you. Reaching your hand out to them.

“Shoto! Calcifer!” In a last minute attempt to get them to notice you, You shout with all your might, tears welling up in your eyes again.

The boy and the demon turn to you with doe eyes, catching your voice yet barely recognizing who you were and why you were there. The young Shoto continues to look at you, still wondering who you were, cupping Calcifer in his hands.

“It’s me (Y/N)! I know how to help you now!” Shoto and Calcifer ceaselessly fade away, as you are consumed by the darkness.

“Find me in the future!”

Mundane life and a mundane everyday routine.

Sew some hats, manage the store, hop on the bus, visit your popular sister in the bakery she works in and then head on home.

This was your life.

Did you want it to change? Yes. But, did you have the will and the magical powers to do so? No.

“It’s your life (Y/N). Do something for yourself for once will you?”

The words of your sister will haunt you for the rest of the day. Well, She is right. But, this was your life. It was dull and uneventful. If this was your fate so be it. There was no point in trying to make it interesting at this point right?

You walk back on your usual route to the station, however, you had to rendezvous to another way to the station due to a road block. Guess life wasn’t being kind to your today isn’t it?

You pass by two soldier guards in an alley to the station. They looked bored and had nothing better to do and you had no intention of mingling with them, even if your sister told you to try and talk to more people.

“What a pretty girl. Want us to take you for some tea?” One of the guards attempt to flirt with you, trying to block your way. The other guard snickers at his friend’s tease.

“No. Please leave me alone.” You deadpan. Glaring at them and trying to let them know that they were crossing the line.

“Oh you see. Ya scared her!” said the other guard, nudging his friend.

“I think she’s even cuter when she’s scared.” The guard replied, hitting his friend on the shoulder.

You were about to run to the other direction when you hear a crisp and handsome voice from behind you, and a reassuring hand on your arm.

“There you are sweetheart. Sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you.”

To be continued.

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thebluesunflower44 · 3 years

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Masterlist of Blue's Writing

titles are bolded to indicate that they're my most recent works

Works in Progress:

You Knew It Was Me (ff.net) - Rated G - Katara and Zuko's destinies are inextricably intertwined, and not just because of the impending marriage they have been roped into. Newest update is Chaper 7 - sociophobia.

Completed:

lenin (ff.net) - Not Rated - Zuko runs a little faster during the final Agni Kai and it changes everything. Heavy Angst.

The Dragon of the West’s Guide to Flirting (ff.net) - Rated G - Uncle Iroh is good with the ladies. So taking his advice when it comes to romance should go just fine...right? Fluff, Humor.

transcendental love (ff.net) - Rated G - Sokkla - He loves her in every universe, in every world, across oceans, and across timespans. Heavy Angst.

Red Camellias (ff.net) - Rated G - Katara and Zuko, being the awkward turtleducks that they are, let the flowers do the talking for them. Fluff, Humor.

The Curse of the Fire Lady (ff.net) - Not Rated - For the very first time in recorded history, the Fire Lord is crying in public. He is in shambles in full view of his subjects, allies, and enemies, and he does not seem to care. Heavy Angst.

postcards - Rated G - ficlet written for Zutara Month prompt 'Longing'. open to interpretation.

for you i would ruin myself (ff.net) - Rated G - In which Zuko notices everything about Katara, and it hurts. Angst, Canon-compliant. to be continued

dancing in the moonlight (ff.net) - Rated G - Everyone knows the night is Katara’s time. The ocean is her realm. The night is her companion. And no one dares to encroach upon her territory. But Zuko’s always pushing boundaries, isn’t he? Romance.

music in the sunlight - Rated G - the daylight counterpart to "dancing in the moonlight." Romance.

your worst nightmare - Rated G - modern AU dark!Katara one-shot from Zuko's POV. Mystery. to be continued?

westward - Rated G - the Fire Nation is no friend to Zuko and Katara's relationship. Angst. to be continued?

mark my soul, see my scars, and take my heart (ff.net - 1, 2, 3) - Rated G - a reincarnation with soulmarks mini-trilogy. Angst, Romance.

dusk and dawn - Rated G - just a lil ficlet about closing the gap between Zuko and Katara. General, Angst, Romance.

get out of my head (ff.net) - Rated T - Katara learns exactly what other people think of her and Zuko - straight from the source. Humor, Romance.

smirks and post-its (ff.net) - Rated G - the story of two ambassadors and their obsession with smirking at each other. Humor, Romance.

it's who we are (ff.net) - Rated G - The Mom Friend, the Dad figure; it's who they are. But when do they get to just be children? General, Romance.

haunted by the ghost of you (ff.net) - Rated T - Why is it only her? Is that a blessing or a curse? A story in which Katara does not take 'no' for an answer. Angst, Romance.

i'll use you as a warning sign (ff.net) - Rated T - dark!Katara one-shot. Angst, Romance. to be continued.

Music Night (ff.net) - Rated G - momtara and dadko ft. baby Kya, the tsungi horn, and General/Aunt Azula. General, Romance.

We Gotta Talk (ff.net) - Rated G - Katara and Zuko are deep in denial at the Western Air Temple. Humor, Romance.

Tell Me (ff.net) - Rated G - Katara's a bit of an addict. Zutara fluff. Romance.

Looks (ff.net) - Rated G - i...still don't know what this is. Sokka's thoughts on ZK?

Mutterings: Toph, Suki, Zuko, Katara (ff.net - 1, 2, 3, 4) - Rated G -Hakoda hears more in the Western Air Temple than he ever signed up to, but he resolves to make the best out of it. General.

Confrontational (ff.net) - Rated G - There were many things Zuko was afraid of, but a wrinkled old lady dressed in a blue parka and fur was definitely not one of them. Nope. Definitely not. General.

Good Ideas (ff.net) - Rated G - Toph's a genius. That's a fact. Humor, Romance.

Home (ff.net) - Rated G - don't read this one :( it's currently a one-shot where Katara's v lonely, and one day I'll fix it up and expand on how I think The Search should have gone.

#take a shot everytime i write angst #for someone who thinks of themselves as a generally happy person i sure do write a lot of it #ff.net readers give me some slack i'll do it tom :|#there's also like a 90% chance i did this wrong but whatever #blue's writing #my writing #zutara #? ig i can pin it as that since 99% of the stuff on here is zutara #not for long though #i have that zhaozai thing coming up god help me #and a few character studies

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renee-writer · 2 years

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Chasing Waves Chapter 1

A/N Happy New Year and welcome to @farmerscats and I's newest story. Jamie a surfer. Claire a reporter sent to interview him. He finds her beautiful. She finds him intriguing. Here we go..

AO3

“He will be cocky. They always are.” Claire Beauchamp sits, her feet crossed at the ankle, her arms crossed over her chest, and stares at her editor and best friend, Geillis Duncan. She has been a reporter for the Scottish Sun for close to ten years now and knows of which she speaks.

“Undoubtedly. Your job hen, is to get past that, to the real person under his professional persona.”

The he in question is raising surfer, Jamie Fraser. Scotland doesn’t boast many surfing champions and their paper had been lucky enough to be granted an interview with the lad. Geillis wants her best reporter on it and that is Claire.

“I will do my best.” Claire is resigned. Geillis gets her way and that is that. Besides, a lot of her fight was a part of her reputation, as Geillis also well knows. To peal the onion that was this bloke’s persona was a personal challenge. One she looks forward to.

A smirk from her editor. “I know you will.”

“You ken I hate the PR bullshite.” Jamie Fraser tells his Godfather and manager, Murtagh Fraser. “I don’t feel comfortable with it. I would rather be catching a wave.”

Murtagh understands. Jamie has been shy since childhood. He really only feels comfortable in the water. “I ken it well. I am nae nutter. The Scotland Sun wants to do a feature on you. Ye ken how important that is?”

He nods. He understands it is just he fears saying something that will make him seem a clodheid. Reporters always made him nervous. He had never made a shambles out of an interview but he constantly fears he will. “I will talk to him.”

Murtagh grins as he delivers the news. “Her. They are sending a lass out, an English woman.”

Jesus, Mary and, Joseph as if he wasn’t nervous enough! “A lass?”

“You will be fine. Just be yourself.”

She has the background and makes an outline, noting the history of the sport near the top. It will be combined with the surfer, Jamie Fraser’s personal surfing history and, she sincerely hopes, a bit of his personal history too. The Scottish Sun is no rag. They don’t search for the rubbish on their featured people but a bit of color is always helpful.

Gathering up her notebook and recorder, she heads off to meet her newest interviewee. She is meeting him at Stoer Bay. The drive takes a good hour. During that time she tries to line up her questions. She finds it helps to have an idea what to ask and, more important, the sequence to ask them.

A lass. A bloody lass. The only lass he has ever been able to be himself around is his sister, Jenny. Now he is to impress this reporter, Claire Beauchamp. He paces up and down the shore line, his mind struggling to calm his racing heart. The waves are beautiful and he longs to be riding the face of one instead of…

“Jamie Fraser?” her accent is a mix of English and several other things. He stops pacing and turns. Then totally loses himself. For she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

He is taller then she expected with amazing curls, of chestnut color that seem more red in the sun. He turns when she calls him but doesn’t speak. “Jamie, I am Claire Beauchamp. I believe you are expecting me?” Still he stands, mouth slightly open. Goodness, is he a dullard?

Speak Jamie before you really throw a spanner in the works. She is already looking at you like you’ve nae sense! His mental arse kicking finally engages his mouth. “I am. I am sorry mistress. I didn’t expect someone so..” So what Jamie? You can’t say beautiful or she will think you a pervert. “Young.” He mental let’s out his breath.

“Well I thank you. I am not that young. You may call me Claire. May I call you Jamie?”

“Aye Claire.”

“Wonderful. We can do this one of several ways. We can sit down here.” She nods to the table, “Or we can walk the shore. Whatever you are more comfortable with.”

He chuckles. “I honesty Claire. I am more comfortable out in the water. But I doubt your little machine is water proof.”

She returns his chuckle. “Not that water proof or am I dressed for it.” She wears casual clothes, knowing she was doing an interview on the beach. Jeans, with a blue button down blouse, tucked in. Kicks on her feet. Her hair, a mane of dark circles that perpetually drive her crazy, are in a high tail.

“Aye, I see you aren’t.” He is. With swim trunks and a t-shirt that clings to his muscles, he is the picture of a healthy Viking male.

“No. So here or..”

“Let’s walk.” She thought as much. He seems the type that needs to be active. They start out. She asks him how he came to enter the sport. “By pure accident. My da gifted me with a boogie board when I was five. By the end of the summer, I was riding small waves with it. Riding the faces just came natural. Like I was born to surf.”

She has her title. “Born to surf.” Or so she thinks at the time. “So you went from a boogie board to a surf board when?”

“I was ten and two. My da keep gifting me with bigger boards until he saw I needed the real thing. Saved up for half a year. For my birthday he gave it to me.”

“What a wonderful gift.”

“Aye, I wish he could have seen me use it. Before I could get in the water, he was felled by a stroke. It came out of nowhere.”

She stops, dumb for a moment. That wasn’t in any of the background she had looked up on him. He stops beside her, looking down and kicking at the sand. Now why had he told her that? He hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t a secret it just wasn’t discussed. “I am truly sorry Jamie.” A shrug as he continues to examine the sand.

“Twas a long time ago.”

“Eleven years. Not so long.” She was right. It wasn’t. The ache he feels when he thinks about him.. Murtagh had done his best and Jenny saw that he was raised as right as she could but..

“I started competitive surfing when I was thirteen. Won several competitions before I finished upper school.” His head is back up and he is walking again. Moving on. Alright.

“Did it become your life or is there something or someone else that occupies your time?”

He grins as he looks out at the ocean. The waves are stunning. A sigh as he turns back to Claire. “Chasing waves is the majority of my life but there are two lasses that own me heart and soul. Maggie and Kitty.” Now he is referring to his nieces but doesn’t make that clear. Murtagh wants him to have more of a ladies man persona.

“Do the ladies have knowledge of each other?”

He grins slyly as he prepares to stretch the truth a bit more. “Well Maggie is aware of Kitty but Kitty isn’t aware of Maggie.” Or anyone else as she is only a week old.

“Living dangerously Jamie.”

“I am a surfer. It is in my blood.”

“Anyone else or is it just those two? No ladies on each shore?”

“Those are the two I love.” Oh Jenny will want to kill him for using her lassies such but, he doesn’t wish to straight out lie.

It is enough to get her started. Unlike some of her colleagues, she doesn’t like to do long, drawn out interviews. She prefers short, quick ones, ones that keep her subjects on edge. The last one she will do, will tie everything together. That will be long. It is a surprise to Jamie when she announces that is it for today. A welcome one. Now he doesn’t have to keep telling little half truths. One reason he dislikes interviews.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #chasing waves #Chapter 1 #new story #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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happyk44 · 3 years

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Based on a convo I had with @butt-puncher about what I thought Charu’s question was actually gonna be (what the heck was the point of the Christmas thing??)

“I have one question for you,” Charu said. “Answer it correctly and you can have the bracelet of my fallen companion.” Percy’s stomach churned. Nico’s eyes didn’t shift, just a pleasant smile as he gazed at Charu who regarded Percy with a piercing skepticism. “What is you think makes your girlfriend a good recipient of jewelry from a deceased god?”

Percy blinked. Huh. That was a good question. He glanced down at the golden bracelet laid flat on the counter.

“Annabeth helped rebuild Olympus,” he said slowly, glancing at Nico, whose face was as unreadable as ever. “She designed it herself after the Second Titan War. She’s helped rebuild camp dozens of times. She’s even helping them expand New Rome. She does a lot for gods. She always has and she’s not really been shown the respect she deserves.” He snorted. “I mean, we all kind of have that issue, I guess.” He glanced at Nico again. “Except you, apparently.”

He could so easily imagine the wicked smile, baring all teeth and mirth, behind his mask. He laughed.

“And her cousin is Norse. And my friend Carter is an Egyptian magician.” Charu’s eyes traced over his face. Percy tucked his hands into his pockets. “She’s been amazing with them and they don’t even belong to her. She has respect for gods in a way... I’ll never understand.” Charu’s eyes lifted, his beak-like mouth almost smiling, amused. But Nico didn’t elbow him like he did the last time he muttered his disdain for gods so he figured he was safe.

“I guess, she would deserve it because she’s done a lot of gods who don’t give her the acknowledgement she deserves for all the things she’s done and is still doing.” Her plans for Olympus, for his dad’s kingdom, for all the Greek gods’ personal realms that had been lit up in shambles during either war (or both), were still stacked in their bedroom. She would review them pensively.

There were still areas she hadn’t finished.

“But not only that...” He caught Charu’s gaze. “She would respect it. Who it belonged to. What it means to have it. She loves history, she likes learning things that make me fall asleep-” Nico rolled his eyes. “She would go insane trying to know who your friend was. And she would care for it, much better than if it was still stuck here, unused forever.”

The silence held heavy in the air. Tension built around his throat. God made or from his own head - he wasn’t sure. But then the god smiled.

“I trust Nico’s judgement graciously but that-” His smile widened. “-was a very good answer indeed.” Percy relaxed as Charu handed him over the bracelet. “I hope she gathers as much use from it as my friend once did.”

“She will.” He closed his hand over the bracelet. His memory of Pan fading off into the air, disappearing into nothing, crashed into him like a wave as his skin burned into it. Gods may not have been born from belief but they sure stayed because of it. Belief and care. “Thank you.”

He wouldn’t have put it past her to resurrect the god from how much she would care.

“You’re welcome,” Charu said. “Have a good holiday.” He turned to Nico. “And a good Christmas to you, Nico.”

Nico nodded, bid his farewell in kind and they exited the store quietly. Percy gently put the bracelet into his pocket. They walked on in silence as Nico searched for a discreet shadow to drag them both through.

Just before they did, a little alleyway cut off from the rest of the paths and tucked comfortably between a little restaurant and another store, Percy pulled back. “Did you know that would be the price?” he asked.

Nico shrugged. “He changes it up each time. But that’s a pretty common one. They are priceless relics after all.”

“Did you-” The bracelet felt heavy in his pocket. “How did you know I’d answer it okay?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d answer it in so many words.” Nico reached out. Percy took his hand. The shadows licked beneath their feet. “But I knew you’d be respectful about it. That’s all most of them really want. They’ve suffered enough. Just love what they used to be and they’ll take it.”

“Oh.” The shadows billowed around them. Anxiety snapped into him. “She will like it, right?”

Nico grinned. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t think she would.”

#nico di angelo #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo #happy talks pjo #my fanfic #my writing

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ink-and-flame · 3 years

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Kinktober Day 1: Intensity Shattered

Kinktober Day 1 Prompts: Throat Fucking ~ Pain (mild) ~ Suspension (horizontal)

Fandom: Original

Tags: exophilia, angst & porn, throat fucking, pain, bondage, suspension, scissoring (f/f), hurt/no comfort, hurt/comfort (kind of a mixed bag here between scenes)

Pairing: Orc(m)/Human(f), ?M/HumanF, HumanM/HumanF, HumanF/HumanF | Darnok/Lia, Lucien/Ember, Zane/Lia, Ember/Lia

[Author’s Note: It has been a long time since I have written anything and I felt the need to finish out this portion of the story. While this was intended to be part of kinktober 2020, I never got to it in time. This is where things start to go a bit pearshapped, though not nearly as dark as I had originally intended, things will get worse before they get better. I revamped the whole last few parts of this because the original prompts from 2020 were too dark and so this is not the way I had originally outlined the last few parts of this story to go.]

It had been some time before Lia could go back to the club. The last scene, though intensely hot, had almost landed her in the hospital. The medics had to be called when she didn’t regain consciousness after a few moments and her throat was in a sorry state. It was recommended, strongly, that she take some time off to heal. The owners did not want to be held responsible if further injury occurred and of course she understood.

Darnok had felt terrible, both he and Gorvaal were nothing but apologetic about the situation. It was something unexpected, and Lia couldn’t be mad. She had plenty of experience and practice and she wasn’t sure what made this time different, but it was and she needed time to heal. She reassured both orcs that she was fine and not angry, as best she could without a fully functioning voice, and she could see the guilt in Dar’s eyes when they were finally alone.

As much as Lia had done her best to reassure him, something inside of her twisted and pinched a bit. She kept thinking that she had forgotten something important and for some reason Gorvaal had made that feeling stronger. It nagged at her and kept popping up in the back of her head any moment she had down time.

With forced time off from the club, Lia couldn’t see Dar. They only ever met at the club, and only used the hotel afterwards. If he was going to the club without her, she had no way of really knowing unless she asked Ember, something that felt a little too close to spying if she thought about that hard enough. That didn’t make it hurt any less, and had Lia in a bit of a funk while she healed.

The more time that passed the more that nagging feeling got stronger until she was on her computer and going through her history. She had found some shoes and a nice bag she wanted to get but for the life of her could not remember where she saw them. As she dug around in her history, Lia found the searches for Taledras. Against her better judgement, Lia reopened them and did a little more searching. The more information she found the more her heart sank. The woman from before was Ariana Taledras, the youngest daughter of a wealthy and powerful fae family. There was a full page article about her engagement party, how it was the event of the year, not to be missed.

Darnok was engaged.

Tears streaked paths down Lia’s cheeks. She had always know, inside, that something was off. She just didn’t know what it was. Now she did. There was no way to know how long Dar had been with this woman, but their engagement was going to be formalized in less than a year. Lia felt gutted and was thankful for the time away from both the club and work. She was in no condition to do much more than cry and desperately try to comfort herself.

Crawling into bed Lia sobbed into her pillow, deep heaving sobs, as her heart fully broke. There was a sharpness to the pain she felt as her sobs shook her body. She screamed into the pillow until her voice completely gave out. All the healing, undone in a moment. The edges of her vision had pinpricks of light, spots of dark, as she cried hard enough to give herself a pounding headache. At some point she simply exhausted herself to the point of sleep.

Lia was wrapped in a blanket on her couch when there was a knock on the door. She ignored it, as she had been ignoring everything for days. However, this knock was insistent and not going away. With a groan Lia got up and went to her door, opening it and seeing Ember standing there looking quite worried.

“Man you look like shit!”

“Thank you, I try” Lia quipped as she gestured for Ember to come in. She knew her friend well enough to know that the other woman was not going to leave.

“So, what happened. I heard you got hurt, but that was a while ago, and you haven’t been answering your phone, or texts, or DMs, or even email. Like, nothing.” Ember sat on the couch next to Lia looking at her friend with concern.

“He’s engaged.”

Ember just looked confused. “What? Who again?”

“Darnok. He is engaged. I saw the article about the party they are throwing next year to make it official, or I don’t know, it's some next step thing. I couldn’t finish the article.” Lia was crying again. This time silently.

“Shit, fuck, well damn thats. Fuck that is really shitty. Was this recent and he just hasn’t had a chance to tell you?” Ember already knew the answer but hoped she was wrong.

“I suspected, for a while that he was in a relationship. There were things that made it not seem like it on occasion, and other times, I dunno, it just always was right there on the edge of my mind. Then at that event he ran, Gorvaal mentioned something about a Taledras. I looked it up, it isn’t a what like I originally thought, but a who. She is a rich, powerful, beautiful fae.” Lia hiccuped. “Honestly everything makes sense now. Why he never wanted to collar me, why he sometimes kept me at arms length. I mean she is beyond gorgeous, everything I could never be, I just can’t understand what he wanted with me. That is the only confusing part.”

Ember sighed and ran her hand through her hair as she tried to think logically and not immediately go to the club and make one hell of a scene. “Honestly, this isn’t uncommon among rich couples, from what I hear anyway. Often they will have side pieces and there are rules, but I always thought that was just in movies and books. I didn’t think it was something that actually happened.” Ember scooted closer putting an arm around Lia. “Did you talk to him yet?”

“No. What is the point? What would I even say?” Lia leaned into Ember and cried while her friend just held her in silence. What could any of them say really?

It had been almost two months since Lia was last in the club. She had been healed enough for a while, but emotionally she was still in shambles. Moping around wasn’t helping and Ember had practically moved in just so she could make sure that Lia was taking care of herself and not doing anything dumb.

It was nice to know that Ember was a true friend and she had done a lot to help Lia begin to feel normal again. Normal enough to start talking about the club and how to handle seeing Darnok again. Lia still wasn’t sure that she could do it, but Ember promised that Lucien and Zane would be there to help as well. She even suggested doing scenes with one or both of the men, to try and distance herself from Darnok. There was a concern that this experience would turn her away from the lifestyle for good and Ember didn’t want that, neither did Lia. Kink had become an integral part of her life and she wasn’t ready to give it up. Even if it took her time to find her place of comfort again.

The plan was to go to the club this weekend, Ember sticking with her, and seeing if Lucien or Zane would be willing to do a scene. If nothing else, Ember, being a switch, offered to do a scene with Lia just to help her ease back into things. Something that made Lia blush heavily and they had to have a bit of a conversation on if that sort of thing could interfere with their friendship. Something neither woman wanted, so it would be approached with caution should that be the situation they landed on.

Luckily both Lucian and Zane were available for a scene so neither of the women had to worry about compromising their friendship just yet. Zane was curious why Lia had come to them first, but didn’t question it. While Lucien just watched Lia with the strangest expression. He was the one that suggested they all four use one of the rooms and do a group scene. Something exciting, but they would let Lia choose the intensity, since she had been gone for a while.

“You know, I remember that party where I was art and in a cage. There was something so relaxing about it, I went deep into sub space, is there anything like that we can do?” Lia looked between her friends hopefully.

“There are a few options. If you are comfortable with bondage we could do some rope suspension. How have you healed by the way?” Lucien asked as he looked Lia up and down his eyes flashing between a range of colors.

“Fully, I just stayed gone a little longer to be safe. That and work.” Lia knew that was a half truth at best, but she wanted to enjoy the night.

“Suspension sounds fun” Ember said with a smile. “And we don’t have to go overboard with the bondage part so we can do some light suspension, or even use swings instead of rope.”

With the activity decided Lucian and Zane gathered up the equipment they would need. The room had ceiling braces with loops hanging down. Something they could easily tie rope to. Though Lucien suggested using a few swing pieces to help hold the girls up, so all their weight wasn’t on the ropes. He had an idea for how he wanted them both bound and it would take a bit of work to get them into that position and bound together.

Using silk rope, Lucien began binding Lia, while Zane bound Ember. Both girls were bound together, in a scissoring position. It took a bit of conversation to make sure everyone was comfortable with it, but as this was a group scene and not one on one, Lia was more comfortable with the idea of sharing pleasure with Ember. Plus, she was really curious how it might feel and she was more than a little excited to find out.

With their crotches pushed together, their thighs bound to each other, and their arms bound behind their backs. Lia realized she was almost completely immobile, but she wasn’t afraid. The men used the swing equipment to help get them both suspended in the air, something that didn’t seem easy, but Lucien was deceptively, inhumanly, even otherworldly strong.

Once in position Lia wiggled a bit to test her range of motion and found that it felt really good to wiggle like that, and the quiet sound that Ember made was a clue that she also felt good. Giggling a bit, Lia looked between Zane and Lucien.

“Ok, we are all tied up, now what?”

“With your permission of course, I think I know what both Zane and I would like, but I will let you choose who you are with Lia. There will be no hard feelings no matter the choice.” Lucien smiled and began stripping off his clothing.

Zane followed suit and both men were bare before Lia and Ember. Lia had seen Lucien before and liked his body. He was strong, but a bit more Lithe and tall, like a dancer or gymnast, though he still had a good bit of muscle and definition. Zane on the other hand was more bulky, muscular, a bit soft around the middle, but not much. He was also incredibly hairy. Lia had never seen that much body hair on a man before and she kind of liked it.

“I think I will choose Zane this time, since we have already had some time together with Lucien.” Lia winked at him with a smile.

“Wow really? I didn’t know you two hooked up. Man, I am always the last to the party huh?” Zane walked over to Lia pushing his long hair back from his face and looking down at her.

Lia realized, rather suddenly, that they were suspended at nearly the perfect height for their mouths to be used easily. She smirked a bit and looked up at Zane. He was handsome. Almost inhumanly tall, but quite handsome. He had such rugged features, and despite all their playful flirting it had never gone anywhere in the past. Though her attraction to him was quite real, she had always just been too caught up in Darnok to really look that intensely at Zane.

She found herself blushing when he gently stroked her face with his large hands, she could feel the callouses and honestly didn’t mind them. She wished her hands were not bound, the hair on his body was so inviting, she wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through it. The hair on his head was a few shades darker than the hair on his body, the contrast interesting to her. Lia looked up, noticing he was hard as he had been watching her study him. When her eyes met his, for a moment she swore they were yellow, but it must have been a trick of the light.

“If you are sure, I heard what injured you before, and I am not really all that big into hurting my partners like that.” Zane was focused on Lia taking in her scent, reading her body, looking for any hint that she wasn’t sure or was hesitant about any of it.

“I promise I am ok.” She tried to look down at Lucien but was struggling. “Lucien, tell him I am ok.”

Lucien laughed, it was a dark smokey laugh with a strange echo to it. “I assure you Zane, I would have sent her right home if she wasn’t fully healed. I can see how eager she is. You need to relax and let yourself enjoy it.” Lucien paused, blinked in a way that from a certain angle it looked like he had two sets of eyelids, and then spoke again. “Since when are you the uptight one?”

At that Zane started laughing, which caused Ember to have the giggles, which gave Lia the giggles as well as Lucien just looked at them all.

“Really now, this is supposed to be a serious scene. How am I supposed to exude the energy of a stoic dominant if you are all having giggle fits!”

That statement only made them laugh harder, something that had Lucien smiling slyly. He knew the heartbreak that Lia was feeling. He knew this was a distraction, and one she desperately needed. He also knew that Zane would be more gentle with her than anyone else could be. Despite never wanting to harm her, Lia was an enigma and Lucien could see himself going a little too far with her.

“Are you all quite finished?”

The giggling died down and Zane nodded, followed by Lia and Ember, the latter of which opened her mouth for Lucien, trying to at least feign some semblance of obedience. The offer of which was taken with a slow teasing stroke of Lucien's cock against Ember's lips before he slid into her mouth with a groan. His focus now on the woman bound and trusting him.

Zane paused, watching them for a moment before looking down at Lia and stroking her face. “You have my permission to bite me if I get too rough or go too far. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lia nodded and leaned her head up a bit to kiss the tip of Zane’s cock, giving it a little flick with her tongue, smiling as he visibly shuddered and made a small sound that she wanted to hear more of. No more words were needed as he stepped closer and pushed his cock slowly into her waiting open mouth. He was more gentle than Lia had expected, more gentle than she had really experienced in the past, she was curious how he had so much control.

The scene started out slow, both men being careful with their partners, making sure not to thrust too hard or push too deep. Though control was beginning to slip for both men as the scene became more intense. With each thrust Ember and Lia were pushed together, their slick folds and clits rubbing against each other, increasing their pleasure.

Lia had no idea that rubbing against another woman could feel this good and she had to think about that later when she could actually rub her brain cells together since she was enjoying this far more than she thought she would. Zane’s cock was thick, but not as thick as Darnoks. It was a good size, and despite his height, he still wasn’t orc big. Something Lia was thankful for. The size of him, the feel of him, the curve, she had to admit it, Zane had a really nice cock and she was somewhat eager to feel it elsewhere. Something that sent a sting of guilt through her, and she pushed it away as quickly as it showed up.

It was easy to tell once Zane was starting to get closer to the edge. His thrusts became rougher, his control clearly slipping. She could feel his hands gripping her breasts, teasing her nipples, though his nails felt weirdly longer, but that was probably her imagination. She was enjoying it too much. The harder he thrust the more it pushed her into Ember and the more friction she was able to feel. It was clear both men were trying to time their thrusts to push the girls together harder. Lia could hear Ember moaning around Lucien’s cock, and it was all just turning her on more.

Somehow it felt like Zane’s cock was getting bigger and her throat hurt a bit, but she wasn’t going to stop now. Lia was close herself and she wanted this. Zane was grunting, making little growling noises as he thrust deeper and harder into her throat. She could feel him swelling, getting closer and closer to release, something she was also getting closer to.

Soon Lia felt that euphoria as her core clenched a bit. She was going to cum soon, and the burning pain in her throat was ignored as she felt Zane push harder into her throat, his grip on her painfully tight, tight enough to leave bruises. All of that was forgotten as she arched and came against Ember, feeling an intense throbbing release as she was pushed against the other woman. She wasn’t sure but she thought she felt Ember cumming too. That thought was pushed aside as Zane came with a loud sound, that was somewhat like a howl, but Lia was pretty sure that was her imagination as her throat and mouth were filled with a hot flood of cum.

When Zane pulled out Lia coughed a bit to clear her airways, but otherwise felt mostly fine. She had cum all over her face so her eyes were closed, but soon she could feel a wet cloth cleaning her up.

“Sorry, I am so sorry Lia, I lost control at the end there. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Why didn’t you bite me?”

It took Lia a bit to answer, she smiled up at Zane, her voice a little hoarse. “Because I like it, and it didn’t hurt that much, I promise.”

Both men took their time to carefully get the women down. Moving them over to the bed, rubbing their limbs to help them get feeling back. The four of them cuddled for a bit, enjoying the afterglow and each other's company. Aftercare was important, even as a group, and the women were doted on and given anything they wanted or needed.

Lia found she liked how it felt to be snuggled against Zane, he was really warm and the hair on his body felt nice against her skin. Though that strange guilty feeling was back and she did her best to push it away, this moment was not going to be ruined because she was an emotional and mental mess.

Soon it was time to get dressed and vacate the room. They headed back to the VIP area and talked for a while, sharing drinks and laughing. Soon it was late and Lia needed to go. Ember hugged her indicating to call her when Lia got there so she could be sure she got home safe. Kissing Zane on the cheek Lia headed to the exit.

What she hadn’t expected, and least wanted, was exactly what happened. She ran into Darnok who seemed surprised to see her. He looked at her curiously.

“I thought I saw you before, coming out from the back rooms, but I wasn’t sure.”

“That was me, I was with Lucien, Zane, and Ember, we did a group scene. It was intense but a lot of fun.” Lia was trying to smile, trying to be normal, trying to hold it together.

Darnok just looked at her, a bit confused. “I wasn’t sure when you would come back. I know you had been injured, but you hadn’t been responding. I didn’t know you were coming back to the club.”

Lia took a breath and looked Darnok in the eyes. “Well.” She paused, praying for strength. “I didn’t know you were engaged. I guess there is a lot we both just don’t know. Goodbye Darnok.” With that Lia pushed past him and headed for the door. She could already feel the tears, and by the time she made it outside she was running to her car fighting back sobs.

Lia didn’t want him to stop her. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. Pulling out of the parking lot she sped off, hoping that she drove fast enough that he could not follow her. Trying to see through the tears, Lia’s heart broke all over again.

#Darnok/Lia #Auchendale Archives #orc boyfriend

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

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squabbler. (tsukishima kei)

➵ being a student in your country’s most prestigious mage university isn’t easy. even less so, when you have to turn to your sworn enemy, tsukishima kei, for help.

wc: 6.4k

warnings: gn!reader, mage!au

a/n: dariamorgendoerfer100 thank you for your support! you’re very sweet, and i enjoy your little comments T-T and a big thank you to both erin and ren for beta’ing this :( i love you both so much

Maybe you were a little early. And this was just a theory class; nothing too exciting, just an overview of the history of magic. But you couldn’t help it. You were just so damn excited.

You were the first person from your village to have earned a spot in the nation’s most prestigious mage academy, after all. Well, the first in a few decades. But that sort of detail wasn’t too important. What mattered was that you were here, in the halls of the great academy.

Said halls were currently empty. But you didn’t mind it too much. It gave you some time to admire it all. Admire how old the stone looked, without giving the impression it was falling apart. Admire how the entire place seemed to thrum with magic, echoing through every nook and cranny. Admire how even the way the sun filtered through the windows seemed to have a mythical quality to it.

However, rocks and stones were only interesting for so long. And nobody else had turned up.

How early were you? You pouted, playing with the hem of your robes.

Were you in the wrong place? Had you misread your letters? Were you on the wrong side of campus? Would you be penalised for being late? Was your academic career in shambles before it had even begun?

At that moment, you heard footsteps. You twirled around, almost tripping over your own feet.

It was a tall blond boy, clad in glasses and an expression of sincere disinterest. He looked roughly your age, and his umber robes were just a little too short in the sleeves.

Why was he so tall? Were humans allowed to be that tall? Had he used some kind of elicit magic to spur his growth?

You’d never met anyone that tall before. Not back home. And you were a really, really long way from home. And now was not the first moment that you’d wondered if you’d made the right decision, moving so far away.

No! You wouldn’t be intimidated by this. You’d come all this way, after all, and you were ready for anything. You would talk to this boy, and you would make your very first friend at this academy. Now that was a thrilling thought.

“Hello!” You piqued up, maintaining a respectable enough distance between the two of you. You’d have liked to say it was because you wanted to be polite, but it was mainly to ensure that you wouldn’t have to crane your neck so much as you looked up at him.

The boy said nothing. He didn’t even look at you. Had he not heard you?

“Are you excited to start?” You asked, speaking a little louder this time. That was a neutral enough question. Surely, that would beget some kind of response.

Still nothing. But, you did notice his eyebrows sink a little.

“I’m a bit nervous, myself,” you smiled nervously, tilting your head at him. Maybe he was just shy?

You swallowed, trying to ignore how clammy your hands were becoming. “Are you… from around here?”

The boy glanced at you for a second, and you felt the tightness in your chest ease a little.

But instead of answering you, he reached into his bag and pulled out one of the textbooks. He opened it without a word, leaning against the wall and positioning himself in such a way that allowed him to put you out of sight.

Oh, now you were mad. What, he couldn’t even engage in polite small talk? What was he, a child? What an ungrateful little–

You glowered at him, crossing your arms as you slumped against the wall. You weren’t about to start a fight. That wasn’t worth it – especially not on your first day. But you couldn’t help but feel a little angry.

You hadn’t managed to make your first friend at the academy. Oh, no.

You’d just made your first enemy.

✧✧✧

It only took about half a year for things to start going wrong.

For the most part, you were pretty decent at this whole magic thing. It wasn’t so much a natural aptitude – although your natural abilities certainly weren’t bad – but more a testament to your hard work.

Unfortunately, that asshole you’d met on your first day – who you’d now come to know as Tsukishima Kei – was also good. But he didn’t seem to care. Admittedly, you’d taken a peek at his test scores before – yes, you know it’s unethical, but you couldn’t help it. You’d just wanted to know if he had any legs to stand on, being as insufferably smug as he was. You hadn’t liked the answer.

Worse yet, your professors liked to call on him in class. And he answered perfectly, each and every time. And yet, he always sounded so bored? How could someone be bored learning about magic? Gods, that pissed you off.

And somehow, by some cruel trick of fate, he was in every single one of your classes. The cohort was big enough to be split in two, but no matter the arrangement of the rest of your peers, the two of you were always together.

He knew you didn’t like him. You’d never really spoken about it, but there’d been a fair few times when you’d mutually glared at each other during class. You weren’t quite sure if he just looked at everyone like that, or if he was targeting you specifically. Either way, you didn’t like it.

That wasn’t even taking into account the numerous tense in-class discussions you’d had. Every time you presented an idea, this beanpole of a man decided he needed to challenge it. You’d been humiliated for the first few months, but you’d made a valiant effort to grow some thicker skin. It had worked, for the most part; some days you could even fire back at your apathetic nemesis.

You could handle him fine enough. But your dorm-mates had decided to get themselves into a massive argument. You still weren’t sure over what, exactly, but it’s origin evidently didn’t matter. You were stuck in the middle, trying desperately to smooth over the situation.

But, it was quite difficult easing tensions when each angry party had the ability to set someone’s hair on fire – even if it was against academy rules. Playing mediator was taking up more of your time than it had any right to, and it was proving to be exhausting.

Worse yet, the workload had grown even more intense, and it was starting to overwhelm you. You’d known that the academy was tough, but you hadn’t properly comprehended it before coming here. Now, you were experiencing it.

And on top of all that, you’d been hit by a recent bout of homesickness. You could handle them well enough, frequently, that they were – but all those extenuating circumstances meant that your typical coping strategies were less effective.

You’d managed to stay on top of your studies, for the most part. Except, unfortunately, for one subject in particular.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t wrap your head around alchemy. You always seemed to mess it up – and no amount of private tuition from the professor could help. You could tell she was a very clever woman, but it was obvious that because she just knew so much about it, she had a hard time noticing where the gaps in your knowledge might be. And frankly, the amount of time you spent speaking to her after class was getting embarrassing.

You’d decided that you wouldn’t speak to her this afternoon. It wouldn’t be productive, for one, and you were worried that you were wearing her patience thin. Perhaps it was time to find a proper tutor…

None of your friends were particularly good at alchemy, and you didn’t know any of your upperclassmen. Did the academy have an official tutoring program? You’d never actually looked into that sort of thing. But trying to search out that sort of thing would take precious time that you should spend studying…

That’s when he walked past you.

Tsukishima Kei. Top of the class.

A horrible idea blossomed in your mind. One that made your stomach churn.

Can I swallow my pride? You thought.

Yes. I’m desperate.

As soon as you finished that thought, you turned and tore down the corridor as fast as your legs could carry you. He was already what felt like half a country away. Damn him and his long legs.

“Hey!” You hollered, cursing your own lack of stamina. “Hey, Tsukishima!”

He paused, looking over his shoulder with an expression of baffled irritation.

You skittered to a stop behind him. “Please tutor me,” you said, each word punctuated by a deep breath.

“Huh?” He grimaced, looking down at you. “No.”

“No please!” You gasped. “Please!”

Tsukishima narrowed his eyes at you, turning around.

Oh, you weren’t letting him get away that easily.

You dashed around him, standing right in his way.

You were running on pure instinct and desperation now, bowing sharply with your fists clenched at your side.

People were definitely starting to stare. But you were pretty damn desperate. The examination was barrelling towards you, and you certainly hadn’t studied enough for it.

“I’ll help you if you stop making a scene,” he hissed, face flushed with embarrassment.

You shot up to full height, looking at him with an expression that appeared to be misplaced adoration. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Did you listen to me at all—”

“Tomorrow night, seven o’clock,” you breathed, “The library. Bye!”

You fled, not giving him the time to refute you. And you were glad you ran; you could feel your cheeks burning, almost as much as your chest was. You hated running, but you needed to make sure he wouldn’t change his mind.

That was unequivocally one of the most embarrassing things you’d ever done.

But you were pretty damn desperate.

✧✧✧

Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided not to come. Your trust in him was tenuous at best; you could only hope that you’d appealed to at least some iota of human decency locked behind that mask of apathy.

Suffice to say that morale was low.

It had been a long day. One of your friends had roped you into renovating the greenhouse with them, and that had been much more work than you’d anticipated. Apparently all the plants along one of the walls had to be relocated, and all in one day. You’d wanted to say no when you’d found that out, but your friend had been so stressed. You hadn’t had the heart to walk away from them.

So, you’d been diligently running around all afternoon, slowly feeling the work ebb away at your energy reserve. All the while, you’d been worrying about your study session. Wondering if Tsukishima would turn up. Wondering if he was actually capable of salvaging your alchemy grades.

You glanced at a candle in one of the alcoves, each inch burned representing an hour passed.

Tsukishima was late.

You sighed, resting your head on the desk. It was foolish of you to put your hopes in him. He had no reason to extend a hand. If anything, your academic blunders were probably a feather in his cap. You hated the thought of him revelling in your failure. Were you really so stupid as to ask him for help?

Before you knew it, you’d closed your eyes, fluttering in and out of consciousness. You would’ve made more of an effort to stay awake, in case Tsukishima did turn up and use the fact you were sleeping as an excuse to run off.

But you were just so tired…

Tsukishima Kei… bastard…

You could hear students shuffling around the library, but nobody seemed to be approaching you. How long had it been now? Were you a fool for waiting around for so long, for a boy who obviously wasn’t coming?

Alchemy… I have to pass…

A warm, pleasant sound came from above you, rousing you gently from your half-consciousness.

Was that… a laugh? Well, it wasn’t a true laugh; it was something more like a chuckle, like the person responsible for it was ashamed to be so amused.

Your eyes fluttered open, all bleary from your nap. “Huh?”

“If you don’t wake up, I’ll leave.”

Your head snapped up at that, your archnemesis coming into vision. You realised, then, that it must’ve been him that laughed. That unfortunately came hand-in-hand with the revelation that you didn’t hate the sound.

“I was tired,” you grumbled, stretching your arms above your head in a grandiose show.

“Whatever,” he sighed, slipping into the seat next to you with the air of a man who was about to start calculating his debts. “Maybe you should just head back to your dorm,” he sighed. “I don’t know if you’re in any state to study.”

“Listen,” you hissed, “I’m tired. And you’re late.”

“Relax,” Tsukishima yawned, reaching one hand into his bag. “I had work to do.”

You blinked at him, trying to soothe the anger brewing in your chest.

“I actually finished early, by the way.”

“Oh,” you swallowed, the anger quickly slipping into a mild guilt. “I’m— sorry—”

“Whatever,” he sighed, tossing a textbook onto the table.

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. You were supposed to be studying, right? That meant you couldn’t be too abrasive, lest you get nothing of worth done. Could you do that?

“Let’s just get this over and done with, alright?” He sounded just as bored as always.

You mumbled something incoherent, even to yourself.

“What do you need help with?” Tsukishima sighed, electing to ignore you.

“Uh…”

“Don’t say everything.”

You stayed resolutely silent.

“Fucking…” Tsukishima groaned, rubbing a temple with his fingers.

“Well, that’s not very polite,” you grumbled, crossing your arms as you sat back in your chair.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what to focus on,” Tsukishima snapped, frustratingly straightforward. “Do you know the basics of chrysopoeia?”

You blinked at him for a moment. “Yes…?”

“Do you know what that is?”

“That’s when…” You frowned, racking your drowsy brain for the answer. The term was familiar, but…

“Come on.” Tsukishima looked like he was one breath away from getting up and leaving. “We did this last year.”

“Oh!” You gasped, sitting up a little straighter. “Gold! It’s gold!”

Tsukishima sighed. “Almost. Do you remember how to make gold?”

“What am I making it from?” You frowned. “You can’t ask such a broad question.”

He blinked at you for a second, seemingly frustrated at the fact that you were right. The base metal mattered, after all.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m sure you know how to do it with lead, so… how about copper?”

The two of you ran over a series of transmutations, helping Tsukishima figure out the gaps in your knowledge. You couldn’t tell if he was impressed or annoyed by the fact that you knew more than he’d expected. You, at least, felt some sense of pride; you were smarter than he’d given you credit for. Although, another part of you felt as though you should be offended by the fact he’d thought you’d be stupider than this.

You glanced at the candle again. Another two hours had passed. Gods, you were getting tired. You plopped your crossed arms on the table, sinking down over them and using them as a pillow. You closed your eyes for a second, letting Tsukishima methodically explain the theoretical process of refining an alkahest.

“Are you even listening to me?” He hissed, nudging you with an elbow.

“Mhm,” you murmured, half your face covered by your crossed arms.

Tsukishima had half a mind to bonk you on the back of the head with his textbook. But, he wasn’t about to do that. Not when you seemed like you’d explode at him for the smallest of provocations.

It was a real shame you looked so cute, all sleepy—

What… the fuck? He thought to himself, freezing at the revelation.

You? Cute? Those were not two words that belonged together. Not under any circumstance.

“Get up,” he hissed, two fingers poking at your temple.

You groaned, trying to hit his assault away with a limp hand.

“We’re done here,” he huffed, standing up sharply.

You jolted upright in your chair, looking up at him with wide eyes. “But we’re not done!”

“It’s one in the morning,” he grumbled, pointing at the candle nestled in a cranny on the wall next to you. Sure enough, the wax had melted, leaving a stump that was only a couple of inches tall.

“But… but I still don’t feel like I’ve caught up,” you groaned, standing up with a creak in your bones. How old were you? Sixty?

“Not my problem,” he shrugged, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

No. No, you weren’t letting your one chance at academic redemption get away from you that easily.

“Tsukishima,” you whined, turning to look up at him with the most desperate puppy eyes you could manage. You had half a mind to clasp your hands together in front of you to really complete the image. “Tsukki—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Whoops. “I’m sorry!” You said, the phrase jumbling out a bit too quickly. “Please… please help me out again. Please.”

He looked down at you, his eyebrows pinched together in a look that you could only describe as mild disgust. Were you that annoying? Was this such a waste of his time?

“Fine.”

Huh? “Wait, are you serious?”

“Unfortunately,” he muttered.

An unbridled grin broke out across your face. You’d looked deflated mere seconds ago, but now you’d been given new life. Tsukishima was doing all he could to ignore how radiant you looked in the dim half-light of the lanterns.

“If I said no, you’d just keep pestering me about it,” he grumbled, turning his back to you.

You pouted, but had nothing to say. Unfortunately, he was right. You just turned back to your books, packing them into your bag.

“Hurry up,” Tsukishima sighed, making you jump.

“Hm?” You looked over your shoulder, surprised to see him still standing there.

“I want to go to sleep.”

“Then go to bed,” you blinked.

“I will,” he said, “but I can’t do that until I’ve dropped you off at your dorm.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that you almost apologised. Almost.

“Huh?”

“Just… just hurry up, okay?”

✧✧✧

“Hey, Tsukki? hat’s wrong?” Yamaguchi frowned, tilting his head at his companion. “You’re usually great at this stuff.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Tsukishima grumbled, letting his hand fall to his side. He’d been trying to produce a solid ball of light for the past five minutes.

“Are you sure?”

Tuskishima clenched his fist, feeling a wisp of air escape from it. Ah, so he’d been producing something, at least. But regardless, he was wasting their designated time in the courtyard. And he certainly didn’t plan on wasting any more of it by indulging Yamaguchi’s desire to pry into his private life.

“You’ve been kind of off these days, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi pouted, eyebrows pinched together as he regarded his friend. “Have you been sleeping alright?”

“I’ve been sleeping fine,” Tsukishima snapped. Even he knew that was a disproportionate response. But the fact of the matter was he certainly wasn’t sleeping as well as he could be. It was just that every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts managed to find their way back to you.

And quite frankly, he didn’t want to see you anymore than he had to. Even if it was in his half-asleep thoughts, where you were smiling up at him like you actually wanted to see him—

“Tsukishima!”

Oh no.

He cringed, jaw clenching as he saw you running towards him from the other side of the courtyard, your robes fluttering behind you.

Yamaguchi glanced at him, eyebrows raised just a little.

You came to a stop in front of them, giving them each a little bow. Only Yamaguchi returned it.

“What do you want?” Tsukishima swallowed, uncomfortably aware of Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi murmured. It was less his name and more a plea to not be so rude. Tsukishima could tell that from Yamaguchi’s tone of voice alone.

You looked up at Tsukishima, your features pulled into a look of perfect indignation. “Oh, so he’s allowed to call you Tsukki.”

“Bold of you to assume he ever asked me for permission,” Tsukishima grumbled.

You pouted at him for a moment, until your eyes lit up with a certain kind of mischief that Tsukishima had come to dread.

“He talks about you a lot,” you said, turning to Yamaguchi with the brightest smile on your face.

“I do not—”

“You sound like a good friend,” you beamed, hands behind your back. “Tsukki seems to hate literally everyone, so good job!”

“Why are you like this?” Tuskishima groaned, his hands coming up to cover his face.

“Like what?” You asked, your expression the perfect picture of innocence.

He wanted to choose his next words carefully. Very carefully.

“Ah!” You straightened up, your head whipping around to the other side of the courtyard.

“Is everything okay?” Tsukishima frowned, only the smallest touch of concern in his voice.

“I have a meeting,” you said, twirling around in a flurry of robes. “Bye!”

Tsukishima opened his mouth to shout after you; something about how you can’t run away from an argument, about how this entire exchange was entirely useless, about how you needed to keep better track of time…

But you were already gone. All he could do was stare at the spot you’d just been, a look of mild displeasure on his face.

He didn’t check that expression in time. Yamaguchi had already seen it.

“Oh?”

Oh no.

Yamaguchi was grinning. Widely. Usually he’d try and hide that sort of thing behind one of his hands, but not today.

“I don’t,” Tsukishima grumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I haven’t even said anything yet,” Yamaguchi giggled.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” Tsukishima grunted, the tips of his ears suddenly feeling quite warm.

“So,” Yamaguchi hummed, tilting his head to the side. “Want to tell me about them?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Really?” Oh, Yamaguchi was having the time of his life. “You don’t want to… hold their hand, do you?”

“Yamaguchi.”

“What? I’m just curious.”

“Another word out of you and I’ll strike you down where you stand.”

✧✧✧

You liked Yamaguchi well enough. The fact that he was friends with Tsukishima was almost funny.

You just didn’t know why he was with the two of you right now.

“Yamaguchi.”

“Mhm?”

“Do you need to be here?” Tsukishima sighed, not looking up from the textbook.

“Aw, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi frowned, barely trying to hide the mischief in his eyes. “I just want to hang out with my best friend.”

“And?” Tsukishima prompted, rubbing his temples.

“Oh, Tuskki,” you pouted, tilting your head at him. “He just wants to hang out with his best friend! You’d really kick him out so coldly?” You didn’t know why Yamaguchi was in the mood to tease, but you definitely wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn’t ask for your input,” Tsukishima snapped, picking up his quill with an unusual amount of irritation.

Yamaguchi snickered.

“You should respect your friends some more,” you sighed, twirling your own quill in your fingers.

“Who are you?” Tsukishima scoffed. “My mother?”

“No.” You shook your head, sketching the symbol for mercury on your page absent-mindedly. “I would’ve raised you better.”

Yamaguchi had to cover his mouth at that one.

“You’re dragging my family into this?”

Oh shit, you thought, might want to backtrack that one. “You’re right, I should give your mother more credit. I can’t imagine having to put up with you for… what is it now? Eighteen? Nineteen years?”

“Do you want me to tutor you or not?” Tsukishima glowered at you. “Because if you’re going to keep being ungrateful, then—”

“I’m sorry!” You squeaked, bowing your head at him. “I take it back, you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met—”

“That wasn’t an indication to swing too far in the opposite direction,” he rolled his eyes, praying that his cheeks weren’t too pink. “Now just… just start solving that transmutation, okay?”

You pouted at him for a long moment.

“What?” Tsukishima sighed.

“I’m just wondering,” you mused, “Are you cursed?”

Tsukishima’s face dropped. “What are you on about?”

“Well, I was thinking,” you hummed, tapping the feather of your quill against your lips. Tsukishima was determined to look literally anywhere else.

“That’s not a good thing,” he mumbled.

“You’re literally incapable of saying anything nice to your friends,” you mused, tilting your head at him. “Is that because you’re cursed?”

“Do you ever say anything that makes sense?”

“See! That’s a great example!”

“What—we’re not friends—”

“Now that’s the meanest thing you’ve said to me so far!”

Why were you like this? Why were you so difficult to put a finger on? And why was Yamaguchi giggling?

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima growled, casting him a glance.

“I’ll be quiet,” Yamaguchi smiled, turning back to his own work.

“And you,” Tsukishima said, tapping you on the nose with his quill. “Get to work.”

For once, you complied. Fun as it was to get on Tsukishima’s nerves, you had an exam coming up. And if you lost your one comrade in this fight to the perils of homework, then you were willing to get serious yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Yamaguchi wasn’t actually doing his work. Not at all. He was watching the two of you, desperate to catch a whiff of any romantic tension.

He’d never seen Tsukishima be this… patient. Sure, it might not have seemed that way to anyone else, but Yamaguchi knew the lanky blond better than anyone else here. The fact that Tsukishima was taking the time to explain anything to you was a miracle in itself.

But that wasn’t enough to convince him.

No, he was convinced by the deep flush of red that graced Tsukishima’s cheeks when you beamed up at him. You’d just re-explained a concept to him perfectly, and it was Tsukishima’s dry praise that got you to light up so much.

Poor Tsukishima didn’t know what to do, simply staring at you with a look that was halfway between annoyance and confusion. Yamaguchi hadn’t thought that an ‘angry blush’ was a thing, but he was seeing it right in front of his eyes.

What he didn’t know was that Tsukishima was angry for two reasons; the first was that you were so damn cute, despite how annoying you could be. The second was that he didn’t want to admit you were cute. Which meant this feeling had nowhere to go. It would just fester in a corner of his chest, ready to jump on him while he was trying to get to sleep.

“Did I do something wrong?” You asked, shocking Tsukishima out of his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re glaring at me,” you said, biting your lip. “And you’re all red.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, a little too quickly.

Yamaguchi giggled at that. Did he have to be here? Tsukishima just wanted to suffer alone.

“Oi, guys!” A voice boomed out, much too loud for the library. “Come look at this!”

“Oh no,” Tsukishima sighed, fingers rubbing his temples. “Not them, too.”

You looked up, determined to see who, exactly ‘them’ was.

Three boys stood in front of you, two clad in the rich purple robes of the fourth years, and one in the emerald green of the third.

“Oh ho?”

“Oh ho ho?”

“What’s this?” One of the fourth years smirked, his unruly black hair sticking out at all angles. “Is our little Tsukki blushing?”

“Sure looks like it,” the other fourth year grinned, and you realised he was the voice that’d disturbed the peace. You realised, not without some amusement, that he looked something like an owl.

“Leave him alone,” the third year sighed. He had the air of a mother who’d been worn down from years of trying to look after some delinquent children.

You braved a glance at Tsukishima.

He looked like he wanted to die; but not without taking those two fourth years out with him.

“But Tsukki’s talking to someone who isn’t Yamaguchi,” Bokuto gasped, patting the third year on the shoulder. “Akaashi, this is big.”

“He talks to you, doesn’t he?” Akaashi sighed.

“Not by choice,” Tsukshima mumbled.

“Don’t be mean,” the other fourth year chided, crossing his arms.

“Can you please leave?” Tsukishima said. “We’re trying to work here.”

“Aw, you can’t talk to your precious upperclassmen?” Bokuto cooed.

“We happen to be quite busy.”

“He used ‘we’ twice,” the other fourth year pointed out, giving his friend a knowing look.

“For fuck’s sake…” Tsukishima sighed, rubbing his temples yet again. “I’m trying to help my—my friend study so they don’t fail an exam, okay?”

“I’m your friend?” You gasped, placing a hand over your chest in mock-delight.

Tsukishima only just realised what a terrible mistake he’d made.

“Oi, Kuroo,” Bokuto slapped the other fourth year’s arm with the back of his hand. Tsukishima didn’t like the look on either of their faces. “I need to talk to you about… something.”

Kuroo grinned in response, and both boys ran off so quickly that they might as well have puffed into smoke.

“I’m so sorry,” Akaashi mumbled, giving the three of you at the table a small bow.

“Not a problem,” you smiled, waving a hand at him.

He just nodded before walking off himself. You weren’t sure if he would bother looking for the other two or not.

You snuck a glance at Tsukishima. “Are you okay? You seem… stressed.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders.

“Friends of yours?” You hummed. “Like me?”

“You could say that,” he grumbled, his cheeks just as vibrant as they had been a couple of minutes ago.

You grinned, elated at your ‘win.’ Sure, a couple of weeks ago you would’ve balked at the thought of wanting Tsukishima Kei to call you his friend. Maybe it was because it had seemed so impossible to win any kind of approval from him.

Yeah, that had to be it.

“Can we go over the transmutations of iron?” You asked, cutting off your thoughts before they could steer themselves in a direction you didn’t like.

The two of you worked away for the next half an hour or so, Yamaguchi peacefully watching on from the other side of the table. But eventually, he’d seen all he wanted to see. And he wanted to give you two a little privacy; for Tsukishima’s pride, if nothing else.

“Anyway,” Yamaguchi yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m going to go.”

You jumped. In all honesty, you’d totally forgotten he was there.

“Whatever,” Tsukishima sighed. He looked a bit like he was trying to fight off a yawn himself.

Yamaguchi stood up and gave you a little nod before beaming at Tsukishima. “Tsukki, I’ll see you later tonight at the dorms, right?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Tsukishima frowned.

“Just checking,” Yamaguchi said brightly. You had half a mind to ask him what that was about, but he’d scurried away from the table before you had time to think about it properly.

Tsukishima had decided to pay it no mind, instead just turning to you and saying something about gold. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you could feel the weight of the day beginning to bear down on the two of you.

Tsukishima groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“You okay?” You asked, glancing at him.

He sighed, taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. And it wasn’t really.

But seeing him without his glasses made you pause. Was Tsukishima Kei… handsome? Had he been handsome this entire time, and you were just too blinded by rage to notice it? And what were you supposed to do with this information?

You watched, rapt with terror as he put his glasses back on.

Enemy sighted. You blinked, trying to process what was going on.

What the fuck had just happened? Were you so tired as to think that your sworn rival Tsukishima Kei was attractive?

Besides, what did it even matter if he was handsome or not? Plenty of handsome people were downright unbearable. Not that you would slander Tsukishima in such a way. He wasn’t that bad.

“Hurry up,” he grumbled, packing his own books into his bag.

Oh, right. He was going to walk you back to your dorm. Again. He’d made a habit of it, after these little study sessions of yours. The fact that he was under no obligation to do such a thing made it all seem so… gentlemanly.

You said very little as you walked side by side, too wrapped up in your own thoughts. He was supposed to be your sworn rival. And yet, there you were, feeling a bit like you were floating, and a bit like you were about to throw up.

Oh, well. This would be over soon enough.

✧✧✧

“So.”

You looked up at him, biting your lip. “So.”

“How do you think you did?”

Tsukishima was close behind you as you left the classroom, the bubble of anxious conversation rippling through your peers.

You were more nervous about this closeness between you than you’d been about the damn exam. You swallowed, quickly maneuvering your way through the crowd to find some more open space.

“You haven’t answer my question,” Tsukishima grumbled, hot on your heels.

Oh, right.

“I did the best I could,” you said, looking up at him with a smile.

He smiled back.

Oh, no. No, you weren’t used to that. You weren’t used to how cute he looked when he smiled. Oh, this was all unfamiliar territory. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to feel. Uh—

“I tried my best, and that’s what matters,” you breathed, turning around and skipping down the hallway. What were you? Seven?

Tsukishima watched you, his legs long enough to keep up with you without issue. “Are you… okay?”

He probably thinks I’m weird, you thought. I’m an adult and I’m bloody skipping down the hallway like a child—

“Yes! I’m fine!” You lied, slowing down to a regular walking speed. What were you even supposed to say to him anymore, now that the exam was done?

Tsukishima hummed, but he didn’t press the issue further. Which was worse—you abhorred the silence.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do with my evenings, now,” you said, more in a bid to fill the space between you than anything else. “I’m going to be deathly bored.”

Maybe that was a little too honest.

But you didn’t miss how he very quietly murmured, “Me too.”

Oh, you weren’t going to let that go. Not at all.

You zipped in front of him, coming to a standstill. He skidded to a stop himself, both startled and embarrassed at the fact that he’d nearly just tripped over you.

You looked up at him resolutely, a mixture of nervousness and mischief painted across your face. “That’s because you won’t be hanging out with me, right?”

Tsukishima opened his mouth as if to say something, but he seemed to stop himself from responding. But, his cheeks bloomed a familiar red, and the tenderness in his eyes betrayed him.

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you felt a handful of words away from humiliating yourself. But there was a little, tiny opening here, and you didn’t want to let it go to waste.

“Would you… like to catch up later?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

“To… study?”

You did have a couple more exams to worry about. But that wasn’t what you were interested in.

“We can if you really want to,” you smiled, lacing your hands together behind your back. “But wouldn’t it be more fun to head into town?”

“Sure,” he swallowed, sticking his hands in his pockets. He couldn’t quite meet your gaze, his entire posture screaming with awkwardness. He really had no clue how to handle this, did he?

“You know I’m talking about a date, right?” A tease or two wouldn’t hurt.

“Of course I know that!” He snapped, neck and ears now slowly turning red. “I’m not dumb!”

“Ah! So you do like me then!” You giggled, well-aware that your own cheeks must be glowing by now.

“I—I never said that,” he huffed, finally looking at you.

You frowned at him, eyes wide and round with hurt. It did sting a little.

“But… But I never said I don’t,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair.

You beamed up at him, standing up a little straighter as relief flooded your chest.

“You’re so exhausting,” he whined, bringing his hands up to cover his face. You’d count that as an absolute win.

You laughed, stepping forward and tugging at his wrists. You weren’t used to that kind of contact, but you were determined to start familiarizing yourself with it.

He dropped one of his hands from his face with some reticence, and you took the opportunity to lace your fingers through his.

“Let’s get something to eat,” you said, positive that if his hand wasn’t tying you to the ground, you’d be floating off into the great unknown.

He said nothing. But, he didn’t let go of your hand.

Some part of you felt like gloating. You’d managed to leave the Tsukishima Kei speechless; and you’d managed to make him blush. Even if your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, and even though you couldn’t stop a smile from taking over your face, you’d managed to get the last laugh.

But, had you really?

✧ ✧

“I can’t believe it,” Kuroo snorted, watching the two of you from the other side of the courtyard.

“I told you they’d be fine,” Akaashi sighed, a little flutter of relief in his chest.

“I still think our plan would’ve been great,” Kuroo yawned, scratching the back of his neck.

“Leaving two people stranded in the forest is more likely to leave them panicked, not ready for love,” Akaashi said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo sighed, waving a hand at his friend. He glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

An expression of resigned acceptance graced Akaashi’s face. “Bokuto’s never going to shut up about this.”

#tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei imagines #tsukishima imagines #haikyuucreations #okay so it didn't show up in the tags so i'm posting it again :|#me: i don't want to look at this again #tumblr: oh that's nice :)

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themadauthorshatter · 3 years

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OOOOOOKAY!

Who's ready for some angst!?

Like I said in a previous post, the rework on A World Without Princes is going to be dark as in it deals in abusive relationships, such as ones like Sophie and Agatha's, which is very verbally abusive and and gaslight-y, in my opinion.

Tedros and Aric should have a similar relationship, but, given how Aric's role changes, it's going to be more physical.

LET ME EXPLAIN!

The story in the beginning should be mostly the same with Sophie and Agatha running to the School for Girls and away from the princes hunting them. However, when Dovey explains Tedros put out the order, Agatha should cry out that he wouldn't do that. As emotionally inbalanced as he is, he's never been a homicidal maniac. Witch or not, he wouldn't just fly off the handle and go for someone's head. Sophie would whistle about how he almost shot her with a biw and arrow, but Agatha snaps with, "Because you TRICKED us both!"

And, you know what? AGATHA. IS. RIGHT.

While the girls were in Gavaldon, Tedros ran and locked himself away in the school master's tower(it was the closest building, and he followed the storian there) as Sophie and Agatha's tale ended and their book closed.

Frantic and desperate, he flipped through the book as the storian began writing a new story, one titled, The Tale of The Lost Love, which details Tedros's search through Sophie and Agatha's tale for a clue on hiw he can get his true love back. He also checks other books with characters "Of Woods Beyond" in them, in case this has happened before.

It hasn't. Every Reader has either failed or been killed in their fairytales.

After his search, here is what the storian's words read, "Alone in the ruined School Master's tower, Tedros wept as his heart broke in pieces, shambled as the room he had toen through like a madman. Alas, there were no clues, no hints, no Agatha, and no Galavdon that she had spoken of. He sat alone in the tower, just as empty and crestfallen as his true love."

The eviction happens the same, but Tedros only finds out when Hort, Chaddick, and Tristan tell him. He doesn't know how to process this information and is literally speechless as Tristan reads the room and, being the precious boy he is, kind of starts cleaning up as Hort slips out a, "Nice place. Redecorating?"

Tedros is told about the eviction and how the School for Boys needs a leader and he's got the highest status, so the role of School Master falls on him.

He may have led the School for Good, but he knew just about everyone in said school. He BARELY knows anyone in the School for Evil, save for Hort, Rsvan, Vex, Hester, Anadil, and Dot, the latter three in the School for Girls.

He's not sure about taking the mantle, he just lost the love of his life, but is essentially talked into it by Chaddick, who thinks leading the boys will help him, and Hort, because he doesn't like seeing a sad Tedros.

He agrees and all is well for a little while, with boys from both schools now cooperating and giving tips on how to fight, until Tedros notices the girls have thrown out August Sader's paintings, the ones of the villages the students were picked from.

With a quick, "Chaddick, you're in charge," he takes the paintings and hides back in a tower, not the school master's this time just a really tall tower.

With Tedros out of the picture, the boys start to realize that maybe Tedros isn't the best leader, at least not under stress.

It does not help that the girls have been sending them little trinkets to piss them off because, "Boys can't hit girls."

One boy, however, stomps and spits all over that notion when he struts his stuff to the boys and throws an injured girl down in front of them, bleeding from her stomach and with her hand broken, an army of goons behind him.

Yep. This is how we meet Aric. He has not only found one of the girls trying to start a fight, but he has made her PAY for it by finishing the fight.

Impressed with this new attitude, Chaddick introduces Aric to Tedros, who is pulled out of studying the paintings and some maps, and Tristan, who has become Tedros's confidant.

Tristan and Chaddick make the worst mistake ever and leave Aric and Tedros alone, the former taking note of the paintings, books, and maps.

Just to fill you guys in, his plan is to look for Gavaldon and convince Agatha to come back, or at least make sure she still loves him; he'll beg on his knees and cry if he has to.

It's worth mentioning that Aric has heard the tale of Agatha and Sophie.

Serious note here, my experience is very second hand and from an outsider looking in, but I have been learning about the mindset of an abuser for a lottle while. I'm not an expert, and I'm sorry if any of what you're about to read becomes distressing or too dark.

Aric admits that Tedros is working himself a little too hard for a girl who isn't looking for him.

Tedros simply claims that she IS from a Reader village, so there'd be a lot of commotion about them coming home after half a year.

Here is the rest of their conversation:

"That witch is pretty good at persuading people, though. Telling them what to do and and how and when. Your Agatha chose her in the end, didn't she?"

(Tedros ignores him amd keeps looking theough the paintings and maps.) "Why are you here? The boys keep saying you almost killed a girl."

(Aric shrugs as a wide smirk stretches across his face) "She crossed into your territory, she was asking for it. Just like the rest of them. Including those two Readers."

(Tedros's eyes dart to the storian, which is writing furiously in his book. Aric steps in front of him, hiding the storian from his view.)

"Humblest and most sincere apologies for the intrusion, my prince. And my behavior. A lot of boys are bruised with those girls. No love for princes anymore."

(Tedros's eyes drift to the floor as his shoulders curl up. That hits too hard for him.)

(It gives Aric the opportunity to close his book and take the storian, holding it behind his back.) "Good and Evil are history. You know that better than any of them." (He approaches Tedros and puts an arm on his shoulder, with a slight of hand, hiding the storian in the same sheath as his knife.) "It's us-" (He gestures between himself and Tedros as they stop at a window). "Against them." (He points to the Girl's school.) "Want to have another Sophie ruin everything for you again? Take away your true love?"

Tedros is shaken by this, and by how true these words are.

"What do you want?"

"To help. Why do you think I brought an army with me? No offense, but those boys down there don't know what they're doing."

Tedros slowly and nervously nods to this. "If you want to stay, fine, but-"

"Thank you VERY much, your grace! I'll ensure tpu don't regret this."

Tedros holds up a finger, stern eyed and jaw set. "BUT you have to help me find Agatha."

Aric's smirk drops. "What if she doesn't love you? She left with Sophie, remember?"

Tedros turns away to leave. "I just want to make sure, then. That she's sure about her decision."

Aric holds his shoulder again. "Fine. And, by the way, keep this hidden a little better." He holds up the storian, and Tedros nods as he takes the storian and looks for a way to either keep it secure, if something's covered in locks, most people don't even bother,or to keep it hidden, a Plan B he makes with Tristan later that night.

THIS WAS PART 1 OF THE REWORK OF A WORLD WITHOUT PRINCES!!!!!!!!

My goodness, it's just the beginning and Aric's already slimy and evil😅

Anyway I hope you guys enjoyed and stay tuned for part 2!!!!!!!!

#school for good and evil #school for good and evil tedros #agatha of woods beyond #tedros of camelot #sge tedros #sge aric #school for good and evil Aric #manipulation tw #it gets darker from here

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invaderlynx · 4 years

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Booker and La Campagne de Russie

I just watched The Old Guard and honestly, it was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a VERY long time. Of course, now I’m having all sorts of thoughts about the whole thing and particularly about Booker because his backstory intersects perfectly with my historical interests. I know that all the immortals in The Old Guard have experienced all sorts of terrible trauma, but because I am a history major with an affinity for the Napoleonic period, especially the Russian Campaign (and because Booker is my favorite character), I’d like to give you guys an idea of just what sort of torture he faced even before the pain of losing his family (also for fair warning, I have not read the comics):

Please place yourself in Booker’s shoes. You are one of over 600,000 men mustered to march into Russia. You’re serving in an army you never wanted to join, taking up arms for the glory of an empire that’s never done anything for you. You’ve been separated from your three beloved sons and your wife whom you love more than life itself, and have been sent off to fight in a foreign land that’s nothing like the home you’ve left behind. That much becomes evident immediately.

The invasion starts in the summer of 1812 and it is hot, unseasonably hot. You feel it, laboring as you are under the thick heavy materials of your sweat-soaked uniform. Each step is its own torture in the heat as you struggle through mud left behind by hard summer rains. More than a few men kill themselves at this point and although this is just the beginning, you can hardly blame them. Some of your comrades get the bright idea to start discarding some of their extra layers of clothing—underthings and the like. Perhaps you join them, anything to lighten the load. You can’t be expected to carry all this over the long miles ahead. You’ll live to regret that decision.

The fighting itself is worse than the conditions. You never quite get used to the violence. No matter how many times you’re thrust into battle, your mouth still goes dry, your heart still thunders as loud as the military drums’ tattoo, you still choke on that thick gunpowder smoke. You nearly threw up the first time you killed with a bayonet. You remember sticking the man in between the ribs, a swift stab and he is bleeding out. It is only then that you see his face and realize just how young he is. He is a boy, maybe a few precious years older than your eldest. He cries as he falls. You didn’t speak Russian at the time but you didn’t need to to recognize the word “Мама”.

The only thing that makes it possible to keep putting one foot in front of the other (besides your family, of course) is your comrades-in-arms. Against all odds, you’ve found friendship here, men with whom you can share stories and jokes and drinks. You find a few men of around your own age with families, wives and children that they lovingly speak of, but many of these soldiers are young, young enough to be your sons, far too young to be out here slaughtering and being slaughtered. Over your meager meals you tell stories of home and it is enough to hold off the impending horror, at least for a moment. When that doesn’t work, you turn to drink. You drink an awful lot.

The conditions of this foreign land are mercurial at best and your woes are only compounded by your lack of proper supplies. The Russians have been scorching nearly everything in the wake of their retreat, making it difficult for you to forage for food. Your search parties turn up very little by way of provisions and your food supply continues to fall in tandem with the temperature.

Borodino is hell. You see the man to the right of you receive a cannonball to the chest and fall in a spray of red, you see the man to the left crumple as a shot rips through his handsome, hard-lined face. One of your friends, one of those boys that you’d come to regard as a surrogate son who was barely old enough to grow hair on his chin, catches a bullet in the leg. He dies in agony four days later, one of the thousands of casualties of that damned battle. In your lowest moments, you wish you would have joined him.

You were never a particularly happy man, even before the war. Prone to fits of melancholia, they would have said back then. Your darling wife and your three sons certainly helped to alleviate that heavy, aching emptiness that resided in your chest, but it never went away, not fully. It resurfaces with a vengeance now. Sitting with your gun in your hands and far too much liquor in your belly, you think about ending it all. How easy it would be to put a bullet in your brain and finally die. In the end, it’s your family that saves you again. You may not want to live for yourself, but for them- for them you can keep fighting. Besides, Moscow is only 70 miles away and once you take the ancient capital, Russia will have no choice but to surrender. That’s what everyone is saying and you force yourself to believe that it’s true.

Moscow was a lie. You took the capital but there was no peace. There was no food either. The Russians took it all when they abandoned the place, leaving almost nothing for your starving army. Nothing but liquor, which you are very grateful for at least. Your superiors probably aren’t, you think wryly as you raise the bottle to your lips and drink, drink, drink.

Moscow passes in a drunken haze for you. You drown yourself in Russian booze, drinking yourself absolutely insensate. There are entire days you spend propped up against the wall of some ramshackle Russian establishment, surrounded by empty bottles, too drunk to even stand. You remember bits and pieces, shattered memories drifting in and out of the fog. The looting and the things you took (a fine scarf, a silver flask, maybe more), a ladies’ fur shawl wrapped about your shoulders to keep out the chill, the burning heat of a terrible fire and the screams in French and Russian, the acrid taste of bile in your mouth as you splutter sick all over yourself only to raise the bottle to your lips again for another drink. In the end, you’re forced to leave Moscow as the position becomes untenable, the abandoned city burned to a shell of its former self. You never do learn who first started the fire, even years after the fact.

The retreat is hell on Earth, worse than anything else that came before. La Grande Armée is hardly an army any longer, you’ve lost practically all discipline. By now, you’re just a bunch of exhausted, cold, starving men who want nothing more than to just make it home alive. Most of them won’t. The temperatures have dropped to below freezing at this point and you are wishing more than anything that you still had those infernal layers that caused you so much pain in the summer months. The clothing you and your comrades drunkenly plundered in Moscow—silken scarves stolen from abandoned trunks, heavy furs pilfered from store inventories, ladies’ shoes that hurt your feet but do a better job of keeping out the slush than your tattered boots—help, but not enough. Your fingers stiffen to near icicles in the cold as you try your damnedest to massage even a little warmth back into them, your face is wind-chapped and scabbed. You feel as though your very marrow has frozen, and you are one of the lucky ones. Men freeze to death in their sleep in less than an hour. Fifty men will sit down at a fire and only the twenty or so closest will ever get back up again. You all begin to loot the bodies of the dead and—as you grow more desperate—the dying as well. Corpses are stripped naked and left in the snow as the survivors squabble over their threadbare uniform pieces. Sometimes the corpses still twitch and moan but you try to ignore that.

There’s no food either. In addition to freezing, you’re starving too. The lot of you fight and quarrel over moldy crusts of bread, and in some cases even kill each other for them. The more clever turn to other sources to fill their writhing, empty stomachs. Some eat their boots, but there isn’t much leather left in any case. Some carve their meals off the horses as they walk, tearing bits of bleeding flesh off of the warm, moving flanks in a short-sighted attempt to get even a few morsels of meat in their bellies. Others, in mad desperation as the march (if you can even call it that any longer) wears on, turn to each other.

Perhaps you take part in this, perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you sidle a man out of the way to get closer to the fire, perhaps you take a coat off a corpse that you don’t know for sure is dead yet, perhaps you accept a piece of meat that you do not quite know the origin of. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

In the end it doesn’t matter. You die anyway. You don’t really remember how it happened the first time. Maybe you were finally picked off by the advancing Russians, maybe it was exposure, exhaustion, starvation, sickness, any of the hundred ways that you could die in this frozen wasteland. All you know is that one moment you were on your feet, shambling mutely forward, the next you were lying on the icy ground, gasping air back into lungs that had fallen completely still. Four faces are burned into your memory and from one you can still hear the gurgling, watery screams.

That’s when the dreams start, after that first death. Though, you wouldn’t classify them as dreams, they’re far more alike to nightmares. You see that screaming, drowning woman often. You feel her fear as she slams her body against her metal coffin. Even awake you can’t get the sound of her choking out of your head. Sometimes there are soft moments interspersed with the horror. You see a woman with short hair (it reminds you of a coiffure à la victime) laughing, you see two men resting in each others’ arms, foreheads pressed together gently, blissfully happy. To be quite honest, these ones hurt worst of all because they make you regret ever waking up.

You die a few more times before you finally decide to desert. You can’t take it anymore. That tyrant Bonaparte has abandoned this army, why can’t you? You take flight under the cold cover of night, trying to get to the Russian border. You don’t make it very far. You are dragged back—aching, tired, and hungry—and are hanged by the road as a deserter. Perhaps there still is a little discipline left in these ranks, at least enough to allow these soldiers to kill their comrades in the name of orders. You have to wait three days for the road to clear before you can finally run. In that time your body is almost entirely picked clean by looters. You continue your desperate trek back home in spite of it all and die many more times in the weeks (or was it months?) that follow. It never gets any easier.

It’s near the border into Prussia that you finally meet one of the figures from your dreams. Perhaps it is the woman with the short hair who offers you a drink and a coat to put around your shoulders, and tells you bluntly but not unkindly that you’re immortal. Perhaps it is the curly-haired man who helps hold you upright when you stumble and is careful and caring with his words as he gently explains the situation. Perhaps it is his lighter-haired lover who catches you when you fold in on yourself from the weight of his words and offers you affirmations and condolences in a voice reminiscent of a priest. Whoever it is, they ask you to come with them and explain that there are others like them- like you out there.

“What about my family?” you stutter out, almost unconscious of the words as the tumble from your mouth “My wife? What about them?”

They favor you with a sad smile and try to explain, but you will hear none of it. They do not stop you when you tell them that you are going home, and you are glad for it.

With the supplies they give to you, you manage to hobble your way back home. You’ve been taken for a dead man, you realize, everyone you pass seems to think you’re a ghost. You don’t care. You only have one person on your mind.

Your wife answers the door dressed in black. She starts to cry when she sees you and throws her arms around your neck. You nearly crumple, weak as you are. “Bastien, Bastien,” she sobs against your shoulder “What happened?”

That question fills you with icy dread. Your stomach drops as you realize you cannot explain to her what you’ve been through, not in a way that she’ll understand. Even if you explain the immortality and she believes you, she won’t understand the horrors you’ve seen. No one will. A soldier’s burden.

You stay silent and instead cradle her closer as your boys appear in the doorway. You have them and, for now, that is enough. You won’t forget, you will never forget, but for now at least you have this.

#there we go #i made myself sad #you see what this poor bastard had to go through #it does not excuse what he did #not in the slightest #but it explains why he wants to die at least #there are very few things that i would want to go through less than the russian campagne #the old guard #tog #sebastien le livre #booker #andromache the scythian #yusef al kaysani #niccolo di genova #quynh

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seimeinotaka · 3 years

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A beautiful gift for a beautiful flower: the Legendary Sword (Vil X MC fic)

It is still the 9th, so I’m still on time to upload a fic to celebrate Vil’s birthday. I wanted to give something he would love, so here it is, given and made with him and Ann in mind. Maybe one day I’ll upload Ann giving him also his so-wanted list hehe. But for now, I hope this will do!

Thanks to polyphenols@AO3 for beta-reading this!

This is a story from a young prince who lived in a faraway land.

~ ° ~

Vil had just returned from his afternoon walk as he crossed the now empty lounge, devoid of any of the birthday tables and balloons for his own celebration, as expected for it was the day after. Well, it was empty except for the lone presence of Ramshackle dorm’s prefect, Ann Hawthorne, and Vil’s almost professional headache.

“Vil-senpai, here!” the young girl said as she handed Vil a thick-looking envelope, with a purple ribbon on top.

The unexpected gift made him raise an eyebrow. “Potato, my birthday was yesterday and you were here, with your usual birthday interviews for the School’s News Section. You even took a picture of me. Did you somehow not know it was my birthday yesterday and made a last-minute gift to excuse yourself?”

Ann rolled her eyes and made a mocking grin. “Haha, how funny, there is no way in hell I can make this in one night. I had actually brought it with me, but well, I wanted you to read it, and I didn’t want to take up your time at your birthday party. I mean, you didn’t read Rook-senpai’s poems either, so it was fair that I handed you this now.”

Vague curiosity in his eyes, because he wasn’t really interested, just a little, Vil opened the envelope and took out a large stack of papers bound together with a purple thread. The words “Legendary Sword” could be read on the first page, and with a quick glance, Vil realized it was a script with some pictures in between.

~ ° ~

Long ago in the hidden remains of the Araceae Kingdom lived a beautiful young man, with brilliant cold amethyst eyes and delicate flawless skin. His hair was silky golden and he blinded everyone with his appearance. Every day, he devoted himself to his studies, from arts to economics, languages and science. In the afternoon he would train his body, fencing, wrestling, running, horse riding. He worked harder than anyone, never complaining, as he pushed himself day after day.

However, he was feared and scorned, for he was the scion of the wretched Zantedeschia household, Schwartz Zantedeschia. His family had ruled the kingdom with an iron fist, and had seized control of every other kingdom under the sun.

Shedding blood, many fought the Zantedeschia until one day a brave hero, wielding a mythical sword, was able to dethrone the cursed family and their household vanished from history. The hero, coming from the Leiron family, the rulers of the Lilium Kingdom that everyone had dismissed as negligible, was of pure heart and as the chosen hero, he was able to vanquish the evil.

However, the Zantedeschia weren’t completely destroyed and each heir was carefully trained in hopes of achieving their dream.

Before Schwartz, no one had been as successful nor had anyone worked as hard, and he was the only one to cast off from the shadows to fulfill his mission, leaving his homeland in shambles behind him.

To regain their former glory, and extract revenge, that was the reason for his journey.

~ ° ~

“A villain protagonist, really? This is your gift to me?” Vil took his eyes off the script for a moment to give Ann a dismissive and insulted glare.

Unamused, the girl rolled her eyes as she pushed the script closer to his face. “Keep reading, Vil-senpai.”

Vil kept his penetrating and heavy stare on her, though the young girl didn’t even flinch, probably used to his flair for the dramatic. However, the actor kept on reading.

~ ° ~

To fulfill his quest for revenge, he would need to seize the mythical sword Durendal, which had been the fall of his family. The next chosen holder would be Weiss Leiron, the heir of the Lilium Kingdom, adored by everyone for his purity. As soon as he turned of age, he would become the legitimate owner of Durendal.

Prince Schwartz had known of Weiss, meeting him long ago when he hid his identity to get to know the faces of his enemies. Even now, he was painfully aware, Weiss was beloved by every creature in the land, his affable nature charming everyone in spite of his failings. During that time, Schwartz came to learn that his own nature scared others, finding himself pushed away even if his true name hadn’t been revealed. His beauty alienated everyone he had met and his stoic personality was found distrustful by many, no matter what he did or said.

Thus for years, he couldn’t help but to grow deep resentment in his heart, jealousy taking root like a bloody, poisonous flower. So for Schwartz, this quest meant also his own reassurance of his worth to the world that had shunned him.

~ ° ~

“Do you enjoy making me upset?” Vil squinted as he kept on re-reading the last line, his frown growing deeper and deeper with every word.

“Do I look like I’m enjoying this?” Ann replied with a not so concealed smarmy smile.

“Your suspicious gaze makes me wonder if you are secretly a sadist. You’re not even trying to flatter me in the slightest, and of all people, you had to put him as the hero again. Really, you have a morbid sense of humor.”

“Who says Neige is the hero?”

“I am obviously Schwartz, as the narration clearly describes me. That would mean Neige can only be Weiss. Stop playing around, you aren’t fooling me.” Vil let out a long sigh. “At this rate, I’m going to have you list 200 beautiful things about me instead.”

“Please finish reading the thing, Vil-senpai? Do you judge books on the first page?”

Vil sighed again, gently shaking his head as his eyes went back to the papers in his hands.

~ ° ~

To aid him on his quest, Prince Schwartz had been sent with two trusted knights serving the Zantedeschia, the bow master Vert and the young knight Violett. Vert was a self-proclaimed defender of beauty and followed Schwartz wherever he would go. Violett had a tense relationship with Schwartz, feeling constricted by Schwartz’s rules and strictness, and with a promise of freedom after this journey. Whatever their goals were, they would protect him with their lives, as his travel would grow more dangerous the further he went. Prince Weiss had seven renowned knights and no matter Prince Schwartz’s prowess in combat and magic, it would be safer for him to be accompanied. The Araceae Kingdom was also on the northern end of the continent, hidden behind a harsh tundra and treacherous mountains, and Schwartz’s safety was to be prioritized.

As the prince and his knights traveled south, to reach the center of the continent where Durendal was enshrined, they met a group of four travelers in peril, surrounded by foul beasts. Even if it was dangerous, as it could blow his cover, Schwartz and his knights went to their rescue. In gratitude, the brawler Azure, the thief Vermillion, the young lost researcher Ai and her magical talking cat Hai joined Schwartz on his travels south.

~ ° ~

“Why do I get vague videogame allusions from this?” Vil arched an eyebrow at the recent development.

“Well,” Ann replied with a shrug. “They are classes you find in RPGs. It would make sense for Schwartz to gather several comrades that can cover any weakness he might have.”

“Then? What is your class, Ann?” Vil turned to the girl, a mocking smirk dawning on his beautiful face. “I don’t think you’d be able to be a Healer here.”

Ann pursed her lips before reluctantly answering, “I am the very important NPC tagging along. You all can fight to protect me.”

“Fufufu, bold of Ai to wander alone with her talking cat who can barely manage a spell. I wonder if they will be of help.” With a dark chuckle, Vil resumed reading.

~ ° ~

Vermillion and Azure hailed from the Rosaceae Kingdom, a land not far away from Lilium and the shrine for Durendal. Originally a couple of bandits, they had initially attempted to trick Ai and her cat, lost travelers who had just survived a shipwreck and were looking for a way back to their homeland, the Asteraceae Empire on the other side of the world. However, after being saved by the same girl they wanted to rob, they decided to reform and help them reach a port. Being told of their quest to reach Lilium, the group tagged along unaware of Schwartz’s true intentions. They all believed he was a young man kidnapped and sent to Araceae who was trying to go back to his own land, Vermillion and Hai hoping they could snag a reward for their efforts.

To reach Lilium and the shrine, the group would need to cross a perilous desert, where the rays of the sun would be so merciless that the unprepared would easily die. Unaccustomed to such warm weather, Schwartz and Violett struggled with the inclemency of the climate, growing weaker with every step. However, Schwartz was not willing to abandon his mission, even at his own health’s peril, and he continued his trip until he grew gravely ill.

~ ° ~

“You’re not writing this right now, but one could think you were expecting me to question your abilities and you kindly decided to get some petty revenge on Schwartz,” Vil said flatly, as his eyes dangerously narrowed, throwing daggers at Ann.

“Excuse me, I would be incapable of doing that, Vil-senpai.”

“Have you forgotten the time your hand slipped and your fist casually connected with Rook’s jaw? Or the time you-”

“That was a legit reason to punch him, okay?” Ann pouted as she folded her arms in front of her. “And we don’t need to talk about other things, go on and keep reading.”

~ ° ~

Taking a detour, the group reached the land of Oleaceae in hopes of finding a doctor to treat Schwartz and Violett. In their search, they found a pair of young men running away from a large group of pursuers. Ill and weakened, Schwartz still led the party to defend and protect the men in need of help, learning that the people running away, a dancer by the name of Asfar and his servant Burtiqali had been wrongly accused of murdering Asfar’s father. Even if Asfar had chosen to distance himself from his father’s business, one of the largest spice traders in Oleaceae and the land, he was the heir to the family and people within the clan wanted to get rid of the father and son to claim the business for themselves.

After a narrow escape from Oleaceae, the group learned that Burtiqali was a proficient chemist, and he provided relief to Schwartz and Violett, in gratitude for helping them escape. With no place to go, Asfar and Burtiqali decided to travel with Schwartz, hoping to find a way to clear Asfar’s name if they reached Lilium and found the hero Weiss.

Meanwhile in the Lilium Kingdom, word of Schwartz’s quest reached the ears of Weiss.

“Someone sullied is not fit to be a hero, only those pure can be one. Envy, jealousy, those emotions are unbecoming. A hero is a beacon of hope, a model to follow, a paragon of virtue. Someone who is envious of the natural course of things is not fit to be a hero.”

Those were the words of the beloved hero, the next in line to inherit Durendal. He looked at the eyes of his loyal knights, seven brave men who would follow Weiss wherever he went, taking his word almost as if it came from the heavens. Anyone wishing to follow the right path would look closely at the Prince of Lilium, with his bright and kind features and no darkness in his eyes. For his sake, they would even shut their hearts, to do what was right.

If Schwartz was willing to attack the hero, they would prevent him from even touching a single strand of the hero’s hair. A villain must never win, and good will always defeat, vanquish evil. In these times of crisis, with the kingdom’s growing unrest year after year caused by the Zantedeschia, the populace was suffering. Inequality, famine, disease, they had been slowly creeping in Lilium, and Schwartz’s arrival would be the key to opening the forbidden box.

Thus, they needed to bring swift judgement to the villain trying to usurp power once more.

~ ° ~

“A paragon of virtue, the meaning of a hero,” Vil uttered those words, almost wounded.

“In my world, the origin of the word ‘Hero’ was one meaning Defender.”

“It’s the same as this world. Color me surprised, though, I wouldn’t put you as a reader.”

“How rude, senpai, even after all this time you still think the worst of me.” Ann pretended to sigh dramatically, though Vil just rolled his eyes. “You probably think I spend my time thinking of how to annoy you and picking my nose.”

He let out a chuckle, his now trademark sardonic smile aimed at her. “Given how much you neglect your appearance, would you blame me for believing it?”

~ ° ~

As they traveled, the burden of his secret mission weighed heavily on Schwartz’s shoulders, as he found himself growing attached to his companions. Keeping an aloof distance and not hiding his critical tongue and stoic and strict nature, he had assumed they would be simply people he would be using to achieve his goals. Schwartz had always been alone and feared by everyone, so he hadn’t expected anything else. The kind interaction of these people made him at times believe they could be friends, something he had once thought impossible.

After all, no one knew better than him that he was sullied with jealousy and anger, stains perhaps too deep in his soul to be the hero recognized by Durendal. After all, the legendary sword would only choose someone who was a hero and the more Schwartz looked at himself in the mirror, the further he traveled in his journey, the more he believed himself to be the villain, just as his ancestors before him.

~ ° ~

This time, Vil had no snappy retort or effusive reaction. Instead, he solemnly stared at the words in front of him, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He wouldn’t admit aloud that Schwartz’s feelings were hitting too close to home, the traces of his Overblot still lingering in his thoughts. His own failings caused his heart to be tainted with ink and even to his day, he struggled with his wish to be cast once as a hero, to prove he wasn’t the villain everyone appointed and believed he was.

His eyes briefly met Ann’s, before he diverted his gaze. He recalled the times she had called him several things, such as kind, that he, to this day, did not believe he was, and he wondered if there were some of those feelings portrayed in the script in his hands.

She didn’t say anything, as she quietly looked at him with a warm soft smile, in hopes that he kept on reading to find the answer he was suddenly seeking for.

~ ° ~

Just as the travelers arrived at the shrine where Durendal rested, Schwartz came to face his sworn enemy, Prince Weiss, the paragon of goodness and the hero of the land. He almost laughed maniacally, as the seven holy knights came to protect him. It would truly be a fight of good and evil, and for once he decided to unveil his ugly mask to the oblivious people who wrongly decided to accompany him.

~ ° ~

“Did you honestly write ‘Fighting scene goes here’?” Vil arched an eyebrow, with a dismissive and almost stunned glare at Ann, who simply blinked in return.

“Do I look like I know how those kind of fighting scenes normally go in a script?”

“Shouldn’t you know it? You ARE writing this after all.”

“You can make it up as you want.” Ann waved her hand nonchalantly, and Vil let out a groan. The nerve of the girl to leave out the most important part of the scene, and he thought of thousand ways to express his utter shock and frustration. Ann huffed. “If you really want it, you can pretend I wrote you kick Neige in the balls…Ah, but be careful with your heels, you might break his baby-making machine and that might give you trouble.”

“Baby. Making. Machine.”

“His dick, senpai. You break his dick.”

Vil’s blank expression was on her for a couple of seconds, before his line of sight was interrupted by her gently shoving the script toward his face.

~ ° ~

The knights defeated and Weiss wounded, Schwartz would lift his sword, deep in anger to decapitate his nemesis, at the protest of his friends. The anger of knowing that his family had been shunned for years for crimes they never committed, Schwartz finding himself damned for the only reason of being born under the Zantedeschia name fueled his fatal blow. As the sword fell like a guillotine, an arrow threw it away from its trajectory, his friends deciding to oppose him in a battle they knew they might lose. But they would face him because they knew what kind of person Schwartz truly was, cold and aloof, but secretly caring, and they didn’t want him to commit a heinous crime.

Somehow, his words reached Schwartz, horrified at the monster he had become. Falling on his knees, he threw away his magic tome and his sword, realizing he was no hero, he was the villain awaiting his execution. He would no longer be capable of wielding Durendal, no, the idea of wielding it was ridiculous from the very beginning. And to wound him further, his close knight Vert had picked up the Legendary Sword, handing it to a wounded Weiss, as he protected him from any harm on their escape.

“I was hoping you would recognize your own worth without needing external validation. You do not need Durendal. The wielder of Durendal is the one who shines like the sun, the most beautiful at heart. One day, you will surely be recognized, farewell, Schwartz, but my heart truly lies with Weiss, who is unclouded by sin and is as radiant as any star.”

Vert’s betrayal caused everyone to fall back, taking everyone by surprise. While Asfar, Burtiqali and Ai had caught grasp of Schwartz’s true intentions, they never realized Vert had sent a warning to Lilium. Tending their wounds, Schwartz finally explained the truth he had concealed.

Long ago, as a great war emerged, the Zantedeschia were one of many houses caught in the strife. Fighting to protect their territory and lending a hand to nearby lands, they grew in power, and lords of other lands deemed them too dangerous. While they hadn’t invaded other kingdoms, they were plagued by fear, and decided to vanquish them before they could do anything. And thus, they imparted their judgement and executed most of the royal family except for one who managed to escape, keeping the bloodline alive and hiding at the ends of the world.

They gave the honor to a random lowborn house, the Lilium, as they would make the better heroes for a loving fairytale. A chivalrous story of the good and weak defeating the evil and strong. Pinning all of their internal problems on the Zantedeschia, they decided it was for the best to brand them as the evil of the world, and thus it would be allowed to destroy them. Because Durendal happened to choose the prince of Lilium, they could embellish their tale which was no more than political machinations to benefit just a small few, while giving crumbs of justice to the unknowing folk.

And thus, with the passage of time, the world would know of the story of the evil Zantedeschia and the good Lilium and it became the truth for everyone. Except for the surviving bloodline of the Zantedeschia who relayed their truth to their successors, hoping that one day, they would finally be acquitted of something they never committed. And if Durendal chose any of them, then it would finally be proof that they weren’t the evil they were always thought to be.

“Did you want to wield Durendal for yourself or for your bloodline and your people?” Ai had posed this question to Schwartz, who had tried everything and had failed.

“For them, but also for myself, though it no longer matters. Someone like me isn’t meant to be a hero. Which Legendary Sword would choose a murderer driven by jealousy? Which kind of people would follow a hero tainted by anger, envy, and resentment? Weiss is as radiant as the sun, I am the cold moon doomed to die at every dawn.”

“I don’t believe you are the villain you have convinced yourself to be, nor is that one born a hero. If you still wish to try, there is still time for you to see if Durendal has rejected you.”

“Even if it doesn’t choose me, I want my clan’s name to be cleared for sins pinned on us.”

Because of Schwartz coming to Lilium, the official ceremony for Weiss to become the next wielder was rushed and would be before he was of age. It was also to quell people’s anger, as their issues in their land had become unbearable to wear and a hero would bring peace to the people, as Weiss truly believed with all of his heart. To bring light to cast away the shadows, he would take his place as the hero.

Apologizing for what he had done, Schwartz asked his friends if they would accompany in a final quest. If he were to be fought and executed, so be it, and if he was never to become Durendal’s wielder, so be it, but at least, he would want to denounce the infamy his family had been accused of. He would accept his death if it at least meant the truth was finally known, and with it the Zantedeschia would be no more. He was surprised when everyone decided to go on with the journey, everyone knowing what kind of man he was, and wishing to support him one last time. Thus, Schwartz and his friends traveled to Lilium to set right what was wrong.

“I am Prince Schwartz Zantedeschia from the Araceae Kingdom and I have come to reclaim the innocence of my people, unjustly accused in the past of crimes they did not commit. If I have to fight the hero chosen by Durendal, so be it! But on this day, the truth shall be known!”

“I will not let you, Prince Schwartz,” Prince Weiss proclaimed. “The Zantedeschia have become the evil of this land, and will be purged once more. You even wanted to steal this holy blade, someone like you is unfit to be Durendal’s wielder.”

Prince Weiss fought Prince Schwartz, not letting him say anything else. And deeply wounded after so many battles, Prince Schwartz fell on his knee, the sign of his loss and imminent execution. With a heavy movement, Prince Weiss swung Durendal, only to find that it wouldn’t even touch one strand of Schwartz’s hair, falling to the ground and staying there unmoving no matter how hard Weiss tried to lift it.

For Durendal would never harm the wielder it had chosen.

Surprising everyone, Schwartz included, he found himself picking up the sword, glowing as beautifully as the sun, a sign it had picked his newfound hero. However, before anyone could rejoice, the flames of revolution stormed into place, as Schwartz and his friends had to flee Lilium.

~ ° ~

“And that’s when the first movie ends,” Ann chirped happily as Vil closed the script having finished reading it, “setting up the second one where Weiss goes batshit evil because he wasn’t the chosen hero as his land falls into shambles because of a revolution unfolding because the government was trash. Schwartz and his friends had to flee and embark on a journey to unfold a thousand year conspiracy and reveal the people behind the scenes of every tragedy. Burtiqali might or might not have to face the fact he kinda murdered Asfar’s dad and tried to set Asfar up but it blew up on him. Ai and Hai try to go back home, Violet has to reevaluate his relationship with Schwartz, tension between Vert and Scwhartz for the treason he committed, and Azure and Vermillion try to redeem themselves from their petty felonies while working as comic relief.”

Vil blinked for a moment before bursting out laughing for a couple of minutes. “A sequel, really? You even thought that far?”

“There are too many developments to fit in one movie. This isn’t a cash-grab sequel, it’s because the plot is too heavy to work in only one.”

“Pffft!” Vil couldn’t even stop himself from making that grin, between condescending and touched. “I didn’t know you had quite the imagination, I know you make a comic and you made your friends cry with it, but I didn’t expect a conspiracy for Legendary Sword. You truly never watched any of the films, the sword’s name is Excalibur by the way.”

“I knew the name, but Durendal fits better, duh. The meaning of Durendal’s name has been debated actually, but a common point is how it resists and endures. It was a sturdy sword, so of course it would endure, that is why it had to be the Legendary sword here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow your obtuse logic, Ann.”

“If you’ve read as much as you claim to have, you will concede that former heroes weren’t good-natured people. It was a term given to those humans who defied all odds to achieve something impossible. In fact, many of them were terrible people struggling with vices. It was with time, especially modern times, that the word hero morphed into what we see, the pure-hearted paragon of goodness.”

“I almost poisoned Neige. How many heroes kill their rival in a fit of jealousy?”

“I like reading, and I realized the most valuable heroes weren’t the ones who never did wrong, but the ones who faced their own weaknesses and demons, and at their lowest, they could go on. You aren’t born a hero, you become one. Durendal chose Schwartz because he was willing to live on with his resentment and envy and help others. Durendal recognized Schwartz’s struggles and the time and effort he had spent all his life, trying to live up to his own morals. He saved people he encountered because it was the right thing to do, even if it was at odds with his goals. Would you call a villain someone who helps others out of the wishes of their heart?”

Vil opened his mouth to refute everything she had said, but Ann lifted a hand, a sign she wasn’t even done.

“You didn’t harm Neige in the end, and you overblotted because you regretted what you were going to do. You had a moment of weakness because you bottled it all in and because you are human. But your weakness doesn’t define your worth, it’s how you deal with your failures and faults what does. I told you, didn’t I? You are a hero, Vil. And I thought of making a story for the hero you deserved to represent.”

“…You depicted what happened during the VDC. That is no original story,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t mocking her. In fact, he was saying it to try to confront his own mixed feelings, at how she had turned his own struggles in a story of him being the hero. To be seen at his worst, yet being given this…

“It stops being based on that at the end, and there’s still the sequel, don’t forget. I haven’t finished it, but it can be a future birthday gift, right? I am a no-name person, but I’m giving it to you so you can give it to a director or a producer or a big shot and tell him ‘Hey, I got this great idea for a movie’. Obviously, you are Schwartz, the description was there so no one would get funny ideas of casting Neige.”

“You have no idea how these things work. No one will take me seriously if I hand them this.”

“Then arrange for someone to hand it to them then, duh.”

Vil chuckled. “Of course, I might follow your whims, if you behave well. Though I can’t say I hated this gift, you’d better improve your written action scenes next time.” There was no way he was giving this to Adella.

With a bright smile, not knowing that her gift would never reach the light of any studio, Ann excused herself, not before waving at him as she disappeared from the corridor. Vil himself reached his own room, carefully closed the door and threw himself on his bed. The script was carefully held between his arms, as he sighed.

“What a naïve girl, no one would make this film,” he said to no one, disappointed.

Vil knew how the industry worked. Such a story as the one depicted in this tale deviated too much from the norm to become a mainstream film and the budget needed was too large for an independent studio. Thus, only Vil would know of this story, the story of Schwartz Zantedeschia.

Even so, he held the script tightly against his heart, as he closed his eyelids to hide the tears forming in his eyes.

This has a lot of Author’s notes to make things more understandable.

Every character’s name is, as you might have guessed, based on a particular color. The color designation was depending on the origin of the fairy tale. Schwartz (Vil), Weiss (Neige) and Violett (Epel) got the German names for the colors black, white and violet, respectively. Vert (Rook) is the only exception, his name coming from French for green, this is to highlight that in the end he is a traitor of sorts to Schwartz.

Azure (Deuce) and Vermillion (Ace)’s original story hails from England, so they got variants of blue and red. Aladdin was written by a Syrian author, so Asfur (Kalim) and Burtiqali (Jamil) are the Arabic words for yellow and orange. I don’t know Arabic, so I am not sure if that’s the proper way you’d spell those words in the English alphabet, so if you find any mistakes, please let me know. Finally, while Ann comes originally from England, her character Ai and Hai (Grim) are in a way from Japan, so they are the Japanese words for indigo and gray.

Every character’s last name comes from a particular flower. Schwartz’s comes from Zantedeschia, or the calla lily. The calla lily can be found in a purple color so deep it might even look black. In spite of its name, it is not a true lily, hence it comes from the Zantedeschia genus and from the Araceae family. In the language of flowers, it represents beauty (hence ‘calla’, beautiful in Greek), purity, holiness, faithfulness, rebirth and resurrection. Funny though, the flower IS poisonous because of course Vil gets a poisonous flower. :^)

Meanwhile, Weiss’s Leiron is the Greek word people believe referred to the white Madonna lily, and his Kingdom’s name is Lilium, the Genus for the lily flowers. Lilies have different meanings, depending on the color. White ones represent virginity, purity and modesty, while yellow ones represent falsehood and gaiety and orange means hatred. It is used in funerals in the west and are actually poisonous as well.

The other kingdoms come from the family of the Roses (Heartslabyul people), Chrysanthemums (Ann and Grim), and Jasmine (Kalim and Jamil). Because the author of the story of Aladdin is from Syria, I picked the national flower from that country.

Also, it’s ok Vil, you can make it an anime, or you can blackmail Crowley for $$$ and make it your club’s pet project :^) Ehehehe

It was longer than expected, but I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading!

#twisted wonderland #vil schoenheit #twst oc #vil x mc #twst

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retvenkos · 4 years

Text

he smiles // mordred

Merlin (BBC) - Mordred x Fem!Reader, fluff

A/N: 8.1k words!!! i didn’t think it was in me, but i clearly love mordred more than i should...

Summary: There had been time for them to bask in each other’s presence, to feel their souls intertwine as their paths converged onto the same road. For, in those days, few as they were, Mordred and (Y/n) shared a common destination and their fates were one.

brother, you could never understand the beauty in his eyes and the pain reflected there. i have found legends of the most desolate of places with the most gruesome of histories and none of them compare to the look in his eyes. he has been rubbed raw of everything he’s loved and has been chipped away of everything he once was.

but he is beautiful, brother, when the stars are resting in the black night of his hair and when the ivy climbs his skin like a statue of marble.

and when he smiles…

is there beauty that could compare?

ii.

Laughter, warmth, and wine filled the Banquet Hall. Knights celebrated, feasting and drinking to good fortune, speaking with one another in their usual, rowdy tones. Music played and merriment filled the hearts of every soldier and guest in the room.

Instead of sitting at the high table where his father had sat before him, King Arthur was amongst his people, Guinevere at his side, speaking to the man that was cause for celebration; Mordred. An old acquaintance and new ally, this young man was knighted earlier that day and the newest recruit was being honored the only way Camelot knew how.

Mordred was smiling, disbelief clinging to the edges of his mouth, hope blooming roses on his cheeks, underneath his skin. His joy was more subdued than that of those who surrounded him, but it seemed as though the happiness that clung to him was the most pure and full joy he had ever experienced in all his years on Earth.

(Y/n) had yet to meet Modred when Gwaine grabbed her arm and took her over to where his fellow knights were huddled together, in the center of the hall.

“Gwaine,” (Y/n) huffed, following her older brother, despite her initial reaction of refusing, “what is it, this time?”

“You haven’t greeted the King and Queen! Guinevere was wondering if you had gotten holed up in the library again, archiving histories no one’s ever going to read.” Gwaine’s voice bubbled with glee, the mead he had drunk already taking effect on his mood, making him even more playful than usual.

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you didn’t want me talking to the ladies at court? I heard a pretty blonde knows you better than I.”

Gwaine grabbed another drink from a nearby servant and took a swig of it. “If she knew me better than you, she wouldn’t have talked to me the way she did.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Apparently she spends quite a lot of time in your chambers, as well.” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow and stole her brother's mead, taking a drink of it herself.

“We’ve been getting better acquainted.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and Gwaine laughed, taking his drink back, only to find it empty. He nudged her in the ribs with a playful scowl before letting go of her arm and nodding to the Queen. He disappeared into the crowd after that, leaving his younger sister to bow and exchange formalities.

“My Lady.”

“(Y/n),” Guinevere smiled, laughing at the title she now wore. Her spirits, too, had been lifted by the contents of her goblet, and the candle-lit hall seemed to be painted in rosy hues. “You know you can call me Gwen.”

“But that isn’t nearly as fun.”

(Y/n) bowed once more, her eyebrows raised in jest and Guinevere shook her head. “Have you met Sir Mordred?”

“No, I’ve not.”

“Well, then,” Guinevere led (Y/n) a few paces deeper into the throng of knights and very quickly found who she was looking for. She smiled triumphantly when she did and put a hand on the shoulder of a man turned away from her. “Sir Mordred, this is Lady (Y/n).”

The knight turned around, (Y/n)’s gaze met his, and the world around them slowed. Her heartbeat quickened and her breath caught as his blue eyes shook her to her core, seemingly looking right into her soul, finding the pure gold that lay at the heart of her very being. In that moment, which stretched into infinity for them but never left the stream of time for others, (Y/n) could see the most beautiful sky form in his eyes.

And she knew the poets to be right in their rambles of beauty and desire and all that fell in between.

“Sir Mordred,” (Y/n) bowed low, long lashes kissing her cheeks and allowing her a second of relief from his intoxicating gaze.

He breathed her name and it sounded like a forgotten memory; like something that was all at once fondly missed and discovered anew.

“I see you’ve met my sister!” Gwaine’s strong voice shattered the still moment efficiently. The knight clapped Mordred on the shoulder with a strength that could have made mountains crumble, but Modred did not move. “She works with Geoffrey of Monmouth in the Royal Library.”

“She’s the brain to his brawn,” Guinevere supplied with a grin, a twinkle in her eye.

“And the beauty,” (Y/n) teased, earning a laugh from Guinevere and a protest from Gwaine. Through the laughing, (Y/n) caught Mordred’s keen eye as it lingered on her.

iii.

brother, i cannot describe it, but there is a kindness in his bones. it is so deeply rooted in the fabric of his being that it cannot be separated without destroying him - picking him apart piece by piece, excavating his soul until it becomes a cavern, stripped of it’s jewels and metals.

the heavens treat him as though he is a part of them. the sun haloes around his head like a crown, like he is an angel on earth.

and, brother, when he smiles…

the skies above clear just for him.

iv.

(Y/n) walked through the castle, purpose quickening her step, her mind stuck in days gone by, those scholars called the Great Purge. She had been translating history texts written in languages that had died with the Old Religion, and had come across a mention of a sorceress she had not heard of in her many years of learning. Geoffrey of Monmouth, the keeper of the library, had told her to take the name to Gaius in search of more information.

“If the sorceress does, indeed, exist,” Geoffrey had told her, “then there is great reason to believe she did not perish in the Great Purge and the king must be warned.”

(Y/n) understood the danger that a sorceress could present to the kingdom, which fueled her haste in going to Gaius’ chambers, but hesitation pricked at the back of her mind, making her avert her eyes from those around her.

Was a sorceress inherently evil? It went against all her beliefs to concede to that idea. She had always been taught that evil was a thing to be cultivated, it was not the natural state of mankind. Then how could it be justified, slaughtering her before she has committed a crime? All men face hardships that poison them with the potential for great evil, yet they are not senselessly killed. But with times being what they were - with Morgana threatening everything Camelot stood for…

The sound of swords clanging disrupted her thoughts, and (Y/n) stopped to calm her mind.

The world was a hard place to navigate through and come out unscathed. There were times when (Y/n) thought it just might be impossible. Sometimes, it seemed that humans were made to bleed. Skin was made fragile for a reason, after all.

Swords clashed together once more, and (Y/n) turned to the source of the noise. The knights (just as she has suspected) were honing their sword fighting skills, the men engaged in one on one combat. Her eyes immediately found Gwaine, who was sparring with Percival, both of them clearly taunting the other. (Y/n) rolled her eyes at their antics, chuckling when Percival was able to get the jump on Gwaine, delivering a harsh blow that her brother was only just able to block, stumbling backward.

Her eyes drifted, then, to Mordred, who was sparring with Elyan. As she gazed at the pair, (Y/n) found herself under his spell once more. His brow was furrowed in concentration and his jaw was set; he looked lethal, like a dangerous poison had been unleashed in his bloodstream and was ready to consume everything in its path. (Y/n) looked deeper into his eyes, expecting a hurricane to be raging within but found no animosity there.

Mordred; like all men; like the sorceress who’s name she had on a scrap of paper, tight in her fist; had the capability to be cruel in this harsh world, but it was not in his nature. She could see that in his soul, and the fact that she could see it from such a distance was a testament to that goodness and beauty she had seen in the Banquet Hall, only a day prior.

King Arthur called for his men to cease their training. Swords no longer clashed. Mordred’s eyes locked with (Y/n)’s.

She smiled politely and he nodded to her, his own mouth curling upward, slightly; a look that was meant for her, and no one else. (Y/n)’s breath caught in her chest. The ache that lingered there was pleasant and bearable, when she remembered who had left it.

Gwaine saw his sister and called to her. (Y/n) snapped her attention to him and waved.

Then, with one last glance at the knight who had caught her attention, she continued on her path to Gaius’ chambers, her thoughts straying from the sorceress at hand, her cheeks warm and heart hammering.

brother, there is a knowledge in his voice that could drown the world in sorrows. he speaks and his words are heavy enough to bury us all alive. but that is not who he is. for, brother, when he looks at me with eyes like diamonds forged far beneath the ground, i see a light that he has created within.

it is warm and kind and believes in the world this one could become. how has he fallen in love with this world when it has come to him broken, already in shambles?

i do not know, but when he smiles…

could the world really be this way?

vi.

The gossip ladies shared while dining was, for the most part, colorful but frivolous. Most of the time it was rumors about a prince who couldn’t banish his feelings for a commoner or a princess who couldn’t hold her tongue while in the presence of men. It was spoken of in tones that made it sound more interesting than it was, and it was passed through the table like another dish they were being served.

(Y/n) listened and engaged with it at yet another banquet, thrown in the aftermath of yet another victory over sorcery. The music played energetically, and as the wine flowed, the painted lips of women loosened and their words came freely.

“That Sir Mordred,”—(Y/n)’s ears perked at the sound of his name—“he’s grown awfully close to the King, hasn’t he?”

The lady who spoke tilted her head and her friends urged her to continue - to finish the thought that was stewing inside her head.

She smiled wickedly, lowering her voice and leaning in, “I’ve heard nasty whispers about where he’s from - no one really knows, but some think he’s a slave-trader, and others…” she paused for affect, and when the music played loudly again, she divulged, “others say he might be a Druid.”

The ladies gasped and (Y/n) felt bile rise in her throat. Suddenly, she wished the gossip to stop - for the music to become so loud that the lady who sat across from her wouldn’t be able to finish the vile thought that she was already speaking.

“If he hadn’t saved King Arthur’s life… Well, we know where he would be.”

(Y/n) stood up in a flash, her jaw set, her eyes angry and frightened, her nerves a mess. The ladies startled and turned to her, but the rest of the celebration carried on. The music still played, the instruments now shrill and jarring, the voices of men suddenly harsh and cruel. (Y/n) was suddenly overwhelmed by the crowd - their fanged grins and ravenous eyes, the hate and anger that lay in their hearts.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves.” (Y/n)’s lips quivered, but her words rang true. The women at the table looked at her, their mouths working soundlessly.

With no further ceremony, (Y/n) left, walking through the castle, letting the sounds of the Banquet Hall fade behind her. Unsure of where she could clear her racing mind, (Y/n) let her legs take her where they pleased.

She stopped in the middle of the balcony corridor, the gentle wind calming her mind, the moon above reflecting a soft, steady light that played against the stone beneath her. The only sound here was her skirts grazing the floor. The stillness calmed her. She sighed and leaned against the stone wall, turning her face to the inky night sky.

What had angered her? She looked at the stars scattered across the sky and wondered at her own actions. Had it been the ladies questioning who Mordred was? No, people were always questioning from where people hailed. It was a way to understand a person without ever knowing them - it was an easy way to allow comfort when in the presence of a stranger. Had it been them accusing him of being a Druid? Perhaps. But, then again, it was not the Druids that had angered her. What had brought her to stand was the implication of what could befall him if he were, indeed, a part of them.

It was dangerous to be something more than just flesh and blood. For there to be rumors, there had to be doubt - and if there was the smallest ounce of doubt in the hearts of those most adamant in the war against magic…

It was not fair - none of it: the rumors, the fear, the suspicion, the deaths of innocents. There was no crime in being born. There was no evil in having been created with skills that few understood. Nothing was inherently wicked, so then how could magic be persecuted as such?

(Y/n) sighed. Perhaps she cared too much. What good could she do, at the end of the day? Being a magic sympathizer only passed suspicion on those you cared for. Was it wise, then, to speak the way she did, to let her feelings be known?

“(Y/n),” a voice called from the shadows, disturbing the silence that had given the woman peace of mind, only moments before. (Y/n) spun around, feeling guilty, her heart beating louder.

It was Mordred, dressed in a knight’s finest, his expression impassive in the moonlight. (Y/n) calmed when she saw it was him who had called for her, but heat rushed to her face.

“Mordred,” she smiled, despite herself, and the dim light played against the curve of her mouth. “I didn’t hear you come. Is the celebration over, already?”

“No,” he answered, walking over to stand beside her, a respectful distance between the two, “I doubt it’s going to end anytime soon.” (Y/n)’s hands itched to be nearer to his, and she folded them together to occupy them. “But what brought you out here?”

“Some of the women I dined with are not as kind in their hearts as they should be.” (Y/n) gazed into the never ending sky, wondering how the stars burned so bright in such a dark expanse. Did their warmth, too, come from within? Did they see Mordred below and feel the same heat fill them so completely? She couldn’t imagine feeling any other way, in his presence. “They may be at court, but they are not nearly as deserving as others.”

Mordred’s eyes twinkled with mirth, like tiny stars igniting in blue skies, although (Y/n) did not seem to notice, her gaze still searching the night around them. He looked at her admiringly, his eyes tracing the curves and dips of her profile - that serene face that drew him out of himself and towards her.

“None of them have any idea of what it’s like to be an outsider, but their judgements of others are swift and cruel.” She turned to him, hesitant to see his reaction.

(Y/n)’s words, so sincere, so carefully chosen, turned Mordred’s face into something softer - something (Y/n) had only seen once before, but felt like she knew more deeply than anything else. “Nobility knows nothing of the suffering they can inflict.” He held her gaze when he spoke, and his words were a melodious lament - almost a siren’s call, pulling (Y/n) deeper into his depths. He sighed, his eyes averting from her own. “But everyone pays for their soul, in the end.”

“Then let ours be pure of heart while we’re still here.” (Y/n) leaned heavier against the stone before her, her shoulders falling deeper, her forearms bearing her weight. She tilted her head to look at Mordred beside her, and he relaxed in a similar manner.

“This world needs more people with your ideals.” Mordred complimented her and heat flooded (Y/n)’s cheeks. He regarded her with a smile - small and conspiratorial, like a soft embrace.

“You can thank my brother for any beliefs I hold. He was the only man to teach me how to rise above what I am.”

The wind visited them once more, weaving through their hair, twisting Mordred’s cape and twirling (Y/n)’s skirts. (Y/n) leaned into its caress, her eyes closing for a brief moment, her entire being becoming one with the heavens above.

“You’re lucky to have each other. Being alone isn’t easily shaken.” A shadow came over Mordred’s eyes, heavy and dark.

(Y/n) turned to the man beside her, her lips parting as she moved to say something.

She was untimely interrupted by Gwaine calling for her. She held Mordred’s gaze for a moment longer, as though debating whether or not to stay and say something more, but when her brother called again, she obeyed.

vii.

brother, he lives with such gravity. every breath is a gust of wind, every step is a tremor in the earth. he is so heavy on this earthly plane, the world presses down on him as though he were made to carry it upon his shoulders.

and yet, when he is still and the world stops around him, he looks weightless, as though he could fly. and brother, when he soars above me he is an angel out of reach, a dream beyond imagining.

and then he smiles…

is there freedom such as this?

viii.

(Y/n) held her skirts in her hands, running through the castle’s corridors, taking the familiar path to Gaius’ chambers. Weaving in and out of people who were in her way, her mind raced faster than her legs. It was only by luck that the gossip of the servants reached her, and she hadn’t a moment to lose.

The King had gone on a patrol to the Black Mountains that morning, and when they had come back…

The servant’s weren’t clear in what had happened, but Mordred was wounded - carried into Gaius’ chambers by Arthur and Merlin.

To be wounded was one thing; but to be carried into the castle by the King, himself? (Y/n) didn’t know what to think, but she feared the worst. Her heart was beating faster than ever, a drum to which her anxieties chanted inside her skull.

Still running, her feet slapping the stone incessantly, she turned a corner and stumbled headlong into someone walking the opposite way. (Y/n) muttered an apology as she started to dodge the obstacle, but whoever it was moved in her path once more, grabbing her shoulders with a tight grip.

“(Y/n), what’s the matter?”

It was Gwaine, his brows furrowed in worry.

“It’s not me you need to worry about,” she all but snapped, her tone clipped from worry. “Were you with Mordred?”

“He’s with Gaius, now.” Gwaine’s worry started to melt away, seeing his sister unharmed by the day’s events, but (Y/n) shared none of his relief. “He’ll be fine,” Gwaine repeated, trying to reassure her by catching her eye.

“What happened?” Her voice and lower lip shook, her nerves frayed and unable to settle. “I - I heard rumors, and—”

“—And you won’t settle down until you see for yourself. I know.” A smile slowly grew on Gwaine’s face, and he wrapped an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulder, walking with her to Gaius’ chambers. In all their years together he had become the father his younger sister never had, and learned her better than any lesson he had been given in his entire life. Gwaine knew his sister, and he knew she wouldn’t be able to still without absolute confirmation.

He slowed her eager pace, trying to soothe her before she saw what lay within the physician’s chambers.

“So,” he began, a grin already plastered onto his face, “you’re that worried about Mordred?”

(Y/n) felt herself burn from embarrassment.

“Not not, Gwaine. He could by dying!”

Her brother laughed and allowed her to see the knight she fretted over. She rushed to his side, and the pallor in his cheeks made her stomach twist in knots. She brushed his raven hair off of his forehead, feeling his fever. She looked to see if his eyes moved behind his lids or if his chest rose as he breathed inward, but he didn’t seem to respond to life at all. She whispered a prayer under her breath before turning to Gaius, already questioning what was wrong and what could be done.

“There is old sorcery at work - knowledge beyond my understanding.” Gaius’ words were uncertain and he shook his head just slightly, as though he had already concluded the worst. “The Disir were said to be a most sacred court with power unimaginable.”

The Disir. (Y/n) knew their name from stories she had translated from dead languages to that which was spoken, now. If Mordred had been stuck by a force so revered and entrenched in the Old Religion...

“But there could be a cure?” (Y/n)’s tone was adamant in their desperate hope - far more so than her thoughts. Gaius looked at her as though he saw something deep inside her gaze, and eventually conceded.

“Perhaps… in the texts of the Old Religion…”

(Y/n) was out of the physician’s chambers and racing down the hall before he could finish. She had no practical skills in medicine, but she was an archivist. She knew languages and history, and due to her position, she had unlimited access to the Royal Library. If there was an answer between the pages Camelot stored, she would find it and use it to save him.

The candles in the Royal Library burned brighter than usual, lighting the shelves that lay in dark, unused corners. (Y/n) situated herself amongst the shelves she knew had to keep the secrets she so desired, choosing books from the rows. She lost herself in piles of ancient texts, her hands careful and precise as they skimmed down page after page, searching for an answer. Volume after volume was pulled from its resting pace, meticulously scoured, and replaced once more.

Geoffrey of Monmouth allowed the candles to be burned all night long, eventually retiring for the evening and leaving (Y/n) to her search, giving her a fond, supportive squeeze on the shoulder before shuffling away. Servants still gossipped out in the corridors, their voices drifting like ghosts to where she sat. Gwaine came to her before his nightly rounds of the castle began, and found her sitting on the floor, her skirts pooled around her as she continued her search. She was desperate for some kind of news, but Gwaine had none; Mordred’s condition was unchanged and dire, still. Tears threatened her eyes and he had taken the time to embrace her, rubbing her back soothingly, promising her things would be alright.

(Y/n) clung to his faith, feeling the crushing weight of gravity bearing down on her. How could people live with such pain?

She felt herself grow tired. She opened more books. She felt herself grow tired. She flipped more pages. She felt herself grow tired. She sought more answers, feeling them slip through her fingertips - elusive and intangible. She felt herself grow tired.

The candle burned lower until she could no longer feel it’s warmth - until she could no longer see it in her mind’s eye.

In her dreams, she could see pages before her, with drawings of three women in robes of black, with writing that was slanted and almost unable to be read. (Y/n) reached out to grab the page, hold it in her grasp and learn it’s secrets, but her body was heavy like stone, unable to move - unable to save him.

“(Y/n)...” Mordred’s voice called out to her, so full of life, so full of love. She stirred. “(Y/n)...” She moved.

(Y/n)’s eyes opened, and she was lying against a shelf, a volume open on her lap. Light from the morning sun spilled from the nearby window, and when she looked up, she had to blink to believe it was real.

Mordred smiled down at her, his cheeks pink and flushed with beauty, his eyes bright. He was something out of a dream, in that moment, the sun’s rays casting the shadows away from him, bathing him in golden light.

His name slipped from her lips in wonder, and she repeated it once more, euphoria filling her tone with something akin to a song.

“I was told I could find you here.”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away from him long enough to hide it.

ix.

we could never see it, brother, with our lives painted in such rosy tones, but his world is drenched in stormy, blue waters. it is salt rubbed into wounds and waves battering stone until they erode away. it was not a crucible that forged him, but an ocean that drowned him and left him washed on shore, gasping for breath. brother, his story is one that we whisper at night, voices low in fear of giving those wayward souls power over us all. if he so desired, we could be crushed and left. the crows would pick us clean.

but he looks at me and his ocean eyes cradle me, rocking me back and forth with the tide. and i am safe, in his embrace. i am loved, wrapped in his arms.

and when he smiles…

our story has yet to unfold.

(Y/n) looked at the wares of different vendors, strolling through the streets with no real destination in mind. The day was beautiful, with the sun partially covered with thick clouds, the heat emanating from it just enough to be comfortable and without chill. The people around her were happy, for the most part, their worries few and their good fortune abundant.

There was peace in Camelot, and (Y/n) wished - foolishly, perhaps - that it would last.

Stopping to search for coins to buy a loaf of bread, (Y/n) readjusted the basket she held and a book she had been carrying fell out. Before she could lean down to grab it, the book was already in someone else’s hands, being wiped clean. “I’m sorry about that.” (Y/n) looked up to see who had helped her and found Mordred before her. He had a grin on his face, lopsided and pulled to the left, his teeth just visible beneath his lips.

His sharp eyes were on the small volume before him, reading the title with interest (Y/n) had not thought she would find.

Mordred shrugged off her apology, instead turning his interest to that which he had recovered. “Poetry?” (Y/n) shifted under his teasing gaze. “Is it for the King, perhaps?”

(Y/n) scoffed, well aware of the joke that had been floating through the palace - Merlin and King Arthur learning poetry by candlelight. Was the Queen impressed with her husband’s talents? Leon had been given extra training for two weeks when word of it reached Arthur.

“The King and I have very different tastes in poetry, I believe. He’s more of a romantic.”

Mordred snorted, flipping through the worn pages. “These poems…” Mordred’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, his tone still gentle when he spoke, but his countenance changed nonetheless. “They’re about magic.”

(Y/n) bowed her head, training her eyes at her skirts brushing the ground below.

She had been caught.

It was just literature, and she didn’t believe there was any harm in it. Poetry could not teach her sorcery. The knowledge that lay in those poems were not spells that she could wield against Camelot and those she loved, and yet, she knew, deep down, that such things would not matter to those who would wish to persecute her for harboring such knowledge and allowing it into her home.

“They’re just poems. Just stories written in beautiful languages. There’s no harm in it, only understanding.” (Y/n)’s words were low but spoken with conviction and heart. “I only wish to understand that which I am to fear.”

“And I admire you all the more for it.”

(Y/n) looked up into Mordred’s eyes where she held his tender gaze. Her worries were put to ease by his serenity, and she idly wondered why she has ever been nervous in the first place. Even now, she could look into his gaze and see the kindness that lay deep within his heart. Within those blue eyes, she could see his sympathy for magic, not dissimilar from her own, but more deeply sown. She could see, deep in his soul, that there was something he knew and had not shared.

She wished to tell him she wouldn’t tell a soul. (Y/n) wished to hold Mordred and whisper in his ear that he could bare his entire soul to her and she would regard him the same. She wished to let him know that she knew him deeply and irrevocably, that in those still moments when they walked with one another or locked eyes from across the room, she felt their souls were one and she could not distinguish where one began and the other ended.

“Would you like to hear some?” (Y/n) put her hand on the book lightly, her fingers brushing his, warmth igniting where they touched. “The old way of speaking… it’s beautiful.”

Mordred smiled and she slipped the book out of his hands, starting to leaf through the pages, searching for the right sentiment she was looking for.

He spoke, then, his words soft and with a lyrical lilt, whispered between the two of them. (Y/n) gazed up at him, and it took her a moment to realize that he was reciting a poem - a variation of one of the poems inside the book she had in her hands. She listened to him, allowing his language to captivate her senses and pluck at her heartstrings. The poetry spoke of magic - it’s ubiquitous power and intentionless existence - and how the world, whether it wanted to be or not, was gifted with it.

When he finished, (Y/n) realized that the warmth that had spread through her body had made her lips pull into an expression of awed wonder. She tried to regain control over her features, but Mordred had already seen her beauty and wouldn’t forget it for all his days.

Mordred took (Y/n)’s hands in his and closed the poetry book, placing it back in her basket. “Keep that safe,” he said. “It’s not wise to have poetry about magic in Camelot.”

(Y/n) started to grin, staring up at him challengingly. “And to have it committed to memory? Is that just as guilty?”

Mordred chuckled, but after a moment, his face turned grave. “In Camelot, I believe so.”

“Then Camelot is too harsh with matters of magic.”

Mordred did nothing but nod.

xi.

there is a ferocity deep within him, brother. it has the strength of a bear and the loyalty wolf; baring its teeth and tearing out throats. he keeps it deep within himself, burrowed beneath the ground, hidden amongst the trees.

it is strong, brother, but he is it’s master. he has run with the wolves and become one with the pack. he has faced the bear and made peace with its power. he has a strength inside of him that cannot be changed, and it protects this world from what he could be. and i stare at him, in awe of the power which he possesses within.

and when he smiles…

he is nothing i could not love.

xii.

The forest around them teemed with life - birds singing from the treetops, the undergrowth shaking from the movement of small animals, and the nearby brook babbling. (Y/n) breathed in deeply, the smell of the fresh air clearing her mind and filling her senses with a feeling of calm. Absentmindedly, she fiddled with the bad slung around her shoulder, the books inside of it slapping against her thighs as she rode her horse forward. Mordred, riding alongside her, looked at her from the corner of his eye, but she did not notice his gaze through her pleasant sigh.

They were riding to Carleon - Sir Mordred escorting the Royal Archivist - to meet with the genealogist that worked for Queen Annis. Geoffrey of Monmouth found a discrepancy in their bookkeeping of the old, noble families and needed to compare his records with the other kingdom, but at his age he was far too old to undertake such an adventure - especially at such a critical time in Camelot’s history. (Y/n) had been sent in his place, her expertise growing with every day that passed, the old librarian sharing his knowledge and legacy with the woman so that she might one day succeed him.

It was to be a fairly safe journey. Carleon was an ally of Camelot, and the two kingdoms were not far from one another. King Arthur had allowed Mordred to escort the woman, his warnings minimal - only that Mordred not forget his duty while protecting (Y/n).

Gwaine had been there to see the pair off, teasing (Y/n) of her feelings for the young knight.

“I believe your love life is the one we need to keep an eye on, Gwaine.” Her brother had laughed at that, and she told him to behave while she was gone. The last thing she needed was to worry about him while traveling to another kingdom.

Their journey so far had been a peaceful one. The two had time to talk about all that had happened in Camelot - from the gossip of what happened in the lower towns to the battles that the knights had waged in the name of the King. After that, there had been time to talk about the histories she had been translating and scribing; the worlds that she learned about on weathered pages were vibrant in their age and charming in their customs and habits - all of which had betweitched her, ensnaring her attention.

Mordred had deep interest in what had come before him - those millenia in which magic reigned, free - and (Y/n) was happy to share her passion with someone who listened and cared.

There had been time for them to bask in each other’s presence, to feel their souls intertwine as their paths converged onto the same road. For, in those days, few as they were, Mordred and (Y/n) shared a common destination and their fates were one.

Now, there was less than a two hour ride left, and with the end in sight, (Y/n)’s anxieties started to claw their way into her heart. She closed her eyes and focused on the world in front of her, this forest of bright yellows and deep greens, this sanctuary where she and Mordred were together, close enough to get lost in each other’s eyes for eternity.

“How much do you think Gwaine has worried while we’ve been gone?” (Y/n) smiled at the knight who rode beside her, her tone fighting to be as light and cheerful as the words she spoke. “I saw him talking to you before we left. What did he—”

A high-pitched scream that was not their own erupted into the sky. With a flash of metal, Mordred had unsheathed his sword and was riding for where the sound originated. (Y/n) followed, and when they burst into a clearing, they found it to be full of bandits surrounding an elderly man and his daughter. Without a second thought, Mordred sprung into action.

(Y/n) grabbed a sword from one of the bandits that Mordred felled and joined him in battle, her strikes proper and effective, although unceremonious and without the craft of a true swordsman. Mordred spared her an impressed glance before engaging with the rest of the marauders.

Surprise was their biggest advantage, and the two of them were able to dispose of four of the bandits quickly. The rest of the men ran, reasoning that the spoils weren’t worth the risk involved, now that a knight of Camelot was among them.

After the last of the men disappeared into the trees, (Y/n) dropped the sword she had been using, looking over the scrapes and minor flesh wounds she had received. Mordred walked over to her, his own eyes scanning her for injury, and she reassured him she was fine, her eyes moving to search him.

“Where did you learn to use a sword?”

(Y/n) scoffed, the adrenaline still buzzing through her veins. “Gwaine. Who else would arm a young girl against her will? He said I would need to one day.” A grin tugged at her lips. “I suppose he was right.”

Mordred smiled briefly and the two of them turned to the people who had cried out for help. The elderly man thanked them, taking their young hands in his own and blessing them good fortune for days to come.

“Such kindness is lacking in the world, today, when it is most needed.”

“We are just glad we could be of assistance to you and your daughter.” Mordred dipped his head low, and his voice echoed with past transgressions - moments of his past where he was a victim to circumstance, just as they were. “No one deserves such violence and pain.”

The old man peered at Mordred with years of wisdom, and he squeezed his shoulder like a father would. “You have such good souls”—he looked at (Y/n), as well, with a kind twinkle in his eye—“both of you.”

“Good souls are hard to come by.” (Y/n) agreed, gently. “They’re a rare treasure, indeed.”

Mordred looked at her, his eyes like the sky on a cloudless day. She regarded their bright brilliance with a warm glance and roses of the most vibrant pinks blossomed beneath his cheeks.

Later, after the travelers had gone on their way, and the two were riding for Carleon once more, (Y/n) found the courage to speak something that she had been thinking on for a while, but had only articulated just then.

“Mordred, when we were fighting those bandits…” her words trailed off, but Mordred was patient as he waited for them. “I know we’re only human - average and simple - but when I’m at your side, I feel stronger than that - better, even. It’s almost like…”

Silence didn’t stay between them, long.

“Like you have magic.”

xiii.

brother, we live such violent lives and meet such violent ends, but his life is precious in it’s softness and should never die on the end of a blade. this world has rubbed his edges with stone to sharpen them to fine points, but he wraps himself in soft down and refuses to be changed.

this life he lives deserves to be full, brother, with none of the emptiness that has surrounded him for so long. so much has been taken from him, so much of what he owns has been displaced. and so he holds me as though i am already gone.

but when i am resolute beside him, he smiles…

could the world bear to tear us apart?

xiv.

“All I’m saying is that Mordred is a lucky man to have caught my little sister’s eye.” Gwaine held up his hands in mock defeat as the two of you walked down the castle steps and into the Citadel. “How many people have you turned down over the years? I vividly remember at least three…”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at her brother’s teasing, quickly shooting back, “And for every person I turn down, you lead another to your chambers.”

Gwaine feigned hurt, but a grin grew on his lips all the same. “I have more honor than that, (N/n).”

“More tact, you mean. If Arthur were to see you—” Gwaine nudged (Y/n) in the side and she laughed good-naturedly, elbowing him right back.

“But, truly, (Y/n). Mordred is a fine knight and if the two of you—”

“Gwaine...” (Y/n)’s face was hot with embarrassment and her brother smiled down at her, affection in his gaze.

“I would be happy, is all” —he tilted his head, then, his lips pulled into a thoughtful frown— “and a bit proud.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. “Exactly what I always wanted.” The two laughed, and once the moment sobered, (Y/n) turned to Gwaine, her expression genuine and earnest. “But really, thank you.”

Gwaine put a tender hand on her shoulder, squeezing it strongly. He opened his mouth to say something, but the clapping sound of horse hooves hitting stone caught his attention, and both siblings turned to see who was approaching.

An entire patrol of soldiers burst into the Citadel, many of them leaning over, their expressions drawn in pain and suffering. (Y/n)’s eyes searched frantically until they settled on Mordred, his expression grim and worried, but the rest of him seemingly okay. Gwaine walked over to him and he dismounted, both Knights meeting each other half-way.

“What happened?”

“We were attacked.” Mordred’s blue eyes flashed dangerously. “It was Morgana.”

“And you got away?” (Y/n) walked over to them, her eyes scanning over the injuries that the patrol had sustained. Almost all of them had a bruise or two, some of them with gashes on the head or sides. What had she done?

“It’s the King she wants,” Mordred sighed. “She’s just trying to draw him out.”

Gwaine nodded deftly, his brow furrowing as his entire disposition changed. “I’ll let Arthur know,” he assured Mordred, putting a hand on his arm before leaving.

(Y/n) watched as Mordred turned back to the men behind him, checking their wounds and sending them to Gaius if necessary. She watched his face contort with worry as he passed over each man, his eyes filled with care and legitimate attentiveness to each of their circumstances. The soldiers smiled gratefully at him, as though thanking Mordred for showing them that they were seen. In such a large military, it was easy to get lost in the sea of hundreds; people stopped becoming human and were just another sword in combat, just another body left on the battlefield. But here, under Mordred’s worried gaze, they were human. Bleeding, battered, and bruised people with hearts that were broken and minds that were screaming in the silence.

The love that resided within Mordred was quiet, but (Y/n) could see it from any distance and behind any facade.

When the last soldier was tended to, Mordred made his way over to (Y/n) and she looked at him deeply, with a soft care that made him feel entirely known and wholly loved. “Are you alright?” Her voice was low and pleading, careful but firm. “Morgana didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m alright.”

(Y/n) looked at him, her eyebrows still furrowed as she searched his expression for something to tell her the contrary. Finding nothing, she sighed and reached out to embrace him, holding Modred close to her beating chest.

He melted against her slowly, then all at once. His arms moved to wrap around her more securely and she responded to his touch, her hand getting lost in his hair. The pair stayed like that, enveloped in each other’s arms, until their hearts synced together and beat as one.

“Things happen so quickly Mordred,” she spoke without pulling away, her breath hot against his ear, “I don’t want you to be someone that passes by without me ever telling you how much you mean to me.”

Mordred hugged her tighter, until he felt he couldn’t breathe from her love. “Nothing can happen to me while I have you to live for.”

(Y/n) pulled away slowly, her eyes questioning whether or not he meant what he said. Mordred’s smile was in full bloom, adoration and love pouring out from him with no end in sight. She stared into his deep, blue eyes and her question died before ever making its way to her lips.

xv.

brother, you could never understand how the world has wronged us all and the poets exist only to make amends, but when i feel his heart against mine, i know it to be true. this existence is strife and heartache and nails tearing into flesh, but there is consolation in the arms of a lover and there is peace in their kiss.

and, brother, you may not understand his depths, but my lover is good. despite how he bleeds and breaks, he is whole when he lays beside me, his hands lacing with mine, his features carved by the artist we know as Time.

and when he smiles…

is there love that could rival mine?

xvi.

His lips were rough against her own, hot and wanting, pushing all thoughts that weren’t of him to the recesses of her mind. His arms were steady as he held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other planted firmly on her waist, pressing her against him. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands trailing up his chest as they reached for his dark hair, thick and soft beneath her fingertips.

She kissed him deeply once more before parting to take a breath, her forehead resting on his, their noses bumping together, gently. Mordred’s eyes fluttered open and the world was extended to (Y/n), begging her to take it in her soft hands and make something beautiful from it’s fraying edges and tattered bits.

She didn’t know how to tell the world that it was already beautiful, when she looked through his eyes and saw its glory reflected there. If everything could be crafted in his mind’s eye this existence could be a much softer way of living.

“I love you,” she breathed the words, and even though they were her own, they made her heart race in her chest. She could feel his speed up as well, and placed a hand over his chainmail, where she knew his heart lay beneath.

Mordred sighed, “And I love you.” Their lips connected for one sweet, brief moment, and when their eyes met once more, he was smiling, his iris’ twinkling with the light of the sun. “I could love you for the rest of my days and it wouldn’t be enough.”

(Y/n) giggled at his charming words, unable to contain the love that filled her so completely. He kissed her again and it felt like a cloud - downy and warm, like what she imagined heaven to be like. For a fraction of a moment, his lips hovered over her own, and it was she who chased after them, her lips divine as they pressed against his.

A knock at the door pulled them apart, and Mordred looked at her with sympathy, unwilling to pull away from her embrace, not wanting to venture into the night when all of his world was right here, in front of him.

(Y/n) put a hand to his cheek, rubbing the smooth skin with her thumb. “Be careful out there, Mordred.” Her voice was still ragged, her breathing slowly finding its normal state, and the sound of it pushed on his resolve, begging him to stay.

“I promise.” He kissed her once more, and when he walked out the door, sword in hand and a smile on his face, she believed him.

xvii.

and when the sun has not yet come up and he is wrapped in my embrace, he is mine.

#merlin bbc #merlin #mordred #mordred merlin #bbc mordred #x reader #reader insert #imagine #one shot #fic #long fic #fem!reader #fluff

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