#and decided he wanted that to regain his power after having been dethroned by his sister | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gastricpierrot · 3 years

Text

Title: Weight of a Memory

Series: Genshin Impact

Relationship: Pre-canon Venti and Zhongli, mostly platonic,,

Rating: T

Summary:

Barbatos did not care about anyone and anything, once. Not the world around him, not the people of the city who now considered him their patron god when he had only been there by chance, to deliver a gift that would now never be received. He had been nothing but a sliver of breeze, and he had not the ability to care.

The one who taught him otherwise was gone.

He was gone, and no matter how hard he tried—no matter what he did in his stead, in his name, he would not return.

Note:

Contains spoilers for Venti’s backstory

Read on AO3

________

Barbatos spent his first week of godhood in grief.

He lived as a cruel joke of the fates, granted the title of god yet powerless in the face of his own loss.

He’d lost him. His precious friend. The one who should’ve been hailed the hero instead of him. The one who should’ve lived to experience what he’d fought so hard for. And the one he, Barbatos, came to adore with all his life.

He’s gone but Barbatos couldn’t let it sink in. Refused to let it sink in. Even when he had been the one to carry his lifeless, fragile body back to his people, requesting he’d be given a hero’s farewell. The grandest of all, filled with the songs and cheer he loved. Send his dear friend off, lain on a bed of his favourite cecilias.

Ask anyone in Old Mondstadt and they would tell you about how Barbatos would’ve then disappeared, presumably to meditate while he mulled over how he would like to lead the nation. He’d flown to the peaks of the highest mountain, found a cave there, and surrounded the area with a violent gale to bar anyone from finding him.

In truth, Barbatos had hidden there, curled up. And slept.

He’d slept, in a dreamless slumber away from the fear of the newfound power surging through his being, away from the countless prayers that constantly bombarded his ears, and away from the emptiness the death of a beloved friend had left behind. He’d slept, and slept.

And then he’d awoken in a body not of his own.

Heavy, it was heavy at first. His limbs too long, his proportions all unfamiliar. He sat up, stared at his arms and legs in bewilderment. Slender fingers, even calloused on the tips of his right hand, as though he’d spent many years playing an instrument. He felt all over his face, pinching warm, supple skin. Human-like. No, no , it hit him like a sudden storm. Barbatos scrambled to his feet and ran out, an unfamiliar pulse racing in his ears. No, this can’t be happening.

He stumbled to the base of the mountain, his bare feet bruised raw and bleeding in his haste. It had not occurred to him that he could still fly, even in this form. He fell to his knees at the edge of the lake, leaned over the serene waters, trembling.

And staring back at him, as he’d feared, was the face of a friend.

No, it was all wrong. His eyes had been powder blue, not green. They once had so much determination, so much fire and passion. They were never so colourless. He had a smile that feared nothing, one that could make even someone like Barbatos feel invincible. He had always stood proud and true. He wasn’t...this. Whatever this atrocity that was reflected on the water surface, was.

Imposter, the words danced in his head. Round and round and round, taunting, taunting. Imposter, imposter.

Barbatos raked fistfuls of dirt, hurled them at the water with a scream that tore out of his throat. He held his head, prayed to wake up, wake up, turn back.

That was the first time the Anemo Archon learnt how it must have felt like to drown.

xXx

At the end of the day, a nameless bard was a nameless bard, and even with the grandeur of the festival that was held in his honour, he was still merely one of the many who had fallen in a long battle for freedom.

“Blessed by Barbatos” was the name the people had decided on when they added him to the list carved onto the monument they erected as a memorial for all who had lost their lives to the war. Barbatos traced his fingertips across the letters, unable to decide if he wanted to laugh or cry at the irony. If he had truly been able to bless anyone, the winds would have made sure the arrows did not fly true, and his dearest friend would still be here.

“Who’s there?”

A voice cut through the air, far too loud in the midnight silence. Barbatos, startled, had turned around on instinct, forgetting that his robes did not hide how he bore a dead lad’s appearance.

The man wore the plain clothes of a commoner, eyes wide at the sight that greeted him. “You—you’re that boy!”

Barbatos had fled with the wind then, but it was already too late. Rumours began spreading immediately after, spinning tales of the boy actually being the new Lord of Wind himself, and that the procession in his honour had been all but a test from him. Fellow bards who claimed to have known him in life insisted they always thought he was strange, different in ways difficult to explain. There had not been anything solid to hold on to, yet the people had readily embraced the narratives that suited their fancy.

It terrified Barbatos at first, being absolutely unprepared to face the string of events that unfolded with such overwhelming succession. What would happen if he’d shown up to disprove something the people believed so vehemently? Would it be for the better, or would they reject him on the basis that he was only being jovial with his subjects? Would it, ultimately, taint this image of a precious friend that he’d somehow donned and failed to strip?

Barbatos refused to risk that. It's fine if he himself were to be hated and deemed a liar, but not him, never him. Besides, doing this would keep his memory alive, wouldn’t it? Monuments would be built in his likeness, portraits of worship painted to be passed down generations to come. Even Barbatos would never have the chance to forget.

He'd decided then, to play along with this elaborate lie. The rumours were all true, it had all been his first trial as the new Archon to the people of Mondstadt. He acted the way he believed he would’ve behaved, the way he would’ve presented to the crowd, all smiles and charisma. Made choices he would’ve wanted. Sang his songs, recited his poems and strummed the lyre with his melodies.

Barbatos thus began to live as him, and the memory of him was to live on through Barbatos.

xXx

Oddly enough, he found strength in his impersonation.

It gave him a purpose, wanting to bring glory to a friend who deserved it infinitely more than himself. Barbatos set out to tame the violent blizzards that surrounded the land, learnt to harness his powers to open paths to the world for the people of Mondstadt. He granted them the freedom they’d fought for. The freedom he wished he too, could’ve been here to experience in person.

He declared he would not reign over Mondstadt as the other Archons do with their own territories, opting to leave the fates of humans wholly in their own hands. It had felt right; they had been the ones who’d fought the hardest to dethrone Decarabian, not he, and it was clear that control was the last thing the people wanted. These were humans who could carve their own futures, who did not require the words of a god nor a king to lead them forward.

It was what he would’ve believed, too.

And it wasn’t like Barbatos was equipped to handle such responsibilities in the first place, for he’d been nothing more than a tiny elemental spirit merely a century old, his first real contact with humans beginning with his fateful meeting with the child who loved to sing and dreamt of flight. He harboured no particular affection for humans, except for one.

How he wished he could show him flight now; what wouldn’t he give for a chance to soar with him to the ends of the earth and back.

It was the knight with flaming red hair who’d volunteered to serve as his temporary advisor, teaching him about the systems humans adhered to in order to keep their societies functional. Barbatos trusted her; she had held his friend very dear herself, having fought side by side in the front lines of the war they helped wage. She was one with few words, never speaking more than she needed, never even questioning why Barbatos had chosen this appearance. Many a time he’d spotted her looking at him with regret, and many a time he had been at loss as to what to say.

What could he have said, really?

Barbatos’ efforts to open the world for the exploration of Mondstadtians eventually led to plans in securing safe routes for trade; the knight was certain it was something the nation would require once it fully regained its footing after the years of strife. For that, good connections with neighbouring countries should best be formed.

Closest to Mondstadt was a land by the name of Liyue, one under the jurisdiction of the Geo Archon, Morax. Barbatos knew close to nothing about him, and even the Ragnvindr knight could only tell him the barest minimum from what books had taught her. Morax had been around for thousands of years, he was one of the founders of the prosperous nation of Liyue, and he was also a god of war and contracts. That was all, but Barbatos knew that no matter what, that would have to do.

Liyue was Mondstadt’s best bet for first diplomatic relations after Decarabian’s long reign of isolation.

xXx

Barbatos left for Liyue alone, soon after sending off a message in the wind notifying his impending visit and receiving a response detailing the location where they would meet.

He had not quite expected to see so many awaiting his arrival, though.

Barbatos surveyed the group as he floated to the ground, noticing how none of them were mortal. Divine beasts observed his descent with solemn gazes, still as predators awaiting their chance to strike. They were old, Barbatos could tell from the aura enshrouding them, a cloak of energy he’d only recently been able to see himself after becoming an Archon.

But amongst them was one older than the rest, and far more powerful.

Morax took a form loosely resembling a young adult male human, the illusion of actually being one immediately broken by the horns branching out of his head. His eyes glowed amber in the night, his long, deep brown hair reaching his waist and almost blending with the material of his billowing robes. He stood with his hands behind his back, watching in silence.

Barbatos thought he could’ve stood on the tension in the air even without the power of Anemo.

He took a deep breath, mustering all his chipper as he landed on the grass and spread his arms. “Greetings, dear neighbours! It is I, Barbatos of Mondstadt!”

There was a poignant silence following his introduction, as though no one was quite certain how to react to him. Barbatos put two and two together, and growing nervous, ventured, “Am I in trouble?”

Morax was first to respond, upon cutting off one of his retainers’ retort with a subtle wave of his hand. “It certainly seemed that way in your message to us, my friend. Is everything alright?”

Ah, perhaps he could’ve been more specific when he’d requested for an audience with him. His message had been drafted under the strict supervision of the flame-haired knight, who had been sorely insistent on making it sound serious and official, for international diplomatic discussions were serious and official affairs indeed. But seeing that it had come across not quite the way they’d intended, it appeared they both still required some improvement in the communications department.

“Yes, yes, everyone’s doing quite well where I come from,” Barbatos attempted a sheepish laugh, quietly grasping for a more solid way to dispel the awkwardness that’d already formed between them all. “Many thanks for the concern, Lord Morax, though I must apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“Think nothing of it, what matters is that all is well.” He spotted the way Morax visibly relaxed at his assurance and felt the guilt slowly setting in. His cryptic message truly must have worried him.

“Actually, I’m here to have a chat over some drinks,” he tried picking things up from there, reaching for the satchel hidden beneath his robes and producing it with flourish. He's then immediately hit by the realization that it might not be quite enough for everyone present. “Oh, uhm, I didn’t expect to be greeted by so many of you...one is humbled...”

Morax must've sensed his growing dismay, offering, “Perhaps you would not mind my lone company, Lord Barbatos?”

Barbatos thought this must be how it felt to receive a god’s grace. He readily agreed—though still careful to tone down the enthusiasm he showed, lest he offended the other immortals present. It was not a trouble he was prepared to go through at the moment. He stood back as Morax dismissed his retainers with a curt command before beckoning him to come along, saying he knew a good place to enjoy drinks.

Barbatos was led to a rather secluded spot atop a hill, but it was easy to see why Morax favoured it. It overlooked his beloved city, all bright lights and festivity even at this time of the night, with the sea stretching out from the harbour and beyond towards the horizon. The breeze at this altitude was refreshing, strong yet not too obstructive. And most of all, it was quiet, though perhaps also just a little lonesome.

Morax set the bottles of wine—which, he’d insisted on carrying all the way here himself despite Barbatos’ protests, adamant that it was simply Liyue tradition as a host to guests—on the stone table, and urged him to take a seat.

Mondstadt prided itself for its wine, and it was only fitting that the finest of them would be brought as an offering to another god. What Barbatos had not been aware of, however, was that Mondstadt’s best brews were often on the strong side, and the flame-haired knight had, in hopes of rendering Morax slightly more agreeable so the Wind God might not have quite as much of a difficult time as she feared, slipped him two bottles of possibly what was, at the time, Mondstadt’s first ever knock-out wine.

Barbatos had never drank before. He did not require the same sustenance humans did, and being an elemental spirit of air, anything he consumed would only have passed right through. Even so, he’d witnessed how wine could work almost like a spell, how once a person drank enough their troubles would seem to disappear. Some would laugh when they could not, some would cry, some would rant and some would fall into a peaceful sleep. He’d seen people bonding over drinks as much as they’d fought over them. He found it fearsome as much as he found it fascinating. The idea of losing oneself to alcoholic influences unnerved him, but surely there was also merit in the intoxication, otherwise why would humans so often willingly subject themselves to the experience over and over?

Barbatos’ current vessel could hold human food, that much he knew. He had, in fact, developed quite a liking to the taste of apples, many a time offered to him by the people of Mondstadt who saw him whenever he visited the city, as the fruits were another of their prized produce.

But Barbatos did not know how susceptible he was to the lulls of alcohol in his current form, nor did he know how to drink for the very first time.

Morax, understandably, had not the slightest inkling that these were all part of their current circumstances. He simply produced a pair of marble goblets from his sleeves, and in his endless hospitality, poured Barbatos a full glass.

And so began their chat over wine, under the shine of moonlight.

Morax asked about Mondstadt, having not visited there himself for a long time both due to commitments and also the violent climate plaguing the nation that was a hassle even to him. Barbatos told him what he knew, what he’d vehemently rehearsed before he made his journey here.

Morax asked about Decarabian, and Barbatos told him of the nature of his reign and the efforts of the humans who had sought to usurp him and succeeded.

Morax offered to share about Liyue and Barbatos was happy to listen, finding peace in his deep, stable voice. He drank from his glass as Morax recounted a tale that had to do with a lone island just a little way from Liyue’s pier, explaining how it actually used to be a mountain, a domain of a god long lost to time. Morax spoke, slowly and steadily, and Barbatos listened. And he drank.

He drank as he’d often seen humans do within the many rowdy taverns of Mondstadt. In large gulps, whole glasses at a time.

Barbatos soon felt like he was floating, but it could’ve been just him losing a grip on his powers again.

“Morax,” he began once Morax paused to sip his own drink, all honorifics forgotten to the sweet, sweet daze of fermented grape. He'd already lost track of what he’d been talking about. He sounded somewhat funny, too. He wanted to laugh. “How does it feel like to be a god for so long?”

Morax did not seem particularly bothered by his demeanour, or at least he did not show it even if he was.

“I’ve never thought about it,” he admitted, and with a solemnness that Barbatos thought was also rather amusing, he added, “I do not quite remember how it felt like not to be one.”

“Tell me, then, Morax,” Barbatos continued, leaning forward to rest his arm on the table, and then his head on his arm because he felt heavy now. Heavy and tired and his head was starting to spin a little. Like when he used to get caught in passing whirlwinds, he thought with a giggle. How he’d always hated it. “Why are gods not all-powerful, as the humans believe us to be?”

“Because if we were, then there would be no order.” Morax’s reply came almost too easily. As though it was simply a fact, a fact perhaps he knew too well himself. He went on to explain something about the importance of balance and that as gods in their world they had an unspoken duty to maintain it and how all of them are intricately intertwined with one another in that regard and a string of many other things that Barbatos could not find the urge to care about.

He did not care about order. He did not care about anyone and anything, once. Not the world around him, not the people of the city who now considered him their patron god when he had only been there by chance, to deliver a gift that would now never be received. Barbatos had been nothing but a sliver of breeze, and he had not the ability to care.

The one who taught him otherwise was gone.

He was gone, and no matter how hard he tried—no matter what he did in his stead, in his name, he would not return.

Barbatos was tired. The weight clung to his being, though now mostly centred at the base of his stomach. Suffocating. He wanted to throw up. His body was too warm. The world suddenly felt too endless, infinite, and he was alone.

He was gone, and not even the divine powers of a god could bring him back.

Was it the Gnosis that made him feel this much, this deeply, he wondered? A god’s heart, it was also called. If Barbatos ripped it from his chest, would it hurt a little less? If he threw it to the ground and crushed it under his feet, would he be free of this emptiness that haunted him?

In his drunken state, Barbatos had failed to noticed two major things. One, he had reverted back to his original form at some point, to the little elf who had once been capable of being carried along even by the gentlest wind, hence why the world suddenly felt much too vast around him.

And two, his vision had swum not because of the wine, not because the alcohol was slowly driving his senses haywire.

Barbatos had wept, but he did not know that he did.

xXx

He woke up in a room that was definitely not the mountain cave he’d come to grow fond of.

Not that it mattered because the first thing Barbatos registered was a massive headache he thought would split his skull in two. He groaned as he sank further into the sheets that surrounded him, half wondering if he’d somehow fallen on his head the previous night or if he’d done something to incite the Lord of Geo’s anger that’d ended with him getting beaten up. Barbatos could not remember, and the more he tried to think, the more it hurt.

He must’ve fallen asleep again at some point, waking once more but this time to the faint scent of herbs. The pain had subsided to little more than a dull ache, and he reached for his temples only to find his arms shorter than he’d unconsciously grown used to.

Barbatos sat up and did not know what was happening.

Morax lounged on a padded chair across the room, glancing up from his book when he noticed his movement. “Oh, you’re awake.”

Barbatos could only stare, stupefied. What was the Geo Archon himself doing here?

“Try the tea if you’re still feeling terrible,” Morax gestured to the cup of steaming liquid on the bedstand, where the scent of herbs originated. “It works well for hangovers.”

Hangovers...?

Oh. Oh, gods of Teyvat.

“Lord Morax—I, I’m so sorry, I—” Barbatos scrambled to even get the words out, mortified that he’d acted so undignified in front of someone he’d barely just been acquainted with. While they were supposed to be sitting down for a diplomatic chat!!! He genuinely could not recall what had transpired the night before. He could only hope that whatever he'd said and done, it hadn’t been anything he’d regret.

Still, the fact that he’d returned to this form raised enough of a cause for concern.

“Do not worry, Barbatos,” Morax assured, calm as he stood up to approach him. “It’s safe here. Just rest for now.”

“No, I must’ve already troubled you enough, I should go,” Barbatos insisted, trying his hardest to untangle himself from the sheets but somehow only making it worse in his haste. He, in all seriousness, considered summoning a blast of wind to loosen everything in one go, but he fortunately succeeded in freeing himself before he could decide.

And just as he’s about to quickly excuse himself and never show up in front of Morax again for the foreseeable future—he found the cup of steaming tea thrusted at his face.

“Drink. It’ll calm you down,” Morax said, voice levelled and face composed despite his rather aggressive approach. Barbatos was now quite sure he’d done something to offend him while he was drunk.

“T-Thank you but I can’t hold anything in this form,” he explained, but soon realizing that maybe it’d be better if he would just entertain him and drink the tea? He had probably displeased him enough, the least he can do is not make it any worse by rejecting his current offers (demands??).

Barbatos focused and tried to visualise the appearance he’d always taken ever since he became the Anemo Archon. He channelled his power and tried — and in what must be another joke of irony the fates casted upon him, he discovered he could not turn back.

Barbatos, dumbfounded by the turn of events and quite positively terrified of bearing the brunt of Morax’s wrath, once again did not know what to do.

“Lord Morax, please forgive me.” He tugged at the edges of his hood, pulling it lower over his face so at least he wouldn’t have to see any blows coming. ‘Whatever I said and did yesterday, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it—”

“You’ll be able to drink this,” Morax persisted the moment he trailed off, still oddly fixated about the tea. “You’re an Archon now. Drink it while it’s still warm.”

Barbatos saw no other choice but to do as he said. He reached to hold the delicate cup with both hands, and once Morax let go, he carefully brought it to his mouth, and took a careful sip.

He could taste it, as subtle as it was, which was a good sign. Barbatos gave himself some seconds to see if his body retained the drink, and almost cried with relief when he confirmed that it did. He then drank a whole mouthful, feeling a wave of calm slowly wash over him as the herbs worked their magic. His body untensed, his pulse regained a slower, steadier rhythm. Even the last traces of his headache began to fade.

With his mind slightly clearer now, Barbatos was starting to suspect that it was all a miserable misunderstanding.

“He must have been very dear to you.”

Barbatos glanced at Morax over the rim of the cup, not quite comprehending the sudden comment at first. Morax’s gaze was attentive, but Barbatos thought there was a slightest unexpected gentleness to it as well.

“You were mumbling about someone yesterday,” he explained after a lapse of silence between them. “Someone...who’s no longer here.”

“Ah.” Barbatos could hear himself scream on the inside. How could he have told all that to a person he’d literally just met!!! “So that’s what I said.”

Morax was once more silent for a beat, staring as though he had something to say but wasn’t quite sure if he should say it. Barbatos wondered if he would buy an excuse about his stomach hurting and thus him needing to attend to some private business. He wondered if he could just disappear from the face of the earth for the next century or two.

“A late friend once told me,” he flinched when Morax finally spoke again, “that humans have gods, while gods only have each other.”

“I’m not sure I follow...?” Barbatos blurted and immediately regretted it. Morax broke into a small frown, as though trying to sort something out himself.

“You can stay here—until you feel well enough to go back,” he tried, again with something quite out of the blue. Barbatos blinked as he struggled to process whatever was happening. Was he... trying to comfort him? Had he been trying to comfort him all along?

“Morax, really, I don’t think I should impose on you any more than I have,” Barbatos found the courage to say, feeling a little more stable now from the tea and the realization that Morax was more awkward than he thought he’d be. Then again, it was a rather unusual situation—caused by Barbatos himself, no less.

“You can leave whenever you’re ready,” Morax maintained, before glancing toward the window as though to gauge the light outside. “But I’m afraid I must excuse myself now, as I’ve matters to attend to in a bit.”

“Morax, wait!” Barbatos managed to call after him just as he made to leave. Morax turned to face him, eyebrows slightly raised but not looking particularly startled. Barbatos knew the least he could do is thank him, after everything. So he did.

Morax listened, and then to Barbatos’ surprise, he smiled.

“Let me know when you’d like to visit again,” he said, a genuine invitation Barbatos did not expect. “Take care in the meantime, Barbatos.”

And with that, he was gone.

xXx

Barbatos did leave eventually, but he did not return to Mondstadt.

He was trapped in his current form, for reasons he once again could not comprehend. It's almost laughable when he thought back about how desperately he’d once wanted to return to this, so he wouldn’t taint the memory of his dear friend by living as his impersonation. Now he’d finally succeeded, yet there was an unease he could not seem to shake off.

Barbatos was riddled with a sense of dissociation, having taken his appearance throughout the entire time he’d spent as the God of Wind. In this form, he was not Barbatos the Anemo Archon, but rather simply another elemental of air, the most insignificant sliver of breeze.

Barbatos also could not return to Mondstadt , because how was he supposed to face the flame-haired knight after all that ? She would be absolutely livid if she knew he’d essentially done nothing but gotten intoxicated and passed out while he was in Liyue. A message about his temporary absence would have to do for now.

Then again, Barbatos hadn’t the full intention to go and make any negotiations to begin with. When the time comes, the people of Mondstadt would no doubt find their own way there, and they would form their own agreements and contracts—they did not need his interference. No, Barbatos had gone mostly as a sort of insurance, to see if Liyue would be welcoming to his people, and to see if the Geo Archon was someone they should be involved with.

Barbatos thought Morax was rather a strange one. He had half expected him to be brutish, loud and overbearing, considering he also bore the title of a war god. Morax had instead not only been an amiable host, but also surprisingly polite and soft spoken. He carried a sort of calm around his being, unruffled in the face of most usual circumstances. If Morax was a god who had stained entire lands with blood, it did not show.

Barbatos found himself mulling over Morax’s words as he drifted through the endless fields between Liyue and Mondstadt. The humans have gods, while gods only have each other. Humans relied on gods, and gods only had each other to rely on. It sounded like a very generalized statement at first; Barbatos certainly didn’t think it was all that true. Barbatos himself had only gotten this far owing to the guidance of the people of Mondstadt. Surely all affairs within a domain could not be settled by gods alone; the humans they rule over would never allow it for long.

But Barbatos supposed it made sense too, in a way. Time flowed differently for those who were immortal and those who were not. A hundred years was nothing to them, but to humans that was their entire lifespan. Barbatos had not really noticed, but even his knight friend looked different from when they first met, now that he thought about it. Her features rougher, her stature taller and more solid, her flame-red hair losing just a little of its vibrancy. Barbatos had not been counting the sunrises and sunsets, but it had in fact been at least a decade since he was made a god.

Time was passing and it was a frightening realization to come to. Soon the people he knew would come to pass themselves, and he would truly be nothing but another figment of history. Barbatos would have to bear the memory of him alone, for who else could remember him if not he, who would outlive mortals many times over? Yet in this desperation to never forget, Barbatos found that certain aspects of him were already starting to grow fuzzy in his mind.

Barbatos had taken his appearance for the past ten or so years, but he had never been able to replicate his voice. His voice; rich, lulling and infinitely wonderful. If the lush fields and full blooms of spring could sing, they would envy what he had. This, Barbatos knew for a fact. But he was already forgetting how exactly it had sounded. He remembered even the sweet lullabies he used to sing to him, even the playful tunes and verses he’d compose on the spot when things grew tense within their ragtag group of four—but when Barbatos sang them now, he could only hear his own voice overlapping his.

Then in appearance at the very least, he thought, he mustn’t forget. Barbatos made his umpteenth attempt to transform, to adopt his likeness as he’d once done unconsciously. He was already regaining some control of his powers, he can do this. He squeezed his eyes close, took a deep, shaky breath. Concentrate. He can do this. He must do this.

What surfaced was the image of him with arrows piercing his chest, his tunic stained red with blood—and nothing changed in the end.

Gods only had each other.

Barbatos summoned the wind, and sought the only other god he knew.

…

Morax was true to his word, arranging for his visit soon after he received his message.

This time, however, Barbatos was to meet him in Celestia, as he was in the middle of something he could not step away from there. Barbatos had insisted it wasn’t anything urgent and that it wasn’t a matter Morax should deliberately trouble himself over if he had other things to attend to, and Morax had in turn assured that it was alright and that he should be almost done by the time Barbatos visited.

Barbatos had already regretted asking at that point, but he also did not wish to disrespect Morax’s generosity. So he waited until dawn broke on the day they were set to meet, and feeling the Gnosis thrum within his chest, he made his way to the island of the gods.

The heavy gates of Celestia parted easily for him, revealing a world within that was too vast to seem like something that could’ve fitted on the floating piece of land visible from below. Barbatos entered a world where the divine made their exclusive residence, each owning an area they claimed as their domain. Teyvat, although hailed the Seven as the most powerful for their influence over the seven main elements, was not short on minor deities. Celestia could probably have spanned across the sky over the entire region and more.

Barbatos attracted some looks almost immediately from the group that was mulling about by the entrance; after all, he seemed far from godly in his current form. He tried to ignore them, instead digging into his pocket for the pebble Morax had sent to guide him to his residence in the heavenly realm. It briefly glowed yellow once brought into the open, and then as though by some sort of magnetic pull, it shot eastward without a warning, and Barbatos had no choice but to give chase.

Morax’s residence in Celestia was humble compared to the extravagance of some Barbatos managed to spot in passing. It resembled a shrine of sorts; a set of stone steps leading towards a wooden gateway that served as its entrance, the privacy of the garden inside protected by bamboo partitions built in place of walls. Barbatos drifted in and towards the modest abode beyond the garden, feeling the air shift just before he heard Morax speak.

“You’re here, Barbatos.”

Barbatos did not see him anywhere, but he sensed that he was within the house made of intricately carved stone, harnessing his power for...something. “I am, but perhaps I should really return another day...?”

“It is fine, I should be done in a few minutes,” Morax assured, and Barbatos abruptly noticed how his voice sounded slightly deeper, with a reverberation to it that gave it a resemblance to a growl. He thought of Morax’s horns, and made a guess. “Please, do come in.”

Barbatos must admit that his curiosity got the better of him this time. He pushed at the door, and slipped through the opening.

Morax was a dragon, though not one whose appearance Barbatos was familiar with. The dragons that sometimes soared through Mondstadt’s skies were often winged, had powerful legs that would let them roam the land on foot if they wished. Morax was scaled as they were, had a skull structure that was similar though perhaps slightly more angular. But the similarities ended there. His body was more serpentine, slender and longer but wingless, and he had claws instead of legs.

Morax was curled up over a circular enchantment on the floor, surrounded entirely by a barrier of golden light. He regarded Barbatos as he flew closer, and even when he spoke his jaw did not move.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll get you some tea once I finish up here.”

“No, no, please don’t trouble yourself.” Barbatos could hardly get the words out, awed by the sight of a god who actually resembled a god. Composed, regal and mythic. He averted his gaze, fiddling with the hood of his cloak. “I’m sorry this is so sudden, Morax. I-It really isn’t anything important but I just don’t know what else I can do and—”

“It must be something important if it is bothering you enough to come see me,” Morax pointed out, and Barbatos could only swallow thickly, words stuck in his throat. “Speak, Barbatos. If you think it is something I can help you with, then I will see what I can do.”

“I—” Barbatos worked to push his hesitation down. He’d already come this far. “Please teach me how to change forms.”

Morax did not respond immediately, as though silently contemplating his reply. Barbatos tensed, because Morax knew. He knew, though perhaps not enough, still he knew about him. He could probably make a guess, Barbatos hadn’t exactly been vague about it in front of him courtesy of the cursed alcohol. He braced himself for the questions, the judgement—but even so, he decided, he would not leave until he found a way to turn back.

“To take on another appearance,” Morax began, the wall of light around him shimmering before disappearing altogether, “one must first have a strong sense of self. You can say it’s our body’s way of self-preservation, so that we’ll always have a default form to return to if anything goes wrong during the transformation process.”

Barbatos watched him demonstrate, a glow of light enveloping his body as his proportions shifted, condensed—and he re-emerged in the form of the young man he took when Barbatos first met him.

“If you’re struggling to transform, it could mean that you’re wavering, Barbatos,” Morax continued, stepping out of his enchantment. “Why are you so desperate to change?”

“Because if I don’t,” Barbatos took a breath, forced the rest of the sentence out, “I’m afraid I might one day forget.”

Because if I forgot, there would be no one else to remember him for who he really was, in time.

Morax studied him, silent as he walked over and, with a flutter of his robes, sat down on the floor to be eye level with him.

“There are more ways to remember someone than simply by appearance,” he stated, as if Barbatos did not know.

He'd tried everything he could’ve thought of. He’d emulated his personality, his habits and quirks, even his preferences. He'd committed each and every one of his songs to memory, practiced endlessly on the lyre so he could play the way he did, so his art would still live even when he did not.

Barbatos wasn’t sure why he’d taken Morax’s simple words so much to heart. It was a statement of a fact, one he knew very well—otherwise why would he have tried so damned hard for so long?

He knew, deep down, that despite all that, despite everything he’d done, it hadn’t been enough.

“Barbatos.” Morax’s voice was soft when he called to him, hardly even a whisper. Barbatos found it difficult to breathe, the weight he’d been carrying on his being suddenly crushing down on him. He could not find the courage to look at him, but Morax waited, and waited until he finally did.

There was a gentle smile upon his lips when Barbatos met his gaze, a comfort that strangely brought only pain. “Won’t you tell me a little about him?”

Barbatos was not prepared for this, was not prepared to talk. “I...I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s alright, even the first thing that comes to mind would do,” Morax assured, showing no signs of retreating even when confronted with Barbatos’ hesitation. “Tell me a little about him, so I may remember him with you.”

It’s only then that it dawned him, that Barbatos had in fact, rarely ever shared about who he was as a person. He’d sung his songs, praised his deeds—but there were the more personal aspects of him which Barbatos had held extremely close to his heart, in some sort of unspoken pact with the knight where they would be the only ones to shelter those pieces of him. Barbatos had never disclosed how he would sometimes perform on the streets for days on end, skimming on food and saving his coins, just so he could afford the smallest bundle of cecilias from the florist in the market.

Or how he would hum a certain melody whenever he combed his hair out and braided them again.

Or how, despite his normally demure temperament, he could have a temper that would frighten even Barbatos when wronged, but would fade just as suddenly as it’d flared.

They surfaced, one by one, after the many years Barbatos had kept them tucked away in a place he thought was safe. He recounted them now, each recollection so precious—yet so, very, heavy. He had subconsciously avoided this all along, for he knew the weight of the memories would easily break his newfound heart.

He missed him. It was a truth that he’d constantly refused to face. He was gone, yet still, he yearned terribly to see him once more.

Morax listened in silence, attentive even when Barbatos’ breath hitched and his voice trembled. He listened even when the words began tumbling out on their own volition, words of self-loathing and regret and of the indescribable exhaustion of a lonely god.

Barbatos spoke, and Morax only listened in silence.

xXx

Barbatos stayed with Morax for a few days more, not quite able to find the right timing to leave—but also because he’d eased into the safety of the Geo Archon’s company.

They exchanged many stories during their time together, Morax encouraging him to share his by offering an abundance of his own. He told him of a time long before Liyue, an age where dragons and elementals were the majority who roamed the world. He told him of wastelands now reclaimed by greenery, of deserts now reclaimed by the seas. He spoke of tales that would’ve been lost completely to the passage of time, had they not been ingrained into his memory.

And Morax had a very good memory indeed.

Barbatos had no such high tales to share; he had yet to live enough to experience the world to that extent. He was, however, instead reminded of simpler days of his own in contrast to Morax’s snippets of old history. The days spent within a fortress of storms, of human games and archery practice, of picking pockets and street performances.

Barbatos remembered being called a different name then. Venti. He had called him Venti.

How could it have ever slipped his mind.

Morax proposed the idea the day before Barbatos finally decided he should be leaving. What if they arranged for all Seven to gather regularly? They could share some drinks and simply have a chat, as Barbatos had done the first time he’d visited Liyue. Morax wouldn’t mind being the regular host, but if the other Archons were willing, it would be nice if they could each have their turn. Maybe through this, they would be able to improve international relations within Teyvat, a collective step in rebuilding the continent after the destruction following the Archon War. Maybe through this, they would be able to usher in a new age of peace.

Maybe through this, they could all be friends.

It’s unexpected, hearing the concept of “friends” proposed from Morax’s own mouth. He certainly seemed more of the type who would only take acquaintances, keeping his contacts at an arm’s length so he could assess their worth and utilize them as he saw fit. It was rather naive too, Barbatos couldn’t help but think, to believe all seven of them had such an easy chance of getting along when they no doubt had personalities as different as the sky and earth.

Still, he supposed it was a little endearing; for all his stoic, pokerfaced glory, Morax also had this sentimental side to him.

Barbatos himself saw no reason not to try; he had taken his own leap once too and that worked out for the better. He reasoned that Morax would probably need him around as well, to diffuse some tough situations that might stem from the sheer difficulty of reading him at times. He'll bring the wine, he’d volunteered, promising that he’ll have learnt to be a better drunk by the time they gather. They would each have their share of alcohol, and in true Mondstadtian fashion, perhaps they would end each night with just a little more mutual understanding and better bonds.

Morax seemed to like the sound of it.

And with that, along with an insistent invitation for Morax to be the one who bothers him next, Barbatos descended back upon the earth.

There was a field he was rather familiar with on his way back to Mondstadt; it's a place he frequented to practice playing the lyre in solitude. It was currently a time when dandelions are in full bloom, a carpet of yellow flowers swaying with the breeze, their scent pleasant and nostalgic. Barbatos even spotted a group of slimes hopping around not far off, tiny animals darting out from the cover of tall grass and into the nearby forest.

He halted in his flight, and decided that the lecture from the flame-haired knight could wait a little longer.

He drifted to his usual spot by the edge of the field, under a large tree older than even himself. He settled on the ground, took a deep breath as he spent a moment to gaze at the sight before him.

Thousands of dandelion seeds floated in the air, dancing to the whims of the wind in the fading light of the sun.

Warmth flowed through his body as he thought of him, and how he would still insist that cecilias were more beautiful than this.

Barbatos smiled as he plucked a new string of notes on his lyre, and for the first time, sang a song of his own.

#genshin impact #zhongven #venli #venti (genshin impact)#zhongli (genshin impact)#full ramble is in the a/n of the ao3 upload #but mannnn angsty venti fanartists pls take some responsibility..#fanfiction

56 notes · View notes

josefavomjaaga · 3 years

Text

Helfert, Joachim Murat, Chapter 6, Part 3

We left with Murat kinda hiding in the open on Corsica while fantasizing about sneaking into the royal palace of Naples.

A flicker of prudence came over him when he decided to send one of his confidants, Simone Cambruschini from Bastia, who was to visit Elba and Naples: there to contact General Dalesme, the commandant of the French garrison left behind by Napoleon; here to obtain information about the prevailing mood in the city and the country. But weeks would pass before the messenger could return with his news, and was Murat, once his head was on fire, the man to bide his time?

Elsewhere in Europe, it was not known for a long time what had become of the ex-king. On 23 July, London papers had brought the news that he had left Toulon, but they did not know where he had gone. Some thought he had gone to Tunis, and Murat himself had helped to spread this rumour; others had him sailing for America; the third wanted to know that he was near Paris, in Fontainebleau, in Compiègne. According to still other rumours, he was lying near Lyon - the country house of the president of the Court of Appeal was called Vouti - mortally ill from wounds he had received, or was wandering about on land or at sea.

Here, again, there is a somewhat cryptic source in a footnote:

M*** Vie de Joa. Murat p. 95 f., probably written in September, at any rate before the bloody drama in Pizzo: "Murat ne parait pas s'être éloigné de la Provence"; he is said to have spent some time in Antibes and then been in Toulon, "enfermé avec divers corps armés qui, comprimant le voeu bien prononcé du peuple, méconnaissaient encore l'autorité du Roi ... Il erre maintenant dans des montagnes déguisé sous des vêtements communs et suivi, dit-on, de deux seuls domestiques". The "Journal du Departement du Var", on the other hand, brought the news that Murat, who had pretended to be a naval officer named Campomele, had been recognised and arrested on his arrival in Bastia.

The text continues:

In the meantime, without paying attention to such groundless talk, diplomacy in Paris dealt with the future fate of the dethroned king. According to a document signed by Prince Metternich on September 1st, Emperor Franz offered him admission and protection in his states, provided that he accepted a private title, possibly the one chosen by his wife, and undertook not to leave his place of residence without first obtaining the consent of the emperor. A passport for him was also issued on the 7th under that name "von Lipona", "in order to go from southern France to Trieste", by the Imperial and Royal Court Chancellor Count Mercy, signed by the English envoy Lord Steward.... It was previously related that Colonel Maceroni, whom Murat had sent from Toulon to the Duke of Wellington, had been arrested in Paris; the latter was now brought out of his custody and entrusted with the task of delivering the two documents to his former king and master. Maceroni left without delay for the south, where it was already known that Murat had succeeded in escaping to Corsica, and that is where the colonel went in the second half of September, first to Bastia.

In Naples, too, people were not only aware of Murat's presence in Corsica at this time, they also suspected that he was up to no good against the kingdom. Perhaps it was precisely Lambruschini's mission, whose appearance and covert reconnaissance could not have escaped the attention of the police, that caused the first unrest in Neapolitan government circles. Lambruschini had reached Porto-Ferrajo on September 1st at a time when General Dalesme, in accordance with an agreement concluded with the Tuscan troops, was about to evacuate the island. The first part of his mission had thus come to an end and only the second remained: to find out the prevailing mood for the ex-king on the Italian mainland. Consequently, he had gone to Livorno, to Florence, to Rome, September 8 to 11, where he endeavoured to put his travel documents into order so as to be able to sneak into Naples. It is certain that both in the capital and in Gaëta, still occupied by Lauer's troops, fears were harboured in the second half of September about Murat's activities in Corsica and from Corsica. On the 18th, our envoy had a lengthy discussion on this matter with the King, to whom he advised: first, to have several larger warships cruise along the most exposed stretches of coast from Gaëta to Terracina, then along the Calabrian shores; second, to reinforce the garrison of Gaëta with Sicilian troops; third, to have the forts of Naples provisioned for at least a fortnight. It does not appear, however, that these precautionary measures were carried out in any great hurry; at least there was no sign of frigates crossing the coasts for a long time. On the other hand, the Minister Medici sent a trusted man, Ignazio Carabelli, in a hurry to Corsica, from where he was a native, with the order to approach Murat and to talk him out of any hostile enterprise against King Ferdinand.

Lambruschini did not arrive in Naples until September 28th, where he had secret talks with both General Filangieri and the banquier Falconet, both of whom implored him to leave the city as quickly as possible, since the police could track him and them down and the mood in the country was such that his patron should not entertain any favourable expectations. At this, Lambruschini, after barely a four-day stay in Naples, left for Rome again, with the firm resolution to dissuade the king in the strongest possible terms from carrying out his foolhardy plan.

But in the meantime everything had changed on Corsica. Verrière had retreated to the Citadelle in the face of Murat's daily growing number of followers and, on September 15, issued an appeal in which he called Murat a "disturber of the peace", an "agitator" and called on the loyal followers of King Louis to take up arms and be ready to march out against the high-treasonous gatherings in Vescovato.

Now Murat too believed that he should no longer delay. On the 17th, he set off with his men from their previous base, but not to Bastia, but over mountains and valleys in short marches to Ajaccio. On the 20th they camped for the night in Bogognano, from where Murat sent General Franceschetti on ahead to Ajaccio to hire vehicles in the harbour for the crossing, but also to find money and bills of exchange, as the funds he had taken with him on his escape from Naples were running out. It was also in Bogognano that Murat dictated into the pen of his secret scribe a very verbose manifesto, which he intended to distribute on entering the soil of his kingdom. "Neapolitans," it said, among other things, 'do not fear that the allied powers will arm themselves anew against your king. Your Joachim never abdicated. A military failure could not make him lose the crown of Naples. By regaining his throne, he only imitates the example of the sovereigns who have regained theirs. The Emperor of Austria, who, misled as to the true policy of the Cabinet of Naples, and thinking that your Joachim was in agreement with Napoleon, has overtaken him with such a disastrous war, will again become his ally, do not doubt it." He spoke of his conciliatory disposition, with a scarcely veiled sidelong glance at Ferdinand who, as his courtiers had always told him, was nothing but a hateful tyrant: "Your King does not speak to you of forgiveness, you have never offended him, he rather renews the oath he made to you in former times: to make you happy. He will not be like those who pause only for the moment with their revenge, in order then to allow it to shoot the reins all the more freely". This was followed by outbursts at Ferdinand's letter to Bianchi, in which Murat's troops were spoken of in a contemptuous manner, at the treaty of May 20: "the castle of Casa Lanza, this monument to Ferdinand's disgrace, shall be razed to the ground, and Ferdinand, who has called your brave army covered with glory a bunch of enemy bands, shall be declared by the nation unworthy to govern it and deprived of the throne!"

Sometimes I wonder if these men, as they had grown up in the army, simply were mistaken about the little importance military matters had for most civilians, particularly in times when everybody was so war-weary. I do not think many people outside the army were ready to rise up against a king because he had talked badly about the army.

But seeing how so many people actually tried to save Murat’s life, with him actively working towards his own distruction, is heartbreaking.

#joachim murat #napoleon #hunderd days #naples1815 #corsica #1815 #helfert murat

9 notes · View notes

dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years

Note

OCTOPATH AU???? :EYES:

*spins my chair to my computer

So I’m done with my things so let’s talk about it! Mainly about the character plots because the idea just came to me at 2 AM.

There’s going to be 2 groups for this au, one group is basically in the kingdom itself while the other is venturing towards the kingdom, eventually they do get to meet up and become one singular group.

This is going to be the first group, venturing towards the kingdom.

So let’s start off with George and Sapnap. George is the king of the kingdom we’re going to call...SMP because of course. Dream, George, and Sapnap are all best friends and Dream and Sapnap are the knight’s in shining armor who protect George. Eret is George’s next in line for the throne.The kingdom was flourishing, everyone is happy, and nothing seems to be wrong.

That all changed when all of a sudden the castle was attacked by mercenaries. The knight’s tried to fight them off as best as they can but it was too much. George had to flee and Sapnap went with him. Dream was separated from the other two. Eret is also separated but prompted to hide in the capital itself.

So Sapnap and George are on the run and are looking to reclaim George’s throne after receiving news that someone has been crowned king. They don’t know who it is but rumors has it that they are cruel and seemed to be obsessed with power. (Wink wink, I am totally not referring to the Green Man.)

Quackity is basically someone who is a Bard/Merchant who just wanders around and he just tries to get by. Whether most of the things he does is not exactly legal is his own business and no one else’s. He still cracks jokes and stuff but he does build his walls higher when it comes to trust and friends due to bad memories with Schlatt.

So he is wandering around when he just, finds Sapnap and George fighting off some bandits and he helps because, oh hey maybe he’ll get some free stuff. Sapnap and George thank him and Sapnap impulsively asks if he can help him because George used to be a king and if Quackity helps then they’ll reward Quackity greatly.

Quackity does not trust this, the last person he trusted in authority just ruined everything he cared about (L’Manberg’s flag in flames. The revolution failing. Schlatt calling him Flatty Patty and laughing as he runs away) but he is running low on supplies so he helps them reluctantly.

Karl on the meanwhile joins the group after some failed quests to get recognized and such. He craves attention and he is sick of being ignored by everyone. He is striving to be a knight but he isn’t exactly the best at combat.

Then he hears about this group and a former king trying to regain his crown in there. He practically begs the three of them to let him join and prove his worth. He needs to show that everyone is wrong and that he is important enough to be in history.

Sapnap objects to this but Quackity and George are cool with it, with George pointing out that they need as much allies as they can. Sapnap then goes and just trains Karl and whoops, now he’s attached to him. How did that happen?

(It getting long so I’m going to put group 2 on the bottom)

Eret in the kingdom is just trying to figure out who went and sent those mercenaries against them. They know that there isn’t much enemies they know about and they just go and sneak around to try to find clues on how this happened. They have no idea who the current king is as they are a recluse but they did make the kingdom basically become a police state. They also do not know if George made it out alive.

They soon gathers enough info to find out about somebody named JSchlatt, the president of Manberg. The info doesn’t tell him much but it does say something about a deal being made by the current king. So off they go to find people who knew of Schlatt and the first person they find is Fundy.

Fundy is looking for Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur. He knows that Tommy and Tubbo has fled somewhere into the capital but Wilbur could be anywhere. Eret tries to recruit him due to them seeing how he handled the guards in the square but Fundy declines it. Fundy remembers Eret, he remembers how they betrayed L’Manberg

So Eret went and used his former royal status and struck a deal saying that if Fundy helps Eret find the guy who did this and helps reclaim the kingdom, that they will provide resources to help him find Wilbur. It’s something Fundy wants and it isn’t honestly not that bad. They have to reunite to fight a bigger bad and then they can go back to being enemies after this.

So Fundy agrees to this and Eret has now one person added to their group. Fundy however, does not go and say anything about the state of Manberg and the revolution because at the moment, these two kingdoms are enemies and they absolutely hate each other.

Last thing they need is for the king of the SMP to go and reabsorb L’Manberg back into the kingdom.

Niki then joins the group after Fundy recognizes her and they reunite and she is full on ready to get L’Manerg back. She told Fundy that the country really has went downhill ever since the revolution failed and that everyone is pretty much suffering there.

She hid in the capital of the SMP kingdom thinking it is a safe place to just regroup and figure out what to do next only to find out that it has become a police state after the dethroning of George.

Eret welcomes her and Fundy and Niki are both surprised because, “Aren’t the SMP and Manberg supposed to be enemies?” And Eret says yes, they are enemies, but George was actually considering on having the two of them become allies due to the respect he has after seeing them fight and because of the fact that they really wanted to make amends with L’Manberg.

Fundy and Niki actually believes them because they saw how Eret is really trying to change and such. So they believe in them and trust them.

Mr TommyInnit then joins and after a few months as DepressedInnit missing Tubbo and Wilbur and all of his friends, he is absolutely thrilled to see Fundy and Niki again. He is at first a bit peeved that Eret is there but after some time he does trust Eret again.

Tommy explains that Tubbo went and disappeared one day and Tommy couldn’t go look for him ever since the increased security of the capital. Everyone just sees this sad child crying about how he feels like Tubbo’s disappearance is his fault and just comforts him.

Tommy then after some thinking decides to join the group and god it is nice to be around people again.

Group 1 is just basically an arsonist, a shitposting duck-hybrid bard, a wannabe hero, and a former king who does not set his alarm clock right.

Group 2 is basically a badass baker, a furry, an angry child, and a bisexual king.

Both of these groups become found family and are disasters. And when they meet up, they become more of a family and bigger disasters. They have braincells but they don’t use it most of the time.

I’m going to flesh out the final bosses for each of the characters but some may be shared due to the fact that Karl and Niki has no rivals that I can think of. Anyways this post got long. Send me some late 7:00 asks about the au if you want.

#mcyt #dream smp #fuck what do i call this au #octopath au #i mean for now at least #georgenotfound #sapnap #dream #dreamwastaken #quackity #karl jacobs #eret #the eret #fundy #nihachu #tommyinnit #ask #fuck this got long

22 notes · View notes

risingsouls · 3 years

Text

Recruited: Chapter 9

[A very self-indulgent, not sfw chapter this time! Forgive me if it’s cheesy; I’m super rusty with actually writing smut. :’3

You’ve been warned.

Bonus song for basically Nabs before she gets some ;3]

Nabooru

Gloved fingers dragged through rain-deprived dirt, hands and feet kicking up a cloud of dust as Nabooru skidded along the ground and twisted her body back around to face her Saiyan assailant. They had been at it for hours, deciding their time off was better spent training than goofing off. Thus, as her muscles and depleting energy reserves begged for rest, a change in tactics to either secure a win or put her in the least embarrassing position possible to request a reprieve didn't sound like the worst idea in the world. Scouter or no, the switch up should catch him off guard enough to at least get a few, solid final attacks in.

She dug her heels in to slow herself and regain control of her momentum after his last blow. Once she found a solid enough footing, she propelled herself forward again, charging like an enraged bull. She closed the gap between them in a flash. As she hoped, Vegeta expected her to throw a punch or a kick, a series of blasts or a wave of energy, and left his midsection open. Head lowered, she drove her shoulder hard into his abdomen and wrapped her arms around him. She felt the air whisk from his lungs and his body double over as she drove him backward and through a plateau. They slammed to the ground and Nabooru pinned him, knees straddling either side of his waist.

She drew her arm back and aimed a punishing strike for Vegeta's jaw, only for it to crash through solid earth next to his head as he tilted his head to dodge it. Her left fist followed up, only to be caught. Energy crackled around their joined hands in the stalemate, jaws clenched with the effort to gain an upper hand.

Nabooru noted his smirk a second too late. She just caught the glimpse of his free arm lifting toward her before his forearm collided with her stomach, forcing her off of him and onto her back. He was on her in an instant, arms pinned and crushed at her sides by his powerful thighs and a ball of red ki aimed for her face. She wriggled to try and free herself, only for Vegeta to shove the sphere of energy threateningly closer, the heat of it grazing the tip of her nose.

"Give up."

Nabooru considered attempting to kick him in the head or back, freeing her hand enough to blast or grab some part of him--his inner thigh, groin, ass if she could manage to reach--in a strategy to surprise him enough to regain some control. But the second her fingers twitched, his knees tightened on her hips, and she bit back a pained yelp from the pressure it placed on her hands and pelvis.

"Fine. You win. Would you kindly get that out of my face now?"

Vegeta's frame shook with his taunting chuckle and the light evaporated from his palm. "You almost had me with that stupid tactic," he drawled, his tail whipping the air behind him in slow arcs. His grip on her hips loosened and he wiped blood from the side of his mouth with the back of his glove. "Too bad you couldn't follow through."

She pulled her hands and arms free, taking the moment to admire the musculature of his thighs plainly visible in his battle suit. She tried to make the upward roving of her eyes seem as organic as possible, hoping the way her gaze lingered on the exposed skin where chunks of his armor and suit were missing in his side and shoulder look like she was admiring her own handiwork before settling on his smug face. Blood from where she headbutt him earlier in the spar had trickled down from his forehead and down the bridge of his nose and was now half-dried there. At least he wouldn't leave their bout unscathed.

"I caught you off guard enough, so I'm counting it as a victory."

The prince scoffed, and she followed the shot of his gaze to find Nappa and Raditz landing beside them. "Did we interrupt something?" Nappa jeered, glancing between the pair of them. Nabooru caught the hint of pink dusting Vegeta's cheeks as he growled and sprang to his feet. She sat up herself, ignoring the fleeting thought of missing his weight on top of her. Forcing herself to look anywhere other than his backside. "If you need a little more time, we can come back later."

"Shut up. I hope you two were paying attention to what real sparring looks like."

Raditz snorted. Neither seemed particularly perturbed by Vegeta's growing temper. "Oh, sparring is what you call it? That's not what it looked like from where I'm standing."

Vegeta ignored him. "How much were you two slacking instead of training?" He raised a hand to his scouter. "Do I need to personally test you to see your progress?"

Nabooru rose to her feet and dusted off her backside before joining the trio. "You really think I'd pass up an opportunity to beat up on Raditz?" Nappa asked, causing the other to roll his eyes. "Even our runt is still getting stronger."

"Hmpt. We'll see." He paused to scrub the half dried blood from his face and, upon noting the questioning stares the other two pinned him with, clicked his tongue. "Whatever. You're dismissed. I want you both back here in twelve hours, got it? Your combat has looked sloppy lately, and I won't stand for you messing something up because you refuse to keep up with your training."

Instead of Nappa and Raditz leaving, Vegeta’s blue-white aura surrounded him and he took off, forcing all three left behind to shield their faces from the swirl of dust. “Are you joining us, Nabs?” Raditz asked, sweeping a hand in front of his face to ward off the dirt.

“Not this time.” Nabooru brushed stray strands of hair away from her face. “I might join you later. I need a bath before I do anything else.”

Nappa snorted. “Like I believe that after that performance you two put on. There was plenty more grappling than usual and I refuse to believe it wasn’t on purpose.” He slapped a hand on her back, causing her to hiss in pain. “If you go for it, just think of it as doing us all a favor.”

With a roll of her eyes, she turned her back on the smirking pair. “You two are the worst.” Feet hovered over the ground and she lifted her hand in salute. “I’ll see you later. Either for a drink or to kick your asses.”

She took the flight back to the resort district at a leisurely pace to reserve what little remained of her energy. Drowning in the bathtub wasn’t exactly her ideal death, and she wanted to enjoy the luxury of one when she only had the option to shower on the bases. She never realized how she had taken advantage of them back home when baths were the only option. Stripping out of her torn, sweat and blood soaked armor and soaking in the scalding hot water to soothe her muscles for hours sounded far better than cavorting around the entertainment district and dealing with crowds full of mostly drunk soldiers. Not to mention catching a wink of sleep before they resumed their grueling training.

Vegeta's decision to spend their off time training neither surprised her nor did it particularly bother her. Considering their conversation a few weeks prior and his suspicions and goals concerning Frieza, she expected and welcomed the workouts over doing nothing or continually searching for ways to spend the next three days, harsh as they already proved to be. Normally, the prince hadn't been particular about how the other two spent their time, however. Did they know his plans? She assumed they did or at least suspected. They knew him better, and his ambitious and entitled nature appended to his royal status was difficult to miss. How soon did Vegeta plan to move forward with his plans? If they kept getting stronger, would Frieza suspect something? Would he care? They couldn't exactly keep their training or any progress made a secret. Was there more to this than just killing Frieza?

Nabooru landed at the entrance to the resort they had chosen to stay in, reaching into her armor and pulling out the key to her room as she stepped onto the elevator. She selected her floor and leaned against the wall. She felt queasy considering what they were doing in full. She despised Frieza and the entire operation, but she risked far more than her own life with this. She didn't know how much she could trust Vegeta, but he offered her an out and that was better than she could get otherwise, it seemed. A way back to her home and her old life. Or whatever her life would be on the new Hyrule. It had to be better than conquering planets for Frieza and his family. Than constantly compromising her morality to keep her people safe and herself alive.

And Vegeta could be worse. For all his threats and insults, he had yet to really harm her. He had shown time and again that if he wanted her dead, he could have done it, both because he was more powerful and he had little qualms with killing. If he wanted to sabotage her, he could have outed her for blowing up the palace on Trimbon or anything else she had stepped out of line with. Perhaps to keep her as loyal as possible, especially now that he decided she was meant to help him in his endeavors, but she would be hard pressed to find anyone on the force without an angle that served their purposes. After all, she had agreed to help Vegeta mostly for her own benefit, to free herself from Frieza and the force and return home. Though his own plight and history, the parallels to her own, didn't hurt his chances of convincing her to risk everything. They could both get what they needed. What they deserved.

The elevator binged and she stepped onto the carpeted floor, heading to the end of the hall where her room was. She unlocked the door and slipped inside, yanking her armor over her head the second the doors slid closed. For all his flaws, she couldn't deny that he, like the other two Saiyans, had grown on her, too. The extra time spent together sparring and the brief conversations following helped, she supposed, as she could see him as more than a dethroned prince with a chip on his shoulder and a thrill for violence. More than anything, he saw her as a warrior first, had since the day they met, as she preferred to be seen. With everyone else underestimating her for her sex or viewing her as a potential bed mate, it went a long way with her. While she doubted he would ever treat her as an equal in any regard, she would survive so long as he continued to respect her as a warrior.

Nabooru struggled out of her torn battle suit and ripped leggings, boots kicked off and gloves dropped haphazardly. She yanked the tie from her hair as she pushed the button to the bathroom door open, the lights motion activated. Clean and simple if not a little small, the bathroom still had what she wanted: a bathtub with complimentary soaps and bubbles. She used her scouter to double check the contents of them as well as the quality of the water, and, finding that none would harm her skin or poison her if accidentally ingested, she filled the tub and dumped a generous portion of the bubbles in the water.

She leaned against the sink counter as she waited for it to fill, tapping through her messages. Only one remained unread, and the origin dropped her heart to the pit of her stomach, worsening her discomfort. It was rare Frieza contacted her, anything he needed to say to her relayed through Vegeta or some other commander. She could only imagine what he wanted to say to her and her alone.

When the foam rose over the lip of the tub, she stepped in and lowered her body into the steaming water. She bent her legs and rested her spine against the back of the basin, letting her head fall back. Hand rose from the water to open the message, her pulse too quick for the relaxing atmosphere she created for herself.

As she feared, it referred to the job on Trimbon. She skimmed through it, chewing her bottom lip to the point of nearly splitting it open. The emperor informed her that she had performed better than expected with her conversations with the rebel leader but lamented her failure to convince him of a peaceful solution, that she could have tried harder in his opinion, resulting in the loss of the greater portion of the planet's army and the palace. Her pay would be garnished for an amount agreed upon between the Empire and Trimbon's royal family once the damages were fully assessed. But the part that sent her mind awhirl with fresh paranoia was the end. A warning, vague but haunting. A reminder that her success and usefulness determined whether the deal between the Empire and her home planet and people stood, and that, should she be tasked with similar in the future, she should be better prepared to push the envelope to obtain the desired result.

Nabooru swallowed hard and pulled her scouter from her ear, sliding it across the tiled floor and away from the tub. She sucked in a breath and submerged herself, the rush of the running water like muffled hoofbeats in her ears. Her chest ached as her mind raced, unearthing the worst case scenarios. He had already destroyed her planet. He would find out why she had blown up the palace and would kill her people for it. He knew what she and Vegeta planned and would punish her by taking the only hope she still had from her. She failed them. All of them. All for a selfish act of consolation. She had no home, no race, she was alone, and--

She broke the surface again and gasped for air. The water threatened to spill over the side, and she leaned forward to turn the faucet off. No, she couldn't think like that. It was just a warning. Paranoia without real evidence to back the thoughts would only drive her closer to madness. The whispered rumor of Frieza's atrocities and Vegeta's suspicions about the fate of his home world were only speculation. Convincing speculation, but without witnessing it for herself...she couldn't afford to let it rule her. The distraction would make her sloppy and ultimately make her fears a reality.

She would stay the course. Continue to train with Vegeta so he or both of them could become powerful enough to kill Frieza. Impossible as it still seemed, it was without a doubt the only true way to ensure her people's safety. With the tyrant in power, their livelihood would always remain tenuous and out of her control.

Dragging her fingers through her wet hair, she closed her eyes in another attempt to relax. She steered her thoughts away from a fate that likely hadn't befallen her home toward the next few days of training and strategizing. Considering ways they could all get strong enough to take on Frieza as soon as they possibly could. Vegeta had mentioned a legend of his people, of a transformation known simply as a Super Saiyan. He said if he could figure out how to unlock it, Frieza would be no match for him. Unfortunately, her pressing on how one achieved the form revealed that the legend didn't elaborate on that with even Nappa and his knowledge of Saiyan lore drawing a blank. They had a goal, at least, but little direction for achieving it. But if anyone could accomplish it, it was Vegeta. The man was impressive in battle, strategic and naturally inclined to combat to a rare degree, and if nothing else, he would make it through sheer force of will.

A few years ago, she never would have imagined she would fight on the same level as someone like him, ki or no ki. The only one back home that gave her a run for her rupees was Ganondorf and Avira if she found her on an off day. Thus, she never imagined this sort of growth or power for herself and a new element to add to her fighting style to boot. She was glad to have someone to help her grow stronger. Test her and push her beyond her limits, even if he did so for purely selfish reasons. No reason he shouldn't benefit from it, too.

Half dozing, her train of thought shifted to their most recent spar, focusing on what she did well and where she could improve. New tactics to try. How to increase every attribute from speed and strength to endurance and stamina. The advantage of switching to less traditional styles as she had toward the end of their bout, and where those succeeded and failed. She went from the pinner to the pinned due to a loss of focus and a split second of carelessness. She could feel his weight on top of her again, his powerful thighs squeezing her hips in punishment for trying to wriggle free. That devilish smirk curling his lips as he slipped his hands beneath her armor and battle suit, gloved fingers gliding up her abs maddeningly slow and his hips pressing downward into hers and…

Her eyes snapped open and she squeezed her legs together, swiping a hand over her face in frustration. For her fantasies to take such a course wasn't particularly rare. When thinking about Ganondorf or Aveil saddened rather than aroused her when she needed to quell her lust, her imagination resorted to her new cohorts instead. For a while, Nappa or Raditz sufficed, but more often than not, they morphed to the prince on top of her or beneath her. Pressing her against a wall or into the mattress. Nipping and sucking along her neck while he pounded into her.

The problem was that, since they started training together more often, the fantasies became more frequent and inopportune. She felt herself drifting from fantasizing to considering making it a reality. If Nappa and Raditz hadn’t shown up earlier, she might have tried her hand at shifting their spar to the sexual sor of physical. He was likely more pent up than she was, after all, and she didn’t miss the occasional glances or what she could only define as his brand of flirting while they sparred or conversed. It wasn’t the potential of being turned down that kept her from going for it. Besides caving to her lust for a quick fling conflicting with her attempts to only bed those she felt worthy of her time, it felt sleazy; he was her commander and she didn’t want some petty rift to form between the four of them over her libido deciding to ramp up to higher levels than she had experienced since joining the force. Even more unsettling, she refused to let meaningless sex get misconstrued and used against her for malicious purposes.

Still...if they were careful, no one had to know, and the forbidden lust concept and high stakes did shamefully boost the attractiveness of fooling around with Vegeta. And for all the potential bedmates to choose from, he was the easy choice. Strong, attractive, a sexy growl she wouldn’t mind hearing in her ear, high stamina, a penchant for roughness she guessed…

Nabooru huffed and did a quick scrub of her body, patience with cleaning up properly and relaxing thinned to nothing. She lifted herself out of the tub and flared her ki to dry herself off in a moment. She dug through her supplies and tended to her scrapes and bruises. More than anything she wanted a distraction from her worries about her homeworld. Something more palpable and effective than her thoughts wandering to a railing from the Saiyan prince. She imagined drowning herself in liquor would exacerbate the problem which left sparring, indulging in her fantasies, or sinking to the level of a one night stand with a stranger lurking around. If she played her cards right, perhaps she could get both of the first two options.

She grabbed her spare battle suit and tugged it on, followed by her stockings, boots and gloves. Tying her hair back up and picking up her chest armor, she left her room and trekked down the hall a few doors down. She knocked on the door and, no sooner had her arm returned to her side did the door open, Vegeta standing on the other side. He halted mid-pull on his glove over his fingers and stared, eyebrows knitting together and frown deepening.

“What?” he demanded, tugging the leather over the rest of his palm and down his wrist.

Just that small, innocuous action had her staring for a half second longer at his hand than was socially acceptable. She cleared her throat and rested her hands on her hips, hoping her expression and stance displayed annoyance or impatience with his terse greeting and gruff tone. “Spar with me. I’m bored and need to blow off steam.”

“And what makes you think I want to?” Vegeta’s lips twitched upward and his tail unfurled from his waist. “You’ve hardly rested. How much steam could you really blow off if I put you down in a matter of minutes? It’s not as fun for me when you can’t put up a fight, either.”

Her grip on the strap of her armor tightened, an already fiery temper further exacerbated by Frieza’s message and the plague of her body’s betrayal and clouding her mind with lewd imagery. “What else do you have to do? Surely you didn’t plan to go find the other two.” Her nostrils flared with an agitated huff and she ignored the flicker of rage that flashed through obsidian. “You were probably going to hole up in your room for the next several hours and fiddle with your scouter or take a nap or brood over the next mission.”

Vegeta’s increasingly vexed demeanor, the vicious lashing of his tail behind him, did little to deter her rant. “Or maybe you’re going to sit in here and jerk off because you’re too good for anyone that could possibly take interest in a short, egotistical prince long enough for even a quick fuck is your damn hand or absolutely in--!”

The last syllable of her nonsense passed her lips as a pained hiss as, in that split second, Vegeta gripped her by the arm, yanked her into his room, and slammed her into the wall. She felt plaster crack from the force. “Hilarious coming from you when you’ve admitted to being just as pretentious about who you fuck,” he growled, hands on her shoulders to keep her pinned. He remained at arm’s length, his fingers digging into her shoulder blades with bruising force. His smirk returned. Slow. Predatory. The tip of his tail brushed along the swell of her hip. “Even more hilarious that you were about to call yourself insane. Tch, don’t act so surprised; you’re not very subtle and I’ve smelled arousal on you more than once during our spars.”

She closed her gaping mouth and heat surged into her cheeks. She wanted to challenge the claim, but she learned early on how powerful a Saiyan’s sense of smell was. “That’s hardly fair. How do you know it’s not just our fights themselves that get me excited and not necessarily who I’m fighting?”

One hand released her shoulder in favor of gripping her chin and forcing her gaze down to his. He forced his knee between her thighs, and she bit her bottom lip, proving him right in her lack of subtlety. It took everything in her to keep her composure and not grind her hips on his muscled thigh for even the barest amounts of stimulation. Though she may have kept her body still, she knew her hooded gaze, flushed cheeks, and worried lip betrayed the surge of desirous urgings her mind flooded her with. The stubborn air she attempted to maintain fell flat in light of it.

“We’re not fighting now.” His growl had deepened, and his gaze remained locked with hers. Sharp canines peeked from beneath his lips as his smirk widened. “You’re not fighting against this predicament you’re in, either. Your claims are a little contradictory, wouldn’t you say?”

She exhaled, lips remaining parted a touch. Her thoughts of regaining a semblance of ground in this exchange clashed with her desire to simply give in to whatever he planned to do with her, if anything outside of teasing her to near death was on his agenda. She could only come up with a compromise for both. She lifted the outside leg, sure to graze along his as much as possible and in slow motion, and wrapped it around his waist to pull him closer. A slight arch of her spine, and his gaze flicked straight to her chest and back again. She swallowed a pitiful whimper as the move shifted her hips against his thigh, too.

“Aren’t you just clever?” Nabooru pushed her hips forward to meet his (she silently cursed the cut of his armor and the guard that hung from the front and sides), her own lips curling upward. “But I’d say we’re both on the same page here. Thankfully. I love a good spar, but all in all, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for it, let alone using it to get you to shove me up against the wall like this.”

He snorted, and his hand dropped from her chin. It trailed down her throat, and she instinctively tilted her head back. It lingered there for a moment longer, a hint of pressure applied from his palm forcing her breath to hitch, before it slid down the center of her body. Between her breasts. Along her abdomen. He shifted his knee down just enough to allow room for his hand to slide between her legs. “Would have never guessed through that temper tantrum you threw.”

She tossed her previous reservations out the window and pressed down into his touch, a shaky breath easing past her lips. “So, I’m a little pent up,” she breathed. Her fingers dug into the wall behind her; just to have someone else’s fingers between her thighs, caressing her even through her battle suit, might have satisfied her for another few days. “I’m sure you understand. You obviously have something of a sex drive…”

Another growl rumbled in his chest and he eased the fabric to the side. The leather of his gloves offered a far more pleasing sensation than she expected, grazing along sensitive skin before parting the lips and delving between them. He pressed two fingers briefly against her entrance before sliding them back up, settling against her clitoris. He teased the bundle with slow circles and an intermittent jolt of measured ki that weakened her knees and jerked her hips forward. All the while, his gaze remained on her face, watching her every minute reaction.

One thought plunged through the clouded haze of pleasure dulling her reason: more. By the look on his face, the pleasure he took in torturing her, he would keep this up for hours. While better than spending that time on her own, lying in the unfamiliar hotel bed and searching for any creative way of fantasy she could to get herself with, she had to take advantage of what she had access to now before he could rescind the offer and send her on her way, dripping wet, desperate, and unsatisfied. That meant convincing him he needed her, too. For the moment.

With her unencumbered arm, she reached between their bodies. She shoved the front bit of his armor up and slid her hand beneath it, hand resting against his bulge. The motion of his fingers stuttered to a halt and she saw his jaw tighten. She wrapped her fingers around him and stroked him through his battle suit. For added effect, she released a soft sight and rocked her hips against his hand. In his moment of surprise, she freed herself enough to lean down and flick her tongue over the shell of his ear.

“Do you really want to use your hand for this when you have me right here, Vegeta?”

As she hoped, it was like she flipped a switch. Vegeta released another growl and swatted her hand away, only to grab her waist, pull her from the wall, and shove her forward. Nabooru stumbled a step and fell face first onto the bed. She shifted back and planted her boots on the floor, hinged at the waist over the mattress and backside pushed enticingly outward. He was on her in a second, one hand squeezing her hip while the other likely released his cock from his suit.

A glint of red caught her eye in the moment's reprieve. His scouter. She reached for it, switched it off, and tossed it into a chair in the corner of the room. She had no intention of being particularly noisy in case Nappa or Raditz returned early, but she didn't care to take chances with the scouter next to her head while he plowed her. This endeavor was risky enough for a multitude of reasons. No need to add on to it.

She cast a glance over her shoulder and bit her lip when he slipped his hand from her hip to slide the fabric aside once more. The extra enticement of arching her spine further and pushing her hips out wasn’t needed as the Saiyan had no intention of dragging their meeting out any further. She stifled her gasp by burying her face in her forearm, and her fingers tangled into the too-crisp sheets beneath her. The brief pain when he plunged his full length inside of her subsided quickly, his teasing from before offering more than enough lubrication and her need being more prominent than a concern for being torn asunder. He remained still for the moment, likely to allow them both to adjust to the sudden change in stimulation, and she idly thought that he could probably stay still and she would probably still climax with how desperate she actually was. A shameful revelation when she touted herself as independent and above needing sex regularly. While still mostly true, her delight, her relief with finally having someone to pleasure her besides herself called it into question.

Toes curled in her boots as his hips shifted back from their flush positioning against hers, her worried bottom lip raw and a shudder raced down her spine at the sensation of feeling each inch slide through her until only his tip remained inside. The coarse fur on his tail tickled the bare portion of her thigh as it wound around it, squeezing and slipping into her stocking to caress her inner thigh.

Just when she thought he had snapped out of the trance her taunt placed on him, that he would return to torturing her for his own amusement, Vegeta’s bruising grip returned to her hips and he thrust back into her with a stifled growl, the force shoving her forward and nearly off her feet. For added stability, she planted her free knee on the edge of the mattress, offering a slight shift in the angle of his penetration. She sank her teeth into the leather of her glove at her wrist and moaned, the pace he set brutal and swift, unforgiving and rough. Gold eyes glazed over as the lines between pain and pleasure blurred, a pleasant heat coiling low in her abdomen.

The trail of his touch as it glided from her hip and down the front of her suit bottoms felt like fire, and she pushed her hips up so the tips of his fingers would reach their target quicker. The simplest graze of her clitoris sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and, as he rubbed the sensitive nub, he once more employed pulses of ki to heighten the sensation.

Between gloved fingertips and the relentless thrust of his cock, Nabooru’s focus wavered from playing it safe to wanting to moan and scream his name at the top of her lungs. She wanted nothing more than to orgasm and feel him topple over the edge after her, and, to her mild surprise, he seemed keen on achieving both. The force of her bite left deep indentations in the sturdy leather, alabaster wet with drool upon release. She tucked her chin and squeezed her eyes shut, murmured, desperate praises of the Saiyan prince dripping from her lips as the heat in her belly coiled tighter and threatened to break.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder, lips pressed tightly together and trapping her mewls in her throat. His hooded gaze lifted from the point of contact, over the swell of her backside and up her spine to meet her lusty stare. A chuckle rumbled in his chest and his smirk returned just as he sent a more potent, constant shock through his fingers. Her eyes grew wide and she just managed to slap her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream. Her legs wobbled beneath her and her whole body arched sharply downward with the force of her climax, each wave stronger than the last.

Vegeta jammed himself fully inside her again amidst her walls tightly clamping around him. A growl ripped from his throat and Nabooru felt him bend over her back, his own body quaking with his climax and his fluids filling her. She moved her hips with his to ride her orgasm out with him, indulging in the slower pace. The sensation of him inside her and the heat that flooded her body. The dull, pleasant ache that already bloomed between her legs. The slight twinge of pain where he held her that preceded bruises in the shape of his fingertips.

Finally, she felt his tail unwind from her thigh and he pulled out of her. As if it was all that kept her upright, she let her body sag to the mattress, her legs squeezing together as another spasm wracked her body. Though quicker and less involved than she preferred, their quick romp accomplished what she needed. Bliss blanked her mind of little more than the prospect of asking for another round and rest. She knew the former would be pushing her luck, however. She could only guess why he had only just now caved along with her, but she imagined this would not be a regular occurrence no matter how much her addled mind wished it could be.

With a soft sigh, she reached back and trailed her fingers along the leg seams of her bottoms, pulling the pliant fabric back up and over her ass. She twisted around onto her back and sat up just as Vegeta tucked himself back into his pants and righted his armor. Another con of their coupling: she hadn't gotten to his toned body bare. They touched each only where necessary. The curse of trying to be quick. As efficient to release as possible.

Nabooru rose to her feet and busied herself with fixing her ponytail, loosened by the rough sex. Arms raised, she paused and her lips twitched in a smile when she caught him watching her, his tail swaying in contentment behind him. When he realized she noticed, he growled and looked away, heading to the corner of the room to retrieve his scouter.

"What are you standing around for?" he snarled, putting his scouter back on. "Get going."

She finished tying her hair up and chuckled. "You sure you don't want a little show or something?" She picked up her abandoned armor and let it hang from her crooked index finger. "I'm rusty, but I bet I can still manage a pretty tantalizing strip tease."

"Go before that tiny brain of yours comes up with any more ridiculous suggestions." He wrapped his tail around his waist again and lowered himself into a nearby chair. He rested his ankle on his knee. "This won't happen again."

Nabooru ignored the twinge of longing that came with his statement; she knew that from the start, didn't she? She went this long without indulging in her desires so she should be set for another three or four years.

She reached out and pressed the button to open the doors. "I'll see you later, then." She fought the urge to glance back at him, cast him a teasing wink, a brush of her hand along her hip, some enticing image for him to stew on, and strode out into the hall and back to her own room.

#fic: recruited #.:not sfw:.#:: nabooru ☀#// vegeta ♅#these dummies #i love how complicated it is for them #this doesn't even touch on why vegeta's like nah this it #no more #can't have that #BUT maybe that will come up in another chapter #or i'll write a little supplemental hc on it #for now enjoy this you heathens ;3

3 notes · View notes

superspoonie24 · 3 years

Text

Broken Steel

Kara is having panic attacks and is determined to find out who’s causing them. Almost 3k. Kara really just needs a hug and therapy. 💛

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130801

CLICK

"Oh no," Kara whispered as the door locked behind her. "It's okay. You'll be okay," she mumbled to herself.

Kara took a deep breath and focused on the reason she went into the supply closet in the first place. She fumbled around for the ream of printer paper until she finally found it hiding behind the toner.

"Gotcha! Now to get out of here."

Kara turned around to open the door, but the handle wouldn't budge.

"Shoot."

Kara jiggled it and pulled on it but nothing worked. She'd blown her powers out, so she couldn't 'accidentally' break the door. She just had to sit and wait for someone to find her.

"Okay Kara. You can do this. Just breathe. Focus on what Harley taught you."

Kara took a deep, diaphragmatic breath in, held it for seven counts, and let it out for eight. She repeated it over and over, but the panic still rose within her.

At somepoint she ended up on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. The walls were closing in, and it felt like she would be stuck there forever.

"No Kara. You're not in the pod. It'll be okay. Just breathe." Kara squeezed her head tight, begging her mind to focus on something, anything else.

"Come on Kara. You should be over this. You're the Girl of Steel, and you can't handle a closet?" Kara chastised. She dug her finger nails into her temporarily human skin.

Tears were threatening to fall when the door opened behind her.

"Kara!" Winn exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

He reached out his hand and helped her up. Kara brushed off her skirt and wiped her eyes.

"Huh? Oh I'm fine," Kara lied. "Just had a little trouble with the door. Someone she really fix that."

Kara walked off without saying another word. She didn't go back for the paper.

***

The elevator ride that night after work was the longest of Kara's life. She fiddled with the end of her shirt and rubbed her hands together. If she had her powers she would've just flown home, but she couldn't. And after having to walk everywhere all day, Kara was too exhausted to take 15 flights of stairs. Although right now, she was beginning to rethink it.

When the elevator dinged and the doors finally opened, Kara tore out of there. She ran into the empty street and enjoyed the open air. Despite how exhausted she was, Kara walked all the way home.

***

'What's going on? Why can't I move?' Kara thought to herself as she opened her eyes to total darkness. She felt like she was floating; she felt sick to her stomach.

'Not this again,' she grumbled. 'Alright. Breathe. You can do this.'

Kara maintained steady breathing as she drifted aimlessly through space. A bright light appeared in the corner of her eye. She turned her head. Suddenly she could see every detail in high definition.

'I'm- I'm in the pod? As an adult. Wait what was that flash? Where am I? Why can't I move!'

Kara's breath picked up and she whipped her head around, only adding to her nausea. She located a familiar white moon and a bright yellow sun.

'NOOOO!' Kara screamed as she watched her planet explode for a second time. Tears streamed down her face as she mourned the loss of her new home: Earth.

***

Kara woke up hyperventilating, her body covered in sweat. She looked around and realized she was in her room, on Earth.

'It was just a dream. Well, a nightmare,' Kara thought to herself.

She flung what's left of the covers off the bed and sat up. She stretched and accidentally got a whiff of her fresh sweat.

'Guess I'm gonna shower now.'

Kara got up and headed to the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway, staring at the small room.

'It's okay. You can do this. You're not in the pod. You're not in the closet. You can leave whenever you want.'

Kara took a deep breath and stepped into the bathroom. She left the door open.

***

Kara spent the whole day ready to fly through a wall at a moments notice. She nearly punched Winn when he came up and tapped her on the shoulder.

'Get it together Kara,' she chastised herself. 'You aren't under attack. Relax dammit!'

Kara took a few deep breaths and broke the mouse in her hand.

'Dang it.'

Kara looked around the office to see if she could get some intern to get a new mouse for her; it was empty.

'Okay. Guess this is a job for Supergirl.'

Kara tried to laugh at her bad joke, but it didn't help. She made her way to the supply closet and stood at its door.

'It's just a closet Kara. Prop the door open. Find the mouse. Get out. You've done it a hundred times. You can do it again.'

Kara just stood staring at the open door. She focused only on her breathing, blocking out all other sounds.

"Whatcha staring at?" Nia asked.

Kara jumped a foot in the air and nearly fell over.

"Nia!" Kara shouted. "Don't. Scare me like that."

Kara struggled to regain her breath.

"Sorry?"

Nia looked at Kara and asked "are you okay?" She then whispered "I thought you had super hearing."

"I do!" Kara replied, louder than necessary. "I was just- focused on something else."

"Alright..." Nia looked at her again but brushed it off. "So what were you staring at?"

"Oh. Right. I was.... Looking for a mouse! For my computer. Oh I just remembered I have to do something," Kara lied. "Would you do me a favor and get me one?"

Nia looked at Kara's trembling hands, but didn't push it.

"Sure. Go do your thing and I'll have the mouse waiting on your desk."

"Thank you Nia! You're the best."

Kara gave Nia a tight hug before dashing off.

'Time to go check on an old friend.'

***

Kara landed outside the DEO and marched her way to her 'old friend'.

"How are you doing it?" Kara asked as she slammed on the wall.

"Well isn't it my luck. The birdy has decided to visit the cat."

"Answer me!" Kara demanded. The glass started to crack.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Psi shouted.

"How did you get in my head? How come I feel this fear in every bone in my body? What did you do to me!"

"Nothing silly bird." Psi backed away from the glass and sat on the bench. "I haven't been able to do anything since you put this stupid lock on me. Not to mention the 24/7 surveillance keeping me from escaping."

Kara's eye twitched and she clenched her fist.

"It sounds to me like the birdy has some problems she can't solve. Sad how easy it is to break the Girl of Steel."

Kara punched the glass; it almost broke. "You better not be behind this," she threatened. "And you better pray I find the person behind this!" Kara shouted as she walked out the room, her hand twitching.

'Dammit,' Kara muttered as she rubbed her sore hand. 'I really thought she was behind this. shirt! It's game night.'

Kara flew out the window to get her apartment ready for her friends.

***

"Damn Kara. I can't believe you won again!" Lena exclaimed, gently punching her shoulder.

"Don't feel bad. No one has dethroned this queen in quite some time," Kara boasted, making broad royal gestures.

"I remember when you first came to Earth and didn't know what uno was. I miss that."

Kara shot Alex a glare and Alex stuck her tongue out.

"Has anyone thought about Kara using her x-ray vision?" Lena piped in.

The group collectively turned and stared at her. Kara's eyes flashed red.

"I'm just saying, she doesn't have her glasses on. They're leadlined, right?"

"Yes I do believe that Lena is correct." Brainy turned and stared at Kara.

"Fine." Kara swung around and put her glasses on. "You want to test it? Let's go. Rematch. Glasses, on."

The room was dead silent, everyone waiting for Lena's response.

"Deal. Get ready to lose, Kara Zor-el."

"It's on, Lena Luthor."

The rest of the room joined in the next game, but no one was surprised it was down to Lena and Kara.

"Uno," Lena flirted. She held up her card for everyone to see.

Kara didn't respond. She placed a plus 4, which made the room gasp. Lena grumbled as she drew four more cards.

"Red."

Lena grumbled again.

Kara slowly got through her hand until only 2 cards remained. Lena placed down a card and smirked.

"Uno!" Kara called out, beating Lena to it. Lena drew four cards.

"Do you want to keep going? Or will you just admit defeat and bow down to your Queen." Kara made another regal gesture with her hands, being very careful to keep her cards hidden.

"Never," Lena snarled.

Kara placed down a card.

"Uno." She mocked Lena's move from merely a few minutes ago. Kara prayed no one could see her sweating.

"fork," Lena mumbled, placing down a red 5.

Kara smirked. She placed down a blue 5.

"I win," Kara boasted. "Still think I cheated?" Kara asked as she played with the glasses sitting on her face.

"No," Lena mumbled. She was in full pout.

"Face it Lena," Kara started as she walked over to where Lena sat. "No one can dethrone the queen."

Lena looked up into Kara's eyes and Kara felt heat rise to her face. Her hands started to sweat, for a different reason than before. Kara knew she was blushing.

"Alright!" Alex shouted. "Let's play a different game."

Kara looked to Alex and gave her a silent thanks.

Kara scurried away from Lena and Winn pulled out a different game. Kara wasn't paying attention to his choice; she was stuck in her thoughts.

'Why did Lena think I was cheating? Does she not trust me? Does everyone else think that? And why was I blushing?'

"Are you okay with what Winn chose, Kara?" Nia asked.

"Huh? Yea. That's fine."

Kara glanced around as everyone started picking their pieces.

'Of course he'd choose monopoly. He insists on playing it everytime. Even though he always gets out first.'

Kara rubbed her arm slowly as the game started. She rolled the dice and went through the motions, using her standard tactic of buy everything she lands on. She took some deep breaths, but nothing seemed to help her calm down.

"Hey," Kara interjected. "Is anyone else hot?"

She looked around at the sea of shaking heads.

'Oh. So it's just me. Get it together idiot. It's just game night. There's nothing to be on edge about.'

Kara continued playing. She nearly broke the table when she landed in jail for the third time in a row.

"Oh come on!" Kara shouted as she slammed her piece on the corner spot.

"Kara, are you okay?" Lena asked.

"I'm fine. Go enjoy boardwalk and probably win this stupid game."

"Kara. What's wrong?" Kelly asked, taking note of the unusual behavior.

"I said I'm fine!" Kara yelled. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them tight.

The game continued.

'Dammit Kara. Get it together. They're just worried about you. Why are you upset? Why are you attacking your friends? They just want to help.'

"I'm gonna go get a drink. I'll be right back." Kara stood up and left the table, not waiting for a response.

"Can you grab me a coke!" James shouted.

"Uh, sure!" Kara replied from inside the fridge.

'This is nice. I could just stay here for a while.' Kara rummaged through the fridge for James's coke. She found one burried deep in the back and pulled it out. She walked back to the table.

"Here ya go," Kara said as she handed James the coke.

"Thanks." He grabbed it and set it on the table. "Weren't you going to get something?" James asked.

"Huh?" Kara mumbled as she sat down. "Oh... I uh, changed my mind?"

No one questioned it.

"Your turn." Nia handed Kara the dice.

"Finally!" Kara shouted. She rolled doubles.

The game continued without a hitch, until Kara landed on boardwalk.

"Oh come on!" Kara exclaimed. "It can't possibly be that much!"

"3 houses Kara. Fork it over." Lena held out her hand for the money.

"Alright alright. Just give me a second."

Kara felt everyone's eyes fixed on her as she rummaged about for her money. The room was silent. Everyone was waiting on her.

'Come on Kara. Hurry up. Just admit you don't have enough and forfeit.'

Kara's hands started to shake.

'No, it'll be fine. I just, need a minute to think.'

'They're all waiting on you. Your slowing down game night. Just end it. They don't want to be with you anyways.'

'That's, that's not true.'

Kara's breathing sped up.

'Yes it is. You know it is. They're just pitying you. The poor little alien with nowhere else to go. They don't want to be with you. They don't like you. Who would possibly want to hang out with a lost alien who's parents didn't even want her.'

"Stop it!" Kara shouted. She brought her hands up to her head and started rocking back and forth.

The room started to spin. She could hear every little beep of a microwave, every pet scratching at a door, every scream from her dying planet.

"Make it stop. Please. Everyone just stop."

Tears streamed down Kara's face. She continued rocking and pushing her hands into her head, trying to stop the noise.

"shirt." Alex ran to Kara's room without another word.

"Kara are you okay?"

"Try to take some deep breaths."

"You're safe here."

"It's okay Kara. Breathe."

Kara continued rocking back and forth. Her thoughts swirled about in her head, one insult after another.

"Everyone stop," Alex stated as she ran out of Kara's room. She was holding something in her hand.

Alex knelt down next to Kara and held up the earmuffs. She slowly pulled Kara's hands away from her head; Kara didn't resist. Alex slid the muffs over Kara's ears and pulled her sister into a tight hug.

'It stopped. Why did it stop? What's going on?'

Kara took a slow, deep breath, and let herself be hugged by Alex.

'Oh.'

Kara's tears slowly stopped falling as Alex rubbed small circles into her back, never letting go. Kara eventually opened her eyes and spoke.

"Thank you, Alex." She hugged her sister back.

"You okay now?" Alex asked, still hugging her.

"Yea. Thank you."

"Anytime." Alex gave her a tight squeeze before finally letting go.

Kara felt sick as she realized all of her friends just witnessed her total breakdown.

"So uh. That happened," Kara laughed, trying to brush it off.

"Do you want to talk about?" Kelly asked. "Only if you want to."

"Well um, you guys deserve to know..."

Kara rubbed her arm and looked to Alex.

"She had a panic attack."

The room stopped and stared at the Danvers sisters.

"I used to get them a lot when I first came to Earth, after... Well after everything. I uh. I haven't had one since Psi showed up..."

"Kara is claustrophobic, which usually is what triggered it," Alex explained.

"Is that why I found you staring at the closet?" Nia asked, concerned for her friend.

Kara nodded, but couldn't bare looking at her.

"Sometimes," Alex continued. "sounds and noise cause it, which is why I got the special earmuffs Dad made for her."

"Jeremiah knew I struggled with my powers." Kara looked up and smiled. "He made me these glasses, so I could control my x-ray vision. He also made a few pairs of earmuffs that keep me from hearing anything. I forgot I even had them, until now..."

"Kara," Kelly started. "This is nothing to be ashamed of."

Kara looked up at Kelly, tears forming in her eyes.

"But I'm the Girl of Steel. I can't just break because the microwave keeps beeping."

"But you're also a person." Kelly came over and put her hands on Kara's. "You deserve as much as help as you give others. You don't have to do this alone."

Kelly squeezed Kara's hands, and Kara looked her in the eyes.

"You sure?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not disappointing anyone?"

"No Kara," Kelly answered. "You're not a disappointment."

"We love you" Alex said as she pulled Kara into a hug. "All of us do."

"I'm impressed with how well you've handled everything," Lena chimed in. Everyone turned and looked at her. "I'm just saying! I turn to the bottle every other night, and I'm not the last daughter of an entire planet."

Everyone laughed at Lena's statement and Kara gave a slight smile.

"If there's anything we can do, please let us know." Nia smiled over at Kara.

"I uh," Kara stammered. "Maybe a group hug?"

Immediately, everyone surrounded her and squished her in the middle of all their love and support (and their arms). She was squished up next to Lena and couldn't help but blush. Tears fell onto Lena's shirt as Kara's walls came crashing down. For the first time since she got to Earth, Kara let herself break.

***

After the tears stopped falling, everyone returned to game night and the rest of the night was filled with joy and laughter. Kelly talked to Kara about joining her PTSD program, to go along with her regular therapy. After a moment's hesitation, Kara agreed.

Weeks passed and Kara started feeling better. She kept an eye out for whoever was causing the breakdowns, but she couldn't find anything, or anyone.

'Maybe Psi was right...'

#whumptober2020 #no.18 #panic attacks #phobias #paranoia #supergirl #fic #aly writes #claustrophobia #kara has a n x i e t y #and also panic attacks #kara danvers x therapy #vent fic #seriously kara just needs to talk to a therapist god damn #this bitch's been through a lot

3 notes · View notes