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tera-starstorm · 1 year

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HI HELLO ive been brainrotting your miitopia ocs for like the longest time they are just so munchable i literally adore them ,, anytoodles moving on from that !! i have a question that’s been in the back of my little fustercluck of a mindscape:

what is arcade and jamie's relationship ? or, in better terms, how do they view each other and what do they think of each other ??

THANK YOU!!!!! i am so glad someone enjoys my terrible little freaks.

and as for the question. dear sweet lord this is going to be a lot. my apologies for the incoming novel-length post you did not ask for BUT...

so. to preface...

IMPORTANT NOTES

guardian spirit jasira is jamie's adoptive mother, having found him and his relative (her other adoptive son) lost in tschilly peak after losing their parents on a journey gone wrong. in my universe, deities are not supposed to interfere with mortal affairs, which jas cannot stand and finds unfair. obviously adopting mortal children breaks this rule. she was caught when jamie was around 16 and sealed within the antique charm as punishment, but not before bestowing some of her power upon her children. jamie struggles to think this is not his fault. for the sake of the post i will not get into the specifics of how the amulet works in terms of jas communicating with other people but she cannot communicate w/ jamie

rather than the sky scraper having been constructed by monsters for the darker lord, it actually served as a place for aforementioned deities to reside along with the otherworld. jas would sneak her children in there. she was not caught for years until uh. Yeah. this is why jamie has to fight not to blame himself

the dark curse, skyla, was jamie's childhood best friend and became the curse when they were, once again around 16 (rough year for jamie). he and his other friends sealed her away into the cursed amulet she had been wearing (the catalyst that turned her in the first place) but only because they could not figure out how to change her back. jamie swore he would find a way and has been trying for around 5-6 years by the time the events of the game start.

skyla and arc are narrative parallels. this is imperative. both were quite lonely growing up and are deeply insecure and terrified of losing people. both have issues using magic (contrasting issues with skyla not being able to control her super strong magic and arc just. Not being able to use standard magic).

the dark lord killed a good portion of the deities in the otherworld and used their scattered essence to create her monsters. when one of these monsters is killed, the EXP they drop is that essence. this is how divine power is gained... but what actually activates it is essentially determination/passion. this is why arc's power keeps getting sealed away when his friends are taken; he feels defeated, but does not give up, hence how he keeps coming back, much to the dark lord's dismay.

new lumos was a normal city prior to the events of the game. the dark lord started her proper attack there, as new lumos is... less prepared for magical attacks being the most tech-based place in miitopia, as well as the fact that it is densely populayed and on an island that would be difficult to escape quickly. arc grew up in new lumos and survived this initial attack, but had no idea what was to come.

A GENERAL SUMMARY

SO. arcade and jamie properly met in greenhorne as expected. the first thing arc noticed about jamie was how quick the dark lord was to flee from him in what seemed like annoyance rather than fear, like she did not want to deal with him. jamie, on the other hand, felt an odd sense of familiarity in arc. this is for two reasons:

arcade was carrying the antique pendant that jas was stuck in. jamie didn't know this, but could feel an oddly familiar aura coming from him.

this wasn't actually the first time they had met. jamie was the person who got arc out of new lumos, being one of a few people who were taking new lumos residents to safety on the mainland. arc didn't get a good look at the person who saved him, so he did not realize that it was jamie. jamie feels like he's seen arc before, but can't pinpoint where.

jamie becomes a fast friend of the group and seems to cross paths with them a lot because they are actually on a very similar path, considering jamie is also trying to find the dark lord and figure out exactly how to stop her. initially unbeknownst to him, arcade and his friends are building up the divine power it will take to put a stop to her already as they beat the monsters and absorb the divine essence they disperse into.

initially, jamie just intended to support the group along their way and slowly try to ease the burden of saving miitopia off of them (especially arcade), since he felt it was his job, considering it to be his fault.

that was until neksdor, when the original party aside from arc goes missing. this is when he realizes arc has something that is preventing the dark lord from fully stopping him, and that this journey is no longer his. arcade has whatever he lacked years ago that prevented him from changing sky back.

this realization is distressing and bewildering to him. in his mind, this should not have to be a burden arcade carries, but it seems that there is little he can do but support him along the way at this point. he genuinely considers arcade a friend and quietly fears losing another person to this mess, especially as a result of something he thinks is his own fault.

arcade is so much like skyla was. he can see it. the unspoken loneliness and the frustration with self is present, but it's markedly different in arc in a way jamie can't quite pinpoint, which is impressive – jamie has a knack for putting things into words and deciphering emotions, but this has even him stumped.

he debates with himself on whether or not to tell arc about the curse's identity, but it isn't so simple. he believes the curse is not a true embodiment of skyla's full person and does not want the world to learn that it came from her in the case that this theory is true and she is saveable. he wants her to have a second chance. telling anyone the origin of the curse would be a risk. he also doesn't want to make the curse problem more personal and make arc feel obligated to help as a friend. ultimately, he decides he will eventually tell arc, but now is not the right time; it would put more pressure on both of them, and he is trying to reduce pressure on arc.

now on the Other hand. arc is so. So grateful for jamie. jamie is outwardly a very emotionally sound and well-balanced person who has been supporting arc since they met, which he doesn't think jamie owes him at all. he feels he would be totally lost without his gentle guidance.

alongside this, jamie is one of the only true consistents from greenhorne to karkaton. consistency is INCREDIBLY important for arc in this context. the dark lord keeps robbing him of consistency in taking away his friends and abilities, purposely trying to wear him down. arcade has not had a good sense of consistency in his life in general. taking away what he has when he finally feels he has something stable is horrifying to him. for jamie to be there consistently supporting him is something he leans on heavily during that time. jamie goes out of his way to help him relax – stuff like encouraging him to stop for tea and accompanying him on walks when they cross paths.

arcade also needs some sense of direction and guidance when doing things normally, nevermind a world-saving quest. so naturally jamie's guidance is important to him and a huge relief. he wishes he could be that calm and orderly when need be.

and of course Uh. things go Very Wrong! after they beat the dark lord.

jamie showed up to support the gang in the fight and was pleasantly surprised and relieved when he arrived to find they had already beaten her (not that he didn't believe they could. just didn't realize it would be so fast). saw the cursed amulet on the ground and figured the curse was now trapped in there again. unfortunately this was not the case as the little blue freak was free! and when jamie realizes this and that it is going for arc, he protects him and is turned into the darker lord.

what is important here is that jamie did not do this because he knew arc was the only one who would truly be able to stop the curse. that is true, but that wasn't his thought in the moment. his thought was "i need to protect my friend who has suffered enough for reasons i blame myself for". like i want to be so clear here. jamie does not view arc as a tool to any degree. arc is his friend who he feels he owes the world by this point regardless of if he succeeds or not. it wouldn't matter if he gave up fighting the dark lord. he enjoys being around him and feels arc has done so much for him, which he never needed to do at all.

it is not easy for arcade to fight the darker lord. he thinks he is at fault for jamie getting possessed and is utterly distraught about it. he's terrified to proceed without his guidance, but he has to. he has all of his friends back and a mental fortitude that is still unbroken – if anything, he is more determined now (i feel like this is an apt time to mention he has the stubborn personality in-game type as a fun tidbit. he is. Very much stubborn) this is why the dark lord failed to seal his powers away a third time, and this is why he pushes on – he knows he has something that the curse can't fight, even if he doesn't really get what it is and struggles with discrediting his own abilities. and above all, he has to at least try and save the guy who was there to help at every turn. he learned so much from him, and now is the time to utilize it without that guidance.

part of why it is so hard for him to fight the darker lord is how jamie clearly still exists in there. he knows it isn't quite him, but he is in there. the darker lord has his face and speaks with his voice, though it lacks the warmth that the real jamie speaks with. using jamie's conscious, they know how to hit arc where it hurts when speaking to him. and oddly enough, it's no easier for the darker lord to fight arc.

the shattered conscious of the curse and jamie's conscious are fighting constantly in the darker lord's head. the curse has the upper hand, but jamie still manages to hold it back to a degree. this conflict of interest confuses the darker lord, who finds themself not really wanting to kill arc despite them thinking they absolutely should. furthermore, jamie is absolutely horrified at his own body being used as a puppet to treat arc in such a way. he knows that hearing the voice of someone you love speak to you like that hurts. he experienced it when sky first turned into the curse.

now. fast forward to when the darkest lord is beaten and jamie is freed. as he gets up his first thought is like "oh fuck where is arc" and he is TERRIFIED that he is hurt. that his body was used to hurt him, potentially gravely. he hears arc faintly rasp out his name behind him and whips around to see him. it is one of the only moments where he expresses visible fear, even if just for a split second. the relief that washes over him when arc stumbles into him to hug him is overwhelming – he's okay if not a little woozy. the fear quickly fades into solemnity as he hugs back, a little tighter than he usually would.

he finally explains sky's plight to arc and his friends once the curse is trapped. he is afraid to do this, but doesn't let it show. he doesn't want his own emotions to sway the answer to the choice he is about to propose to arc. he expects arc to be mad that he didn't tell him or to think his request is foolish, but this is not the case at all.

arc understands completely. the curse's story is... eerily familiar. there's a sort of cruel irony in how easily that could have been him. the curse is not a whole person, but a manifestation of the negative emotions, both rational and not, that its original form felt. it seems so clear to him, and it seems like a no-brainer to try and save skyla, who was, in a way, another victim of the curse. this assumption was correct. sky was distraught upon her rescue and tried frantically to explain that the curse was not who she was, having been the sum of her own inner turmoil.

postgame, jamie feels able to be a bit more vulnerable with arc. he divulges how he has struggled with thinking things are his own fault and how despite the fact that he can usually make peace with himself and know those thoughts are not true, it is difficult sometimes.

arc is surprised because jamie has never really expressed any form of clear discomfort with himself, but as he looks back, he realizes he has – he just hides it incredibly well. his careful wording of things and calm demeanor mask that self-doubt. jamie is not perfect, and somehow... this is comforting. he doesn't have to be for arc to look up to him. he is not below him. they are both human and share similar struggles, and jamie is comfortable enough to share those struggles with him.

for a long time, jamie preferred to sort of keep to himself and not really talk about his own issues. usually this isn't a big deal for him, as he is genuinely good at being rational about those bad feelings. however, seeing arc interact with his friends changed that a little. seeing how they supported each other and arc's "sometimes we may feel irrationally, but we don't have to ride it out alone" mindset made him feel he could afford to open up a little more, and he doesn't regret it.

i literally could not fit everything about their relationship in one post so this is just. once again a basic rundown focused on them specifically. i could go on and on. good lord

THE TL;DR

jamie and arc are very close friends who don't really realize the extent to which they have helped each other. there is a shared sense of comfort between them that transcends words but doesn't really need to be described. they have learned a great deal from each other :]

#miitopia #miitopia oc #miitopia great sage #i need to lie down THIS TOOK ME TWO HOURS TO WRITE. AND I STILL DON'T FEEL LIKE I HAVE SAID ENOUGH #the real tl;dr is like. theyre platonically gay. does that make sense #like. theyre friendly in a gay way. i literally dont know how else to explain it #magnus infodumps

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noetic-noesis-noein · 2 years

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Anonymous sent: 19. What are their biggest secrets?

“Other than the whole, ‘secret identity of a super hero’ thing? Um, well,” she looked off to the side, fingers hiding her lips. “There’s been several times where I’ve up and left relationships and straight ghosted people because they’ve gotten too close. Either too close to me where I just can’t deal with them anymore, or that they’ve been close to figuring out my secret identity or the fact that well. I genuinely think about hanging up the Super Suit because of it.

“Helen thinks that I have a god complex. Sometimes I feel myself at the brink of disaster, all the time. Like no matter what I do, something is going to straight, push me over the edge and I’m just going to become some raging black hole, swallowing the sun. She says she’s seen it in me, and that I could. I don’t,” her breath hitches, “I don’t like that I’m capable of something like that. So I keep people away. I stay with someone that could shut me down and throw me into a coma at any given point if I start going ‘supernova’. Or, as we’ve both dubbed it, ‘grimdark’. I’ve lost control and been at that point before.

“I don’t remember anything that happens. Helen says it’s something about using too much power of the mind and makes it near impossible to form memories because of all the circuits I fry overdoing it. I lose my memory, I do damage, and my hair turns black. It’s why the under sides of my hair is so short, I constantly cut it off when it happens. It’s, the biggest guilt and burden I carry.”

“I’ve killed before.”

#questions #me #anonymous #tw: death mention #[dun dun DUNN #arden's big secret is that when she was first developing her powers she ran away from home #purposely she got into a huge fight with her parents and ran out #she had been losing control of her powers and was starting to not be able to hide it around the house #she runs off to a quiet side of town to let all the built up stress and energy out #hits a generator #and it explodes killing a few people #starts a fire #and a whole quarter of the city loses power #after that she swore she would get control and serve the people of the city #paying back her debt for the lives she took]

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into-daylight-hope · 3 years

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Qui-Gon Jinn: Certified Hypocrite, Fascinating Failure, Mass of Contradictions

For starters, I am just going to let direct quotes from the man speak for itself.

Some excerpts from Master & Apprentice

Wise words.

Wait a minute...

😯😯 What the hell is happening here? All quotes are from the same man in one book.

Qui-Gon Jinn doesn't have an ounce of self-awareness and it is so hilariously terrible.

What is even better (or worse), this is perfectly in line with The Phantom Menace characterization .

I mean,

Remember when he said all this than spent the rest of the movie obsessing over prophecies, the chosen one and literally the future?

"He still has so much to learn of the living force." Qui-Gon Jinn about Obi-Wan in the council scene

After that scene

"The boy is dangerous. They all sense it why can't you?" Obi-Wan Kenobi about Anakin Skywalker to Qui-Gon Jinn

You see Obi-Wan, Master Jinn here has completely lost any sense of "here and now" between his crusade against darkness and divine mission to save the Galaxy.

This in turn, unsurprisingly blinds him to the fact Anakin is not suitable to become a Jedi. Or at least not ready to directly move on to becoming a padawan.

Anakin himself would suffer in a road that is not meant for him. But he is not planning for Anakin the child. He is thinking about The Glorious Chose One.

He is the chosen one. You all must, see it.

And yet from Qui-Gon's perspective it is Obi-Wan who doesn't understand the Living Force.

I have to say if he is truly a student of the living force as many fans claim he has been failing the class for at least 8 years.

Let's move on to another set of entertaining and horrifyingly oblivious quotes from M&A.

If you look upward you can observe Mr. Here and Now in his natural habitat.

He really acts like future is set in stone than thinks he is the right person to talk about about concentrating in the moment. Unbelievable.

Let's look at this dialogue again. In contrast with the excerpt from above.

He is all about the future when it suits him. But when Obi-Wan makes a remark on it he obviously should just focus on the moment. This is actually the third time in this post where he contradicts himself while specifically chastising or criticizing Obi-Wan for something Qui-Gon actually does.

Now I don't think Qui-Gon acts with malice. But it is important to point out his obliviousness has become a way of ensuring he is never in the wrong.

He suffers from an immense hubris. And a man obsessed with prophecies and chosen ones definitely has some kind of savior complex.

But notably Jinn doesn't actually want to put any effort into enacting real change with his limited yet existent capabilities.

He turns down a council seat in M&A because he thinks it would hold him down. From what? Dear God, the reason they offered him a seat was for different opinions. Qui-Gon can complain all he wants but one time he actually had a chance to make his opinions a reality he freaking bailed.

Why? He doesn't want to face his own limits. He can't bare to try and fail. It is much easier to sustain a superiority complex when you are complaining from the sidewalk.

So he fixates all this belief onto prophecies, visions that will magically cure the Galaxy. And of course his place to help fulfill them. To the point where it is the one thing that keeps him standing.

He has binded meaning of his life and belief for goodness dangerously close to his supposed importance in the Galaxy. (You can feel the influences of his former master)

His absolute refusal to engage with reality turns him into mass of contradictions. Cause he doesn't know what he will find or become if he is mistaken in his belief of himself.

He can't face reinvention on the event of defeat.

But this situation was different. It had to be, because the only thing Qui-Gon knew to be absolutely true was that his vision was real.

Oh by the way, it turned out he misunderstood the vision. But when does being wrong ever stopped Qui-Gon Jinn?

No words.

Only Qui-Gon could have come near declaring himself a prophet after making a mistake. Maybe stop and reflect man? Just stop and think about your actions.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: I have a bad feeling about this.

Qui-Gon Jinn: I don't sense anything.

Of course you don't.

Honestly he doesn't have much to speak for in the cosmic force department either.

(There is the whole force ghost thing I guess. But I have no idea if that is more connected with living or cosmic force. It seems to be more about spiritual enlightenment. Which is ridiculous when you consider Yoda had go through so many trials, face his darkside, learn to truly let go just for Force priestesses to deem him worthy enough to study immortality. Yes Qui-Gon never became a force ghost but he had started his training before he died. And much of Yoda's tests on TCW was about self-awareness. It is not just about being a good person. How did Force Priestesses approve Qui-Gon "I was meant to misinterpret this vision." Jinn? I would understand if he became wiser after death and faced his flaws and all but he never was on that level before he died. You might say even Anakin became a force ghost. But I would remind you, Anakin in the end broke out of denial, acknowledged the wrong of his ways and took that leap to the light side. Self-awareness seems such an important key to becoming a force ghost. Right there with selflessness. Personally it doesn't quite feel right for a character whose biggest flaws are their lack of introspection and hubris which we never see him rise above to be the one that discovers immortality again. It feels more like a rushed plot point to explain how we get from A to B.)

This post got out of control 😂. I honestly just wanted to point out lack of communication might be one of the reasons Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have trouble understanding each other but it is sometimes even harder to understand Qui-Gon when he actually says something. Cause ration is not what drives him.

Qui-Gon is such a complex character. He is undeniably good especially compared to other SW characters. Yet for all fandom's deifying he might be the most flawed Jedi we see on the franchise. (The ones that fell to the dark side not included.)

It is a shame wider fandom completely write off his flaws to the degree I can't even recognize the character when they talk about Jinn. Cause that Qui-Gon is so hard to feel empathy for.

When people constantly make statements like "He is The Wisest sw character." his hypocrisy stops being amusing. It doesn't end on screen or page instead often used to bash other characters.

An unbelievable analysis from Wookiepedia:

When Jinn saved the Gungan exile Jar Jar Binks, who in turn swore a life-debt to him, his compassionate nature was such that Jinn took the hapless Gungan under his wing, much to Kenobi's dismay. His empathy toward all life forms, including the most pitiful and unfortunate, was Jinn's greatest strength. Additionally, he remained understanding and patient with Queen Padmé Amidala. During the short time they knew each other, he never asked for her to do more than she was willing to.

You know out of the two, Qui-Gon was the one who insulted Jar Jar to his face. And he didn't took Jar Jar under his wing. They forced him to take them to a city where Jar Jar could have been punished for entering. Now it was the pragmatic thing to do. For all three's survival not for their own gain. Understandable. But compassion is just pushing it.

Also he never asked Padme to do more than she was willing to do?

Padmé : Are you sure about this? Trusting our fate to a boy we hardly know? The Queen will not approve.

Qui-Gon Jinn : The Queen does not need to know.

Padmé : Well, I don't approve.

And he is aware she is the queen, herself. Padme was nearly tearing out her because of this man in TPM.

What is weird, Jinn in his bewildering hypocrisy probably thinks he is being admirably compassionate with Jar Jar, highly understanding and patient with Padme. We clearly see he is not.

Out of universe he has been a force ghost for decades now but fandom is nowhere near acknowledging his flaws than he is.

And honestly SW doesn't have that many major morally complex characters. People like Maul, Palpatine, Anakin,Ventress don't think they are serving a higher purpose or oblivious to the evils they commit.

Emotionally complicated, yes. Going through moral dilemmas, no.

Three major characters come to mind who make huge mistakes, condone or commit atrocities while thinking they are in the right/with good intentions/for a greater cause. With varying degrees of culpability.

Qui-Gon. Padme. Dooku.

In that order.

Let these characters be interesting instead of demonizing nearly inhumanly selfless Jedi characters. (They make mistakes too but funnily enough they are still way better beings than most people on our planet.)

By the way I found the epitaph "Fascinating Failure" from the article here. Especially the last paragraphs make some interesting points. ⬇️

👀

This post might seem harsh but that is expected since it focuses on Qui-Gon's flaws.

"People are more than their worst act,” Quote from Qui-Gon Jinn in Master & Apprentice

#qui gon jinn #Qui-Gon Jinn #obi wan kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi #meta #character analysis #pro jedi #in defense of the jedi #long post

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deluluass · 4 years

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misericordia

It's finally here T^T Here's to reaching 100+ followers! Thank you so much everyone!!

Content Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; somnophilia; description of dead bodies; includes some elements of cosmic horror; dystopian-ish au; biblical references/imagery; angel! Ushijima

To name is a barren tree: fruitless and, ultimately, the workings of this kind.

The earth will soon be without form, and void; and darkness shall remain the face of the deep.

The Spirit of God no longer moves in the face of the waters.

Names are for nothing.

But, for any cause done here, to name is essential. As it was in the beginning, when there was still a beginning (but it has not ended yet, so the beginning shall still stay), to name had been the first task.

So when asked for a name, the mouth was able to conjure:

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the body said.

And as it is the way of the Created, the body became he.

And as it is the way of the Created, proof was immediately demanded for the name.

And as it is the way of the Created, once found on the chest, Ushijima Wakatoshi was then welcomed.

You weren’t there when the world ended.

In fact, so, too, was your father's father. The sky had cracked open and the oceans had already split up the old lands for as long as anyone could remember.

Before the city became a city in truth, the people had just been strangers, seeking shelter after everything fell apart, only to be abandoned by those who’d promised protection.

That didn't mean, however, that things got better for your lot once someone swept in and established order and peace and stability and whatever it is those at the top had to say to justify them being there.

If your father were to be believed, you had been sleeping in your mother’s womb, still a tiny beating heart, when the longest winter happened ("winter"; they still called it that when there had been minute differences between hot and cold).

Supplies were short; food was scarce; so when you finally clawed your way into a world breathing its last, your mother couldn't help but bleed into the sheets until your cry outlived hers.

But your father barely recognized you during his final days. That’s why when your neighbors call you a liar for saying “I was born on a Spring,” you shrug it off and think you might as well have been born on a Spring.

There’s no way of knowing. The story had always changed every time you asked him.

Sometimes he blamed you, sometimes he told you it’s not your fault. Nothing you could do about it. Spring it is, then; you told yourself.

Spring always looked so... different, in the drawings Granny made, anyway.

No one here actually knows her age. Granny had always been Granny; as permanent to this place as the walls enclosing the city.

She rarely left her quarters, that crone, and could barely stand on her own without your help. Worse, she could no longer see. What use is a blind artist, the others would laugh.

It’s their loss, you’d retort, mocking her like that. Because then they’d miss the way her gnarled and knobby hands would glide with unwavering purpose if you asked her to, strokes bold and not a space wasted.

“You never learn,” she croaked once finished, jostling the wrinkled piece of paper to your lap. “Why throw away your rations for this piece of junk?”

Granny retched, “Incurable fool.”

At this point, she would grumble about suffering in the old pig’s (her words, not yours) kitchens for nothing, and always, without fail, you’d feel a smile break on your face. It hurt, honestly, but after an entire day of frowning over the dishes you had to wash and the floors that needed scrubbing and all the other orders yelled your way, it was worth it, anyway.

“I know you’re laughing. My ears still work, mind you.”

You felt your belly shake as you giggled, brushing the paper with worn fingers, staring open-mouthed at the piece before you.

“This is amazing, Granny,” you sighed.

“Idiot,” she repeated. “It’s the same thing as the one before. And the one before that.”

And for good measure, Granny added, “Idiot. Not like you hadn’t seen that one.”

When all you’d done was take her hand in yours and place a pack of food along with a thin roll of paper in her feeble grasp, Granny finally asked, “Why do you keep coming back here, girl? Asking for the same thing.”

There wasn’t any of that surly frown now.

And looking at her like that, without the crabbiness that sharpens her features, that oddly makes her look younger and in control of herself, you find that you don’t have an answer this time. Arrested by the realization that her shoulders slumped lower than you’d thought. And that she’s getting thinner.

“Why?” you whispered back, feeling traces of charcoal stick to your palm.

Maybe it’s because there’s no other way that she’d accept food, unless she does something in return. She kicked you out the first time you intended to give her the ration you’d earned.

(Or maybe it's because you know what they'd do, once they find out she's no longer making trades.)

Why, indeed.

Maybe it’s because you hadn’t really seen things grow before.

You might work at the Governor’s place, at the heart of the city and everything else that matters, but grunt workers like you are prohibited to get anywhere near the farm, let alone actually enter it. So, really, there's no other way of seeing what growth looks like.

Maybe it’s because you can only do that when you witness her in her craft. You really don’t have anything to compare it with, but you’re sure life from soil works the same way.

Everything must come from something. And that something must be quite the artist, if they're anything like Granny.

Birthing roots from the ground of what was once a blank piece of paper with a flick of the wrist; growing into large trunks, strong branches, then into an abundance of leaves and blossoms.

Trees drawn on both sides of the paper, always with a smattering of grass and flowers in the middle. She said they used to grow here, when she was just a girl. And if you begged hard enough, she’d add a stray butterfly fluttering around the corner.

You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I just love seeing you, Granny,” you grinned.

“Crock of shit.”

“Really!” You grabbed your knapsack as you stood from your seat, folding the paper with care. “Hey, Granny, guess what? Don’t give me that face— I’ve already saved just enough and you know what that means?”

She snorted.

“Listen,” you pouted. “I’ll finally be able to get those pigments! I heard they don't cost that much and if I trade next-”

“Don’t.”

She tilted her head and faced your way, misty eyes pinning you. "How much does paper cost you?"

You gulped.

Then, with a swiftness that surprised you, she grabbed you by your tattered sleeve and gritted, “I may be the blind one here, but I think I see a lot more clearly than you do. You can sweat and bleed for those pigments, but I will never paint.”

You felt a sting in your eyes as she continued, “I know what you’re doing. And I’d be the greater fool if I let you work yourself to the bone for some pipe dream."

"Content yourself with coal, girl. That’s all you’re gonna get from this place. Dirt and rust and smoke. Go sneak into that damned farm. Go steal some of those fuckers’ riches. In fact, while you’re at it,” she laughed dryly. “Steal them all and run away from here. If you really want to live.”

“Only,” she said, too soft that you had to sit back down to hear her, “Only, stop hoping, my child.”

Her chest wheezed as she breathed, like air passing through the holes of a rundown machine.

You kissed the back of her hand before you left.

The wind howled and threatened to topple you as you walked back to your building, hard rain slapping you across the face when you picked up into a run. They didn’t descend in small drops anymore. As you get older, thunderstorms are to be expected once evening falls, lingering for weeks only to suddenly bring about an irritatingly humid day.

But tonight, the large cavern above that parts the dark, heavy clouds into opposite streams seem to yawn wider, closing itself lower and lower into the earth that you swore someday it’ll devour the city whole.

Mud water in your boots, you grabbed onto your soaked coat and climbed the steps of the decaying piece of slab you call home, mindful that you won’t slip and break your skull against the thick beams, twisted metal jutting out of the corners.

A solitary lamp flickered through the window of the room next to yours. Little Soo-jin must be having nightmares again, you thought with a frown.

You were about to knock on their door when the sirens blared, echoing louder across the city than the boom of lightning, followed by a grating squeal that could only be an opening gate.

Your knuckle froze over the chipped wood.

The last time the alarm rang, the people were greeted by the body of a young council member, brought by a small and wounded troop who’d accompanied him outside the city.

Soo-jin’s mom peered through the murky window, meeting your eyes after both of you stared into the direction of the gate closest to your zone, as if seeking you for an explanation. You only gave her a shrug.

“Someone must have died,” you said.

“No, he’s not dead. That’s why you’re bringing food to his room, aren’t you?”

You stared at the girl stubbornly shaking her head.

“I- I know, but! Didn’t you hear? They said they found him full of bullet holes and I—”

“Even if you’re serving a rotting corpse, as long as Cook orders it, you follow.”

It was admirable that she’s refused for this long. If it were you, you’d have been sacked the moment you opened your mouth to say no. You wiped your hand with the towel next to the sink, having finished the work assigned to you, and watched the ongoing bout in the kitchen.

“Why can’t you just ask the others? Marga’s not doing anything!”

“Marga,” the older woman hissed, “is with the others. Almost everyone is in the meeting room. So if you don’t take your butt up there, I’m gonna have no other choice but to tell Cook.”

You winced. This can’t be good.

You cleared your throat. “I can do it,” you said.

The tray was shoved to you faster than you can drop your raised hand. You would have found it amusing, considering that you’re sure they couldn’t even recognize you, but the idea of being in the same room with a half-alive man does make you feel uneasy.

Not that it’s anything new for you; you nursed your father until the fever took him, after all. You just haven’t lived long enough to get used to it yet. But you steeled yourself and did your job, because it’s not as if you had any choice.

You prepared yourself for anything as you entered one of the many guest chambers. Bullet holes, rotting corpse, entrails held together by stitches.

And when you announced your presence and gripped the tray tighter so as to not spill the soup on the sprawling carpet, it’s not really surprise that caused you to stumble upon your words when you saw the man sitting on the bed.

It’s more of an embarrassment, of sorts.

You must’ve entered the wrong room, you thought. You immediately checked around to make sure no one saw you talk and almost grovel to an actual sculpture.

Because that’s what he was.

The Governor’s estate houses floors and floors of rooms that you hadn't explored yet. But there was one that, if no one would bother to keep track of the workers, you had the habit of sneaking into.

Thinking about what it took for this family to have all those sculptures there hurt your head, so you stopped a long time ago. You chose, instead, to just admire the marble wonders in all their beauty, always looking back down at you with majesty and pride.

Just as he's doing right now.

Chiseled torso wrapped in bandages; sharp jaw that could cut; eyes the color of olives, gazing deep.

"That is for me."

You snapped your head down.

"Huh- uh, yes? Yes!"

His deep voice still rumbled through you.

"Yes, I'm sorry," you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you placed the tray on the table next to him, inflaming when you realized he didn't mean it as a question.

That is for me.

Not a question. A question means you can answer. His words brooked no other response but obedience, reminding you of your place.

Much like those sculptures, every time you'd spent too much time inside the room and you'd get the feeling that you're not supposed to be there, too filthy to be anywhere near what you think is the closest thing to perfection.

And the truth would settle on you like a heavy weight: that no amount of beauty can ever breathe warmth if it cannot live and grow.

The same way that despite the sunshine filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, surrounding him in blinding light as he sat on the bed, you can't shake the impression that this is the coldest this room has ever been, with him here.

So you anticipated his orders; a single word or maybe a glance that would tell you he wants you gone. Just either one of those and you'd run out of this room in a heartbeat.

But neither came. The man (you still didn't know his name) remained silent, staring at the food like they've insulted him specifically, and now he's questioning the collective audacity of the soup, bread, and bowl of fruits laid before him.

Maybe they don't serve those where he came from. He's from the North, after all, made evident by the small eagle etched on his chest, just above a pectoral. The last visiting Northerner you served who also bore that mark threw a rag at you (she missed) for "mixing the bathing oils incorrectly."

You stayed in your position and asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"

He didn't say anything, but he did shift his attention to you.

And what a mistake that was. How does this man go about life with such a severe presence?

"Er..is something..wrong?" you sweated, suddenly fascinated by the vases behind him.

Glaring back at the food, he answered with a deep "no" and breathed out. His large arms rose and fell along with it, straining the bandages around the muscles.

Oh, right. Right.

You perked up. "Do you need help?"

Stepping closer to the table, you gave him a tightlipped smile and a sheepish "excuse me" before taking the spoon in your hand.

You scooped a thick serving of soup, your palm hanging under it, and waited.

And waited.

The man looked at you the same way he looked at the bowl of fruits earlier.

"What are you doing?" he said, gravel-voiced.

You're gonna lose this job.

Why did you think you could feed him like he's an ailing, decrepit old man? Or a literal child? He's built like he commands an army (and he probably does).

You are definitely gonna lose this job.

"I- I'm sorry!"

You jerked away, your hip hitting the table, the impact shaking it and causing the plates and silverware to clatter against each other.

"O-oh no, I'm-" The spoon in your hand fell as you attempted to set things properly, soup spilling to the carpet along with the utensils.

You're gonna lose this job and you're gonna starve to death.

"I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!"

Dropping to your knee like your life depended on it, you picked up the myriad of similar looking spoons and forks and placed them back on the tray.

You kept your head downwards, bowing as you'd been repeatedly taught, and shut your eyes tightly.

"I thought that you hadn't healed yet and needed help and- and-" you huffed.

"And I thought that I should feed you but- no-no!" You looked at him and flailed your hands in front of you. "No! I didn't mean feed- I meant- I meant no disrespect please forgive me!"

Not a word was spoken in that second that spanned an entire year. But just as you'd accepted that the worst has come, he said:

"Then, feed me."

Wait.

Wait, what?

"I don't.. understand..?"

"Then, feed me," was what he told you. And so matter-of-factly, at that.

So you did, desperate to keep the only thing keeping you alive.

Though your hand trembled and you wished to be anywhere but here— even the wasteland waiting outside the gates, with all its unimaginable threats, seemed like paradise —you took a loaf of bread from the basket and brought it closer to his mouth.

Lines marred his forehead as he chewed. You were about to ask, self-destructive that you are, whether you should get the sweetened roll instead, thinking he found the one in your hand too bland. But you don't have the luxury to risk digging your grave any deeper.

You kept quiet and pointedly removed him from your line of sight, choosing to count the tassels hanging off the canopy instead.

Once he's eaten all that's left of the pastries, you dipped your hand into the bowl of fruits and took a grape in-between your fingers and, as much as you can, you steadied your hand to avoid touching his lips.

It didn't work.

You shuddered at the contact, curling your toes in your boots to avoid squirming.

This has got to be the weirdest day of your entire life.

Not a hint of unease was shown. He continued to close his plump lips around the tip of your fingers and crushed the fruits with pointed canines, making the hair on your body stand on end. What if he bites you? Would you bleed?

The man seemed to like them more than bread. A sense of urgency rose within you as he went through the berries and sliced mangoes like this is the first time he's had them.

Can't say you blame him. The last time you ate something that resembled a fruit, a real fruit, was when Granny persuaded (coerced) a young boy in her complex to steal one from his employer. That boy has a child of his own now.

You felt your mouth water, your stomach growl and command that you take the bowl from him and shovel its contents to your mouth, as you watched him devour the sweet and tangy meat, the smell of it sickening as it is strangely compelling.

He raised his head and met your eyes.

Shit.

The apples, you thought as you looked back down to the tray. They're the only ones left soaking in the bowl, those apples. After this you'd be out of this stuffy room and you'd laugh about this later with Soo-jin and her mom and Granny too if she's not cranky.

You could still feel him staring at you as you fed him a slice, the apple crisp when he took a bite.

Juice trickled down your hand, the sticky extract tickling your arm as it slid to the crook of your elbow, and you were about to wipe it with your other hand, when you felt a wet tongue probe the gap between your fingers.

You gasped. "Sir..!"

You stepped away. Tried to, anyway, but with a firm hand, a hand that's not injured, after all, he gripped your wrist and continued to suck a digit.

"This is- sir!" struggling out of his hold, you pleaded with him to let go, please sir let me go, even as he only looked at you, his eyes dimming when he grabbed your waist to bring you closer.

He licked your hand, lapping at the trail the juice left behind, and when you thought he would release you, he took your hand to pluck another slice from the bowl.

Your legs gave up beneath you, forcing you to sit on his stretched lap, his hard body scorching you through the sheets, as he ate the apple from your palm, slurping the leftovers dripping from it.

"Don't cry," Granny told you once.

"Especially when you feel like crying," she said. "Don't cry."

You'd never really been good at listening, but now, you decided to suck in your breath and keep those tears at bay. You can cry and laugh about all this later.

Because you might be jobless after this, but you will certainly have a damn good story to tell over the fire once you finished kneeing him in the nuts.

So: one.

Breathe.

His teeth scraped your soaked hand.

Two.

You rested your hand on his shoulder.

Three.

You braced your leg, moving it between his thick thighs, and then, as you clutched his bandages, you—

"Ushijima-sama."

The door swung open.

"Pardon the intrusion, but the Council members requested-”

It was Secretary Hara.

“Oh."

Secretary Hara: a lanky, dark haired man with glasses who's always at the Governor's beck and call. He was here, carrying a small stack of papers, and gaping at the scene before him.

You and the esteemed guest. Who's still suckling at your skin. On the bed.

He grinned, full of humor and disgusting. “Well,” he said.

At least you weren't crying.

A question, shared only by the Heavens, began when the Lord fashioned the flesh out of the dust of the ground and said,"You are made in My image and likeness."

It was not their way, before that: to question. (One of them did, once, but that is a different story).

They have no need for questions.

They hold the highest seat, below only to the Creator, unencumbered by the trappings of the earth.

They have no need for questions.

So it remained unasked, lingering in fragments in the House of the Lord.

The question comes to him now.

For the flesh is a cage. It is ephemeral and prone to decay.

It is fitting for this kind to have it, with all their qualities bound to the material world.

You are the very epitome of these.

Graceless. Stumbling like a newborn foal. Too many apologies. Too many questions.

God is not here, he thinks as you insist on asking what does not matter.

“Is the food not to your liking?” and “Is something wrong?” and “Do you need help?”

Indecisive, too. Reneging on your promises. You said you’d feed him and then you said you wouldn’t.

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a mere flesh, locking inside divinity your kind would never understand. Yet he felt its tedious demands gnaw at him when he saw you. Something so impermanent should have no right for constant sustenance.

But he knows, just for this time, that he needs it. That’s why he tells you to feed him, as you said you would. After all, it is your way to serve. And, for all your many inadequacies, God has granted you bread and water and fruit to sate your appetites.

Thus, for as long as he is flesh, he will do as it tells him to.

When it urged for the taste of fruit, for the cloying sweetness of its juice, it is only right that he heeded its call and had his fill.

How dare you object. His light is brighter than yours; God has granted it so (and yet you were given the will that they never had). And even in flesh you are beneath him. You are easily held and defeated.

The ache in his belly did not cease, each gulp he took heightening his senses, shouting for more, more, more as he took you with his tongue. And he realizes that this is what the first of your kind may have felt like when they disobeyed. The first act of betrayal.

(For what is the wrath of God to the cries of the flesh?)

And with that, Ushijima Wakatoshi finds, since donning this useless flesh, that it is not at all easy to gratify.

Not in the least.

There are so many rules in this mansion that even Cook’s effort to batter them on your head could sometimes be futile, given that their number is just as big as this place. But, there is one, among all the convoluted and at times nonsensical decrees, that you are not allowed to forget:

Unless you’re among the core staff, you can never enter the East Wing.

The East Wing is where all the important things happen, see. It goes without saying that someone as lowly as you cannot pollute that hallowed ground.

Today seems to be an exception.

When Cook barked that Secretary Hara wanted you in the East Wing first thing in the morning, you had a feeling that you just might not live to see the next day.

You didn't speak unless spoken to. You didn't look unless told to. The things you should've done much earlier.

"How are you liking the work here so far?"

Secretary Hara pushed the pen to the side and leaned back against the leather swivel chair.

"It's a job," you mumbled, to which he only replied with a breathless chuckle. You didn't see the point in bootlicking any further. Besides, Granny hated that the most; so you avoided doing it as much as you can.

There's only one conclusion for you here, anyway. No matter how severe the punishment. And it's back in your room, with a uniform that needs sewing for a job that you no longer have.

He tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. "You're right," he said. "Work is work. Despite your place in this society."

You wanted to roll your eyes. Secretary Hara has never been any of the workers' favorites (not that any of you had your "favorites," but if you could, you avoided this guy). He had this astonishing effect, too, in which he can actually bring people together. All because everyone hated him.

He's a slimeball, is what he is. If one needed lessons in kissing ass, he was your man.

"Do you know why you're here?"

You're getting fired. End of story. Now can I please just go? is what you want to say. But losing your job doesn't usually take this much time and attention. Normally, it was Cook who'd grunt "You're out" and that was it.

So you shake your head.

"I'm promoting you," he said. "Congratulations."

Somewhere, beneath that condescending smile of his, is a punchline that you're sure he's deliberately keeping from you. Just so he can be the only one who gets to laugh.

"I-" You balled your hand to a fist. "Why?"

He scoffed. "What are they teaching you in that rathole? Honestly."

They taught me not to be rude to people I don't know, you little bitch.

"Drop the coy act, it's okay," he sneered. "It's cheap and it won't work on me."

Oh, now you really want to get fired. If only to kick his teeth in. "That man," Secretary Hara continued. "Ushijima Wakatoshi. You were all over him and you seriously don't know who he is?"

You gritted. "Secretary Hara, what happened- it wasn't- I didn't want it."

But he only gave you that look. As if to say, "Sure. Let's go with that." When it'd pass and the need to pummel him became stronger, he stood up and stepped towards the tapestry draped against the wall.

It was a map, the city a pinprick on the corner. Secretary Hara faced it, dusting the spotless surface, his back to you.

"Ever wonder what keeps us here?" he started, hand still on the map. "This city of ours?"

"The," you licked your lips. Where was he going with this? "The river..?"

Secretary Hara clapped his hands, his voice lilting like he's talking to a toddler as he said, "That's right. That's good. Excellent."

"So you do know some things, after all." His fingers crawled towards the long line of blue stitched beside the city. "And do you wonder what would happen if, say, that river begins to dry?"

You felt your eyes widen. You covered your mouth with a palm.

You're not supposed to know this. Why is he telling you this?

He scratched the thick clump of blue thread and continued, "These great cities. They have their energy; their military."

Your eyes followed his hand, moving farther and farther away from the pallid brown surrounding your city, towards the bright yellow West, stopping at the bright green East. "Some of them are blessed enough to not be surrounded by a literal desert."

Then, with a careful hand, he moved to the very top and said, "And the North…the North has it all."

The North was a sprawling, intricate web of threads, eating away the entire tapestry.

"The Ushijima clan rules the North. Much longer than this city has existed. And they’re so engrossed in their wars that they’d never glance our way if we don't give them at least half of what we make,” he spat. “These great people haven’t had contact with us in years."

Secretary Hara finally turned around, grin still in place. "But now one of them owes his life to us." He walked back to his desk, sitting on its edge. "Perhaps the heavens sent him here."

When you remained silent and looked at him with eyes that you wished had the ability to kill, because you know now what they wanted from you, Secretary Hara only shrugged.

"He asked for your name, actually," he said, tilting his head. "Lucky you. He didn't bother to learn ours."

You stood your ground. "No, sir," you said. "I won't."

He pulled a thin piece of paper from a pile sitting next to him. "You're not gonna do much," he said as he began to read. "Just show him around the city. Be his friend."

Friend.

"But I- No. I can't." You stepped forward. "Please."

He looked away from the paper. "Zone 42. Room 0312."

"What.."

"Granny," he said. "That's what you call her, isn't it?"

No.

"They say that for a blind old lady she's still somehow miraculously trading to keep a roof over her head."

Phantom touches crept to your arm, slick and nauseating like cold sweat.

"You must take it from her. Though you're not related," he said. "Apparently, you're so hardworking, you even work the night shift. When you don't have to."

You released a shaky breath. "I'll..I'll start," you croaked. "I'll start right away, sir."

Secretary Hara folded his arms, victory plastered all over his gaunt face.

"Thank you," he chimed. "I'm glad you understand. It's for your own good too, y'know."

The uniform they gave you chafed against your skin. Tugging at the sleeves did not help, the pristine fabric too coarse and stiff to budge. Your only comfort was the folded paper hidden in your pocket, fading at the edges every time you touched it.

You have to admit, however, that you did look...well, you did look clean. Not as much as him, though. And not just in the sense that he's out of the bandages now. Last you checked, and that had been a few minutes ago, he was still sporting a couple of scars on his forehead.

Despite that, you don't have to look behind you to know what's captured the people's attention as you strolled the capital. Or, who, to be exact.

Some were outright ogling; some happened to glance once and then immediately looked away with a blush; some made the laudable effort to not look.

A mirror of what you're doing right now.

They gilded him with gold, which is a redundancy if you ever see one. He was wearing the most expensive pigment, something that only the Governor's family could own: a deep violet tunic emblazoned with golden vines, swirling from the middle to the collar; paired with dress pants that you could probably trade for a whole month's worth of food.

You kept your distance as you walked in front of him. "Just show him around the city," was what Secretary Hara told you. That didn't mean you had to talk.

And it's not as if he had any complaints, either. He followed you through the rows of glass houses that adorned Governor's lane, not a word spoken about the sights.

Even when you'd attempted to speed through the dizzying streets, he kept his pace, long legs allowing him to stride close to you. By time you'd reached the plaza, you were already out of breath and in need of rest.

But you didn’t.

You remained standing a few feet away from him, the paper in your hand opened to reveal those great trees and thriving field, as he sat under the gazebo overlooking the square; a place reserved only for council members.

The smell of the sweetmeats and oranges in front of him reached your nose (Secretary Hara has a cruel sense of humor, you belatedly realized, when you were handed a bag of food that had a note saying “treat him well”). You fought the itch to cast out what little you’ve had for breakfast.

Children were playing around the sandbox, the staff of whatever family they belonged to guarding them. In a way, their job wasn’t that different from what you have now.

Except, it’s not a child you were threatened to accompany. With the feeling of his gaze burning your nape, it seems like you’re not the one doing the guarding as well.

And you didn’t feel every bit like the adult you are when he called your name.

You felt frighteningly small, as you yielded with a pathetic, “Ushijima-sama.”

He only looked at you. Those green eyes telling you exactly what he wanted.

People are watching. You can’t mess this up.

“Sir,” you said, hand still in your pocket, that frayed paper your anchor. “It is improper.”

Irritation swept through him, his sharp features harsher when dissatisfied. But you can’t give up, even though it’s sending a chill down your spine and he seems like he’s about to throttle in broad daylight. (And he doesn’t have to do much, you know. He can crush you with one hand.)

“Why- why are you here?” you hissed. “R-really?”

You don’t shut your trap when you have to, girl. That’s your problem.

“Because- because I’m not gonna be your..thing.” The paper was dampening in your grip. “While you do whatever it is you do, Ushijima,” you huffed. “...sama”

Ushijima did not blink, his stare unwavering as he turned towards the small crowd strolling below. There’s a part of you that wishes to put yourself in his place, like a king on his throne. What does the view look like from up there? Are the people beneath just multicolored ants moving from afar?

“A few of my kind have suddenly sided with yours,” he said. Then, briefly returning his gaze to you, “I had to see what draws them here.”

He linked his fingers together. “Before I do what must be done.”

You stifled a chortle. “Do what must be done” your ass. Does that include harassing people, too? “God only knows,” you whispered.

“You believe in God.”

You were the subject of his relentless attention again. You groaned, averting your eyes to a small girl, probably around Soo-jin’s age, who plopped down to create a heap of sand, much to the consternation of her nanny.

“No,” you replied in a thin voice.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Where is this question coming from? “Always seemed like a lot of work,” you said.

The little girl was making a castle. It’s apparent to you now that she has little pail by her side, shovel in her grubby hand. The frill of her dress caught most of the sand as she stacked them atop each other.

“And I’m pretty sure God has more fun things to do than worry about me,” you added, just because.

The castle reached her knees when the girl stood up.

"God has left," Ushijima said. "A long time ago."

And then she kicked it. The thing crumbled to a mound, the breeze scattering it back to the sand.

You did chuckle this time. The Northerners sure are strange. "Really? Where’d God go?" you hummed, looking up to the sky.

The sun was blanketed by waves of clouds, as usual. "Somewhere nicer, I hope," you sighed.

You closed your eyes and thought of that nicer place. It would have to be far, far away from here. Maybe it would even have those trees that Granny loved.

"Cherry trees."

You opened your eyes and gawked at him.

He was still gazing at you.

"You are attached to it," he told you, like it's nothing; like your heart's not wreaking havoc against your ribs with each word he utters. "On that paper."

Pulling it out of your pocket, you stumbled to him and unfolded it for him to see. "You- you know what this is? A 'cherry tree.' That’s what you call it?"

"Yes." Ushijima's eyes did not leave yours. "That is the name you people have bestowed upon them."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

You didn't let him answer that because, just like the fool that Granny accused you to be, you took his hand in your trembling one and laughed, somehow managing to drag him out of the gazebo.

It took a while before you finally let go.

Much has changed along the way, he felt this as the air grew hotter; the sound of bustling people louder and less constrained with inutile mortal etiquette. You seemed less wary of him here.

The hand that held his tightly was still brushing against him, as you talked incessantly about the pieces of paper plastered across the wall. They all looked the same, yellowed and infested with mold at the edges, but you insisted otherwise.

“See here?” You pointed to the one on the bottom. “Granny drew the leaves differently. They look like flowers don’t they? They are, aren’t they? I knew it! So they are flowers.”

There was a cot in the corner of the room. He sees you there in slumber, surrounded by rocks and scraps of metal and bits of gemstones held together by strings, each strand hanging on the crevices of the roof, gleaming every time they move.

You tapped his arm repeatedly. “Oh, oh. I put these two beside each other. Notice that the shades are different? This one is lighter while this one has more shadows to it.”

"Do you get it now?" you asked him, expectant.

Humans are baffling creatures, Wakatoshi thought. Because when he said nothing, you only laughed (you seem to like doing that) and told him to “follow me; hurry.” You didn’t hold his hand this time (you should’ve, he preferred it when you did).

“My bad. I hadn’t shown you yet,” you huffed as you grabbed a rag and set aside buckets of rainwater that obstructed his path.

Behind a curtain of sackcloth and ashes, draped at the furthest side of the wall, was a crack big enough to let a person through, corroding steel bars protruding along the broken concrete.

Wakatoshi ducked to enter the room next to yours. It was hollow, save for bits of gravel and a window obscured by dust. You paced to it then wiped the thick glass with the rag you brought with you.

“That hill is always there in Granny’s drawings,” you said, taking the paper in your pocket and setting it parallel to the scene revealed by the window.

Your smile was wide, as if you were admiring a land lush with vegetation, or wildflowers at least. When it was far from that. It was a vast desolation, beyond the gates and the brown earth fractured. But, just as you said, there is a solitary hill sitting along the horizon.

“Those trees- cherry trees,” you started, face radiating with mirth. “It’s the same but.. different each time.” Your breathless laugh makes him feel just as winded. “How is that even possible?”

“I know they can’t be just...green.” A finger traced the outline of the leaves. “Because these are real and they actually grow and- and they change.” And, as if it’s a secret, “Unlike the ones at the capital.”.

“If only Granny would paint them for me,” you whispered, the smile on those lips waning.

Wakatoshi couldn’t stand it. So, he grunted, “You are wrong. This one is green.”

He took the paper from your hand. “They only change colors once they bloom. White, first. Then, pink.”

This knowledge is trivial; if it can be considered knowledge at all. It is a speck in the infinite matters that simply exist— have existed, in this world. Yet such a thing has put that look in your eyes.

Perhaps it is not inconsequential at all.

“Pink?” you breathed, grinning incredulously at him.

You turned away and closed your eyes, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I see.”

There's a blood pumping organ within his chest. A vital piece that keeps you humans alive. It beats constantly, never ceasing. If it does then it means you are dead. He is flesh, for now; it follows that if it halts, then he is fodder for the earth.

How is it, then, that he is still here? He’s sure he felt it stop, the air knocked out of his lungs, as you looked back at him, eyes welling with tears when you said, “Thank you.”

Thank you, you told him, smiling.

Ah.

Wakatoshi gets it now.

This is what God must have seen, when your kind looked up and sang, “I love you, my God; I love you; I love you.” And when you knelt and dared to turn those eyes for others that are not God, he suddenly understands why they were ordered to rain fire and brimstone upon your great kingdoms.

Because he, too, would smite anything, burn it to the ground and salt what is left, if it would so much as receive a whit of your sweet, soft words.

“They used to grow here,” you sniveled. “Granny said so.”

“And I thought, maybe if Granny added a bit more color- maybe they'd feel more…I don't know..real..?” Laughter rings in his ears once again, pealing like bells. “Yeah..They'd feel more real...Though, she did get mad at me,” you winced.

“I just thought,” you sighed, your shoulders touching him. “Wouldn't it be nice if I can wake up one day and find them growing again? Right here.”

God created a garden for your kind once. It is gone now, but Wakatoshi wonders what you’d say, how you’d look at him, if he shows it to you. Your head against the grass, fingers laced with the lilies of the field, the taste of fruit on your lips, your thighs dripping with honey and dew—

Wakatoshi felt his loins stir, but he didn't say anything, except, “The soil here is poisoned.”

You snapped towards him, brows drawn together. “I know,” you said.

“A sapling cannot grow on this wasteland.”

“Yes, I’m not stupid.”

“That could have been any hill.”

“I know.”

His throat is parched; his hands a pair of useless things. He can hold galaxies in them, sink ships and level seas by the order of God had this body not trapped him. (He can free himself, but then you’d die). Now he doesn’t even know what to do with them as he rushes out a hoarse, “I have upset you.”

He refused to let you take the paper from him. You didn’t seem to mind.

“No,” you sighed. “No, of course not. Forgive me, Ushijima-sama.”

You bowed again. An act of servitude.

“Please, let me escort you back to the capital.”

He does not understand. He only told you the truth.

But you turned your back to him and the light in your eyes has gone and he wants to chase it back the same way he wanted to run after God when the parting happened, leaving the Heavens mourning until their wails split the firmament open.

Wakatoshi yearns to have you closer. He yearns for that smile and laughter back on your face.

Wakatoshi yearns.

But, that cannot be.

After all, that is just much too human, is it not?

The rain drenched Wakatoshi to the bone, droplets falling from his lashes to his cheeks, when he walked through the nighttime storm.

He didn't bother to dry himself.

After he'd reached your room and shoved the door open, the clap of thunder covering the noise, Wakatoshi decided to undress himself, shedding all articles of clothing until he was naked as the day God created your kind.

Wakatoshi felt the chill bite his skin. But that had nothing on the way you easily dismissed him earlier, by the time you'd reached the abode of this city's leader.

You left him and he could no longer see your face and yet that fierce longing in his chest stayed, creeping to every part of him, making a home in his belly.

Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.

Hunger.

Hunger, he could fathom. And when one feels it gnaw at one's flesh, what does one do, but eat?

You were sleeping on the cot, just as he'd imagined you to be. It's enough to keep him warm: the sight of you, at peace under the glimmer of the trinkets dancing above as a lamp burned lowly.

The mattress sank under his weight when he sat next to you. His much larger hand took yours, locking your fingers together to rest his cheek against it, bringing it beneath his nose, and feeling his heart race as he breathed in your scent.

He remembers the first time he did this so vividly. You tasted like apples and sin; and though there's none of that now, his mouth still waters as he savors your skin, his tongue traveling to your arm, just as he did then, leaving bites along the way.

You barely stirred when he lifted your shirt to reveal your tits, the sheen of sweat along the valley forcing a growl out of him.

Do you feel it, too? When you drag him further down to earth, debasing him and bringing him so low that now he is nothing but a hungry flesh and a mouth made of obscenities.

"Fuck," he grunts, as he took his cock, heavy and hard to touch, and rubbed the head with his fingers.

Perhaps he is lower than human now. Perhaps it does not matter. What is God to this hunger, anyway?

(This hunger is bigger than God.)

The cot was pitifully small as he straddled over your chest, breathing still shallow, and spat on his hand before wrapping it around the thick shaft. The tip of his cock touched your nipple as he fondled with the other one, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling until you let out a tiny mewl.

Hearing it had him falling to his knees.

Wakatoshi moved off the cot to kneel on the floor, the better to suckle on your tits, to lick and nibble on the skin below it, on your stomach, until he's seeing red and ripping your loose pants down to your thighs.

He pumped his cock harder as he caressed the folds of your cunt. You groaned, arching your back and offering yourself to his mouth, when he started to lap on your clit, sticky liquid coating the swollen bud as he swirled his tongue to spread the juices dripping from your hole.

Your entire body was singing for him, even when all you'd managed were squirms and muted whimpers. He felt your skin twitch beneath his lips, as he cupped his balls and drove his hand faster around his throbbing cock, gripping his fist tighter.

Oh, he sees you on that garden, clinging onto him as he drives himself into you, pounding your cunt as you beg please, just as you did before, please, please, fuck me harder I am yours I am all yours.

But, for now, he settles himself with the violent shudders of your body, flooding his mouth with cream, as he releases his seed on his palm.

Wakatoshi rubbed it against your leaking cunt, quivering still in his hand.

There is something that must be finished, first, before he takes you, in truth. He cannot have you conscious (for now.)

He covered you back in your clothes, after. Then, Wakatoshi lingered on your face.

"Fearfully and wonderfully made," he whispered, a mere guttural sound amidst the rain pouring outside.

Here lies salvation, he thought, as his fingers brushed your closed eyes.

And here, Wakatoshi thought as he brought his lips down to kiss you, here lies damnation.

He wiped his blood on the doorposts and lintel before he left.

You woke up to silence.

Your nether regions ached and, really, the temptation to not go to work today was insanely strong. But the sun was already bleeding through the window and there's a heavy feeling on your chest.

And like wearing a shirt on backwards, you immediately knew that something was not right.

The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the building as you ran outside.

There was nothing.

Not the sound of people going about their day nor of children risking the wrath of their mothers with their games. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing noise of a fly circling around your ear.

You didn't bother knocking on your neighbor's room, rushing inside to shout for Soo-jin and her mom, stopping only when you found them sitting around a small table.

They didn't turn around to greet you.

"There you are," you panted, putting your hands on your knees. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this."

Even little Soo-jin, who never failed to jump into your arms given the opportunity, kept her back to you.

You stepped towards her. "Soo-jin," you whispered, placing a hand on her thin shoulder.

"Soo-jin, hey," you chuckled, your trembling fingers shaking her bit. "H-hey, what's wrong?"

Her head nodded down, like a doll grabbed all too suddenly, then it lolled to the side, rolling until she bared her neck, until you saw her face.

Her mouth hung open.

Inside the cavern were tiny black lumps that took you a second to realize were flies feasting on her molars. And when you lurched and sank to the floor, it was only then that you saw her staring back at you.

Bleached eyes, wide and whitened to the core and pupils like spoiled milk.

"N-no." Your vision was cloudy, freezing dread settling at the pit of your stomach when you saw that the same happened to her mother. "Who- who did this?"

Your voice strained out as you stood, mind moving faster than your legs.

Granny. Go to Granny.

Though you already know, don't you? You don't have to see her to know her fate. Because as you sprinted out of the room, leaping down across the steps, out of the building and into sand and concrete, the smell of sulfur followed you, choking you along with the sight of bodies sprawled on the ground.

Insects creeping out of nostrils and every other orifice, faces that you'll never have the chance of knowing and faces that you'd grown up with, hands reaching to the heaven as if at prayer.

You are alone. You are alone in a city filled with rotting corpses.

There was an uncontrolled animal inside your body, fighting out of its cage in a fit of rage as you craned to look up, further up.

The sky was on fire, the fissure in the middle gaping wider and wider and sucking in a mass of swirling clouds dipped with blood and orange.

And there. There, look. Standing atop the towering walls.

Beyond the heat wave was a figure, burning bright that you had to squint and you wanted to look away, you had to look away, but you can't go out like this, not without a scream and a curse at your lips.

What did you do, you were shouting, Who are you, you were screeching, feeling the veins in your neck stretch and pop as you walked closer and closer.

Wings as far as the eye could see stood atop the fallen city.

Spread out to span the horizon and folded at the middle to conceal whatever it is pointing a flaming sword towards the sun.

You tasted iron at the back of your mouth, but you did not stop. The earth beneath you swallowed your feet as it turned to mud with each step you took.

And with the flap of its wings, the sound of metal banging against each other reverberated louder.

There were children howling in pain, somewhere, behind you, in front of you, beside you. You staggered forward and for the life of you, you do not understand why you keep trying, because the ground below wasn't even soil anymore.

It took another step before you fell.

And it was like one of those dreams.

But this time you don't wake up.

You bawled out and thrashed your legs as water rose above you, slamming against your chest and filling up your mouth and burning your nose until it's all you could see, until you're floating in darkness and water is rushing to your lungs and you were flailing upwards, catching that spot of sunlight, but the more you kicked your feet and swung your arms, the more it tugged at your heavy legs and the less you could breathe and the further it got—

You were sinking, the clanging of a giant bell everywhere still, as the water pulled you down, and in the deep, below the nothingness, was a massive cleft illuminated by the barest of light, slowly opening to reveal an eye, and no sound came out though you know, though you felt your throat release a shriek, horrifyingly small, so, so small compared to that glass green pupil that illuminated the darkness, rapidly contracting and dilating and then blinking as salt and fire streamed deep in your skin, but they were looking at you from all sides, a thousand eyes flanking you and judging the weight of your soul with their unforgiving gaze as you tossed and turned in the waters.

I am going to die here, you thought. I will die here, you cried.

But something was pulling at your waist and despite clawing and jabbing at it, desperate to keep it away from you as you wailed get off me get off me, it gripped you tight, hauling you upwards until you were gulping and breathing in cold air.

Through tears and the piercing cry that ripped out your throat, you felt strong, warm arms cradle you close.

Along with a deep voice, familiar and conjuring a long lost memory.

It lulled you into hiccups and dry sobs, gentle as it whispered.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid.”

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima x female reader #dark content haikyuu

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m-aster-of-spinjitzu · 3 years

Text

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Akita and Zane talk after the battle in 'Awakenings'. The conversation... doesn't go as either of them expect.

Prompt: memories, from @ninjago-bingo‘s warm board:D

Trigger warnings: implied self harm (one or two characters dig their fingernails into their hands), discussion and introspection about most of the crimes the 'Emperor' committed, a lot of talk and introspection about murder.

Word count: 4682 (I've literally been writing this for like a month lol, kinda disappointed it ended up fairly short:/)

"We have to talk."

The girl with red markings on her face - Akita, he heard Lloyd call her - unsheathes her short dagger, eyes narrowed to slits.

He glances around the throne room, hands pressed to his head. The memories were still trickling through; strange islands and a forest of snow, a dungeon and... a noodle factory?

"Alright," he says quietly. She bears the same red marks of the bear he can remember Vex convincing him was a criminal, many winters ago. That could only mean-

It wasn't you, he reminds himself. It was the scroll, and the actions of a power hungry traitor.

You gave the order, his now infallible memory supplies, and, honestly, he has no rebuttal for that.

"Alright," he echoes meekly, trying to muster some emotion into his voice. "I know-"

"No," she cuts him off roughly, her eyes scanning the room. It is just the two of them now - the samurai had fled once they had recovered from the strange trance he had put them in. Vex had been locked in the dungeon by Lloyd, who was helping any of the samurai who could not quite remember their old lives.

He had ruled for sixty years. Some of their families might dead, some by their own hands.

They know this. He knows this.

Irrationally, he wishes there was some way to fix this. A spell, or a way to turn back the clock; some way to yell at a younger Zane to just scout the cave-

There is no way backward; only forward, out of this winter - and, possibly, into another one.

He stares at the girl in front of him, taking in her tattered clothing, the ease with which she holds her weapon. She's not afraid to fight.

"I don't owe you an explanation, Emperor," Akita says definitely, forcing out the words. "But you will give me one, or you shall never see the light of day again. My brother-"

His heart lurches, eyes widening. Brother.

"Knows that the dungeon has many empty cells," she finishes sharply, barely contained anger flashing in her eyes.

He keeps the facts brief, concise. Once this is all over, he can dwell on them - agonize over what he should have done; use it to be better next time. Atone for his mistakes, even if he can never truly make up for them.

"A snake capable of sorcery used a magic scepter to blast me and a vehicle to this realm. I was sent here sixty years into the past, which is why it took my friends so long to find me. I was also holding a similar magic scepter - one which amplifies the holder's power, but if held for too long, it corrupts one's mind."

"I know what happens next."

How-

"I watched your message to your friends," she replies curtly, by way of explanation. "I did not know that you and the Emperor were one and the same. Continue."

"Vex interrupted a process I was using to try and fix a- vehicle, which caused me to lose my memories. He told me that I was ill. He said that he was a great friend of mine, and that this realm belonged to me. He convinced me that Formlings were warmongers, and that the rightful king had overthrown me. Just before he almost killed Lloyd, he said something that caused my memories to return."

She frowns. "I do not understand. How does one lose their memories so easily?"

Akita stares at his metal skin, her eyes widening as if noticing it for the first time.

"I am not quite like you-"

"I know," she interjects, eyes brimming with anger. "I am not a murderer."

"I was... created," he replies, quietly. "Out of extra materials. I can act like others, but I do not always understand emotions in the same way."

Akita frowns again, raising her dagger. Her voice grows a dangerous edge; sharp and cold. "You never realized that your actions were wrong?"

They're entering dangerous territory. Some part of him wants to derail the conversation; stick to the facts and leave his emotions out of this.

But he owes her an explanation - he owes everyone an explanation. He owes them so much more, if only he could give it to them; erase the past and leave their quiet realm in peace.

"Before I came here, I would never have done such things - if I had my memories, I would never have done such things. Vex convinced me that they were the only way I could defend my throne. I did not know that they were wrong. The moment I realized what I had done, I tried to help your side. The right side," he finishes, ignoring the temptation to stare down at the floor instead of into her blazing eyes.

An indecipherable expression crosses her face. "You never talked to another? One of your... army, perhaps?" "Vex gave all the orders. He just asked me for approval. I never left this room." "And you approved them," she muttered, but it seemed to serve more as a reminder to herself than it did to him.

"What was your life like, before you entered our world?" Akita asks suddenly, suspicion still coating her voice. He blinks, the question unexpected.

"My friends and I can control and create different elements," he began, hesitantly. Carefully. "We were taught to fight. We protect our city from those-" "You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

"Those who cannot protect themselves," Zane finishes, guilt making his vision hazy.

He quickly blinks away the tears, all too aware of her persistent gaze.

"Two more questions," she says quickly, glancing behind her. "This room makes me uncomfortable. And so do you." The accusation is clear, but her eyes are not quite as cold as they had been earlier.

"What do you feel now?" Akita asks roughly, taking a step back. "You mentioned earlier that you do not feel emotions the same way that we do. Explain."

I could lie, he thinks, fleetingly. What if my feelings convince her that I am the Emperor even more than I am Zane? A voice at the back of his mind points out that he is - was - the Emperor.

He knows this.

He knows that he will have to acknowledge it once they are back home.

He knows that he cannot dwell on it now, or the winter will go on - inside his mind instead of outside it.

"I feel... guilt," he begins. "For the terrible crimes I have committed. Horror, at my own actions. Anger, towards that traitor. Relief - that I am no longer under his influence." An eyebrow touches her forehead, ever so slightly.

"How guilty?" It is almost a challenge, her voice rising in pitch threateningly.

"I will spend the rest of my life working to atone for my mistakes," Zane answers sincerely, resisting the irrational urge to squeeze his eyes shut. "However, I know that nothing I can do will ever undo them. But I can help others from people who- who... seek to manipulate them," he finishes quietly, a remorseful sigh punctuating the confession.

Akita says nothing; lips pressed in a hard line. Her blank, steadfast gaze meets his. The dagger clatters to the ground.

He draws in a breath sharply.

Picking it up, she squares her shoulders defiantly. "My people will know that... that there were two prisoners within these walls," she sighs, the weariness in her voice all too evident.

Yet he does not miss her glare; a barely contained anger that lurks just beneath the surface.

Akita straightens her spine, frowning menacingly as her hand tightens on the dagger.

He resists the irrational urge to take a step back.

"My brother and I will never forgive you," she snarls.

You do not have to, he would like to say. But he suspects that she already knows this.

"Come near either of us again, and I will make you long for death."

She shifts to her wolf form, baring her teeth - but when she stalks closer, he does not back away.

Suddenly, he is all-too-aware of the fact that the throne room is currently empty - bar the two of them.

He does not move.

It is not as if she could harm him - titanium is not easily damaged (yet, some part of him wonders if that is a blessing or curse), but they have faced enough villains for him to know how it works.

The villains die at the end; rightfully so.

Why should this be any different?

"You will pay for your crimes," Akita growls, shifting between her forms as if it is second nature. It probably is. "Emperor."

Her dagger clatters to the ground once again.

He does not move.

Why should this be any different?

---

"What's taking her so long?"

"Who?" The Samurai asks, the confusion on his face only amplifying.

"No- nothing," he mumbles, wincing. The adrenaline is wearing off - and with it, the fleeting distraction from the pain coursing through his chest.

Broken ribs? Probably. But he's got bigger problems to worry about - his minor injuries don't really matter when there's a warrior (because after all that she's been through, he thinks that she deserves the title - even if it's one she would never have wanted) seeking vengeance, someone who could tear apart this castle, brick by brick if she wanted to, alone with his brother.

His brother - who'd taken hers; encased her village in a tomb of ice, leaving behind no one but a teenager consumed with blinding anger - rightfully so, he admits, a bit wearily.

What happened to you, Zane?

Are you even... there? The person who used to stay awake with me when all I saw was the building crumbling before my eyes, night after night? The one who swore to protect those who couldn't protect themselves?

Are you still there?

"Can I, er, go inside?" he asks no one, trying not to breathe too hard. The Ice Samurai he'd been trying to help had vanished, most probably to try and get answers from someone else.

He owes it to these people to help them - if he'd just been faster, stronger, better, Aspheera could never have-

Not now, Lloyd!

He should probably open the doors - try and diffuse whatever fight they'd gotten into. Akita reminds him of Kai; both of them fiercely protective of those whom they care about, yet sometimes clouded by rage so thick they can barely see out of it.

But he's hesitating - there's always the possibility that her anger; prison of its own, might extend to him.

Not that he even has the right to condemn her for it, though.

Unwillingly, a fleeting thought presses itself to the forefront of his mind; beautiful white hair, a soft voice coated in honey-

Broken ribs, he reminds himself stubbornly, grimacing at the flare of pain as he draws in a breath sharply. She's gone, she's gone, and it's-

He bites his lip until the tang of iron fills his mouth, eyes fixed determinedly on the floor.

Not now, Lloyd!

Slowly, carefully, he pushes the door open. It creaks softly - but he doesn't think anyone hears it.

Oh, no.

---

"Akita?" a voice questions, hesitantly. He's half-leaning against the door, blonde hair almost completely hiding wary eyes all but squeezed shut in pain.

She stiffens, ignoring the part of her that learns to hunt, murder, the- the monster-

Blinking, quickly, she allows her mind to embrace the sharp, cold air on her fur, and her harsh, ragged breathing - until she can almost feel the shift in her heart, trading instinct for a different type of clarity, white fur for skin and hair.

Grabbing her dagger, she halfheartedly swipes it at the boy who makes her cheeks redder than they usually are, the boy who travelled across the ice seeking a murderer-

Well. He is in no condition to help anyone - they both know this.

But he does not have the right to interfere with this conversation - her feelings do not matter when his friend is-

"Leave us," she snarls, fingers digging into the hilt of her dagger. "What makes you think you have the right?"

Her voice grows colder, but she can't quite keep the tremor out of it.

"You did not find your village half-dead, or spend months mourning your brother," Akita snaps, frustration seeping into the words. Why does he always have to make everything so complicated?

"I know," he replies, hesitantly, eyes flitting between the room and the door. "But... this isn't the right thing to do, Akita."

"Do you think it was right for your friend to seize power from our rightful ruler? Do you think he was right when he imprisoned an innocent child for so many years?"

She doesn't bother to keep the venom out of her voice, ignoring the fact that the light brown of her skin has almost faded to white where she grips her weapon.

Taking a step closer, she bites her lip.

If he will make this his fight, so will she.

"The girl I told you about," Lloyd interjects. "H- Harumi." He forces out the name, as if the very mention of it ails him.

She raises her eyebrows. "What are you going to do? Distract me with stories about your girlfriend while he," Akita glares at the Emperor with a sigh, "escapes?"

"No," he replies softly. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, she doesn't miss his poorly concealed wince.

This is the friend he seeks?

There's a fragile silence, one of which she refuses to shatter. Nothing he can say will erase the horrific actions of this- this power-hungry ruler who has abused the gift he has been given; persecuted their lands, and forced innocents into lives ruled by fear and hatred.

"I- er-" Lloyd starts, visibly uncomfortable with saying... whatever it is he is trying to say.

She does not interrupt, but does not take her eyes off the Emperor, either. He has not moved or even contributed to their exchange yet.

Good, she thinks fervently. She does not need to force herself to try and feel sympathy for a man she has hated for so many long winters, one who has taken a piece of her heart and locked it away in a tiny prison cell.

"Did I ever tell you that- that... I watched her die?" he asks, aiming for a casual tone.

The hurt subconsciously laced into it makes something in her heart twist, as if it had been pierced by a shard of glass.

Outwardly, she does nothing more than raise an eyebrow.

For all the days they have spent trekking across the ice together, it suddenly dawns on her how little she actually knows about him.

"No," she replies carefully, dragging out the word. "Why?" "She-"

Akita can almost see his internal struggle - anger and fear and indecision and something she can't quite place her finger on meshing into another thing entirely.

"She- tried to murder," Lloyd flinches at the word, nails digging into his palms, "my friends. And I was forced to watch, helpless," he whispers, so softly that she has to strain to hear it.

"But when she- she died in a crumbling building, I- was... the one who caused it to fall."

"Your point?" she snaps; voice as sharp as her blade. He is the only thing standing between her and the Emperor; between the growing hatred she had allowed to fester for all this time, because one day she would finally make him pay-

Her friend visibly winces.

Too late does she realize her mistake, a fact that leaves her a bit sick to the stomach.

That's nothing compared to the bout of nausea that accompanies another realization, juts a second later.

How could I let my anger hurt another - one who did not deserve to receive it? Am I truly any better than the one whom I have condemned?

Well. The logical side of her mind points out that it is her choice to forgive, for such unforgivable acts; that the anger that had doused everything in its hue, every day, was to be expected-

"I apologize... for my conduct," she says quickly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "You have never hurt me. I did not mean to hurt you." "It's okay- this- this isn't my fight anyway," Lloyd replies quickly, fingers wrapped around the door handle - but she doesn't even think he's aware of the fact. "I just- I just wanted to share something with you, something I wish someone would've shared with me, because-" He's rambling, words practically coated in a jumble of shaky nerves. "What is it?" Akita asks softly, losing a little of the stiffness in her tone.

"Murder- it isn't right," he repeats, hands pressed to his forehead. "But... it'll hurt you more than it will anyone else. I can't go a week without seeing her fall in my dreams, over and over again. I should've been glad, I guess... she'd hurt my friends and I so many times. But- but I'm the one with the nightmares, and all this- guilt. And I care- I care you, Akita. I know that I'll never understand how you've been hurt by- by the Emperor... just, think about how it'll affect you." Akita's eyes widen incredulously, but he's not done. "Just- don't let someone else make you hurt yourself." His voice is about a pitch higher than normal, but neither of them really register it. "Sometimes, the best kind of revenge is refusing..." Lloyd trails off, his eyes squeezed shut (a second later, he opens them again, blinking profusely), "to let anyone... make you hurt them."

Irrationally, she wants to break something.

That advice offers... an entirely new perspective. One that she had never thought of.

One that is- is unwanted, she insists fervently.

And now his fingers are pressing into his hands again, so tightly that she almost wants to yell - stop it, idiot, you're hurting yourself! - at him. "Because... it might haunt you lot more. And if they- they- really want to hurt you?" Both of them ignore the erratic, painful looking way his breathing starts to hitch just then.

"Don't give them... the satisfaction of it - by- your own hands."

Her mouth drops open.

No words come out.

What?

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Lloyd slowly - a bit too carefully - push the door shut behind him. It creaks softly, but neither of the two left standing in the room really hear it.

She squeezes her eyes shut, far too many emotions almost crashing through her mind.

"You seek to rescue your friend. I seek revenge."

Blinking the world back into focus, her mind whirls and whirls; the storm unrelenting.

"I seek revenge."

What exactly did that mean to her?

She...

She did not quite know the answer now.

---

Akita does not speak for some time, her thoughtful expression plainly clashing with one of anger.

He does not speak, either, although it is for a different reason.

Lloyd's words have forced him to face the reality he has been avoiding ever since he smashed his scepter on the ground - ever since the decade-long winter had ended.

"And if they really want to hurt you? Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands."

"If they really want to hurt you."

There is only one whom Lloyd could have been referring to.

"You were built to protect those who cannot protect themselves."

Somewhere within his mind, he is aware of the fact that the second his memories returned, the staff lay in pieces on the floor; all of that corrupted ice shattering into nothing.

He is also aware of the fact that sixty years of tyranny will leave behind much more than an altered climate.

If they even get back to Ninjago, what will have become of his city? It took his friends decades to find him - what could have happened during all that time?

Friends. Does he even have a right to call them that?

He is not quite sure - or even sure if all of them will be as forgiving as Lloyd.

The Green Ninja had always strived to find the best in people - to believe that anyone could make up for their mistakes, that they would want to. It had been to his friend's detriment, once - yet Lloyd had never quite given up on the world, in the same way that many of them had. Maybe it was some sort of childish naivety - or maybe it was just in his nature to hope, even after all they had been through, that everyone had some good inside them.

Yet, he had never met anyone who shared his friend's mindset - or at least to that extent.

Kai knows what it is like to have a sibling kidnapped, taken from them for no rhyme or reason - other than the fact that a cruel ruler who seeks power and exploits those around them for it will stop at nothing to get what they want.

Cole knows what it is like to die (well, almost, his logic points out) - to be imprisoned within yourself; a husk of a person, unable to live your life to the fullest.

His mind flashes to the thousands of innocent villagers he had frozen in icy prisons, practically caskets-

Irrationally, his hands begin to shake.

He chooses not to focus on that.

Nya used to hunt down those who hurt others, he recalls - and then squeezes his eyes shut.

Is she not quite similar to Akita in that regard?

The realization leaves him more gutted than he thought was possible. Had he really become the very person his friends worked so hard to stop?

He clenches his fists, the titanium covering his fingers grating together.

At least I am no longer holding the scroll, he thinks, fervently. Before long, the memory of a clear, quiet night pulls itself to the forefront of his mind.

The echo of a whispered confession; a brief explanation mixed with tears and shaking hands. A voice usually so bright, silenced to the shaky murmur of "I watched her die, Zane, and it was all my fault, it's all my fault-"

It was then when he had learned of- of an alternate timeline, his processor had inputted seamlessly. Another reality, wiped from their minds and the press of time. One that only existed in the memories of two of his best friends.

One that resulted in poorly concealed winces, seemingly arbitrary flinches, Nya throwing out any dresses she owned and Jay practically shaking with fear when he was asked to do certain chores. One that resulted in scars that ran far deeper than those of venom or sword. His memories had been useless then, too, his mind points out. How could he have let two of his best friends suffer for weeks on end, when he was able to upgrade or encrypt his memory drive at any time? When he was a n- robot, and should be able to recover memories that had been deleted or erased? The others could never be afforded that opportunity - yet, he had let the team down when it mattered most. If he could not be there for others, try to help them protect them from a force unable to ever be completely defeated, would he ever even halfway fulfill his purpose? He had pondered all of those questions - had ignored the pang in his heart when many pieces of the figurative puzzle clicked into place, for many weeks afterward. He had almost immediately vowed to be better - to ensure that his purpose did not go unfulfilled.

His purpose, he thought bitterly, as he squeezed his eyes shut. What had become of it now?

Another question to ponder, he supposed. And the realization that Jay - one of his brothers, one who was always equipped with a weapon and a joke too - would forever know what it was like to be kidnapped, held hostage, simply because a power-hungry figure cared less for another than anyone ever should.

Akita's brother had been scarcely less than a child - after his imprisonment. How could he have strayed so far from his original goals - how could he have strayed so far from what he had supposedly fervently stood for?

---

Lloyd's words still ring in her ears, his weary tone not quite matching their crazy implications.

She rubs her temples, frustrated. This was definitely not what she had come here for! She had come for vengeance - vengeance for the terrible crimes the Ice Emperor had committed, against her village, her brother, even her-

But what was the point of revenge if she was the one left scarred? a small voice in the back of her mind points out, doing nothing but adding to her indecision.

I cannot do this, she insists fervently, thinking of her brother's worn face - and the years he had spent imprisoned; a lone figure silently mourning a sister he did not know still trekked the ice.

Just as she had been mourning him, she thinks sadly. The pang in her heart may have lessened since she had realized that he was still alive, but it was still horrifying to think that he had lost decades of his life - she had lost decades of hers, too, in a different way, she muses - saddened, alone, imprisoned.

But is this what he would have wanted? For her?

He had always been the calmer, logic-based one. She was always running into fights, the one fueled by emotion and anger.

Well. She spares a moment for the future.

The Emperor would leave their world - possibly, to haunt another. She would remain here - with her brother and her village, the woods and the towering peaks of the mountains.

I only have this one chance, she reminds herself firmly. She fixes her eyes on the strange blue ones of the Emperor, and sees a future ruled by that one decision.

Her gaze flits towards the doorway, and she sees a future there, too.

She sighs, dropping her eyes to the ground.

But Katuru would want me to- to-

Be happy, she realizes, jarringly.

Taking a deep breath, she bites her lip.

"Will taking your life make me happy? Will it make up for the years of pain we have endured at your hands?"

Her voice rings out, hesitant yet determined.

"I wish it were so," she confesses wearily, ignoring the ache in her hands. She's been gripping the hilt of her dagger for so long, the blade's almost pierced her skin. "Alas, it is not."

The Emperor meets her gaze, but not completely - out of guilt? Fear? Anger?

She does not have the time to ponder meaningless questions.

"I despise you with every fiber of my being, you coward," Akita snarls, some of the anger she has become so accustomed to bleeding its way into her words. "But I will not tarnish my hands on someone as worthless as you, when you presently pose no threat to me."

The words spill from her mouth, but she almost wants to stuff them back inside at that very second.

This isn't why I came here! This isn't what I was supposed to do-

Another voice cuts through the one in her head, a weary confession from someone she knew nothing and everything about.

"Don't give them the satisfaction of it - by your own hands.

The next words she utter fill the room - steady, unwavering.

"Leave our world, and never return. Never. You have treated my people as if you are a monster, yet you say that you are sorry. As if you could ever care - after everything you have done to us!"

Akita sheathes her dagger, indecision still weighing heavily on her mind.

"I hope that you are as haunted by your time here as we all are," she spits, walking towards the door. She does not look behind her, but packs as much bitterness as she can into the last word she utters before the door closes behind her.

"Emperor."

---

A/N - I know this wasn't great, but honestly, it was really interesting to write and challenged me to think about certain things quite a bit. If you did read it, thank you so much!:D

#the ice chapter #ninbingo #ninjago zane #ninjago lloyd #ninjago akita #ns11 #zane julien #lloyd garmadon #ninjago fanfiction

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bruhstories · 3 years

Text

Vogel und Jäger

- PART TWO

Summary: After waking up, you realise the realities of the world you've been pulled into. Pairing: Zeke Jaeger x Fem!Reader (mafia AU) Warnings & Content: stabbing, language, angst Word Count: 1.7 k

A/N: make sure to read part one, otherwise this won't make any sense xD there's still a bit of build up going on, but starting with part three we'll be getting some action

You woke up from a restless sleep, crumbs of mascara stuck to your face. God, you needed a shower and a toilet immediately. The club was dead empty from the view upstairs, only a few people cleaning the tables and moping the floor. You stretched your arms and walked to the door, surprised it wasn't locked.

"Ah, miss Y/L/N, good morning! I hope you had a pleasant sleep." Someone startled you and you cleared your voice.

"Hi, who are you?"

"Oh, my apologies, I am Onyankopon." The man smiled and handed you a paper bag. You peekee inside and saw something which resembled clothes and toiletries. You recognised the stag pin in his chest, another of Zeke's employees. "I assume you'd like to clean yourself up. Please follow me."

"I'd love that, thank you." You smiled and followed Onyankopon downstairs. He told you bits and pieces of the Jaeger family overthrowing the police and gaining control of Paradis City, how the Marleyans wanted control over the city's resources and docks, all kinds of information you weren't entirely sure you were supposed to know. He walked you to the backstage, where all the strippersdancers got ready, encouraging you to use whatever you needed for you'd be the star of the club. That didn't help you in any way, instead it was anxiety-inducing, and your toes curled at his affirmation. You quickly took off last night's makeup, brushed your teeth, washed your face and body in a sink and got dressed. The clothes were simple, a long, light blue shirt — clearly a man's — and a pair of leggings. You wondered whom they belonged to, perhaps that grim-looking lady, Yelena. She terrified you with her look that could kill. Your hands hovered over the vanity in the dressing room but decided not to waste any more time and folded your old clothes, placing them in the paper bag.

"I'm ready." You walked out of the room and met with Onyankopon. He smiled and guided you out through the back door. "Hey, Onyankopon, who's Mikasa?"

"Oh, miss Mikasa is our best assassin. She's loyal only to Eren, though, which is an impediment for Zeke... I probably shouldn't have said that." He opened the door of a superb black car and you climbed inside with a sigh. You heard how the mafia was based on trust, and no one trusted you.

Most of the ride was silent, your eyes wandering out the window until Onyankopon parked in front of a huge and heavily guarded mansion. You knew the Jaegers were rich, but this was beyond obscene. You opened the door and Onyankopon scolded you for doing that, but you assured him you were perfectly capable of doing things by yourself. He walked you through the beautiful front garden of the mansion, through the large hallway and into what you assumed to be a living room. Or an office? Whatever that was, it was as big as the dining room of the orphanage.

"Ah, the little bird has arrived! You look splendid in my shirt." Zeke welcomed you and you felt your cheeks warm up at his words. The heat disappeared just as quickly when your eyes met with Yelena's. "Come, sit. I suppose you're hungry."

You nodded, feeling saliva building up in your mouth at the sight of croissants, bagels and all kinds of foods you've never had before. Historia was rich, but even her money wasn't enough to feed so many mouths. Doors swung open and you saw Eren barge in, followed by a few people close behind. He plopped on a couch opposite you, the same inexpensive look on his face.

"Let's get over with this. I've got shit to do."

"Impatient as always." Zeke rolled his eyes. "Y/N, do you swear to obey and serve the Jaeger family?" The question caught you off guard, but you nodded.

"I do."

"There, done." The older Jaeger brother shrugged and Eren clicked his tongue.

"You almost didn't let Mikasa walk out of this room alive because she swore loyalty to me and this is all you do to her? You're getting soft, brother."

The air in the room grew thick, almost impossible to breathe it in. All eyes were on you, and you didn't know if what you felt was shame or fear, or both.

"Very well." Zeke walked behind you and took your left hand, placing it on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Hold that there, will you, love?" He smiled and you slightly relaxed. Until — a sharp pain, followed by electricity and heat shot from your hand, through your arm. A blood-curling scream erupted from your throat, tears falling from the corners of your eyes as you squirmed and thrashed at burning sensation, your hanned pinned to the table with a knife. Blood seeped from the wound and you panicked, no one in that room rushing to your aid. No one blinked, no one felt sorry. "Swear your loyalty to me. To the Jaeger family."

"I swear! Oh, God, I s-swear! Please!" You begged, feeling your temperature falling from your cheeks. Zeke twisted the knife and you fell from the couch, knees hitting the wooden floor.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, unphased by your whimpers, sobs and yelling, as he let go of the knife that still pierced your flesh.

"T-to you! Make it stop, p-please!"

"Good enough for me. Any objections?" Zeke eyed his little brother.

"Just stitch her hand. She's annoying." Eren clicked his tongue and poured himself a cup of coffee. When Onyankopon pulled the knife out, blood gushed out of the fresh wound and you felt the room spin and your head heavy, vision blurry — you fainted.

A hard slap across your cheek woke you up and you met with Yelena, eyes drifting to your bandaged hand. It was damn painful to move it, and you used your other hand to support your weight, shifting your position on the couch.

"Finally." Eren got up and and handed you a file. You flipped through it and found pictures and information of the men from the club.

"Y/N, this is Armin, our bookkeeper. He'll be paying you after every successful show. And this is Mikasa, she'll train you in self-defence. I suspect you won't need it, but it's better to be safe than sorry." Zeke pushed the glasses with his index finger.

"You stabbed me." You bluntly stated, eyes glued to the bandages.

"It'll heal."

"It'll heal? I'm already in debt, you didn't need to stab me!" You got up and instantly felt a gun to your head. Great.

"Sit." Yelena's voice was brash and commanding. Your brain told you to listen to her, but your instincts told you to provoke her, to taunt her. Teeth gritting, you took a deep breath and lowered yourself down, deciding to do both.

"You're not gonna shoot me without Mr. Jaeger's permission, so don't point your gun at me." A satisfied smirk creeped on your lips — you didn't technically provoke her, just stated the obvious.

"Can I shoot her?"

"No." Zeke enjoyed the show, and unbeknownst to you, he, too, felt somewhat proud of your little snarky remark. "You still have to prove your loyalty. Talk to the band, choose some songs for Friday, Saturday and Sunday. You're free to settle your training hours with Mikasa, and to go wherever you want, but you are not allowed to step foot anywhere outside the centre of Paradis. Last thing I need is some Marleyan kidnapping you and torturing you for information. Or the cops. Dismissed."

"Mr. Jaeger, if I may?" You waited for his nod of approval. "Since I won't be living at the orphanage anymore, where exactly am I going to stay?"

"Ah, yes, of course. Blouse, Springer, come here." Zeke waved his hand. More people, more names.

It slowly dawned to you that the Jaegers had a thorough structure with extremely loyal people, and you'd have to quickly find your place there and earn their trust, lest you died a painful death. A bubbly brown-eyed woman and a cheerful-looking man approached Zeke's desk, and finally you saw someone less serious. Onyankopon was nice and all, but he wasn't exactly a ray of sunshine. These two seemed... fun.

"These are Sasha Blouse and Connie Springer, leaders of the drug cartel. You'll stay with them until you're capable of living by yourself."

The duo smiled at you and you felt genuine warmth from them, making you wonder just how bad the mafia was. They seemed to like working for the Jaeger brothers, but you couldn't judge that just yet.

"Oh, we've already moved your stuff to their place, so there is no need for you to visit Historia. Now go, we've got work to do." Zeke placed a cigarette between his lips before turning his back at you.

You were right, Sasha and Connie were fun people. They talked a lot, and you warmed up to them with a few jokes and puns. Connie handed you a phone containing a few contacts, neither of which were Zeke or Eren— apparently you weren't allowed to speak to them, they would speak to you. Sasha explained how you had to forget your past, and dedicate yourself solely to the family — no relationships, no friends, no acquaintances. You were not permitted to fall in love, which was understandable, considering the circumstances, but hard, considering the inability to control feelings.

"Don't worry about it too much. Zeke and Eren care about their subordinates, as long as you listen." Connie wrapped an arm around your neck. Besides, you're one of the lucky ones. Boss never spares witnesses, so he clearly saw potential in you." Somehow, that didn't make you feel any better, you only felt more weight on your shoulders.

"Yeah, I heard you can sing!" Sasha beamed, clapping her hands. "I can't wait for your first show, I bet it'll be awesome."

"It has to be, otherwise you'll have to come to my funeral." You shook your head, exiting Jaeger Manor. A honk caught your attention and you saw Mikasa impatiently waiting for you in a car. "Any advice before I go?"

"Don't get attached to any of us." Connie sighed.

"But trust that the family will protect you if you're loyal." The woman encouraged you before hugging you. A hug, something you never thought you'd get from a mobster.

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cicada-bones · 3 years

Text

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 8: A Golden Afternoon

Its the middle of the night - so Im definitely going to post this again in the morning - but here you go! thanks for the nice words I really appreciate it ❤︎

word count: 4120

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Barely five minutes had passed before Lysandra was sauntering down the stairs, arms now empty and her gaze lazily sweeping over Rowan’s bare chest. Her eyes burned with intent, but he knew she was cataloguing him, marking the strength, height, weapons in his hands – the gaze of a spy. And Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if she really was just spying for Aelin. With those wildcat eyes…who else would she be serving but herself? Was there a chance she might betray them?

Rowan could practically feel Aedion’s eyes on him from behind, his scent burning with jealousy. Rowan had to keep his own eyes from rolling.

Lysandra shot Rowan a wry smile as she passed them, and Rowan caught a whiff of her scent on the breeze. It was strange, almost…layered. He couldn’t quite figure it out, and before he could get a full breath, Lysandra had wrenched the rolling door open and left the warehouse, pulling it shut behind her.

Then Aelin appeared on the stairs, a pile of garments in her arms. “These are for you,” she to Rowan. “Looks like I owe Nesryn a favor, she asked Lysandra to bring them this morning.”

Aelin continued as Rowan started up the stairs to take the clothes off her hands. “She also brought news. Arobynn received a report last night that two prison wagons were spotted heading south to Morath – chock full of all those missing people. We need to send for Chaol.”

Aedion nodded, already heading out the door, while Rowan continued into the apartment to see if the new clothes would fit. When he passed Aelin, she smirked at him.

So that’s a no on the fit. Rowan held in a sigh. Knowing Aelin, she’d put him in tight clothing on purpose.

···

To Rowan’s relief, the clothes hadn’t been all that tight. The pants were loose enough that they no longer restricted his movement, even if they were nearly four inches too short at the ankle. But Aelin had still given him an overly-pleased once over when his back was turned. She was spending too much time with Lysandra.

By late morning, Chaol was standing in the middle of the clearing, his eyes fixed on the map between his fingers. His steel, cotton, and birchwood-flavored scent was exactly as Rowan remembered from when he’d first tasted it in Aelin’s blood all those months ago, in that reckless first bite.

The memory alone was enough for ice to crack through Rowan’s veins, freezing his expression in place. This man had been responsible for sending Aelin across the sea, with no warning and no protection, right into the arms of his former queen. Who had been responsible for the broken heart she had arrived with. And then, when she returned here, he had the impudence to tell her that it was her fault he had failed to protect his King. That it was her fault her cousin had ended up in prison and Dorian the walking dead.

Rowan wanted to rip his face off with his teeth.

But instead, Rowan just stood guard by the door. Keeping his eyes locked on the former captain of the guard.

The man was of slightly higher than average stature, with brown eyes and hair, and hardened features. He held his broad shoulders straight back, his spine rigid, but his limbs were unsettled. He couldn’t stop shifting in place, discomforted.

Rowan suppressed another grin.

The man’s eyes also kept shifting to Aelin, and as he moved in place yet again, Rowan caught the slightest hint of jasmine and flame in his scent – Aelin.

Even though he couldn’t detect even a trace of the captain’s scent on Aelin anymore, the captain was still holding on to her. Still carrying her scent. Fury bubbled in Rowan’s gut.

Despite the vile words he’d hurled at her, the captain still wanted Aelin, and now that Rowan was looking for it, he could see the pain from her rejection written all over him.

Rowan almost regretted being polite to the man. But he knew Aelin would be rightfully furious with him if he attacked Chaol when their alliance was already so fragile. So he stuck to the door.

But that didn’t mean Aelin didn’t notice his icy stare, nor the captain’s discomfort. Her eyes glinted. “You know, he won’t bite,” she crooned.

Chaol leveled a stare at her. “Can you just explain what these maps are for?”

“Anything you, Ress, or Brullo can fill in regarding these gaps in the castle defenses would be appreciated,” she said.

His lips pursed as he folded up the map, tucking it into the inner pocket of his tunic. “For you to bring down the clock tower?”

“Maybe,” Aelin said flatly.

Chaol bristled. He was still obviously avoiding Rowan’s gaze. “I haven’t heard from Ress or Brullo for a few days,” he said tersely. “I’ll make contact soon.”

Aelin just nodded, pulling out a second map – this one of the sewer network. She weighed it down on the table with two of the daggers hidden up her sleeves.

Chaol shot her a disapproving look that made Rowan want to snarl.

Aelin ignored them. “Arobynn learned that the missing prisoners were taken to Morath last night. Did you know?”

Chaol tensed. “No.”

“They can’t have gotten far. You could gather a team and ambush the wagons.”

“I know I could.”

“Are you going to?”

He laid a hand on the map, his face darkening. If Rowan didn’t know any better, he might have felt sympathetic. The man was obviously in pain.

His words were low, but hard. “Did you bring me here to prove a point about my uselessness?”

Aelin straightened. Rowan leaned forwards slightly, readying himself. Aelin spoke, choosing her words very carefully, “I asked you to come because I thought it would be helpful for the both of us. We’re both – we’re both under a fair amount of pressure these days.”

“When do you make your move?” the captain asked, his eyes roving over the map.

“Soon.”

Another purse of the lips. Apparently, he didn’t like her non-answers. “Anything else I should know?”

“I’d start avoiding the sewers. It’s your death warrant if you don’t.”

“There are people trapped down there—we’ve found the nests, but no sign of the prisoners. I won’t abandon them.”

“That’s all well and good,” Aelin said calmly, even as Chaol slammed his teeth together, “but there are worse things than Valg grunts patrolling the sewers, and I bet they won’t turn a blind eye to anyone in their territory. I would weigh the risks if I were you.”

The captain was angry, but he kept silent as Aelin combed her fingers through her hair and asked, “So are you going to ambush the prison wagons?”

“Of course I am.”

Rowan couldn’t doubt the sincerity there, and it seemed Aelin couldn’t either. Her eyes softened in concern, her scent flickering. And Rowan knew that there was still some affection left for the old captain of the guard. But how much?

Aelin sighed softly. Then said, “They use warded locks on the wagons. And the doors are reinforced with iron. Bring the right tools.”

It was Rowan’s turn to clench his jaw. Aelin would know, she had spent weeks in one. Chained up and in the dark. On her way to slavery.

It took all of his self control to remain still and standing.

The captain straightened up, making to leave.

“Tell Faliq that Prince Rowan says thank you for the clothes,” Aelin said. And even though confusion passed over Chaol’s face, he nodded his agreement. Rowan stepped aside with a murmur of farewell as the captain stepped into the bright sunlight of the golden afternoon.

···

To his great surprise, Aelin told him that there wasn’t anything pressing they needed to take care of that day, so instead, she spent the time showing him her city.

She took him through the slums, keeping to the shadows whenever possible, and they walked all the way through the capital to the elegant residential districts and the busy markets squares, now crammed with vendors selling goods for the summer solstice in two weeks.

She talked all the while, pointing out paths and walkways, busy intersections and guard postings, along with all those little details that made this place her home, the good and the bad. And so much of it seemed to be connected to Sam.

Places they had walked together, ate together, laughed together – where they had grown up. She even pointed out the place Sam had rescued her from the sewers when she had been kidnapped and nearly drowned.

The cobbles were warm with the afternoon sunlight, and despite the darkness of the Valg guards, the pair of them walked through the city as if belonged to them. As if the streets and buildings were but a carpet unrolled before their feet.

“The man who runs that store always used to give me free tarts.”

“That dressmaker was my favorite, she always knew exactly how to alter a garment to suit you perfectly.”

“I had dance lessons here for years, the instructor is an amazing woman, you would have loved her. She let me play her piano, even if my back was never straight enough for her. She helped me rescue Aedion.”

They even spent almost half an hour in an old music repair shop, wandering among the aisles of old instruments and piles of music sheets. Even if, in Rowan’s opinion, no piece of music could be more beautiful than the sound of her laugh as he nearly tripped over some twisted pieces of metal she told him belonged to a broken brass horn.

Aelin also took him to one of Nesryn’s family bakeries, where she tried force him to eat some of a pear tart, no matter how many times he told her that it smelled sickly sweet to him.

At the docks however, Rowan actually managed to convince Aelin to try some pan-fried trout. She cringed and swore at first, but once she’d tried it, she finished her fish in record time and soon was trying to sneak bites of his. Rowan snarled at her, but he couldn’t keep his lips from twitching into a smile.

After their late lunch, they sat at the edge of the docks and cooled by the water. They were mostly silent, instead listening to the sounds of the shipyards, seabirds and waves.

Rowan found that his thoughts kept sliding to Sam. He’d been just a boy when he died, barely eighteen. They’d had so little time together. And before Aelin had gotten a chance to deal with his death, she had been sold into slavery.

Rowan tried to find the words to ask her about Sam, about how she felt for him, but before he could, the sound of a whip cracked through their pleasant silence.

Aelin met his eyes, her face grave. Soundlessly, they stood and walked away from the water and back to the shore, where they watched as a cluster of chained slaves hauled cargo onto one of the ships. People who, no doubt, were captured and enslaved because of their opposition to Adarlanian rule. Rebels in chains, allies of Terrasen and its queen.

They watched, and could to nothing.

A cold, endless fury burned in Aelin’s eyes; a fury that made him want to call a storm of ice and wind so strong it would turn the shipyards to rubble, the slavers with them. But he couldn’t, and not only because his magic was locked inside his body. Instead they just stared. And swore to themselves that soon, perhaps very soon, those slaves would be freed.

He and Aelin wandered away, back through the market stalls from which they came, though now the silence between them felt heavy with darkness.

Now the wooden paths were full of the scent of roses and wild lilies, the ocean breeze sweeping petals of every shape and color past their feet as the flower girls shouted about their wares. Husbands leaned over bouquets to bring home to their wives, bachelors picked out arrangements for their intended, while girls giggled over daisies and shot the boys looks from beneath their lashes when they thought no one was watching.

Rowan stopped in his tracks. The smell, the laughter, the color – it was all so familiar that it made his heart wrench in two.

There was a woman across from them in the center of the square, a basket of hothouse peonies on her thin arm. She was young, pretty, and dark-haired, and her eyes sparkled with something hidden – twin to his mate of two centuries earlier.

Memories began flashing behind his eyes – a mountain home in smoke, arms digging a grave, blood running tracks down the backs of his hands. The face of a woman in a market across the sea, flowers in her arms and hair, a smile lighting up her face. Even the queen by his side couldn’t dull the screaming reverberating in his head.

Rowan didn’t hear what Aelin said as she turned to him, but he saw her face. Her eyes widened, and she clenched and unclenched her fingers, any words lodged in her throat.

Rowan just stared at the girl, who was smiling, alight with life and a vibrant energy that sliced through him like a knife. She smiled at a passing woman, holding out her peonies for a sale.

Rowan breathed, Aelin’s anxiety brushing past him with a wash of flickering embers. Truth. The only thing he could offer her.

“I didn’t deserve her,” he said quietly.

Aelin swallowed hard. A long pause. Then, “I didn’t deserve Sam.”

Rowan turned to look at Aelin, her eyes downturned, her mouth soft. He would do anything to keep that sadness off her face. Anything.

Rowan reached out to brush her fingers with his, maybe to hold her hand, or pull her body into his. But at the last moment, he remembered himself, and dropped his arm back to his side.

He must have invented that glint of disappointment in Aelin’s eyes.

“Come,” she said. “I want to show you something.”

They left the flower girls behind, moving deeper into the city, but Rowan was unable to completely let go of the pain wrapping his heart in ice.

···

Aelin scrounged up some dessert from the street vendors while Rowan waited in a shadowed alley, then she pulled him deeper into the city proper, until they darted into a side alley and ducked into a hidden entrance that led to a rickety wooden staircase.

Now, Aelin was munching on a lemon cookie while they sat on one of the wooden rafters in the gilded dome of the darkened Royal Theater, Aelin swinging her legs in the open air below.

The space was dark and silent, unnaturally so. As if the very seats and aisles longed for the return of the music that had once blanketed them. Sunlight poured in from the roof door they’d entered through, illuminating the rafters and the golden dome, gleaming faintly off the polished brass banisters and the blood red curtains of the stage below.

“This used to be my favorite place in the entire world,” Aelin said, her words full of a loving nostalgia. “Arobynn owns a private box, so I went any chance I could. The nights I didn’t feel like dressing up or being seen, or maybe the nights I had a job and only an hour free, I’d creep in here through that door and listen.”

Rowan finished the cookie Aelin had foisted on him, still just gazing into the dark space below. He still hadn’t said anything since they’d left the flower vendors, and he could smell the scent of Aelin’s worry wafting around them. Wanting to ease her tension, and to turn away from the icy marble deep in his chest, he turned back to her.

Aelin seemed to practically sigh in relief as he said, “I’ve never seen an orchestra – or a theater like this, crafted around sound and luxury. Even in Doranelle, the theaters and amphitheaters are ancient, with benches or just steps.”

“There’s no place like this anywhere, perhaps. Even in Terrasen.”

“Then you’ll have to build one.”

“With what money? You think people are going to be happy to starve while I build a theater for my own pleasure?”

“Perhaps not right away, but if you believe one would benefit the city, the country, then do it. Artists are essential.”

Aelin sighed, seemingly unable to handle another burden, small as it was. “This place has been shut down for months, and yet I swear I can still hear the music floating in the air.”

Rowan angled his head, studying. “Perhaps the music does live on, in some form.” It was almost as though he could feel its absence, in the taste of the air and the flutter of the curtains. The space wasn’t just empty, it was waiting.

A silver lining appeared in Aelin’s eyes. “I wish you could have heard it – I wish you had been there to hear Pytor conduct the Stygian Suite. Sometimes, I feel like I’m still sitting down in that box, thirteen years old and weeping from the sheer glory of it.”

“You cried?” he blinked, watching as the memories passed behind her eyes and wishing he could see them as she did.

“The final movement – every damn time,” she sighed, almost laughing at herself. “I would go back to the Keep and have the music in my mind for days, even as I trained or killed or slept. It was a kind of madness, loving that music. It was why I started playing the pianoforte – so I could come home at night and make my poor attempt at replicating it.”

“Is there a pianoforte in here?” he asked, looking back into the darkness without waiting for an answer, the ghost of a smile passing over his face.

···

“I haven’t played in months and months. And this is a horrible idea for about a dozen different reasons,” Aelin complained for the tenth time as she finished rolling back the curtains on the stage.

Rowan kept quiet, focusing on lighting the single candle he had found backstage. He knew that the space had once been grand and beautiful, but now, amid the gloom of the dead theater, it felt like standing in a tomb. The chairs were still perfectly arranged for a massive orchestra, though they were now covered in dust. No one had been in here in weeks.

Rowan turned and walked over to the pianoforte, which was near the front of the stage. He had never learned to play, his court lessons not extending so far as learning an instrument.

Rowan had been to his fair share of balls and events, but it had been a rare thing for him to have an opportunity to listen to music just for music’s sake. Much of those events had been heavily overshadowed by the annoyance of dealing with court maneuvering. And after Lyria’s death, he had avoided such things at all costs.

He could barely remember the last time he had been able to listen to any kind of music and just listen. To have the pleasure of experiencing the art, the magic of it. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of the instrument as if it were a prize horse, marveling at the potential the lay within.

Aelin was hesitating at his side. “It seems like sacrilege to play that thing,” she said, her words echoing too loudly in the space.

“Since when are you the religious type, anyway?” Rowan gave her an encouraging smile. He just hoped that it wasn’t too crooked. “Where should I stand to best hear it?”

“You might be in for a lot of pain at first.”

“Self-conscious today, too?” Maybe teasing would get it out of her.

“If Lorcan’s snooping about,” she grumbled, “I’d rather he not report back to Maeve that I’m lousy at playing.”

He just grinned as she pointed to a spot on the stage. “There. Stand there, and stop talking, you insufferable bastard.” He chuckled, and moved across to the center of the stage.

She swallowed as she slid onto the smooth bench and folded back the lid, revealing the gleaming keys beneath. She positioned her feet on the pedals, but made no move to touch the keyboard. “I haven’t played since before Nehemia died,” she admitted, the words heavy.

“We can come back another day, if you want,” he said softly.

“There might not be another day. And – and I would consider my life very sad indeed if I never played again.”

He nodded and crossed his arms. So get on with it then.

She sighed, but turned back to face the keys and slowly set her hands on the instrument, a great beast of sound and joy about to be awakened.

“I need to warm up,” she blurted, then plunged in, the notes soft and light.

It was just a random selection of chords and scales, but still, the music filled the hall with its caring whisper. The whole space seemed to breathe again, as if soaking up the music like light, or air.

And then she began for real.

The piece she played wasn’t merely happy or sad, calm or excited – it was far, far more than that. The complexity of the notes, the way they layered together and bounded off each other – it felt like the melody of life itself. Of the love and glory and pain and beauty in simply breathing.

It filled Rowan up with its warmth, and he felt Aelin’s fiery heat overflowing within each note. The music seemed to be made of her fire, and together they burned. All the while the music built, up and up and up and up, until the sound breaking from the instrument was like the heart-song of a long lost goddess.

Rowan stood and waited, letting the sound wrap around his form like a blanket, letting it slowly melt the ice around his heart. Aelin had always been able to do that, melt away his pain and resistance, without even realizing she could. And now she did so not with words, but with this music that flew from her fingers like small winged creatures, into the empty seats behind them.

Rowan drifted over to stand beside the instrument. He was drawn to her, to the fire that made him feel so alive. Then she whispered to him, “Now,” and the crescendo shattered into the world, note after note after note. The music crashed around them, roaring through the emptiness of the theater.

She brought the piece home to its final explosive, triumphant chord, and Rowan could feel tears lining his eyes. When she looked up, panting slightly, he just gazed at her, at the queen who had lit up his darkness, and marveled.

He struggled for words, but then finally breathed, “Show me - show me how you did that.”

···

They spent the better part of an hour seated together on the bench, Aelin teaching him the basics of the pianoforte – explaining the sharps and flats, the pedals, the notes and chords. At last when Rowan heard someone coming to investigate the music, they slipped out.

On their way back to the apartment, they stopped at the Royal Bank. Aelin went inside alone, having ordered Rowan to wait in the shadows across the street, impatient and pissed off. Luckily she only took a few minutes, returning with a bag of gold clasped to her belt.

“So you’re using your own money to support us?” Rowan asked, masking his irritation as best he could.

“For now.”

“And what will you do for money later?”

She glanced sidelong at him. “It’ll be taken care of.”

“By whom?”

“Me.”

He clenched his teeth, anger mounting. “Explain.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” She gave him a small smile that drove him completely insane. Rowan made to grab her by the shoulder, but she ducked away from his touch.

“Ah, ah. Better not move too swiftly, or someone might notice.”

He snarled viciously but she only chuckled. “Just be patient and don’t get your feathers ruffled.”

Rowan clenched his jaw, stopping another snarl in its tracks. This conversation could wait until they were both home. Maybe then he would be able to convince her that he absolutely needed to be let in on her plans. It was the only way to keep her safe.

But would she listen?

Rowan scowled at that thought, and took off into the shadows behind Aelin, following her back to the warehouse.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

···

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#rowaelin #rowaelin ff #rowan pov #warrior and the wildfire #watw #queen of shadows #queen of shadows rowan pov

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electronicgrowth · 3 years

Text

Can’t Get Enough Chapter 1

AN: Actual chapter 1. This is already smuttttty. I format shitty. Sorry. Let me introduce you to Miss Billie. I love her and I stole both parts of her name from my different ancestors.

Summary: The two most stubborn people in Knockemstiff, Ohio have eyes for only each other. Lee Bodecker is determined to become the town’s next sheriff. He knows that image is everything. Billie Dechswaan doesn’t care about her image at all. All she wants is to leave Knockemstiff and never come back. But Lee has other plans for her. Both are far too stubborn to give up their own plans. What happens when they can’t get enough of each other?

Word Count: 2.7k

The first time Lee saw her, like really saw her, was at one of the high school football games. She was cheering on the sidelines. She did a high kick and Lee couldn’t help but stare at her exposed thighs. From there his eyes traced up her body. Her cheer sweater was thick and the neckline was high, but he could tell that her curves were pressing the confines of the sweater. Next he noticed her smile. It was bright and genuine. During the football games he would watch her. Watching her joke around with the other girls. When she would laugh, he swore that his world stopped. He wanted to be the reason she laughed and smiled.

Sometimes when he watched her, she would look up directly at him. Did she sense him staring? She would smile at him. Was she smiling to be polite? Lee couldn’t figure her out. At church on Sundays he would stare at her sitting with her large family. His mind would wander, wander to places that it shouldn’t be going during church. Between the services she would help serve lunch. She paid special attention to Lee, always making sure that his glass was full of sweet tea or coffee. She often encouraged him to try the dessert she would make. Sometimes she even sat with him and asked him questions about what being a police officer was like. Lee was sure that he bored her, but she always appeared to be engaged and interested. Lee often wondered if she enjoyed toying with him. And Billie wondered if Lee paid any mind at all to her flirting. She was enamored with young Deputy Bodecker. His jaw was sharp and his eyes were the most beautiful blue she had ever seen. She could tell he was strong, even if he was softer around the middle than most boys her own age. He was a man, and she liked that. She was positive that he didn’t feel the same. The only hint Billie ever got was that Lee slowly started to visit her at her job.

Billie worked at the diner after school and on the weekends. It was relatively common for the Ross County deputies to stop by the cafe for breakfast or lunch on Saturday. But slowly Lee came in more and more. By April of that year, he ate there for lunch every Saturday. He sat at the countertop so he could talk with Billie between her other customers. He learned that she loved to read, she wanted to be an English teacher. She wanted to go to school in a big city and then teach for a few years before having kids of her own. She learned about his mother and sister. His mother had passed years before. She learned that he owned a house. He always commented that it was a nice house but he didn’t know what to do with all the space. Hinting that it needed a woman’s touch or a few babies to fill it.

Billie tried to ignore the thrill that gave her. She had a plan and she couldn’t let Lee distract her from it. No matter how handsome she thought he was. Plus, there was no way someone ten years older than her cared at all. And yet, she always caught him staring at her. He looked like a hungry wolf surveying its prey. The thought of being Lee’s prey made her weak in the knees. Billie went on dates with boys from school. None were talented with kissing. They fumbled too much for Billie’s liking. None of them made her feel what Lee made her feel. At night she would think about what it would be like to let Lee kiss her. She would clench her thighs at the thought. Sometimes her hand would slip between her thighs. She imagined that it was Lee touching her.

Lee did the same. Every time he went on a date and they would jerk him off, he imagined it was Billie. Although, if he got Billie in the front seat of his cruiser he wouldn’t just have her jerk him off. He would touch her and she would be soaking for him. He would be gentle at first, but he would ruin her for all other men. He thought of what Billie would sound like moaning his name when he touched himself. Thinking of Billie always made him come quickly. He started imagining what it would be like to bring her back to his house. What it would be like if he came home to her every night. Lee knew he would probably marry Billie if he was given the chance. He prayed that he would find an opportunity to get her alone. If he was vigilant enough he was sure he could catch her on a date. Separate her from whatever boy she was with. Drive her out to another abandoned location and take what he wanted.

He caught her once, just before he was elected Sheriff the first time. It was right after her graduation. She was kissing on some old football player after the graduation ceremony, he was sure they’d been drinking. They were parked on a deserted side street. Lee was out patrolling that night, but really he had seen Billie get in the car with the boy, Ralph was his name, and followed them. He saw them pull down that street and park the car. He was quick to walk over to the car, flashlight in hand. He could see them kissing. The boy was clumsy. Billie wasn’t. She moved languidly. She was a little vixen. She opened her eyes and saw Lee before he could knock on the glass window with a flashlight. A mischievous look flashed in her eyes.

“Open the window, this is Deputy Bodecker,” The window was quickly rolled down.

The boy was nervous, but she just smirked. Almost like she was excited to be caught. Lee watched her make a big show of adjusting her dress. She adjusted it so even more of her breasts were showing. Ralph was focused on Lee, so what was the point of her doing that if not for him?

“Alright break it up. Boy, I’m gonna let you off with a warning. I don’t want to catch you doing this again, or I’ll let your daddy tan your hide. You just get on home.”

“Yes sir.”

“You missy” he points, “you’re coming with me.”

She rolled her eyes before getting out of the car. Ralph drove away quickly. Billie watched him drive away before speaking.

“What? You gonna run me in or something?” She asked.

“Just wanna make sure you get home safe with your honor intact,” he responded, shoving her into his car.

“What makes you so sure it is still intact?” She inquires as he settles himself into the driver’s seat.

“Girlie, I know everything that goes on in this town.” She slid over on the bench closer to him. She was practically pressed up against him. Lee’s body was vibrating in anticipation. But he knew he had to keep himself in check.

“Right, cuz you’re gonna be the sheriff one day, right Lee?” Her hand went to his thigh.

He raised an eyebrow at her. What was she doing?

“Careful girl.”

“Or what?” She teases, “You gonna punish me?” She skated her hand up his thigh and started to palm his crotch.

“You sure you wanna start that, sugar?” Lee asked skeptically, biting the words out from clenched teeth.

“I see the way you look at me. I see you getting all hot for me in my cheer uniform.” She whispered in his ear. Her hands go to his belt and she undoes it and his pants. She pulls his cock out, curling her hand around the length and pumping him up and down. He nearly veers off the road in shock. He clears his throat, trying to stay calm. He maintains control until he pulls over into the abandoned gas station parking lot.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He’s shocked by her actions. He never imagined that she would come on to him.

“Oh please. I’ve seen you at the drive-in before with those girls you take on dates. I know what you do in your cruiser.”

“W-what?” He asks in a panic. How does she know? Do other people know?

“Calm down. I only know because I pay attention to you. Just answer me this deputy, have you thought about me when you touch yourself or when those hussies at the drive-in touch you?” She kept pumping him. “I bet you think about really taking me don’t you?”

“You have quite the mouth on you, sugar,” he tells her through gritted teeth.

She was right. He did think about her. Every time he touched himself he thought of Billie. Every time one of this dates jacked him off he was really thinking of Billie. Lee didn’t answer her, he decided his best course of action was toy with her just as she was with him. He pushed his hand up her leg and to the apex of her thighs. He moved her soaked panties to the side so he could plunge into her with his fingers. She moaned loudly, biting her lip.

“You didn’t answer me,” she pouts, slowing her hands.

“You’re right. I think about you all the time. God you’re tight.”

Lee caught her lips in a desperate kiss. She moaned into his mouth. Lee was spurred on. Fucking her with his fingers. She was pumping him vigorously. The hand that wasn’t between her legs went to her breasts palming them. She had great tits. Lee always thought so. She ran her tongue against his. He could feel her wetness pool into his palm. She grabbed his tie and pulled him down on top of her as she laid down across the front seat.

He pulled her panties off and tossed them onto the floor, flipping her dress up so he could see her pussy glisten in the moonlight. He couldn’t take her like this. Not in the front seat of the cruiser. He shoved her hands away, but kept his fingers inside of her. With his other hand he rubbed his cock along her pussy lips. Thrusting so his length bumped over her clit, and was soaked by her slit.

“I won’t fuck you tonight, baby. You deserve to be taken in a bed. But God, you feel so good,” he grunted.

“Lee,” she gasps. He keeps curling his fingers inside her, she’s obscenely wet. Lee is dying to get inside of her, but he knows he has to wait.

“So wet,” he murmurs, “You always get this wet when boys touch you?”

“No,” she whimpers.

“What’s got you so worked up this time, darlin’?” He smirks, he knows the answer.

“You.” Her pussy tightens as she answers. She thrusts her hips against his cock. The head doesn’t enter her only because his fingers are inside her.

He continues his assault of her until she comes with a shout. Her pussy flutters around his fingers. When she’s fully come down from her high, Lee shoves his fingers into her mouth, continuing to rub his cock up against her lower lips. She sucks on each of his fingers with relish, as Lee continues to thrust against her slit. She lets each finger go with a loud pop of her lips. Then she gets a mischievous look in her eye. She pushes her hips up again. This time the head of his cock slips down and rests just against her entrance. Lee raises an eyebrow at her. He knows he could get inside her easily, she’s so wet. Her dainty hand reaches between them, she grips his cock and pushes it inside her so just the tip rests inside. It takes all of Lee’s self control not to thrust the rest of the way in. But he doesn’t want to take her and have her regret it.

“We can’t,” he huffs, trying to catch his breath.

“I just wanted to know what it would feel like to have you inside me, just a little bit,” she whispers.

“Not tonight, baby,” Lee tells her. He tries to pull out, but her legs cage him in.

“Just put a little more in,” she begs her hips thrust up trying to force the movement, “It won’t even count.”

“Not tonight,” he repeats, “You deserve to be fucked somewhere better than a car.” She lets her legs drop, and Lee pulls out. The head of his cock is soaked with her.

“Finish in my mouth,” she pants. Lee goes wide eyed. Sure, he didn’t date the most reputable of women but never had one offered to do that. He sits back up and nods at her. She happily gets down on her knees. She eagerly licks her essence off of his length before taking him into her mouth, slowly, bit by bit. Finally she take him down her throat. She groans around Lee, he doesn’t even have to direct her. She’s already hollowing out her cheeks and bobbing up and down. He’s trying not to thrust up. He doesn’t want her to gag. But he can’t control himself. When she gags around his length, more salvia runs down to his balls. She looks up at him, then forces herself to gag around him. She starts to do that slowly, but speeds up. Lee can’t take the vision in front of him. His little angel on her knees, his whole cock in her mouth. And she’s trying so hard to please him that spit is dripping down her chin.

“Oh fuck,” Lee growls, grabbing the back of her head and holding her in place while he cums in her mouth. She swallows all of it down, only a small drop appearing at the corner of her lips. She wipes it away with a finger before sucking the remaining cum off of said finger.

“You taste so good, deputy,” she smirks. Lee is utterly gobsmacked. This little minx has him wrapped around her little finger. She rights her dress as Lee tucks himself back into his pants. She joins him on the bench. Snuggling into him. Lee wraps one arm around her and drives her home. Upon arriving back at her house she hops out of the car.

“I’ll see you around Deputy Bodecker. Thanks again for the ride,” she teases. She starts to walk away but turns around as if she’s forgotten something, she comes right up to the driver side window.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, an innocent look on her face, “I almost took these, and they belong to you.” She shoves her soiled panties into the pocket of his leather jacket and winks at him.

“Goodnight Deputy.” Lee watched her walk up the steps and into the house before recovering enough to drive away. Lee managed to drive himself home, albeit in an intense daze. He was already thinking of how he would court Billie. Make her Billie Bodecker. She was supposed to leave for college in the fall, but he couldn’t let her leave now. She would get a job in town for now. And after the appropriate amount of time he would marry her. Or maybe he would just knock her up and keep her. It didn’t matter how he did it, as long as he got her. He had already made the decision by the time he laid down in bed that night.

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x female reader #lee bodecker x ofc #the devil all the time #tdatt #lee bodecker smut

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Link

Eleven days ago, Dr. Akbari was at her clinic in the northern Afghan city of Mazar-e-Sharif when she got a call that made her drop everything. It was a member of the Taliban who had been threatening her from afar for months because she had given a birth control shot to his 13-year-old bride.

"This time, his voice was actually really soft," recalls Akbari. "He said, 'We're entering the city. Soon we'll come and get you.' "

What led to this moment — and what happened next — offer a window into what the Taliban's takeover may hold for Afghanistan's women. Taliban leaders have promised to moderate the harsh restrictions that the group imposed the last time they ruled Afghanistan. This time, they say, they'll allow women to be involved in government and work in sectors such as health care. But women on the ground say the reality is more complicated.

For Akbari — who asked NPR to protect her identity by using only her last name, which is a very common one in her city — the troubles began there about eight months ago.

That's when the 13-year-old arrived at her clinic. While examining her, Akbari learned that the girl had been married to an older man as his second wife. "She told me her husband wanted to get her pregnant."

Akbari says the medical guidance in this situation was clear: "She is a child. It's risky for any child to get pregnant. And this girl was also physically very weak."

What's more, the girl did not want to get pregnant. "She begged me for help," says Akbari.

So Akbari decided to give the girl the contraceptive injection, which would last for three months.

The angry husband began calling — and threatening her

Soon after, she got the first furious phone call from the girl's husband.

"He said, 'Why did you do such a thing? Now I can't have babies!' "

From then on, the man would call to rage at her almost every day.

Akbari soon learned he was no ordinary citizen. He was a leader of a Taliban contingent that was active in the area outside the city, even though the contingent did not then control the city itself. But as the Taliban started to make military gains, Akbari noticed a shift in the tone of the man's phone calls.

"The stronger the Taliban got, the stronger the threats got," she says.

He'd point out that Akbari belongs to the ethnic Hazara group — which generally follows the Shiite sect of Islam — and which the Taliban, which is predominantly Sunni, has a history of targeting.

"He would say, 'You're an infidel. You're against Islam. You're killing generations. We know what to do with you.' "

Soon, other Taliban members were also sending messages.

Ruchi Kumar, a journalist from India who was staying with Akbari for part of this time, saw some of the texts.

"They would send her these really horrible photos of dead bodies, telling her that this is how she's going to end up," says Kumar.

Other times, the Taliban members would try to extort Akbari.

Says Kumar: "They wanted her to pay money or buy them motorbikes or guns in exchange for her life."

And they'd claim she owed it as zakat — the traditional Islamic tithe.

Akbari says the fear was constant. Every time a patient arrived escorted by a man in traditional Taliban-type garb, she'd worry he was an infiltrator coming to kill her.

But Akbari was also determined to stick it out. When she was 20 years old, her parents had gotten permission to immigrate to Canada — and she could have joined them. But at the time, the Taliban had just been pushed out of power, and Akbari decided to get her medical degree in Afghanistan.

"I wanted to serve my people and establish myself in my own country," says Akbari.

The Taliban's advance made her feel she had no choice

But on Aug. 8, when she got the call from the husband saying he and his men were at the point of conquering the city, says Akbari, "I decided that this is it."

She headed straight to the airport — not even stopping at home for a change of clothes. She managed to buy a ticket on the spot for one of the last flights out. Boarding the plane, she was shocked to see it almost entirely filled with other women traveling alone, a rare sight in Afghanistan.

"That's when I knew for sure the Taliban had taken the city," she says.

Now she's in a neighboring country. But racked with uncertainty. She has just $400 on her and is staying with a friend who is the only person she knows there.

And she's mourning the loss of everything she has left behind. Her family. And the medical practice she spent more than a decade building.

"I haven't been able to sleep since the day I arrived. I can only sleep two hours in a day," she says, her voice choking up. "Overnight, everything I had has vanished."

But she says returning is not an option. She has heard from relatives in Afghanistan that the girl's husband is still calling, demanding to know Akbari's whereabouts.

And even if Akbari could relocate to a different part of Afghanistan, she says, it would be impossible to practice medicine.

"If I see a woman in trouble, I will want to help her," she says. "And the Taliban will say it's un-Islamic."

NPR researcher Ayda Pourasad contributed to the reporting of this story.

#NPR #Afghanistan #women #children #human rights

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fablesrose · 4 years

Text

Tell Me a Story 1

Description: The local mafia has served Y/n well previously, but with the way things are going now, enough is enough. Instead of getting out, why not take everything down? So she makes a few calls, but things don’t always go to plan.

Word count: 2,205

Pairing: cop!Dean x mafia!reader

Square filled: fake dating

Warnings: none this chapter

Masterlist ~ Bingo Masterlist

Remaining parts will be in the Bingo Masterlist

A/n: This is for @girl-next-door-writes‘s Make Me Feel Bingo. I wanted to write a specific scene and then made a whole AU in order for this to work and it became infinitely more complicated than it needed to be. Enjoy!

“Tell me a story.”

Chuck was a dangerous man. He didn’t look it, but he had an eye and a leash where you would never expect it all over the city. No one knew what he wanted, what his end goal was, maybe that was what made him dangerous.

Those words made me nervous. Chuck loved a good story and if the man next to me didn’t tell one up to his standard, then it wouldn’t end well for either of us.

This was all my idea. It was me who got the cops involved. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sam, I know you don’t want to hear from me, but-”

“What do you need?”

“The Fallen isn’t doing too hot right now.”

“I can help you get out Y-”

“It’s not as simple as when you slipped between the cracks Sam,” I hissed at him through the phone. I don’t know why I even tracked him down, he had a good life now, but I needed to do something.

“Simple? You know it wasn’t simple.” Sam sounded offended.

“Exactly. It wasn’t when you did it, and like Hell is it simple now. It’s a thousand times worse in every way since you left. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll figure something out.”

“Thanks- Someone’s coming, don’t contact me in any way for at least four days. You know the drill.” I hung up the phone and went on my daily business.

Four days later I received a text with a phone number in it, “He’s clean. He’ll help.”

I saved the number in my phone and deleted the conversation. I had to tread lightly.

I tried to control my anxiety. If I was found out I wouldn’t be surprised if Chuck burned the whole city to the ground.

So needless to say I did a fantastic job of hiding my anxiety.

Eventually, when I was sure that I was alone I pulled up the number Sam gave me. I guess it was now or never.

The phone rang a couple of times before a man picked up and rattled off his law enforcement credentials and his name. Okay, maybe this guy could help me.

I took a deep breath and spoke out loud the sentence I had been practicing in my head for the last few days which was a risk in and of itself, “I’m a high ranking member of The Fallen and would like to be of assistance in taking down the current, highly wanted, leader of said… organization.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, “Pardon?”

I sighed, my anxiety creeping back in, but what came out was an annoyed clip, “I said I’d like to snitch on my boss, a highly wanted individual, now can you help me get rid of him, or did Sam lie to me?”

“You know Sam?”

“Well, no der.” I tried to calm my beating heart, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a mistake, “I’m sorry for wasting your time, this was a mistake.”

“No no, wait.” I heard him swallow, “I’m going to talk to some people, let me see what I can do okay?”

My voice cracked, “Okay.”

The call ended, and all I could think was, Well there’s no backing out now.

Never before had I felt like I was in a dystopian novel more than this chapter of my life. I was nervous, like even the TVs were watching my every move to see if I was thinking traitorous thoughts, straight out of “1984.”

Every meeting, every glance in my direction, every moment of silence, and I swore everyone there already knew what I had done. But I kept a straight face in the serious moments, laughed when it was polite, and I wasn’t dead yet.

The day came when I met him in person. The safest place I could think of was my apartment. I paced back and forth for the whole afternoon constantly watching the clock, then it seemed like ten minutes after four it was six o’clock already. He was due to my doorstep any minute now.

A knock came to the door and I felt stone cold.

Slow steps took me to the sound. I opened the door a crack to see who it was. A tall man stood on the other side, in casual clothes thank goodness. He was casually looking around, but to the trained eye, I could tell he was watching to see if anyone was paying special attention.

“Yes?” Don’t give too much away, don’t volunteer any information. Yet.

He finally focused on me and I took into account the strong structure to his face, one could either call him intimidating or handsome, depending on his mood. Right now he was walking the line while leaning towards the former.

“I believe you’ve been expecting me,” he spoke quietly, his voice sounded very similar to the one I heard on the phone, but one could never be too careful.

“Oh? And what’s the connection between us?” I hoped my face was perfect innocence, but I knew my eyes were calculating and cautious.

“Sam.”

I closed the door to unlock the chain. I quickly let him in.

“I assume it’s safe here?” His eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that could be a problem.

I locked the door behind him, “As safe a place as any. I personally had soundproofing installed. Not many people come here, less chance for bugs. Neighbors are friendly, mostly elderly couples.”

“I was going to say, pretty small apartment for someone in the mob,” he extended a hand for me to shake, “Dean Winchester.”

I huffed, “Yeah, it’s kinda my job to blend in. Not all of us have Hollywood mansions. I glanced at him from the kitchen as I grabbed two glasses, “I see height runs in the family.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean sat on the couch in the living room.

I handed him a drink, “So...”

“So indeed,” he swirled the liquid in the glass before setting it on the side table, “I’m currently being transferred from the my current department a couple hours away to the local PD. Once that’s done I will be going under cover. You will be my in. Does that work?”

I drained my own drink, “Swimmingly.” I set my own glass on the floor by the feet of the chair I was sitting in, “I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this.” I spoke it mostly to myself, but he heard it all the same.

“Yeah, why are you doing this? What made you join in the first place only to try and tear it all down?”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the chair. I guess I should have seen the question coming. “I joined The Fallen when I was a lot younger. Why does anyone join the mafia?”

“Protection, a safe place to do illegal things, they’re desperate?”

I chuckled, “And usually somewhere to belong, but yeah, you hit the nail on the head. I was desperate. Nowhere to go. And let’s leave it at that.” I started cleaning my fingernails, my hands needing something to do. “It was a classic mafia back then. Don’t mess with us, we don’t mess with you. If you do, you better watch your back. It was okay. It was safe. That was under this guy named Nick. He’s in prison now, but you probably knew that already.”

Dean nodded his head.

“In the power vacuum he left behind, I helped get your brother out. Covered his tracks, but there wasn’t anyone to follow them. Sounds like he’s got a nice life now.”

“Why didn’t you get out with him?”

“Still didn’t have anywhere to go. Sam, he’s smart. Got back into school, had a nice girl waiting for him on the other side. I didn’t have any of that. The Fallen was all I had, figured this was better than being on the run from myself.” I sighed, “Anyway, Crowley comes in. He’s a businessman at heart. He made the community safer. Kept local businesses afloat. It felt like we were doing something good.”

I smiled to myself. Happier times.

“I guess I got soft.” I looked up from my hands into his serious face, “Now Chuck has the whole city wrapped around his twisted finger. No one knows what he wants. He’s got no honor system-”

Dean scoffed.

“Hey, it might not have been much, but Crowley and Nick? They had their own code that if you knew what it was, then nothing surprised you. Chuck’s a wild card. He’s destroying everything good about this place, and like it or not, I don’t. And if I can do something about it, I’m going to. Okay?”

Dean set his jaw and nodded.

“So how do you wanna play this mister hot shot cop?”

“That’s a good question, one that you are gonna answer.”

I raised my eyebrows, “Oh?”

He shifted to a more relaxed position on the couch, “Yup. You’re the expert, so how are you gonna bring me in? I’ve got to observe, gather information and evidence, and hopefully set him up so we can catch him in the act of doing something ‘life in prison’ worthy.”

“Can we get a death sentence?”

Dean slowly gained a more guarded posture, “And why would you want that?” As Dean relaxed he seemed more personable, but with that one statement he looked suspicious of me and my motives. His eyes gained that hard look that could break steel and I was terrified to see him angry.

I curled in on myself, “Past experience.”

“I’m gonna need to know this kind of stuff sweetheart.”

“Look, we both know life in prison isn’t a guarantee. Nick was supposed to get a life sentence, but he got out. Now Crowley’s dead and Chuck is in power.” There was a pause where neither of us spoke. “There’s always something. You’re in law enforcement. You should know that.”

He sighed before nodding once again, “Fine, we’ll see what we can do and what we can get, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How are you going to get me in?”

I rubbed my temples. How was I going to get him in? “I think our best option is for me to just bring you in as a new recruit. No deals, tell him the least information possible. Whoever brings someone new in becomes their mentor so that’ll work out...” This was going to be hard. Chuck was a difficult target. “We’ll say you’re new in town. You desperately need some extra cash, so you’re willing to join. You don’t really care what you have to do. The trick is to lie the least amount as possible. Chuck doesn’t like liars, and he can always find out information. So I hope there aren’t many people who know you’re doing this.” I locked eyes with him.

“No, not many at all.”

“I hope you’re right, or we’re both dead.”

This conversation ran through my head as we stood in front of Chuck. It was the monthly meeting, where everything you could think of was discussed, including new members.

“So, there’s a new face.” Chuck was looking at the pair of us, a passive invitation.

I stepped forward with as much confidence as I could muster, “Yes, this is new recruit-”

“Officer Dean Winchester, yes I know.”

I nearly choked as my eyes widened in fear and surprise. I glanced at Dean and all I could think was, “We’re dead.”

“Now the question is, why does the new cop in town want to join the local mob?” Chuck stood from his chair and walked around, “Little short on cash, need a little excitement?”

Dean chuckled, but I could tell he was hiding his nervousness, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Good, what’s one more cop on the payroll? You’re in.” Chuck finally looked back at the two of us, and my heart was still pounding out of my chest despite how impossibly well this was going, “Oh, you didn’t know he was a cop did you? Looks like some couples therapy material.”

I swallowed, but couldn’t hide my confusion, couples therapy?

“Oh come on! It’s obvious!” Chuck hesitated, “Well maybe not obvious, but Y/n’s not the hook-up type.”

I blushed, this was getting out of hand, but as long as Chuck wasn’t going to kill me, I would put up with it the best I could.

Chuck clapped and rubbed his hands together, “Oh I love a good romance. So how did you guys meet?”

Dean seemed to snap into it, or maybe it was me who was out of it, I’m not sure, but Dean grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers.

“I don’t know, sir, I’m not much of a story teller.”

“Come on Dean.” Chuck smiled, a little too eagerly.

I tightened my grip on Dean’s hand, mostly out of anxiousness. I was out of options and stocked up on fear. It was up to him to get us the hell out of here.

“Tell me a story.”

Best Buds Taglist: @kitkatd7 @snarky--starky @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

Dean: @akshi8278 @msmarvelouswinchester

#dean x reader #cop au #mafia au #fake dating #spncreatorsdaily #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #dean winchester #make me feel bingo #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagines #dean x y/n #tell me a story

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wonjaekook · 4 years

Text

beneath the daylight moon

CHAPTER 3.

Read Chapter 2 here!

“Why do we sometimes see the moon, even during the daytime?”

Jaehyun didn’t know, nor did he care to notice that such a thing existed; it was a mystery to him, but you were a bigger enigma.

Jaehyun lowered his phone from his ear, nearly dropping it as he stared at the man opposite him. You and Jaehyun both spoke up at the same time, two voices raised in unison to ask the same thing. A name, which in this case served as a question of its own.

“Johnny?”

It took Jaehyun a moment to process that you had just said his best friend’s name and he had to muster all the self-control that he could manage to not to turn and look at you in shock. Instead, he swallowed hard, continuing to stare at Johnny. He rose from the bench slowly, but quickly hurried over, a short laugh leaving his throat as he embraced him.

“When you asked for my address, I thought you were going to send me a package or something,” Jaehyun said through a grin, giving his friend a solid smack on the shoulder as they part, “not this.”

“Getting into the building was the hard part. I could’ve just gotten your address from Mark. Thankfully, your grandma was home to buzz me in. I think she loves me already.” Johnny’s familiar grin was like a piece of home. One would think that Jaehyun had gotten used to moving around, as he’d done so his entire life, but being in a new place was always somewhat strange. It was nice to see his friend again.

“Of course she does,” he said, unable to hide the happiness in his voice. “Are you here for business or for pleasure, then?”

“Why not both?” As Johnny started to talk more, Jaehyun remembered you. He did his best to resist looking over his shoulder at the place where he left you, but shifted on his feet impatiently as time went on. “...so, I hope your weekend is free so we can check the place out.”

Jaehyun nodded somewhat absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure, I’m free.”

“Since I’m here, do you want to do something now? Unless I interrupted you here?” Johnny’s eyes were warm, a soft caramel brown that shined with obliviousness.

“I can finish this up tomorrow afternoon.” He said it loudly enough that he hoped you heard. Though he didn’t leave off with much more to say to you, he felt like the conversation wasn’t even close to over. That’s how it always goes with you - something left unsaid, unfinished. One of the two of you always has to leave and, this time, it’s him. “I’ll make you something good for dinner as a welcome back meal.”

“I thought you’d never offer.” Johnny turned back towards the entrance to the roof, then stopped a moment later and faced outwards again, taking in the view. “By the way… it’s really nice up here.”

Jaehyun turned as well, following the general sweep of Johnny’s gaze, except really looking towards where he stood talking with you a few minutes ago. To his disappointment, but no great surprise, you were gone. “Thanks. I guess it is.”

In your room, you’re alone. After feeling Jaehyun’s touch, a warmth you were no longer accustomed to feeling, your contactless existence felt even more hollow. You’ll meet with him tomorrow, you decided, if not just to brush your hand against his once more. Also, because you have to talk about him. About visiting your body. And about Johnny.

Johnny... he’s back. He’s here. The notion terrified you and excited you at the same time. If your sister sees him…

You supposed you’re not the only ghost around these parts anymore.

After talking with you today and then having spent time with Johnny, one of the warmest presences in his life, Jaehyun lied in bed at the end of the night feeling far more relaxed than he had for quite a few days. That is, until he dug out the piece of paper your sister had given him. With his phone in one hand and the paper with her number scrawled on it in the other, he hesitated. The message was fully typed out, just a “Hey, this is Jaehyun from down the hall. Could you send me what hospital and room number Y/N is in?” but he couldn’t send it. He preoccupied himself with double-triple-quadruple checking that he typed her number in correctly, read his message over and over again for grammar and spelling mistakes, dwelled on other ways he could phrase it.

He thought about the look in your eyes on the rooftop. Though you had asked him to go, that lack of conviction on your face was what was making this message take fifteen minutes to send instead of just one. He usually thought of himself as an optimist, though now his mind was in a jumble, trying to figure what would really be the best thing to do. His thoughts spiralled in and out of doubt, wondering if you truly wanted him to do this, wondering if this will even work. Wondering, once again, if history was repeating itself.

Then, he remembered some wise words from his grandmother. ‘If you can try, you should. It may just be worth it.’ Though she probably hadn’t meant that saying for something like this, they were the last push he needed. He pressed send.

You watched from the hallway between your room and your sister’s as her phone lit up. Her hair was arranged in its usual nighttime style and she was just about to crawl under the covers of her bed when her eyes caught on the received text message. The small, pleasant smile that graced her worn face made you mirror her look. You could only hope that the news makes her sleep well tonight.

The text that Jaehyun was greeted with, about five minutes after he sent his own, was very straightforward. It contained the exact information he had asked for, including the address of the hospital, and ended with a ‘I don’t know how you know her, but thank you for caring.’

That night, his dreams were soundless, sightless, but filled with a kind of warmth that he couldn’t describe with words. It wasn’t at all a nightmare, but he still woke up with a heavy feeling in his chest.

This time around, Jaehyun didn’t avoid meeting you. If anything, he stretched the definition of ‘afternoon’ to be far earlier than most people think of it. He arrived on the roof at 11:30 in the morning and, at first, shuffled around the area, absentmindedly staring at different pots and gardening fixtures that he’d installed up here as he wished that time would move faster. After about fifteen minutes were spent unproductively, he decided that he might as well make use of his time. He spent another hour and a half heaving the bags of fertilizer that he brought up previously to where he needed them, packed it into the planters, and pulled weeds. The manual labor made him work up a sweat. Though he had gotten into the habit of bringing his own towel to wipe it away, a part of him still wished he had your handkerchief. His thoughts briefly wandered to you again - how you had handed him the item, what it means to you - and that seemed to be enough to summon you.

From the doorway to the stairs, you stood watching him for a moment. He wiped away sweat, shined in the sun, still glistened slightly despite the hat that he had started wearing, and crouched in front of a planter so that he could get a better look at the nothing that appeared to be growing in it. He didn’t notice you at first because your footsteps were soundless.

“That’s where you planted them, right? The Four O’clocks?” You saw his muscles tense in surprise, though that was the most reaction you got for sneaking up on him. Still, an apology left your mouth. “Sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize, I just didn’t notice you until now.” His eyes shifted back to the planter in front of him. “And, yeah. They haven’t popped up yet for some reason, though. I’ll have to do more research.”

He stood, brushed his gloves against each other to get some of the extra dirt off, and removed them, stepping over towards where he had left some of his other stuff. As he walked, you trailed along next to him, watching the way a drop of sweat slid down from his hairline into his shirt. It had been a long time since you’d felt temperature - neither a cold breeze nor the sun’s warmth had touched your skin. You weren’t sure if you missed it or not. The only time you had really felt any heat were the times you touched-

The times you touched Jaehyun.

Something inside of you twinged with both pain and hope. If fate existed, he must be a sign of something good to come in your future, right? The key to all of this. Though just yesterday both of you realized that neither one of you had the answer to what was happening to you, you felt like all you could do was cling to even the smallest bit of feeling that he was returning to your life.

“I texted your sister.” He said, snapping you out of your thoughts. A small towel was in one of his hands, which he had clearly used to wipe away sweat while you were trapped in your thoughts. There was a small smile on his lips that you quickly mirrored.

“I know.” Slowly, you reached for his hands, taking one of them in your own, his palm gently held between yours. The warmth seemed to seep into your very being. You swore you could even feel the slight slick of sweat on his palms. “Jaehyun, thank you.”

He tilted his head and his smile became puzzled. “I haven’t even visited you yet.”

“Even just contacting my sister meant the world to her. And that means even more to me.” You tentatively released his hand, the feeling of aliveness quickly leaving your body. “When are you going to go?”

“I was thinking tomorrow.” The immediacy struck you. Tomorrow was so… soon. When you had forgotten your doubts for the last little while, they returned again.

“Tomorrow… tomorrow is good,” you forced yourself to say. The determination on his face told you more about him - once he’s set his mind on something, it’s hard to get him to diverge from that path. He was dead set on helping you.

Silence flowed between you for a moment, only the distant rushing of traffic from the small city below infiltrated the bubble of the rooftop. Jaehyun broke eye contact with you, his tongue flicking out as he nervously wetted his lips. “How do you know Johnny?”

You took a deep breath, like you would if you were trying to ease your nervousness when you were in your own body. “It’s not so much that I know him. It’s more my sister.” You stepped towards the railing at the edge of the building, looking out at the city and the blue sky above. It was far too early for a daytime moon, being a bit past noon. “They were a thing in high school. People really thought they would end up together forever, but college got in the way of that. Now, she’s with that… that piece of human trash that calls himself her boyfriend.” Though your tone had started off pleasant, wistful, remembering a softer past, it quickly turned bitter. Being stuck in the state you were in, you had spent more than enough time wandering aimlessly around your apartment, watching him do nothing all day, watching him waste time and resources. A part of you really believed that her current boyfriend was just a placeholder for the hole that Johnny left when he went away, but you didn’t tell Jaehyun that. It might be better just to leave your hypotheses to yourself for now.

Since you were staring out, speaking to the city air instead of facing Jaehyun, you couldn’t gauge his reaction. The more of your explanation he heard, the more surprise showed in his eyes. After you finished speaking, you took a moment, glared down at the city below, and then composed yourself and turned back around to look at him. He stepped forward, joining you against the railing. “That… explains a lot.” There was a strange smile on his face, like he was finally understanding something. “Johnny never really dated seriously in university. Always seemed kind of hung up on someone from the past. He never named her to me, in all the years I’ve known him.”

“You know him from college, then?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He’s my best friend. Small world, isn’t it?” You realized the particular irony of the statement to your situation, as you couldn’t leave this building, never mind the town, and let out a snort of laughter. “I guess that explains why he suggested we start the restaurant here.”

You stood in silence again, staring out at the rooftop garden instead of at the street below this time. Though some parts of the garden were still rough around the edges, it no longer looked like the roof was abandoned. The area teemed with new life, tiny splotches of green disrupting the brown of the soil and fertilizer as most everything that he’d planted had started growing by now. Everything except the Four O’clocks. “Jaehyun?” He looked towards you, humming in acknowledgment. “Even if visiting my body doesn’t help, I’m still glad that I met you.”

“If only it was under better circumstances,” he agrees. His eyes fell on the wall that led to where the mural was. “Hey, when you wake up, do you want to finish that mural? I think it would really tie this place together. I’ll even buy the paint for it.”

You looked in the same direction as him, the image of the unfinished painting clear in your head. Right now, you really had no desire to do anything with it, but you supposed that Jaehyun made a good point. “I guess. It would be nice to have a brush in my hand again.”

The sound of a car honking loudly from below shattered the tender moment, startling both of you. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, glancing at the incoming message from Johnny.

‘Where do you want to go for lunch?’

“Shit.” He pushed off of the railing, standing up straight. “I forgot that I’m meeting up with Johnny and Mark in an hour.” He started to gather his stuff from the top of the crate where he had left it before glancing over and catching your eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow? You won’t run away again?”

You shook your head. “See you tomorrow, Jaehyun.”

When he walked to the roof exit, he turned around to look at you again. You were seated on the old crate that he first saw you on, in those same dark denim overall shorts with the paint splashes and white tee. Like you could sense him staring at you, you turned slightly. As you did so, your image seemed to waver slightly, as if the sunlight was moving through your opaque being; a strange mirage in the afternoon air. He blinked and you appeared normal again, so he raised a hand in a final farewell for the day. After you returned the gesture, he disappeared into the stairwell.

For the rest of the day, he intermittently thought of you. Johnny and Mark largely kept him distracted, helping him plan some of the items he’ll have on the menu of his restaurant, what the interior could look like, what to name it. As they drove around after lunch, the conversation shifted.

“Dude,” Mark said, “I heard that Ten is also in town right now. You should visit him.”

“I haven’t seen him in years.” Johnny said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “It would be nice to catch up.”

Jaehyun chimed in at that. “Ten from high school?”

“Yeah. I’m kind of surprised that you remember me talking about him.”

“Do you still talk to anyone else from back then?” There was a slight insistence to Jaehyun’s voice that perplexed Johnny. Jaehyun knew he probably shouldn’t have been pushing this hard, especially since his best friend never opened up to him about it before, but he couldn’t help it. “There’s this girl who lives on my floor who seems about your age.”

“Are you trying to get me to hook you up with someone? It’s about time.”

“No,” Jaehyun said firmly, his eyebrows furrowed. “And you know I wouldn’t have a problem with that if I wanted to talk to a girl.”

“Tell that to your ex. If I hadn’t pushed you to talk to her-”

“I don’t want to talk about her.” There was a snap to Jaehyun’s tone that he usually didn’t use and it cut off the conversation quickly. Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat, checking his phone. Jaehyun almost decided to drop the topic entirely, but he felt like he owed it to you to ask. “The girl from my floor is named S/N L/N.”

The tapping of his fingers against the wheel stopped. Slowly, Johnny’s grip tightened. Normally, Johnny was in complete control of his emotions. Now, he didn’t seem angry, but it clearly evoked something in him when Jaehyun said your sister’s name. “Yeah. I know her.”

Mark nudged Jaehyun, raising his eyebrows in an attempt to communicate with him nonverbally. Jaehyun ignored the signal. “Were you close?”

Johnny shrugged, forcing himself to relax slightly as he drove. “You could say that.”

No one spoke for a while, until a familiar, nostalgic song played on the radio, reigniting the conversation. Jaehyun planned on leaving the conversation at that, inviting the two over for dinner. As afternoon turned to evening, they returned to his apartment complex. When he stepped out of the car, he couldn't resist looking up. The roof seemed like such a long way from here. He shook his head slightly to clear it and led his friends to his apartment. The elevator ride was short and empty of anyone but them, with Mark gushing about eating his food again. When the doors opened to his floor, he got out and nearly walked right past her. Johnny didn’t, though.

As soon as he exited the elevator, his friend saw her. Jaehyun stopped walking when he saw that Johnny wasn't with him and Mark. Johnny was having some sort of staredown with your sister. She had the same bag on her shoulder that she did the last time Jaehyun saw her, though the sunglasses were missing this time, leaving her expressions largely unguarded.

She seemed to swallow heavily, taken aback by this ghost from the past. “John.”

“S/N.” All Jaehyun and Mark could do was watch. They stared at each other for a moment longer before Johnny once again forced himself to relax a bit and offered her a small smile. “Jaehyun was telling me about how you live on the same floor.” “What are you doing back here?” She said, cutting right to the chase. She seemed far more outwardly unhappy to see him than he did to see her.

“Visiting. Probably going to move back soon, though.” He was watching, carefully assessing her reaction. He stood tall, his hands in his pockets, casual. She appeared much more stiff, weighed down more by life than he had been in the years since they’d seen each other.

“I thought you wanted to get out of this town?” There was a certain bitterness to her voice that was very personal. Almost resentful.

“You still remember that?”

“How could I forget?”

Jaehyun and Mark glanced at each other, wondering if they should do something. At those words, though, Johnny’s smile brightened slightly. “I’m glad I’m unforgettable.”

“This isn’t about you anymore.” Johnny’s face fell slightly at that, eliminating the slight cheer that he had just gained. “I have to go.” As she reached the elevator, she turned back to them, looking Jaehyun in the eyes. Her eyes were piercing, though they didn’t seem to hold any malice, only confusion. “You’re really strange, Jaehyun.”

It crossed Jaehyun’s mind that he might have started something far beyond his depth or control. After the elevator doors closed with her behind them, Johnny turned back towards him and Mark. “Dinner?”

As he cooked, Jaehyun watched the sun set outside the window adjacent to the kitchen section of the apartment. From here, he couldn’t see if the moon was out yet, but he thought about it and he thought about you. He wondered if you were thinking about him, too.

The way you thought about Jaehyun was with the sort of desperation someone who was hanging onto the edge of a cliff thought about a rope. Right now, he was your lifeline for more reasons than one. In your dark room, the emptiness felt suffocating. You lied sideways on your bed, staring at the ceiling, untaken by the sleep you no longer require. Back when you were alive, you might have taken the time to paint him, capture the way he had made you feel in the short time you’ve known him and the few conversations you’ve had with him. Then, you would have opened your sketchbook and flipped through the drawings from better days, ignored the darker sketches of more recent times.

You wondered if your sister had flipped through those drawings since it happened, seen the last picture you created. It was a self-portrait of sorts, though your eyes were filled with black and your limbs were strung up like a marionette. Out of control in your own life, close to being soulless. You didn’t know nor remember what had possessed you to draw it and you wished you had finished with something brighter. It didn’t matter anyways - the book was stuck on your shelf with some of your other things, out of reach of your touchless world. What did matter was what’s going to happen tomorrow.

The more you thought about it, the more the doubts bounced around in the transparent space of wherever you would call your mind now, the more Jaehyun visiting your body in the hospital seemed like a terrible idea. It has been a long time that you’ve been like this and it’ll probably be an even longer time if you somehow wake up. You weren’t sure you were ready to be exhausted like that again.

You thought about your sister and her hunched figure over the dimly lit coffee table at night, the bills piling up, each dollar that leaves her bank account only adding a single grain of sand to the hourglass of the life she’s built here. She never really talked finances with you, but you knew it was never easy. You covered rent, but she tried to keep all of her other bills away from you. You dreaded more than wondered what would happen should that hourglass finally become empty. How much time does this life have left?

It only took you a moment to leave your room and reach her. She was exactly where you pictured her, though she wasn’t staring at the bills, trying to crunch numbers anymore. Her gaze was on her lump of a boyfriend asleep on the couch. “S/N,” you couldn’t help but whisper, “just leave him. Go to bed.”

For a heartbeat, it almost seemed like she heard you, or was at least about to pay herself a courtesy, as she rose from her place at the table and walked the short distance to the hallway adjoining the living area to the bedrooms. Then, she stopped, stared at the ground, and turned slightly, laying a hand on his shoulder. He began to stir as she spoke. “Honey…” the word rang bitter in your ears, “come to bed.”

The look he gave her through bleary eyes showed a type of spiritual rotting that had its roots deep in his core. “Bitch, I was asleep. Can’t you leave me in peace for one night?”

“You’ll sleep better in bed than on the couch…” The meekness with which she spoke had you curling your hands into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms. Both she and you knew that no matter what she did, she would always be wrong in his eyes. Always. If she hadn’t woken him, he would’ve gotten angry in the morning instead, bemoaning how she hadn’t woken him and gotten him to sleep on the bed instead. You’d seen that exact argument happen before. You couldn’t say how many times you’d seen this exact scene, too.

He grunted, slowly getting up. “Is that so?” He tilted his head, cracking his neck in something of a stretch. “You think you know better than me?”

“No,” she flinched as he raised a hand, “I’m sorry.”

The grin that filled his face wasn’t bright. It was crooked, sick, and it made you want to vomit when you knew you weren’t even capable of doing so. Back when they first started dating, he was much better at hiding the pleasure he takes in “besting” her, but now he didn’t even try. As he walked past her, he bumped her shoulder with his arm, making her draw herself in, attempting to minimize the space she took up. After he was gone, more safely away from her in their bedroom, she sank down onto the couch, wrapping her arms around her torso. She stared at the scattered bottles and trash on the small side table next to the soft. It took about a minute before she leaned forward, resting her face in her hands, slow tears falling down her cheeks. You couldn’t bear to look at her like this. Back when you were in your own body, you never knew she cried like this. When you couldn’t stand to watch the fighting without doing anything anymore, you would just lock yourself in your room and pray no one got hurt. Every bit of it, you regretted. You should’ve stood up to him more, stood by your sister, shared her pain. Regret was a bitter taste.

“Y/N,” you heard from her, a quiet plea into the night, “I’m sorry. Please come back.”

You’d heard her cry out for you before, but this time it hurt even more than usual. Your hands were still curled in fists and, after the feelings of regret and helplessness and pure rage boiled over, you lashed out, like you could hit one of the bottles on the table. The silence shattered as your hand made contact with the object, sending it clattering onto the wood surface of the side table, then rolling onto the floor. Your sister’s head snapped up, her eyes following the bottle. The last round of tears fell as she blinked rapidly and scrubbed at her eyes, trying to figure out what caused the bottle to move. She finally got up uneasily, now just dabbing gently at her eyes, before she picked up the bottle to dispose of it.

As she started to warily clean up the rest of the trash, you stared at your hands. There was no way…

It was late by the time your sister joined her boyfriend in bed and it was only slightly later when Jaehyun settled down to sleep. Johnny hadn’t spoken about Stella for the rest of the night and Jaehyun hadn’t asked. He agreed to meet him in two days to check out locations for the restaurant, and that was that. In some ways, he was grateful. The more he involved himself in this situation, the more he felt like everything was spiraling out of control. But, in the opposite way, he wished something more had changed. He just hoped that visiting your body will lead him to something better.

It took a little while, but he eventually fell asleep.

He didn’t remember arriving in the hospital, just opening the door to your room. Your hair was longer than it was when he saw you on the roof and you appeared almost skeletal, your cheekbones hollow and eye sockets sunken in deeper than they should be. Hadn’t the doctors been taking care of you?

When he leaned over, taking your hand, your eyes immediately flickered open, as if you’d been waiting for him. He blinked and you transformed, your skin glowing with life and hair full and luscious. “Jaehyun, you saved me.”

Your voice came out as a warble, confusing and bird-like. Not at all how you sounded when he talked to you before. He tried to speak, but you cut him off. “Y/N-” “You saved me, you saved me.” You repeated, the mantra becoming a sort of chant as you stared at him, unblinking. The fingers on the hand that he was still grasping began to turn into talons, sharp and digging into his skin. “You saved me, you saved me, you saved me.”

He awakened in a cold sweat and bolted into an upright sitting position. The city birds that hung out outside his window were chirping, faintly reminding him of the way your dream-self had sounded. He shivered and pressed his face into his hands. Why did he keep having nightmares about you?

The sunlight streaming through the window was a small comfort, reminding him that things were fine. He considered going back to sleep, but figured that if his body wanted him to get up, he might as well. From what he saw on the hospital website, visiting hours didn’t start for a little while, so he had time to get ready and do some work on the garden before he left. The physical labor took his mind off of things for a while, but the car ride to the hospital certainly didn’t. His car felt far too empty and quiet even with one of his favorite playlists on. He considered himself lucky that the drive was short, though most of the medical traffic for the more rural nearby towns flowed to this hospital because it’s the nearest city, small as it is. The parking garage felt miserable, drab and lifeless, and the inside of the hospital itself felt no different. Stark white, sterile except the dirt streaks on the tiles from visitors’ feet, walls largely undecorated save for large signs warning about various diseases.

The lady at the front desk didn’t ask too many questions when he signed in and said your name. She simply gave him a visitor pass and let him through, scrawling down his name in a sign-in book. Your room was on the fourth floor, so he made his way to the elevator, passing by a few people who appeared far more tired than he did. They’d clearly spent a lot of time here. Some had red eyes from crying, some were simply hunched over, staring at nothing. The elevator was empty and stayed that way for the entirety of his short ride. On the fourth floor, there were fewer people, these strangers milling and sitting about. One guy, maybe around his age, was seated on a bench, staring at an apple that Jaehyun assumed he had placed down next to him. He glanced at the strange boy but kept walking, eventually standing in front of the door that he had been directed to by both the check-in lady and your sister.

The doorknob turned easily, though the door creaked as he pushed it, showing signs of age that the hospital had tried to simply paint over. He let himself in and closed the door behind him, finally turning around and allowing himself to look at your body.

Thankfully, you weren’t as skeletal as he feared you would be. He almost laughed at how different the room arrangement was from his dream as well, the relief making him relax slightly. Your body looked to be in quite good shape despite the amount of time that you’d been in a coma. Patches of your hair were clearly shorter than the rest, where he assumed you had to have some sort of surgery, though signs of said operation were no longer quite visible. IVs were stuck in your skin, providing you with the fluids that you needed to stay alive. Whatever this version of alive was. Your skin didn’t have quite the same sheen to it that it did when he talked to you, but you looked largely the same, like you were asleep. It was almost strange for him to see you in different clothes than your usual paint-stained overalls and white tee, the blue and white hospital gown seeming unnatural. He had only ever seen you in the warm outside lighting of the rooftop, so seeing you under this white fluorescent lighting was almost a strain to his eyes. The thought crossed his mind that you looked far better surrounded by green and brown and blue than you did by all of this white.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said quietly, walking closer to your body. There was an empty vase at your bedside, so he opened his bag, revealing the flowers that he had purchased on the way here. It was a pretty standard arrangement of pink roses and baby’s breath, but it brightened the room immensely. “It’s kind of strange to see you here. I hope these help. I would have brought you flowers from the roof, but they aren’t ready yet. Sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was looking for as he talked. Maybe a flicker of your eyelids, a twitch of your fingers. The air conditioning kicked on suddenly and the blast of chilly air made a few locks of your hair shift ever so slightly, almost tricking him into thinking that you moved on your own. After waiting for a moment, he finally reached for your hand. Your skin was colder here than it was when he touched you before. Your hand slotted into his nicely, but it was limp, unresponsive. A few minutes of nothing passed, time he spent just looking at you and repeating ‘please wake up’ in his head, before he quietly tucked your hand back under the covers of your bed.

“I hope you wake up soon,” he said, “so we can properly meet.”

As he exited the room, he kept his head down, mindlessly walking back to where he remembered the elevator being. The hallway was straight and long and, with his lack of attention, he ended up slamming into someone’s shoulder relatively hard. Both he and the other person staggered slightly, stopping in their tracks.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking,” he said quickly, glancing sideways at the boy he had run into. He was the same guy he had seen sitting on the bench before, staring at the apple next to him. The look on his face was an extreme reaction, pure shock covering his features. Jaehyun cringed to himself. “Hey, I really didn’t mean-”

“You can see me. You can touch me.” The guy interrupted him, raising a hand to point at him. “It’s been so long since anyone’s been able to do that!” Oh shit.

“Look,” Jaehyun said quickly, panic immediately filling him, “I’m not trying to become some sort of ghost-whisperer. I’m already trying to help someone and I can’t handle more and more of you.”

“No, listen-” As Jaehyun tried to turn around, pretend like this never happened, the boy grabbed his arm, his fingers sharp as they dug into his skin slightly. “I saw you go into that girl’s room. From the sounds of it, you didn’t get what you wanted. I can help you.”

Jaehyun narrowed his eyes at that. “If you can help me, why are you still like this?”

“I can help you. And her.” Jaehyun’s eyes shifted towards the door that he had just left behind, then back to the boy gripping his arm. “But I need your help first.”

#btdm #beneath the daytime moon #jaehyun fic #nct fluff #nct angst #jaehyun scenarios #nct jaehyun scenarios #nct scenarios #btdm collab

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 4 years

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 4

Thomas X Reader

2306

Summary: Flashbacks and First days.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

[ Nine months before Somme]

“Why are all of the songs you sing happy?” he asked, mouth half full of slimy porridge.

Y/N glanced up from her rations, “What do you mean?”

Thomas shrugged, “You always sing about fighting or beating the odds no matter how bad it seems. Or about how angry everyone is about the war. Why don’t you ever sing anything that’s sad?”

She put her spork down, “You want me to sing a sad song during war?”

He didn’t answer right away, only shoveled a couple more mouthfuls down his gullet. After a swig of stale water he continued.

“I dunno. I feel like we should be allowed to be sad sometimes. Singing all these happy songs feels like we’re pretending that all the bullshit we see everyday isn’t real. Like we didn’t just watch several men lose their legs or that artillery didn’t just rip a man in half.”

Y/N let out a long sigh, “Thomas, I love you, but dear God man I’m eating.”

His heart skipped a beat. This was something he wished more than anything was real. That went beyond the comradery of soldiers. Yet, he schooled his features into something more neutral. Despite the fact that he craved to hear the words again but it was their spontaneity that was precious to him.

Thomas was barely able to scramble together a reply, “I just want to feel again.” He blinked, not exactly sure where the admission had come from. Though he couldn’t take it back now.

Over the next few days he’d catch her humming a melody he didn’t recognize. Some parts she would work over again and again. Others would be there and gone, carried away on the breeze. When she sang it to them for the first time it was after a rough day.

They had lost a handful of people to a tunnel collapse in the northeastern sector and all the hard work they’d done over the past six months was completely scrapped. One of the members of that team had been the youngest in their company. He had a fiance with a baby on the way even if he couldn’t yet grow a full beard.

She’d been perched on a piece of rubble that had fallen from a church. Her voice was clear and perfect as crystal. The song was about a soldier going home to find his wife bleeding on the floor. She’d ended her life to be with him after receiving a call that incorrectly informed her that his company had been massacred.

The men of the 174th wept that night the hardest they had since the war began. All the pent up rage and fear leaking out onto their pillows in the dead of night. For those who couldn’t be silent, they wept with their heads held between their hands in an attempt to muffle the noise. It was the army though and no one ever questioned crying men.

Thomas hadn’t cried. He was more angry about the deaths and couldn’t quite settle down enough to listen to the words. It wasn’t until she’d sung it a second time it had unraveled him. She’d changed the ending. The first time the wife wasn’t saved and the soldier had to move on without her. This time, they lived into their greying years with the knowledge that life was unbearable without the other.

“Why is it the ‘happy’ ending?” she asked him once.

Thomas shrugged, his eyes still swollen. It was one of the few times they were alone and she’d sung it for him. He didn’t mind being the only audience but it had made the unexpected turn in lyrics all the more powerful for him.

Thomas’ voice cracked as he spoke, “Don’t ever sing that in front of Hopper.” He elaborated when she raised her eyebrow, “If you sing a single note of that in front of him he’ll figure out you’re a woman.”

Y/N froze, “How did you know?”

He smirked, “You never bathe with the other men. Your uniform is always too big. You’re almost a head shorter, to the point I’m surprised no one has said anything. And your face does the thing”

“What thing?”

“That soft thing that everyone thinks is cute.”

He swore he imagined it but her cheeks turned a light pink, “Did you just call me cute Shelby?”

He shrugged, “Just keep the singing away from Hopper.”

〜

[Present Day]

Y/N awoke the next morning to the raucous laughter of dozens of men floating up the stairs. With a bewildered groan she checked the small window to her room to find that it was at least past noon at this point. On Saturday.

She cursed to herself as she quickly dressed in trousers. Her leg almost didn’t lift high enough to get inside without pain shooting up her back. With an audible growl she shoved her limp foot through the hole and grabbed her violin case. A passing glance in the mirror told her that her hair was wildly out of control, but if the singing had already started it was too late to fix it now.

Y/N practically hopped down the stairs on one leg. Twinges still assaulted her with every step, but it was better than just hobbling around on a bum leg. Which she’d have to do anyway on level ground.

Upon descending into the bar, she was confronted not by the milling groups she’d seen at lunch time the previous day but a completely packed room. Fully grown men were pressed shoulder to shoulder all staring up towards the front of the bar. A woman’s voice lulled over some lyrics Y/N recognized as a folk song that had become popular again after the war. Nostalgia always popped up in weird places.

With some luck, and her short stature, Y/N squeezed her way close enough to the bar that she had enough elbow room to play. Standing in front of the bar was the woman she’d seen at the opera...and the restaurant. Once she was done with her current song she waved to grab her attention.

Grace’s eyes practically bulged out of her head when she noticed Y/N, “Uh..Y...Yes? Can I help you?”

“Oh, this is weird,” she mumbled to herself. Speaking louder to be heard over the crowd, she lifted her violin case, “Thomas told me I was supposed to help you out on Saturdays. What would you like me to do?”

Grace’s eye’s cast about wildly. “Did he hire you?”

“In a way. Did you need help or…?”

“Yes. Yes. Set up over at that end of the bar. Do you know Black Velvet Band?”

Y/N nodded as she moved. “I know most of the popular songs. But if I don’t know something I can usually figure it out after the first verse as long as it’s nothing weird.”

For the next several hours, they entertained the patrons of the Garrison Pub. Grace could usually sing several songs in a row, but eventually she needed a break and that’s when Y/N would go from a supporting role to the main role. After Grace had rested and filled orders, she would once again relinquish center stage.

The patrons were eating it up, and at one point Y/N had caught sight of Jerimiah. She waved in a small pause in the music and damn near killed the man. He had turned ashen when he’d registered who she was and had begun to sway only to be caught by Danny, who’d stopped by after an errand.

He’d quickly left, returning a couple hours later with almost the half the platoon they’d served with. The bar, already almost at max capacity, was now so overflowing with people that the party had begun to spill onto the streets. Someone had gone home and grabbed a portable skillet and had offered to cook anything people brought him. Soon the smell of grilled meats wafted through the slums of Birmingham. And the Garrison Pub was serving every single one of those thirsty people.

At some point a couple of men had constructed a makeshift stage for the women to perform on and had urged them outside. Now the dancing had started as women came to find their husbands up to their ears in drink and food. Children ran amok, mimicking some of the dances with others finding whatever they could to play with as music brought this part of the city to life.

It wasn’t until the sun had begun to set that someone caught sight of Thomas Shelby and his family approaching the Pub. Word spread quickly, and most continued their revelry even if it was subdued. Finally, Thomas made it to the foot of the stage. Everyone waited with baited breath to hear what the gang leader had to say.

“So, allow you two to play music for one day, and it becomes a feast?”

Y/N finally put down her violin after hours of playing. Her back practically screamed at her to sit down, but this was the first time she’d played to a crowd like this in years. She’d missed it.

So she did what she always did. “That’s what you get for sticking us both up here. Hell, between the two of us I’m pretty sure we could play so well the pearly gates themselves would open for us.”

“After all the shit you’ve pulled?” He raised his eyebrow skeptically. A soft murmur went through the crowd as people shared confused glances. She knew Thomas.

Y/N couldn’t help but grin, “Oh, they couldn’t bear not to have us play for the angels themselves. But here we are instead playing for these hard working men and women, and I think we’ve done a good job filling their hearts with hope again.”

He chuckled, “Fine. Just make sure the Garrison stays busy.”

“As you wish.” Y/N shrugged, her arms complaining as she lifted her violin once again.

Grace stared at her new companion with unveiled wonder, “He lets you talk to him like that?”

Y/N flashed Grace with one of her signature wicked smiles, “We were army buddies.”

“But they don’t allow women to fight.”

“Eh, who says they had to know?”

Grace’s mouth fell open as Y/N started up another song, one that Grace didn’t recognize. But the entirety of the 174th sent up cheers, their glasses raised.

It was a fast paced one that made it hard to sit still. Y/N braced herself before she began to dance on the small stage, tapping her feet in time with the beat as the 174th began to sing. Their voices rose over the general din. There wasn’t much melody in it, but those men sang from somewhere buried deep inside. It was as if the hope that had carried them through the worst days of hell sprang to life to answer the call of music.

At the edge of the crowd in the shroud of darkness, the barest outline of Thomas Shelby could be seen. Even if he didn’t scream the lyrics along with his brothers in arms, he still sang. It was then that Grace understood why Thomas had been so adamant about there being no music in his pub.

If Grace wanted to truly understand Thomas Shelby she’d have to learn about him not as the gang leader, but as the man who survived the worst part of human history. Who was he before and what had happened with this woman that had changed his life forever? It was a way out, another option that didn’t rely on giving herself to the enemy. Holding onto that hope, Grace closed her eyes and tried to decipher the jumbled lyrics.

〜

Finally the Garrison Pub closed. Grace sat slumped against a table as Harry mopped the floor. Y/N curled up on one of the few benches in the corner. After everything was well and tidied up, Grace got up to leave.

“You coming?” she asked.

Y/N shook her head, “Actually I’m staying upstairs.”

Grace’s brow furrowed, “But...why? I mean your dress was lovely, and you were playing in one of the most expensive places in town. Can’t you afford a better place?”

“This suits me just fine. Besides, you of all people should know that a pretty dress is just a costume; at the end of the day it doesn’t mean nothing.”

Grace froze, “What do you mean?”

Y/N fixed Grace with a tired gaze, “It’s just how it’s always been. You may love rolling around in the dirt, but a bath and pretty dress later no one would ever know.”

She let out a deep sigh of relief but just as she was about to leave Y/N stopped her once more, “Hey, since you’ve been in town longer do you know any good music halls? Operas? Theatres? I’m looking for work that isn’t just on Saturdays”

“Oh, I can’t stand Opera so I wouldn’t know about that. But I think there’s a new place opening up on the other side of the river.” Grace waved dismissively then shut and locked the door behind her.

Y/N slowly stood and finally let herself limp over to the bar and poured herself a drink. She mulled over the possibilities of why the hell Grace was at the opera if she hated it and wasn’t dragged there by family. So far none of the possibilities looked good and it was getting to the point she’d have to tell somebody.

The wad of money Thomas had shoved at her still burned a hole in her pocket; she hadn’t gotten a chance to return it today. A goal for tomorrow then.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy #peaky blinders imagine #shelbys at somme #adventuresintooblivion

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dented-nado · 4 years

Note

So a little bird told me you were taking Sebwill prompts. I thought I should take advantage of that! May I request something along the lines of SebWill superheroes/villains? Maybe they are mortal enemies by day, and lovers by night?

This is such a perfect combination of my interests, I am so damn here for it. I hope you enjoy it!

This ended up a little long, oops! Lol! I also absolutely kind of made a soup of DC hero/villain origins and mixed them together for this lol. Bonus points to anyone who can spot every one that I made a reference to! :D

==================================

Years ago, William had hid in his room after a horrible day. He was only about 15, wishing he could just fly away and leave.

Then… suddenly he found himself lying on his ceiling. It had taken him several long moments of panicking to realize he wasn’t dreaming, longer to realize he could move around as he wished.

And so… he opened his bedroom window, and left home, never to look back.

Anyone who knew him now would be shocked to find that at one point, William T. Spears who stood so straightly and kept every bit of him tidy and proper… had once been a scruffy, scrawny little teenage meta-human wandering the streets of London, getting into trouble and being chased by the authorities trying to take him into and orphanage or foster care… or worse, back home.

William had learned to live off the streets. At a certain point he had even gotten a little cocky, he was so fast that no one would even see him as he stole whatever he needed or wanted. He’d lead cops on a wild goose chase into alleyways that he knew like the back of his hand, only to float away to the rooftops out of sight.

He didn’t really make friends either. He mostly just had a small pack of birds that he split some of the spoils from his day out with when they came to the cracked window of the abandoned flat he had hid in.

He had always heard of heroes… saving the earth from threats both domestic and extra-terrestrial. Hell, he had seen one of them blast through London. On one hand he was curious, if maybe he and that super-being came from similar origins. But on another hand… he couldn’t help but resent the whole idea of heroes.

They certainly never protected kids like him.

That was the first time William had a sort of haunting thought. He had escaped because… he just happened to have these abilities that he still didn’t know the origin of… how many kids out there weren’t so lucky that weren’t being saved??

Well… maybe he could save them but, well when he looked around himself this was a fine nest for himself, but more than one person? Potentially kids even younger than him? How would he even look after them? He was 17 now… maybe he could pass as 18 if he cleaned up a bit, then maybe if he had enough money by then he could buy a better place and own it himself. How much did houses cost? It couldn’t be that much if lots of adults had them right?

He’d start stealing things to sell, he decided. He could get away with it, surely.

Well, his plan had fallen short, when he had been caught, stealing the tires off a rather fancy car since he was sure he could sell them for quite a bit.

The presumed owner of said car seemed oddly amused and calm at a scraggly un-kempt seventeen-year old stealing the tires of her car.

It was then another person came around the corner rambling on her phone, she seemed almost the same age as William, though maybe a little younger. She stared at William and who William now supposed was this young lady’s mother.

William decided now was the time to up up and away out of there, only suddenly, in a red blur, the young girl had jumped up and pulled him back down, she was fast… almost as fast as him.

“Excuse you! You can’t just steal our tires and go!” She scolded.

William had tried to escape, he’d found it easy to lift incredibly heavy objects including cars above his head, but now he couldn’t seem to pull her arms off him.

“Let me go!” He demanded.

“Now young man…” The girl’s mother said patiently. “How about you land yourself right back down on the ground and we can see about helping you out so you aren’t out here on the streets stealing tires.”

William glowered distrustfully, still thrashing in frustration as the young redheaded girl pulled him back down to the ground.

“If you haven’t noticed… we’re like you. We can help you… if you replace the tires and calm down.”

William had bit his lip. He didn’t trust this strange red-headed mother and daughter pair but then again… maybe… it would be nice to meet other people like him.

Begrudgingly he had put the tires back on quickly, and hesitantly sat in the back seat of the vehicle beside said girl who had been grinning at him since she had pulled him down to the ground.

“I’m Grell, what’s your name boy?”

William stared at her like she had grown horns for a moment before finally answering, realizing he hadn’t said his own name in a while.

“William.”

“William… you’d be rather handsome if you cleaned up a bit.” She teased with a small giggle.

It was that decision that led him to where he was now. It turned out he had been picked up and adopted by a very, very wealthy family that practically owned half the city. He learned he was a meta-human, and certain supernatural genetics had caused his abilities to develop. While he had flight and a decent amount of strength down, he eventually found his most key ability was telekinesis, allowing him to move around almost anything with solid mass with his mind.

Grell seemed to have both flight and strength as he did, but she also was far faster than him and caused fire to ignite out of thin air. It suited her red hair and personality perfectly in his mind.

Grell and him also saw rather eye to eye on using their meta-human abilities to give more attention to the people trapped in bad homes that needed saving and she became a pseudo-sister to him. He found out her mother had taken Grell when she was only 9 years old and run away with her in the middle of the night. Running far away from the father who had treated them both poorly. Then, Grell’s mother had been lucky enough to find love, not even knowing she was going to be marrying into a vast amount of money, but that had certainly been a nice bonus.

Outwardly of course, they were both celebrities of sorts, especially when they turned 18, they became public figures. Grell flourished happily in the spotlight. William on the other hand… could handle being polite and interacting with others at important events, but he really did hate all the attention – he was relieved when… at night, him and Grell would dawn garments to hide their well known identities, and would do the vigilante style work of trying to find and save kids from bad situations, feed those who needed it, and punch a few robbers and other criminals on the way if it served them.

William did sort of understand the superhero dilemma more now. It seemed as if something was always happening that would distract from the “smaller” work. He had been more than frustrated when a man… no…a demon it seemed that controlled and moved through the shadows decided to make William his arch nemesis. There was no clue to who this man causing chaos could be. His entire face was covered, not only making it seem as if he had no facial features, but it also made William wonder if there was a man under there how he saw or breathed with that thing on. It was also clear when this villain spoke he had some sort of voice filter on that scrambled the tone of his voice, causing it to sound garbled and off-putting.

His only solace between the stress of his daytime persona, and his ‘night job’ – was the boyfriend he had managed to be with despite at all. Sebastian Michaelis. They had met at a gala, and despite himself, after one dance, William could already feel himself being swept off his feet by the raven-haired man with a mischievous glint in his eyes. And so… after that, he had made a point to see him. Grell had teased him that he was absolutely head over heels for the gothic man that stuck out like a sore thumb against the light colors most of the people at gatherings tend to wear. Sebastian was dashing in his own right… and well, William had been called “Goth lite” by Grell as well as their mutual friend Ronald Knox. So they had something in common.

It wasn’t long before William had to admit he was head over heels for Sebastian, and they had begun their romantic outings. Of course their relationship eventually got media attention, they couldn’t go on dates for long without someone recognizing them. Somehow though, while it seemed Sebastian was also someone who reveled in the spotlight much more than William, the way Sebastian would hold him or rub his back soothingly made him feel more confident in handling such attention.

After about a year and a half of dates and nights spent together, William officially asked Sebastian to stay with him in his apartment. It was more of a condo than an apartment, but William didn’t like that word much. It was one of the properties that had been gifted to him that hadn’t been turned into a high-quality rescue shelter for children.

William… hadn’t told him about his night life yet, and Sebastian always seemed to take his word for it. It wasn’t he didn’t trust Sebastian, in fact he was beginning to feel as if he’d do just about everything for this man. Yet… well, vigilante-ing was dangerous business, even if you could fly and move things with your mind. He swore he’d tell Sebastian about his night life well before they got married.

But for now… he enjoyed moments like this, laying on top of him while they slept, ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat for comfort. Sebastian would often run his hand through William’s hair, effectively petting him until the stern man slept. He didn’t want these quiet, comforting moments to ever end….

…and he’d be damned if he let any sort of super-villain or threat come between them.

#sebawill #sebwill #au #hero au #villain au #hero x villain au #prompt fill #writing prompt fill #sebastian x william #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #william t spears #tw #tw for past abuse mention #no detailed descriptions or flashbacks though.

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virlath · 4 years

Text

environmental lore ~ Dirthamen and Falon’Din

Part 1 - origins and the four armed statues Part 2 - their alliances Part 3 - the origins of humans

===

Part 2 - their alliances

There is a lot of environmental foreshadowing surrounding Dirthamen and Falon’Din in DAI, which is interesting considering they were extremely mysterious in previous games. Among these are many hints they worked closely with Fen’Harel, Mythal, and Andruil at some point in time.

The most solid evidence for this are the mosaics within the elven ruins in Trespasser, which is only safely accessible using Mythal’s passphrase.

The mosaics are clearly old, but you can definitely see they represent Dirthamen, Mythal, Fen’Harel, and Falon’Din in that order.

A double raven standard is also clearly seen within the weaponry used by the freed slaves, indicating Dirthamen actually helped the rebels either in secret or even as a leader in battle.

Two archer statues surrounding the eluvian leading out of the ruins also suggest Andruil was similarly involved in their alliance.

Evidence for this alliance is further strengthened through Falon’Din and Andruil’s shared symbolism of the owl, which is also seen as a terrible omen of loss by the Dalish.

Andruil would send her messenger, the owl, to show the People the way, and they would follow him to where the land was blessed.

Always keep an eye out for the noble owl. You never know: Andruil might have a message for you.

Falon'Din sought someone to be his messenger and companion. The wind was swift, but Falon'Din refused to chain it. The People were loyal, but could not live where Falon'Din walked. Then the owl came to him and said, "I am not cowed by darkness. Let me serve you who also has no fear of night." Falon'Din accepted gladly, and took the owl as his servant, who thereafter helped Falon'Din guide the People through the passage of the Veil.

I theorise the symbol of the owl was in fact Falon’Din himself, flying between the Void and the real world to pass Mythal’s verdicts on to Andruil so she could deliver judgements in the form of her hunts.

Falon’Din’s mastery of the dark and shapeless worlds and airless skies also fits in line with Andruil’s hunts in the Void, which is otherwise known as the place of nothing. I believe Andruil and Falon’Din’s journeys both inevitably led to the Void, simply because that was the only place judged culprits could hide from Mythal’s justice.

This also brings to mind the puzzle we find at the Darvaarad in Trespasser.

“One sees the hunter, one flees from it, one hunts it in turn, one outwits them all.”

Or in other words...

“The owl(Falon’Din) sees the hunter(Andruil), the halla (Ghilan’nain) flees from it, the dragon(Mythal) hunts it in turn, the wolf (Fen’Harel) outwits them all.”

Personally, I think the riddle strongly hints at a fallout between Andruil and Ghilan’nain, either due to conflicts of interest in their duty to Mythal, or on a more personal level as Ghilan’nain was once considered “beloved” by Andruil.

My current theory is that Ghilan’nain hid in the Void after the event with the Sinner in an attempt to raise a coup against Mythal. Mythal sought Falon’Din and Andruil to bring her to justice, and so they hunted her while Dirthamen tried in vain to stall them/protect her, either out of love for her or because she held a secret he didn’t want getting out (perhaps their relationship was the secret, and Ghilan’nain was cheating on Andruil with Dirthamen).

This results in Dirthamen getting neutralised by Fen’Harel to resolve the situation which was spiralling out of control, but this is all a distraction by Ghilan’nain to lead Mythal’s allies away from her so she can be cornered and “killed”. We don’t yet know the movements of June, Sylaise, and Elgar’nan, so it’s unknown if they also had something to do with orchestrating Mythal’s death.

Whatever the case may be, I think it’s likely Dirthamen was backstabbed by Fen’Harel because Dirthamen’s pose in the fade mimics Solas’ unfinished fresco- both he and Mythal feature a sword sticking out from their back. However I don’t think Solas acted out of malice in both cases, but rather out of regret and perceived necessity.

Consequently, my current theory is that the owl statue in DAI solely represents Falon’Din and Andruil is represented by the archer statues.

The owl statues are also always seen carrying a circular object, of which I believe to be an eluvian/elven artifact to transport or imprison criminals hunted down by Andruil.

Owl statues can also be found at Skyhold, which is interesting in itself because it is strongly hinted at that Skyhold is where Solas created the veil.

The owl can be seen in the Great Hall, as well as in your own quarters which I think is kinda creepy considering the underlying symbolism.

What’s even more interesting to me is the painting above these owls. It clearly shows the Inquisition logo, but the art style is similar to many other artworks we find around Ferelden, meaning it is likely older than the Inquisition itself, and possibly even painted by the Avvar. The mountain in the artwork seems to be a reference to Belenas, a mountain that may have been the original location of Arlathan before it became the Black City.

The art is similar in style to the artwork in the stables mysteriously depicting Dirthamen and Ghilan’nain.

Another notable example of this art style can be found on the mayor of Crestwood’s house.

The symbolism of this artwork is peculiar, because it shows lightness and darkness divided, encircled, and guarded by a raven and a wolf- animal symbols representing Dirthamen and Fen’Harel respectively. The circle comprises of twelve equal divisions with a weeping sun in the centre. Solas’ tarot cards also features twelve stars, three of which are disintegrated. A very peculiar coincidence...

The owl statues also feature prominently at Suledin Keep, which I think was once Falon’Din’s stronghold based on the statues and symbolism found there.

The red lyrium mist emanating from the entrance is particularly foreboding, especially since Falon’Din is the master of darkness and shadow- themes also associated with the Void and the blight.

The People swore their lives to Falon'Din Who mastered the dark that lies. Whose shadows hunger Whose faithful sing Whose wings of death surround him Thick as night. Lethanavir, master-scryer, be our guide, Through shapeless worlds and airless skies.

──Song to Falon'Din, found in the Temple of Mythal, author unknown

In fact in most areas where the owl statue is seen, death is also often associated with it. The best example of this can be seen at the Knight’s Tomb, where they flank a beheaded Mythal statue with a skull in place of it’s regular head.

While it’s clear the owl is strongly linked to Falon’Din, Dirthamen is a lot more mysterious. Dirthamen’s most beloved animal is the bear, however he doesn’t seem to have any clear statue depicting himself in the main game. In fact, at the Temple of Mythal his mosaic is flanked by two owl statues.

If you do the rituals, Falon’Din’s mosaic can also be seen next to Fen’Harel and Mythal next to the owl puzzle, however no depiction of Dirthamen can be found.

Similarly at Dirthamen’s lost temple, no mosaic or depiction of Dirthamen can be seen, however there are green mosaics of Falon’Din and one red mosaic of Ghilan’nain. And most interestingly of all, the locked inner sanctum shows two gilded statues of Fen’Harel, which is not something you would expect at a temple dedicated to Dirthamen.

This is further evidence to me Dirthamen and Fen’Harel were once close allies, and this is compounded by the fact the imprisoned high keeper in the temple awakens from an elven artifact. This is the same artifact Solas uses to measure the veil, and also an item he constantly describes as an “artifact of his people”.

But to sum it all up, I think the Vir Dirthara in Trespasser best displays these web of alliances because it is also one of the few places Dirthamen is represented in the form of a raven.

Mythal was the adjudicator in the center, and Fen’Harel was her wingman ensuring her day to day ran smoothly. Falon’Din was the messenger who travelled between worlds, passing Mythal’s judgements to Andruil who in turn hunted judged culprits. Dirthamen represents the ravens at the edge of the scene, monitoring events in the background and keeping tabs on everyone in the shadows, much like Leliana’s role as spymaster.

It is interesting to me that Dirthamen is portrayed as a raven instead of a bear though, because his ravens are described in current known lore as his bound minions, not as true allies.

Nevertheless, raven statues can be found in the Fade in the main game, as well as seemingly random locations such as Redcliffe.

Raven statues can also be seen in the Crossroads, right before these magical red eggs that trigger the visibility of new pathways to different floating islands.

Considering the fact Dirthamen/Falon’Din are considered twins that walked the shifting paths beyond the veil, I think this is further evidence these raven statues do in fact represent Dirthamen.

===

Part 1 - origins and the four armed statues Part 2 - their alliances Part 3 - the origins of humans

#dragon age #da #dai #environmental lore #dirthamen #falon'din #fen'harel #mythal #andruil #evanuris #da theories #drabble

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gloves94 · 4 years

Text

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 16

Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Zuko/OC Summary: “You have everything you’ve ever wanted.” “No.” He said softly. “Not everything…” His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. “I guess not.” She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes.

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

Ba Sing Se was like flipping the fresh page of a new book. It felt clear, this new world was welcoming and lacked the violence that seemed to trail after the Fire Nation trio.

She had promised herself there would be no ill thoughts about the Avatar, her lost family, revenge or anything pessimistic of that matter. She took in a deep breath as she reminded herself that this was a clean slate. A place where she could make a life with no obligations and judgement. Yet there was a thought - no - it was more of an ambition that lingered in the back of her head. What about her dream of seeing an equal united nation and her future as a diplomat?

She raised her head to attempt to see the Upper Rings of Ba Sing Se but failed to, the walls and bridges were too high and blocked her view of the palace. In another life she dreamed she would've been welcomed as a guest. Then again she would've been a guest from the Fire Nation which was an obvious impossibility. With the war raging and the Nation of Fire consuming everything in sight she could bet this land would belong to the Fire Nation soon... She looked around the crowded streets and suddenly felt sad. She felt for all of the Earth Kingdom citizens. All of these people would lose their jobs, their homes, their nation, lives and maybe even their families... It wasn't fair. But then again there was nothing she could do about it. There was no way to stop or end the war. It was just another one of those things that were out of her control.

Ba Sing Se was a clean slate! With a determined head shake she tossed those pessimistic thoughts to the back of her head and focused on the current scents of onions being fried, pork and bitter pickled goods wafting thought the air. Merchants shouted over each other as they negotiated and marketed their best offers.

The trio presently walked through the bustling streets of the Lower Ring of Ba Sin Se. The Lower Ring was were the most humble of the three. It was were the cities merchants, artisans and most of the serving class lived. It wasn't the best neighborhood to live in, but then again. They had slept in worse.

Tsai liked Ba Sin Se. Out of all the cities and nations they had visited it was the one that reminded her the most of home. The sun was welcoming and the weather was mostly pleasant . The people in the market were kind and smiled at her whenever she approached them.

Maybe it wasn't home, but it almost felt like it. Here she was with her new family Uncle Iroh and his nephew the banished, scarred prince of the Fire Nation, Zuko. Here she wasn't a vice-royal brat she was just another girl living and turning a page for a better life.

Never in a million years did she imagine spending her life here, like this and with such peculiar company. The street was busy and Zuko appeared to be in an even more bitter mood than usual as he waited for Tsai to stop bargaining with a merchant for the best price on some pork bao buns. His uncle had disappeared going off to god knows where.

The prince had been confused. Haunted by insecurities, confusion and disbelief he had gone into an emotional shut down mode after the train arrived to the city in an attempt to shut out the red-head that kept pestering him and knocking at the door of his heart.

It was never going to happen. There was no realistic scenario in which a creature such as her would ever notice him. Besides, he had already tried once and had gotten flat out rejected. It was best to let it go. To let her go.

"Want some?" The red-head approached him with a cheesy grin carrying a dozen or so buns around her arms before taking a large bite out of one of the chewy large white buns.

He ignored the tug he felt in his heart and instead crossed his arms over his chest a familiar annoyed expression on his features. "How can you eat that crap?" He eyed the girl happily eating the cheap street food. "You're going to get sick."

"How can you be so spoiled?" She raised an eyebrow and lifted a hand holding a bun over his mouth. It hovered there for a moment and he realized she wasn't going to stop nagging him until he took a bite and so he did taking the bun in his hand eating it as well. He'd never admit it to her but it was actually really good.

"Pretty good huh?" She said after almost swallowing one whole like a boa constrictor.

'Don't look at me like that...' he pleaded in his head before silently turning away.

"Iroh!" Tsai acknowledged as the older man suddenly appeared in the market once again rejoining them. He was carrying a massive porcelain vase filled with several tall orange flowers.

"Oh! These are so nice!" Tsai said as she approached him and touched the orange blossoms gently with her free hand. Truly appreciating the beauty in the small gestures. Zuko rolled his eyes and finished eating his bao bun.

'What a perfectly good waste of money...'He thought dourly.

"I just want the place to look nice," Iroh said with a broad grin acknowledging his nephew's disapproving looks. "In case someone brings home a specialfriend!" Iroh said.

He momentarily flashbacked to how he had seen the two teenagers sitting next to each other in the train holding hands, heads resting on each other's shoulders affectionately. He couldn't help but be a fanboy and support this ship wholeheartedly. He wanted nothing more than for his nephew to find happiness and maybe she wouldn't be the answer to that but she could help. Since there had been a heavy tension between the two. Iroh figured maybe he could help with that.

He playfully nudged Zuko with his elbow then flashed Tsai a sly smile, "Lady or gentleman!"

"I don't think Jet was the kind to stick around," The colonial girl said rubbing the back of her neck nervously. She was slightly embarrassed she had even been involved with such person.

"This city is a prison." Zuko mumbled bleakly with a scowl, "I don't want to make a life here."

Tsai frowned in his direction. "Why can't you everbe happy?" She snapped. The tension between them back at its fulltime high. "The three of us are safe, we don't have to set roots here, but we should be more grateful. Specially at the little blessings in our lives," she scolded. He fought the urge to heavily roll his eyes at her.

"I'm never happy," he retorted dramatically.

"Wherever life plants you, bloom with grace," she quoted wisely. Remembering her grandfather's wise words.

"Life happens wherever you are, whether you make it or not." Iroh replied in his calm, wise voice agreeing with the girl from the colonies, "Now come on, I found us some new jobs, and we start this afternoon!"

Tsai stopped walked and glared intensely at Zuko. He did the same starring intensely at her. And bystanders swore they could see a bolt of electricity clashing between the two.

"What?" He snapped his voice hard and tense, he threw his hands at his sides in confusion and frustration. He didn't even know what he was feeling anymore.

She would never admit it but the feeling was mutual.

Without another word she turned sticking her nose up and following after his Uncle.

'What was that all about?' He thought throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. Why were women so confusing? One minute she was all sunshine and sweetness to him and the next- she would pull stunts like this?

Zuko ran his hands through his hair and tugged at the ends still riding that wave of frustrated emotions. His brain a scramble.

xxx

Jet stepped out of the alley he had been standing in, his dark brown eyes narrowing angrily on the trio's retreating backs.

"Look at them," He growled with a huff, "Firebenders living right under everyone's noses."

Longshot and Smellerbee stepped out of the alley and stood beside their friend, with skeptical looks painted on their faces.

"Jet, you saw a man with a hot cup of tea." Smellerbee said in slight exasperation, "It doesn't prove he's a Firebender. And what if he is, are we supposed to attack them? I thought we were starting over here, changing our ways."

"We are." Jet replied firmly, "When I get the evidence I need, I'll report them to the police and let them handle it. Okay?"

Smellerbee and Longshot exchanged looks behind Jet's back while he continued to glare in the direction the trio had gone in.

xxx

Iroh and Tsai met Pao. The inexperienced owner of a local teashop in the Lower Ring of Ba Sin Se who very clearly did not know much about tea. He was more than charmed after meeting the two tea-lovers who wooed him with their knowledge and passion for the art.

Zuko leaned against the wall and glared, his arms crossed over his chest.

'Those two, they were just the same,' he rolled his eyes. 'Two peas of the same fire-pod.'

xxx

Jet leaned casually against the wall of a shop in the Lower Ring with his trademark piece of wheat hanging from his mouth. He watched a few people walking along the street then he nonchalantly peered through one of the open windows he was leaning again, his dark eyes narrowing in on the two men and the girl he'd been following.

"Well, you certainly look like official tea servers." Pao, the owner of the small tea shop that Iroh had gotten the three of them jobs at said as he looked at the trio in their aprons, "How do you feel?"

Tsai laughed lightly as she watched Iroh struggle to tie his apron out of the corner of her eye.

"Ridiculous." Zuko growled lowly in annoyance. "This is cute!" Tsai said doing a little spin with her apron. "This is great! Thank you," she slightly bowed her head at their newest boss. Grateful to for once have a steady job that did not borderline on anything illegal or illicit.

"Uh," Iroh grunted as he continued struggling with the string, "Does this possibly come in a larger size?"

"I have extra string in the back." Pao replied lightly, "Have some tea while you wait!"

He poured some tea into three cups and he handed them to Iroh and the two teens and after he headed towards the back of the shop. Zuko stared at the teacup in his hand in annoyance. It was just one of those days in which everything seemed to irritate him.

"I propose a toast," Tsai the ever optimist said suddenly rising from her seat. "Because we lack nothing and have everything," she said slightly raising her tea cup. Iroh beamed and with a broad grin raised his clinking it against hers. Zuko made a displeased sound and just barely lifted his off the table.

She sat back down and took a small sip of her tea at the same time as Iroh. Both of their expressions morphed into ones of disgust as they put the nasty tea back in the counter.

"Blech!" Iroh muttered in repulsion and he looked down at the teacup with disgusted face, "This tea is nothing more than hot leaf juice!"

Zuko gave his uncle a flat look, "Uncle that's what all tea is."

This reminded her of that conversation they had had the first time they met. Had he learned nothing? Tsai was about to snap. He looked at her and at her insulted expression. Again sparks flew between the two and not the good kind! She had to calm down, it's not like she had brewed this tea herself. Instead she exhaled a hot headed breath.

"How could a member of my own family say something so horrible?!" Iroh demanded angrily as he gave his nephew a stern look, "We'll have to make some changes are here."

"I agree." Tsai said with a sniff and she handed Iroh the teapot, ignoring the way Zuko rolled his eyes at her and his uncle. "Which is why I've decided to make you my tea apprentice!" She declared boldly.

Iroh let out a slight chuckle before taking the teapot from her and ambled over towards the window at the front of the shop to dump the tea out before the Pao returned.

Zuko simply raised an eyebrow, a scowl still on his features.

"It's obvious," she said matter of factly. "You can't appreciate good tea because nobody has ever taught you how to, so I will take the strenuous task upon myself. I'll teach you just like my grandfather taught me," she smiled at him.

Zuko once again crossed his arms and looked away from her. Slamming a door on all of his emotions before they even managed to get a foot out of his well guarded heart.

Jet sucked in a quiet gasp and he moved away from the window quickly just as the old man dumped the tea out the window. The dark-haired teen narrowed his eyes and slowly stalked around the corner of the shop, disappearing into the alley as his thoughts raced with how to get proof that those people were Firebenders.

"Maybe I could get Homura to say something?" Jet muttered to himself thoughtful then his eyes narrowed further, "I have to find a way to talk to her."

xxx

Jet perched on a shadow balcony and spied on the old man and two teenagers in the small apartment across the street, a clothesline keeping him hiding from view.

"Would either of you like a pot of tea?" Iroh asked kindly.

"Let me help you!" Homura said with a broad smile as she appeared besides the old man and took the pot from his hands and began prepping the herbs. He nodded at her with a smile then she disappeared from Jet's line of sight.

"We've been working in a tea shop all day!" the teen Jet knew as Lee snapped in annoyance as he sat by the small kitchen table bickering, "I'm sick of tea!"

"Sick of tea? That's like being sick of breathing!" The old man squawked indignantly at the young man as he rummaged through the cupboard beneath the counter he was standing in front of, "Have you seen the spark rocks to heat up the water?"

Jet smirked and watched the man straighten up, a confused look on his lined face.

"They're not there." Jet whispered smugly to himself and he glanced down at the emerald-colored spark rocks in his hands, "You'll have to firebend, old man."

He watched as Iroh disappeared from his line of sight and his eyes narrowed.

"Where're you going?" He muttered to himself and his eyes narrowed further when the old man reappeared.

"I borrowed our neighbors'." He heard the old man say pleasantly, "Such kind people."

Jet sucked in an irate breath as the old man struck the rocks together near the pile of twigs below the teapot, creating a flame. Jet scowled as he ducked behind the clothesline and left the balcony.

The apartment they had rented was humbling. Yet it was better than sleeping in caves and in the ground between alleys and woods. Each one of them had their own bed and the apartment had one bedroom, one kitchen and living room area and a storage nook above which Tsai had claimed as her own. It was either that or the living room and Zuko didn't want her in his room with his Uncle. Not only was that really weird, he wouldn't be able to sleep between BOTH of their snoring. How was it possible for someone to be annoying, even in their sleep?

The Fire Nation's Prince was currently sitting on an uncomfortable sofa in the small living room the three shared.

Tsai handed Iroh his cup of tea and moved to the living room plopping herself down right next to the grouchy prince. "Here," she said handing him his cup of tea. Zuko felt the corner of his eye slightly twitching. The sofa was big, it was big enough for four people to sit tightly squeezed on it and yet she just hadto sit right next to him. Her knee pressed up against his as they sat shoulder to shoulder. He awkwardly inched away from her.

Iroh hummed quietly as he walked over to the two teens. A small smile creeping on his face.

"It's getting pretty late for an old man like me," he did what Zuko felt was the most exaggerated yawn he had ever seen in his life. "I'm going to call it a night," he smiled at the two teens slyly before heading to his room with his cup of tea.

They both said their goodnights to Iroh and Zuko stood very still when he realized he was alone in the room with the red-head sitting rightnext to him.

He wondered if this would be like the train ride to Ba Sing Se... His eyes darted as he looked at her hand. It was close to his, only a nudge away. He wanted to hold it in his badly. All it would take as a slightly push. He stretched out a finger-

"Alright," she turned to look at him. Her eyes were gleaming with determination. "I hope you're ready," she said to him. He looked at her befuddled. "This is going to be your last ordinary cup of tea. I'm going to teach you everything I know about tea. It's going to change your life!" He let out a sigh before tossing his head back on the cushion.

"How do you do that?" He asked, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Do what?" She asked before taking a sip of her tea calmly. "Stay so positive all the time?"

"Well," she relaxed her back into the sofa seat. "I don't know..." She said after a moment. "I have everything that I need. Food, clothes, a shelter, you-" he lowered his eyes to look at her and felt his ears burning when she smiled at him. "Uncle Iroh." She added thoughtfully. "Sure, I miss my family- and my home, and I'm worried about my brother and miss grandfather dearly, but- there's nothing I can do about that. So, might as well keep an open mind."

He processed her words with thought.

"What about your honor?" He sat up slightly gazing at her intensely.

Tsai knew Zuko was... well for less for a better word obsessed with honor. With his, with hers, with his family's. Ba Sing Se would be a new start for her. A clean slate in which there would be no more Avatar, no more troubles and no more treachery to anyone or any nation. She had managed to let go of these thoughts and had never felt better. It was something that was important to him. She had to handle this carefully.

"There are more important things that honor." She answered after a heavy silence.

xxx

The next day. Jet watched suspiciously as a man walked through the door of the teashop the old man, 'Lee' and 'Homura' worked at.

"Jet, we need to talk."

"What?" Jet questioned in surprise and he turned around to look at Smellerbee and Longshot, "Oh great, it's you guys. Where have you been? I could use some help with surveillance here!

"We've been talking," Smellerbee said carefully as she shifted slightly, "And we think you're becoming obsessed with this. It's not healthy."

"Oh really?" Jet asked his tone becoming cold as he regarded his two friends, "You both think this?"

Longshot placed his arm around Smellerbee's shoulder in a show of agreement to her statement.

"We came here to make a fresh start." The girl said, almost desperately, "But you won't let this go. Even though there is no real proof!"

"Well, maybe if you'd help me..."

"Jet," Smellerbee said quietly, "You gotta stop this."

"Maybe you've forgotten why we need to start over." The dark-eyed boy snapped angrily and the two looked down with guilty expressions as he continued, "Maybe you've forgotten about how the Fire Nation left us all homeless. How they wiped out all the people we loved. If you don't want to help me, I'll get the evidence on my own."

Longshot and Smellerbee watched in despair as their friend stalked towards the teashop.

Tsai was very popular with the clients at the teashop. She carried herself with the upper class grace she had been educated with when growing up and made sure to smile and be kind to every single client she attended, just like she would've liked to be treated. It was no surprise that she would get the best tips, easily pulling in twice as much as Zuko. 'Thank you,' she would say with a bright smile before tucking a strand of lose hair behind her ear. 'Thank you,' Zuko thought mockingly as he glared at her. Why did she have to do it like that? When she looked so- so-

"You're spilling my tea!" A client complained. He cursed and snapped out of his thoughts.

- so unbelievably annoying.

Both worked handing out cups of fresh tea or refilling customer's cups with more of Iroh's delicious tea. Iroh smiled at Tsai happily as he walked over to another customer and poured him a fresh cup of tea. She really didn't have a problem with this kind of provincial life.

"This is the best tea in the city!" The man praised Iroh happily as he took a sip of his tea.

"The secret ingredient is love." Iroh replied and he gently waved a hand through the steam coming from the teapot then he walked towards the back of the shop where the owner was, ignoring the disgusted look his nephew's face.

Tsai deposited an empty teapot on the counter, a content smile on her face. Pao smiled as he turned to look at Iroh, "I think you're due for a raise."

It was then that somebody strolled in.

"Homura," A familiar voice said. She turned around and almost lost the balance of the tray with tea she had been carrying.

All eyes turned to Jet who had entered the teashop and was standing in the doorway with an angry look on his face. Despite it he held a large, colorful, colorful bouquet of various hyacinth flowers with him.

"J-Jet," she managed to let out in surprise. Iroh's eyebrows went up high as he turned his attention to his nephew who was gripping a tray so hard it dented.

"These are for you," Jet said as he walked up to her. His voice however, was drained of any emotion. There was an angry edge to it instead. "I...." She looked at the colorful bouquet. "I can't accept these," she said. "I'm sorry. They are beautiful, really."

His face twisted into a frown as he glared, both of his eyes had turned into slits. "I know you picked him over me," he nudged a hand in Zuko's direction. "But I'm still taking you out princess." He spoke in a demanding tone.

"I'm really sorry," she said dully, her eyes void of any emotions at what she had said. She turned away and he reached for her arm.

"Hey!" Zuko couldn't just sit and watch idly anymore. "Don't touch her!" He stepped in between them.

A twisted smirk made way to Jet's face as he tossed the flowers aside. "I was going to play the waiting game and wait for your girl to tell me, but I'm sick of waiting," he growled furiously. Raising his hand he pointed an accusing finger at the three teashop workers standing before him, "These people are Firebenders!"

Jet didn't hesitate in attacking and unsheathed his hook swords and shifted into a fighting stance. Iroh, Zuko, and Tsai exchanged surprised and uncertain looks, each of them unsure of how to proceed.

'Me? A Firebender?' The little voice inside of Tsai's head laughed a little.

"I know they're Firebenders." Jet continued furiously, "I saw the old man heating his tea!"

The customer's around all eyed him with bewildered looks.

"He works in a teashop you blabbing idiot!" Tsai challenged as she stepped forward. Zuko who was standing next to her stretched out his arm in an attempt to shield her behind him.

"What did you expect?" One of the customers commented bleakly and his brows rose.

"He's Firebender!" Jet roared, "I'm tellingyou!" He insisted.

"Drop your swords, boy." One of the customers ordered firmly as he and another man stood slowly, "Nice and easy." "You don't have to do all this just because the pretty girl won't go out with you," another customer added.

Jet ignored him and he stared at Zuko maniacally.

"You'll have to defend yourself." The brown-haired teen taunted, "Then everyone will know. Go ahead, show them what you can do."

Tsai's hand twitched eagerly. It had been a long time since somebody had pissed her off and she wasn't about to let some fuckboy ruin her day. Jet slowly stalked towards the trio with his swords drawn. The customer that had ordered Jet to lower his weapons moved to draw his swords, but Zuko walked forward and grabbed them instead.

Tsai watched Zuko pull the dao swords apart.

Zuko ignored her as he faced Jet, "You want a show? I'll give you a show!"

He slipped into a fighting stance, the dao swords held expertly in his hands. Zuko pulled one of the tables in front of him with his foot, about to kick it towards Jet when a flash of red brushed passed him. Jet swung forward in a bold strike only for his hooks to be halted by a pair of hidden blades. Jet's eyes went wide in surprised.

"This is my fight," Tsai said through gritted teeth as she glared at the Jet. It was too risky to let Zuko or Iroh fight. One wrong slip and it would all be over. Taking advantage of the element of surprise she raised her leg and with a mighty kick, literally kicked him out of the teashop. Making him tumble onto the street.

Then she paused and looked at Zuko's wide eyes and Iroh's gaping mouth over her shoulder. "I'm not going to stay and clean up his mess," she huffed before walking out.

It took Zuko a moment to compose himself and exit the teashop only to see both of Tsai's blades clashing furiously with Jet's hook blade weapons. Jet kept coming at her with everything striking with fury. However, she quickly deflected every swing.

"I used to think you were hot, but now?" It was then that his swords and her blades stuck together. "Wow." He let out a low whistle making her grow even angrier. "Stay away from me and my family!" She growled out ferociously and attacked landing a good slice on the side of his torso.

"You must be getting tired of using those blades." Jet taunted with a sinister grin and she gave him an annoyed look, "Why don't you go ahead and firebend at me?" He continued to taunt.

Iroh and Zuko stood in the door way of the teashop. Zuko was fired up and ready to go. Iroh watched with a worried expression a hand tightly gripping his nephew's shoulder holding him back.

"Please, son, you're confused!" Iroh called out desperately, "You don't know what you're doing!" He didn't know for how much longer he would be able to hold his nephew back from fighting.

Zuko was gritting his teeth so hard he could feel a migraine coming in. Jet was holding onto his wounded side. When she stepped back.

"Haven't we had enough violence?" She pleaded with him. "Enough is enough," she sheathe her hidden blades. Lowering her guard.

Ba Sing Se was a clean slate. It was a chance for a peaceful life. She wasn't going to let Jet ruin this for her.

However, he ignored her. He swung his blade at her and she managed to barely dodge it as it sliced off a strand of hair. It was then that she realized that Jet wasn't going to back off. Coming to her senses she lowered her body and spun her leg knocking him off his feet in one swift move. In one fluid motion he jumped to his feet.

"Bet you wish you could use a little fire blast right now." Jet said mockingly and he swung his swords at Tsai. He really wasn't going to quit. Jet would go on and on until he proved that the three of them were Fire Benders. Tsai turned and looked at Iroh's concerned expression and at the rage on Zuko's eyes. It was then that Jet did a forward trust with his body and in one swift motion she grabbed onto his arm and using his own strength against himself pulled his arm down. Everybody stared in disbelief as she twisted his arm and flipped him over her shoulder coming slamming to the ground with enough force that he coughed up an aggravated breath eyes wide.

Both Zuko and Iroh's eyes were comically wide in shock, borderline in fear as they witnessed her wrath.

"D-Did you know she could fight like this?" Zuko asked in a small voice as he made a mental note not to piss Tsai off in the future. "No," Iroh marbled in the same surprised tone.

"Give?" She said through ragged breaths as she looked down at her opponent. "You wish," Jet growled and hooked his blade to her ankle dragging her off her balance and to the floor. He leapt to his feet and turned the blade being directed at her neck. Both Iroh and Zuko were getting ready to jump into the fight when a massive cloud of thick white smoke exploded. It had been a smoke bomb! But how?

The smoke cleared out and Jet stood before the crowd that had gathered with his blades both buried into the ground. He glared at the dirt in annoyance and with anger pulled them back when he suddenly felt a blade being pressed against the skin of his neck, his hair jerked back.

"You need help," She snapped angrily her hidden blade pressing against his neck even tighter. Making him gulp stiffly.

Tsai didn't have any time to work on a new skill that would allow her to attack from a long-range distance. Instead this would be her best bet. Temporary blindness. (AN: Let's make sure Tsai never pissess Toph off. She'd wreck her in a heartbeat.)

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said after a moment. Jet's blood was boiling he was heaving in rage as he stood very still thinking of his next move. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm going to let this go, but you have to promise to let this go as well," she nodded. He couldn't see the expression on her face but could hear an edge of fear in her voice. She really didn't want to hurt him. Jet looked at the firebenders who were standing a couple of feet away watching with concern. Specially Lee. Jet put two and two together and gathered that if he hurt Homura. Lee wouldn't hesitate to strike with a fiery inferno. There was no question about it. Slowly Jet raised his hands as if in defeat and Tsai stepped back, still wary about her enemy. She did not trust him.

"You see that!" Jet shouted at the crowd of bystanders. "The Fire Nation is trying to silence me!" he shouted and Tsai glared at him with her narrowed caramel colored eyes. He gave a look at the auburn haired girl from over his shoulder and lowered his attack, her posture relaxed as she sheathe her blades and began walking back towards the teashop.

"Watch out!" Iroh shouted. She turned around in time to see Jet come at her with a backstabbing attack. She raised her hands but the attack never came. She winced in pain at the slicing sensation in the palms of her hands. Zuko was more than halfway towards them when she caught both of his blades in her bare hands and snatched them away from him.

Jet starred shocked, eyes wide as he lost his weapon.

It was then that he was pushed back, he stepped back collapsing on his behind. This time two dual blade swords were pointed directly at his face. It was Lee standing between them, his eyes burning in a fiery rage.

"Try anything I won't hesitate to kill you," he threatened menacingly right before lowering his blades.

Just like that the fight was over.

Jet's hook blades slid off Tsai's palms and hit the ground stained with her dripping blood. She winced as she inspected both of her palms both of them had matching deep horizontal slashes running across them.

It was then that Dai Li agents, also known as the local law enforcement, pushed through the crowd and came upon the scene. Jet was breathing hard as he glared darkly at Zuko who was shielding the red-haired girl behind him.

"Drop your weapons." One of the Dai Li agents ordered as they reached the trio.

Zuko's eyes narrowed and he lowered his swords to his sides. Jet scowled and pointed towards Iroh, Tsai and Zuko with his hand.

"Arrest them," Jet demanded, "They're firebenders!"

"This poor boy is confused," Iroh said peacefully as he walked over to stand beside Zuko and Tsai, "We're just simple refugees." He explained before placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, leaning in to inspect her wounds with concern.

Pao stepped forward and pointed an accusing finger at Jet, "This young man wrecked my tea shop, and assaulted my employees!"

"It's true sir, we saw the whole thing." One of the customers said as he stepped forward, "This crazy kid attacked the finest tea maker in the city. He went mad because the girl rejected him." "People that don't understand that "No means No!" are a problem!" another customer quipped.

"Oh, ho, ho." Iroh chuckled modestly as he blushed faintly at the comment of him being the best tea maker in town, "That's very sweet."

Zuko rolled his eyes in aggravation at his uncle, but Tsai couldn't help but smile a little at Iroh's happiness.

The two Dai Li agents walked up to Jet, who was glaring at them angrily.

"Come with us, son." One of the agents instructed firmly once he and his comrade had reached the young man.

Jet scowled and eyed his hook weapons that were quite a distance away from him. He attempted to fight with his hands, however was quickly seized with his arms behind his back, binding his wrists together using their stones from their rock gloves.

"You don't understand!" Jet shouted as the guards dragged him toward a wagon designed for holding captured criminals, "They're Fire Nation! You have to believe me!"

The crowd slowly began to disperse as the young man was thrown into the wagon on his knees. Jet looked up as the doors began to close, catching sight of the auburn hair girl looking at him with hurt as she held her open palms close.

The people left in the street watched quietly as the wagon began moving down the street. In the remaining crowd, Longshot and Smellerbee watched the entire scene unfold, hidden from view then they turned and slowly walked away.

"Are you alright?" Iroh asked as he touched her closed fists, wincing she opened them and saw the gashes. "You're lucky these are not too deep. Come on, let's go inside and bandage you up," he encouraged placing a hand on her back gently guiding her in. "And tell me- where did you learn to fight like that? And that smoke bomb? Remind me not to make you angry," Iroh laughed lightly.

Zuko stood outside anger coursing through his system. It took him a moment to cool down before he returned to the teashop. Inside Pao was thanking the girl for taking the fight outside so that nothing was destroyed. Jet's flowers had been discarded and Iroh sat on a table carefully bandaging her hands.

Zuko could feel his insides twisting. Why did it bother him so much? Why did it hurt him so much to see her wounded? Why couldn't he stop starring? Why couldn't he think of anything worth saying?

"Don't do that again!" He snapped angrily slamming his hands on the table. "It was my fight," the other dead panned. "I didn't want to hurt him," she said sadly. "There's already so much pain, violence and war around us." "Don't be stupid!" He repeated angrily before slamming a fist down. "You got hurt!" He exclaimed. "Aw, don't tell me you're worried about me?" She teased slightly wincing through the pain as Iroh continued to bandage her hand.

He didn't find it funny in the least.

Zuko removed himself from the table. He looked at his Uncle who was starring at him intently. Turning away he stormed out of the teashop.

Xxx

"Ouch," Tsai winced as she kept busy washing the teapots and cups at the end of the day. It was a mindless task but she enjoyed washing dishes. It was odd but she found the motions and the lukewarm water in her hands to be relaxing. Iroh was doing the closing duties counting the money earned and expenses of the business day. Zuko was... Well who knows. Neither had heard from him since he stormed out of the shop in an angry fit of rage. Her best bet was that he went to hunt Jet to destroy him. She couldn't help but laugh a little at this. He really was something else...

"I don't think its funny." A dark voice suddenly said.

She wiped her wet hands on her dirty apron and turned to see Zuko leaning against the kitchen's door frame. His arms were crossed over his chest and he slightly slouched as per usual. He carried a small bag which dangled off his right hand.

How long had he been standing there watching?

He had been watching her for a while, wincing at the feeling of the water on her open wounds every once in a while. Her short hair was tied up in a messy bun kept away from her face, she wore her apron over her Earth Kingdom tunic and shorts.

"Aw," she cooed mockingly sarcasm dripping from her words. "You are so cute when you're worried," she grinned playfully splashing some water in his direction.

"I'm serious Tsai!" He said sternly approaching and standing next to sink, next to her. "You need to lighten up. Nothing happened." She rolled her eyes and brushed off his concern returning to attending the unwashed teapots.

"Move," He instructed bumping his hip against hers, tossing the bag he was carrying on a nearby counter. "You shouldn't be washing dishes." He picked up some cups and started rinsing them. "I'm fine- really," she insisted. But he looked at the crimson gashes that peeked from underneath the now wet bandages that his uncle had wrapped around her palms. "You're missing the point!" He snapped savagely dropping the cups back into the sink making them splash.

He felt a terrible sense of duty and guilt which twisted his insides. He reached for her hands pulled her wrists out of the water holding them tightly exposing the gashes.

"I know you're strong." His grip loosened around her wrists, holding them with care in his hands. "But something worse could've happened. And I-..." He paused trailing off.

He looked away. He struggled against himself pushing back against that door that was attempting to toss wide open in his twisted insides. His face felt hot. He looked at her perplexed expression, eyes wide in what he interpreted as confusion.

"I..." He looked away again and saw the bag he had brought into the rum. All he had to do was say it and get it over with. Vomit the words. The grip around her became stronger, more possessive. "...You?" She arched an eyebrow attempting to help him with his linguistics.

"I got you this!" He exclaimed abruptly and reached for the bag handing it to her. It wasn't quite what he had to say, but often his uncle had taught him that actions spoke louder than words. "I went to the apothecary. The vendor said this would be help with the cuts," he trailed off once again being unable to meet her warm gaze.

He never wanted to see her hurting. The sole thought of it. It killed him inside.

"If you want to help you can sweep the front. I'll take care of this." He lowered his gaze not wanting to meet the loving gaze she was giving him. He could feel it on him. On his face. He felt as if his heart was going to explode inside of his ribcage. His palms became terrible sweaty

Tsai was moved. This was so thoughtful... She was not expecting this.

He turned to face the sink and without another word got to washing the remaining teapots, cups and dishes. He swallowed the knot that had formed on his throat. He was taken back when he felt what he felt to be a peck to the side of his face.

"Thank you," she said to him gratefully before giving his arm a squeeze and leaving.

And just like that- the door he had been fighting and struggling to hard to keep shut burst open.

xxx

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CHAPTER MASTERLIST

#prince zuko #zukoxreader #Zuko x oc #Zuko x you #zuko #zuko imagine #imagine #reader #x reader #reader insert #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar fanfic #avatar x oc #avatar fanfiction #atla #atla fanfic #original character

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