#like just personally i get very little from shipping w/in the confines of this story tho there are a lot of good fanworks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blue-pastel-cat · 3 years

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Xiaobedo Fanfic Recommendation

Welcome to my personal “if you are new to xiaobedo peeps please read these” list. As said before this is my personal list so please feel free to reblog/comment/hit me for not including any gem here. I might miss a lot of them because I am drunk or blind. (mostly have them on my to read and then forgot as I am being assault by real life shit).

I would like to say first that so far there are 150+ Xiaobedo fics on Ao3. I can’t review all of them but I can say that I have read a majority of them. Most of them are just pure love and I would like nothing more than a thousands thank you for all the fic writers who spent their free time writting these gems for us to read for free. But these...these takes the cake as it finds a special landing spot in my heart that I would just thrust them into someone’s hand if they say “I am new to this ship can you recommend me?”

1. Orange dust by bobamilkteas (Wes)

In which Xiao learns to open himself up to the world a little more after the collapse of Rex lapis's contracts but it was not always easy for a soul doomed to eternal damnation. Meanwhile, Albedo liked to tempt fate where the extraordinary are concerned.

If only the traveler's comrades are made of saner bunch.

Comment: Long ago when I like both Albedo and Xiao as a character, I was wondering hmmm....will anyone actually even write about them lmao they never met each other. I am surprise to see this one as the 3rd fic in the whole 3 Xiaobedo fic on Ao3 (yeah back when there’s literally only 3 fic for this couple). I was like I’ll read it for the curiosity, I’ll probably won’t ship them. And that people is how I put my clown make up on my face upon finishing reading it. This ONE fic alone convert me into a devotee of Xiaobedo. Please consider joining me in this circus if you want to know what is Xiaobedo. I would put this as the first of my “Big 3″

Orange Dust also come with its compliation of short stories over the course of the game and a big sequel to it. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

2. Solar Wind by birdpriestess (Sparrow)

For the yaksha, his duty was his life, and his life was his duty. No human could ever hope to understand the eternal war he fought out of sight and in silence.

So why, then, did he feel that Albedo would understand?

---

Finding himself at death's door once more, Xiao is saved by a surprising person, setting off the unlikeliest of adventures.

Comment: Do you like crying? Do you like the feeling of getting your heart ripped into pieces as the author destroy your emotions over the end of each chapter as the story picked up the climax? Yeah, this one is for you masochists. The action, the characterisation, the drama THE EMOTIONS OH WOW. I kid you not that it was so good I read this while workinng when I am not suppose to me. Also, this fic has my favourite characterisation of Gold ever. I love that dramatic queen Mad Alchemist. AND DAIN. I LOVE DAIN IN THIS FIC. Our dearest Sparrow manage to toy with our feelings like how I bully ruin guard for big numbers lmao. This is the secound of “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list.

Again, just like Orange Dust, Solar Wind comes with its own compliation of short stories of what came after that. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

3. Castle of Glass by AlchemicalStardust (Morgie)

A black shadow rises over Huaguang Stone Forest. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, Albedo flees the shaking ground and the crash of boulders tumbling form the sky. As the dust settles, Albedo finds a young man – an Adeptus – amidst the carnage. Despite the karmic agony ripping his body from the inside, Xiao’s only question is “How?” How did a human survive after witnessing his battle?

Comment: The last of the “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list. And it is still on going! Castle of Glass? More like I AM IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTIONS! Have you read a fic about 2 people yearning, longing, reaching out for each other so damn well that you just want to throw your phone in the air as they both had their impending doom coming down upon them? Yeah this is one of them. You will like want to be stuck in the moment they express how much they just yearn for each other’s love and care that you want to shake the author for what comes next. Like...everytime Morgie update I am expressing my gratitude at the end of the chapter by writing on Xiaobedo discord “MORGIE COME HERE AND LET ME BONK YOU WHY ARE YOU ENDING IT THERE”

trust me when you read you will def feel the same. With just Big 3 and their compliation alone that would give you like a LONG list of reading already LMAOOOOOOO

4. Find a place to call it home by yamajiroo

Our room, he said. Xiao’s brow twitches. Zhongli never said anything about this. But then again, perhaps he should anticipate this from the beginning...

Xiao looks over at Albedo, who is now tilting his head, his look as innocent as ever.

“Are you not okay with sharing a room?”

Comment: College AU for Xiaobedo! One thing that I love this is the slow burn and what made me LOVE LOVE LOVE this fic more is how cute Klee is in this fic. Their relationship in this one is very simple, but that simplicity highlight why their chemistry work. Xiao is someone who was just very gentle, who was largely misunderstood by his lonesome nature. Albedo was someone who like peace and quite in his introvert bubble. And how they respect that bubble that each other has actually made their relationship work. I love it when fic highlight this and this one captures it.

5. I Can't See Your Face From the Other Side of the Classroom by MissWeaver

When Albedo and Xiao unexpectedly start eating lunch together, they begin to find that they have more in common than anyone would have realized. They both struggle in their own ways with blossoming feelings, too many assignments, and annoying classmates as they navigate a relationship for the first time.

Comment: I’ll be honest, I usually hate high school au just because its so cliche. I don’t even watch and drama/anime surrounds high school student anymore LMAOOO (unless it’s very good). So if there’s an high school AU that I actually keep come back and read after a couple of chapters, it means that the cliche that I hate wasn’t there or barely was there at all. The pinning in this fic makes me want to bang their head together sometimes LMAOOO The tag wasn’t kidding when they said both Xiao and Albedo are bad at feelings. Also that’s a lot of heart broken caused by these two idiots XD

6. new world, same me, same bullshit by bobamilkteas (Wes)

At the belly of Dragonspine, Albedo lost control to the festering corruption that permeated his senses and watched, from the recesses of his mind, as his devoured body turned his allies into enemies. Before his rampage reached its climax, he is sealed in a crystalized confinement by the last hand of Reindottir, where he then reawakens centuries after, in a rebooted Teyvat.

Comment: Yeah I know it was list in Orange Dust but here me out. This sets out in an entirely different universe. And if you like Polyamory, this one has Zhongli joining the duo and I love it because I also love ZhongXiao with my life. Time Travel is my biggest kink. Especially when I am the person who love it when people explore Archon War era/ Alatus!Xiao. So this one hits double of my kink. Of course it is still on going and I will bully Wes whenever I can to see that new chapter. Albedo is a total fucking badass in this story and I completely agree from using him in Abyss so often. Everyone should write badass Albedo.

7. misplaced heart of mine by inkburn

“If you are ill, then you should be resting at home. In Mondstadt.” He emphasized Mondstadt with a pointed look in his direction.

“I assure you I won’t be troublesome, Adeptus Xiao,” Albedo said, “You’ll find I’m a rather low-maintenance traveler.”

“Travel,” Xiao scoffed, “without airstep?”

Albedo looked him up and down. “Are your legs just for decoration?”

(albedo is sent to liyue on mandatory vacation. xiao is his unfortunate bodyguard.)

Comment: Most of the time you will see Albedo and Xiao starting their relationship with one of them taking interest in another. But this one took another approach, they starting off by make them hating each other’s guts LMAOOOO and I live for every second of it. There’s only 1 chapter so far but wow it was SOOO GOOD. I am really really excited for next chapter and is waiting patiently ;w;

8. Blossom of Grace by birdpriestess

One day in Liyue Harbor, Albedo watches a street performance by an enigmatic dancer named Xiao. And he becomes completely obsessed.

Comment: Have you ever look at Xiao fight and thinking that he’s one of the most beautiful deadly thing ever? How it was like he was dancing around the battlefield? How about actual dancer Xiao being so absolutely beautiful and perfect and that slow burn of Albedo falling in love with that beauty with a touch of Modern AU and cute Ganyu as the Wing woman. Yes, Sparrow delivers yet again another beautiful slow burn and while it’s still ongoing it is worth the read.

9. i think we could make this work (could get used to this) by outspaced

“Xiao? What are you doing out here?”

“I—”

“It’s raining,” Albedo says, as if it isn’t obvious. “You could get struck by lightning.”

“What are you doing out here then?” Xiao does the only thing he knows how to do, he challenges Albedo. “It’s raining.”

Albedo just hums. “If I get struck by lightning, it’s for science.”

Comment: A short one-shot where I read the summary and went “This is it... this is their relationship.” I am sold immediately. Oh god Albedo why are you like this.

10. Ephemeral by criedprinz

“It’s not for your investigation, is it?” Aether asked mildly.

Albedo traced a finger around the sketchbook, considering the question. “No,” he admitted finally. “I... I just want to see them again.”

He opened the sketchbook to reveal the drawing he’d just finished. Aether nodded, clearly recognizing the sharp golden eyes.

“Xiao,” he said. “You were rescued by an adeptus.”

When a visit to Dragonspine goes horribly wrong, Albedo is rescued by an unknown stranger, wielding powers he's never heard of. Led on a search to find out who it is, he finds himself in the middle of an unforgettable encounter..

Comment: A really really well written one-shot that I love. The yearning oh godddd the yearning from Albedo side is just so so much that I have to put it here. (I think you can see the trend here lmao. I am a sucker for yearning). And the moment they get to meet each other again is just chef kiss. MWHAA

11. Idle Yaksha, Brilliant Yaksha by Pit0fTheEarth

Alatus didn’t have a lot of responsibilities to keep. He spent most of his days dancing across the sky and eating away all nightmares that plagued a person’s sleep.

But one fortunate encounter led to too many unfortunate ones, taking his carefree existence and plunging it in darkness. His wings, stripped from him. His gentle touch, replaced by an unforgiving grip of destruction.

There was a lot of blood on his hands. With each passing moment, it became harder for Alatus to recall the last time someone gently held him.

Comment: This is one of the ongoing fic where I am very very much excited on the take of Naberius. And the way the author portray Xiao when he’s still the innocent Alatus is just *clench fist*. Baby ;w; Baby why do you have to lose all that innocence. Also the fic has long LONG flashback to Xiao past and his relationship with Naberius. We are unwielding more what happened to both of them and why perhaps does this have to do with Albedo.

That’s it for now, might add more later! Thank you <3

#xiaobedo #tetsu likes to ramble #genshin impact

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ichorai · 3 years

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cellmates ; five ; j.wy

pairing ; jung wooyoung x reader

summary ; stuck in jail after stealing a necklace off the princess, what happens when your new cellmate with an impossible escape plan comes along?

themes ; fantasy, angst, slowburn, action, adventure, medieval, pirates, magic, elves, mermaids, royalty

words ; 8.9k

warnings / includes ; character death, blood and grime and injury and everything in between, reader being tied/chained up :(, vulgar cursing, crying, rowdy pirates, "keep the love interests away from each other" trope <3, ✨pure confusion✨, me torturing my characters once again yikes, ateez cameos !!, cellmates to (future) lovers !!

a/n ; uhm. hi. first off, i apologize for taking so long with this series KWHJKSDFK and second, i am also so sorry for what you're about to read o.0 this one's a real angsty part folks :') i swear i swear it gets better don't be too upset :(( i love writing this series so much (it's prob my favorite original story) and im so excited to hear yalls thoughts :D

cellmates masterlist.

a map of this universe is included at the end of the chapter !!!

Cerulean beaches never quite looked like real beaches to you. The sand was as white as snow, the gentle lapping waters so bright they looked to be molten sapphires. It was all far too perfect to be naturally authentic. You were pleased to find that your boots left shallow imprints in the sand, disrupting the once pristine terrain.

Night was creeping upon you once again, and you were in desperate need for a good sleep. You were lucky that Yunho didn’t live very far off, also pleasantly surprised to find that you could even remember the way back (though admittedly, it took a considerable amount of backtracking).

The front of his little cottage was just as you remembered, albeit dark and somewhat dingy. None of the candles or oil lamps were lit and the curtains were drawn. The large expanse of his garden seemed somewhat unmaintained, weeds starting to sprout from between the wilting, once bright flowers.

You knocked against the door thrice, clasping your hands behind your back while you waited. How would Yunho react upon seeing you? What if he blamed you for losing Wooyoung? What if he didn’t believe you? What would you say then? Much like the first time you came to Yunho’s little cottage, tumultuous questions and irrational thoughts churned about in your mind.

It took a long while for you to realize that nobody had answered the door yet. You blinked, mystified, and raised a fist to rap on the wood again. You grew impatient rather quickly, knocks progressively becoming more frequent and hurried.

“Yunho?” You called out after about five minutes of waiting. By then, it was obvious that the man was either not home or avoiding you on purpose. And considering how friendly and sweet the pink-headed giant was the last you saw, you doubted it was the latter. “I’m coming in!”

The door opened in a fluid motion, knocking against the wall behind as you swung it open. You stepped inside tentatively, peering around with widened eyes. It was completely dark inside. So much so that it took you a few minutes for your eyes to properly adjust to the ill-lit hallway. Just as you had remembered, the small living room was to your left and quaint kitchen to your right, the winding staircase situated in the corner. The familiar scent of maple wood was still lingering in the air, although faint and almost imperceptible.

You shut the door behind you and toed off your boots, shuffling into the kitchen.

“Yunho?” Your voice eerily echoed in the empty cottage.

And so you made your way up the staircase, peering into the bedrooms. A heavy feeling gripped at your chest when you glanced into Yunho’s bedroom. That was where you and Wooyoung kissed… you could still remember the feeling of his arms wrapped around your waist, his warm breath on the back of your neck. You wondered what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped him. How far would the two of you have gone?

Shaking all thoughts of the past away, you bounded back down the stairs. There was no sign of Yunho at all. Just where could he be? You tried your best comforting yourself; perhaps he had gone out for a walk. Surely he’d be back soon.

Much to your dismay and gradually rising concern, Yunho didn’t show up at all. Not when the sun started to rise again, not when you passed out in sheer exhaustion on a kitchen stool (you couldn’t bring it in yourself to go back up to the bedrooms), and not even when you stirred back into consciousness, the late morning sun glaring at you harshly through the slivers between the curtains.

Your bones cracked and popped as you stood up and arched your back, rolling your stiff neck from side to side. From the pirate ship, you had brought little else than a knapsack full of gold you found in one of the cellars, food that could last you a couple days, water skins, and two sheathed daggers. Everything else on the ship was practically worthless, or too heavy to carry.

With a heavy sigh, you splashed water onto your face using the kitchen tap and patted your sleep-ruffled hair down. The skin around your wrists were still raw and stung when you rinsed away the crusted blood. You wished San had given you that coconut extract lotion; you couldn’t seem to find it anywhere on the ship. Guilt-stricken, you turned off the water and slung the knapsack over your good shoulder.

If Yunho was gone, then where else could you go? It seemed wrong to stay in his home without his knowing.

Air. You just needed air to clear up your mind.

Stepping outside felt like a mistake. Under the bright sunlight, you felt your head throb dully in agitation. The garden looked even more lamentable now than last night, the flowers drooping so far that their browning petals grazed the dry soil beneath. The air felt thick and heavy, and you huffed out several breaths to relax your tense muscles, shutting your eyes in the process.

“What are you doing?”

The voice was so sudden and unexpected, you couldn’t help but shriek, flinching back against the cottage door. You were met with an old man standing just shy of Yunho’s unkempt garden, his gaze confused and somewhat judgemental.

“W-What?” You muttered once regaining your scattered thoughts.

“I said,” the older man shot you an exasperated look. “What are you doing, waiting by that house? Nobody lives there.”

It felt as if cold water was dripping down your spine, and you crossed your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. “But… that can’t be true… Yunho lives here. He’s a, uhm, a baker, I think. This is his house.”

The old man regarded you like someone would look at a madman. There was something in his tone that told you that he wasn’t taking you seriously. “I’m sorry to say this, but nobody’s lived there for years and years. I’ve never heard of a baker named Yunho in this area.”

“No… but I was just here a few days ago with him…” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip in thought. What was going on? Where could he have gone? What could’ve happened to him?

In your peripheral vision, you saw the old man hobble away, but not without stopping to glance back at you with narrowed eyes every few steps.

And then you remembered with a sharp intake of breath. You and Wooyoung were thrown into jail to fade away into nothing but legends… and now nobody believes you really exist… Wooyoung was thought to be dead by everybody… could the same be happening to his innocent, pink-haired friend? A dark, tar-slicked hand reached out into the confines of your chest and curled its slimy fingers around your palpitating heart in a steely grip.

They took Yunho. The realization had you slapping a palm to your mouth, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It all made sense; the untended garden, the old man saying nobody’s lived here for years… it sickened you to think that the only reason you could remember him was because you weren’t in Cerulea when he ‘disappeared’.

“Oh, no. Oh, god, no!” You leaned against the door, overwhelmed. If they took Yunho, would they have Wooyoung, too? Did Wooyoung even come back to Cerulea? If he wasn’t here, then he’d be the only other person who remembered Yunho.

Just what the hell are you going to do now?

It felt wrong to stay in Yunho’s empty little cottage with your newfound realization. The pirate ship was the second best option, but even that was much too far for your trembling legs; you doubted you’d even make it to the beaches, much less get in a small boat to row back to the anchored ship. Besides, the memory of San jumping off the side was one that you weren’t very keen on reliving.

And so, that was how you found yourself in front of an inn, only two cobbled roads away. The heavy door whined as you gently nudged it open, shuffling inside. Your heart was thumping against your ribcage so loudly that you could barely hear anything else. For once, you were glad that your name had faded into legend. To them, you were probably just another nobody.

The inn held the thick aroma of cheap alcohol and spritzer perfume. You glanced around curiously, noting the few people poking away at their breakfast and chugging down their frothy ales.

What looked to be the owner of the establishment was standing behind a counter, looking bored. He caught your eyes, and despite your head telling you to turn around and walk back to the pirate ship, you found yourself shuffling forward.

“What can I do for you?” The innkeeper asked, eyeing your haggard appearance.

Feebly, you pulled out a handful of gold coins and dropped them onto the wood of the counter. “Can I just get a room for the night? Will this be enough?”

The man across from you stared at you incredulously, his gaze flickering from the gold to your wide eyes. “Where’d you get all this money from? You didn’t steal it, did you?”

You blinked twice, shrugging your shoulders slightly. “They’re my savings.”

He looked upon you dubiously, but accepted the coins nonetheless. “You can have breakfast if you’d like. It comes with the room.”

Shaking your head slightly, you replied, “thanks, but I just want to get settled in for now. I’ll come down for luncheon.”

“Suit yourself,” the innkeeper quipped, sliding over a rusty key with eight engraved into its dull metal. “Head upstairs, turn left.”

And so that’s where you went, the wooden stairs creaking under your weight. You slotted the key into the lock of a door that had a large metal eight clearly displayed, and heaved the door open. By now, it felt as if your muscles were on fire. Everything seemed to be aching.

The first thing your eyes laid upon was a small bed, a thin, lavender-hued fleece wool blanket draped over the lumpy mattress and a single measly pillow propped up at its head. It took everything within you not to dive into the warmth of the woolen layer, but you managed to bide your time, even if it was just a couple minutes.

You toed off your boots, the soles of your feet practically numb. The pack that hung on your shoulder was next to come off, sliding down your arm and onto the bedside table. There was an unlit candle by the windowsill, but still more than enough light streaming in, seeing how it was still quite early in the morning.

The air smelled of breakfast from downstairs; consisting of, from what you saw, honeyed oatcakes and fruit tarts and rations of fried eggs and sausage. Your stomach was still quite empty, but you didn’t have the heart to go back. You needed time to think, time to rest.

After you nursed a few sips of water from a bottle in your knapsack, you finally allowed yourself to sink onto the bed, sighing out in contentment.

Everything felt so quiet, so still. This all felt like one of the stories you’d make up back when you were still in the cell. Perhaps it was all a bad dream, and you’d wake up in Wooyoung’s arms in Yunho’s little cottage, his lips littering soft kisses down the column of your throat until you stirred back into consciousness. A shiver ran through your spine and you sluggishly tucked the blanket up to your chin.

But since this wasn’t a dream, you found yourself at a loss.

“Oh, Wooyoung,” you whispered. “What should I do? Where are you?”

It was so quiet that you could imagine Wooyoung’s voice in your head saying, “Don’t worry about me. Just go. Get back on the ship and sail away and never look back.” You frowned at the thought, curling onto your side so that your knees were pressed up to your chest.

“I love you,” were the last words imaginary-Wooyoung murmured, before your mind grew blank. The silence that followed was what ultimately lulled you into a tranquil slumber.

You were awoken partly from the light from outside angling directly into your shut eyes, and partly from the agitated growl emitting from your stomach. Blearily blinking the sleep away, you glanced around the room, fumbling for the bottle in the knapsack. After gulping down enough to quench your thirst, you slid out from underneath the purple blankets.

And following digging your knuckles into your eye sockets, you stumbled towards your boots, shoving your still-sore feet in. You didn’t bother lacing up the loose threads. After all, you were just going down for lunch, anyway.

Downstairs, the inn seemed far more crowded than it had been in the morning. A twinge of paranoia sang its trill song in the back of your mind, but you pushed the thoughts away, moving to sit on a dark stool in the corner.

“Slept well, I presume?” The innkeeper grinned slightly, raising an eyebrow at the state of your rumpled hair. “What’ll you have for luncheon, then?”

“Anything you have, I suppose,” you replied in a raspy tone, clearing your throat slightly.

A bowl of steaming rice and battered fish cubes slid across the counter, along with a side of warm bread and a slab of light canary-hued butter melting off the top. You were quick to tuck in, eating at a pace that would most probably have your stomach complaining in the near future.

The innkeeper looked like he wanted to ask you something, but ultimately didn’t get the chance as an influx of customers poured through the doors. You barely glanced upwards, wanting nothing more than to finish up your meal and head back upstairs to properly plan out what you were going to do. The growing crowd’s noise was starting to make you feel a little antsy.

A solid five minutes later, your bowl was already empty, save for sticky rice kernels stuck to the bottom. You dropped a gold coin next to the half-eaten buttery bread as a token of thanks for the innkeeper.

And when you hopped off the stool and looked forwards, you could practically feel your heart lurch into your throat. The sight of him was one that you never thought you’d see again, nor did you want to. You’d recognize him anywhere. He looked unchanged, the same roughly-shaven beard covering the expanse of his squared jaw, the jagged scar that trailed over his sallow cheekbones. Those damned stormy eyes, the same color as the princess’ silver necklace.

The man that had guarded your cell for God knows how long surveyed the chatting crowd with an ugly scowl imprinted onto his features, nose upturned as if he misliked being amongst the common folk. He moved away from the door, shoving past the common civilians milling about. The innkeeper was the first to notice the burly man’s presence, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you today?”

Completely skipping over any need for niceties, the guard held up an unfurled scroll, “We’re searching all nearby premises for a dangerous criminal. Looks like this.”

From your position, you couldn’t see what he was showing the innkeeper, but it was quite obvious that it was some sort of rough artistic rendition of you. Dread trickled into you as you watched his face morph into one of slight recognition.

You needed to leave. Right now.

The busy throng of civilians were used to your advantage as you silently weaved through the crowded inn, people you bumped into ranging from deliriously drunk to slightly tipsy. Your heartbeat was thundering far too loudly, to the point where you couldn’t hear what the guard was growling out. You were a couple meters behind him now… if he so much as looked backwards, you would be a dead person standing.

Shit. The knapsack. It was still in your room. You probably wouldn’t last two days without it. And so, you set off for upstairs, pace steadily growing quicker, in tandem with your palpitating heart rate.

Grab your pack, leave from the window, repeated itself over and over in your head, a mantra of panic and dread. Downstairs was too much of a risk.

You were running so quickly that your boots caught onto the wood of the stair steps, and you just about face planted against the bunt of the hard surface. Pain blossomed across your nose bridge and temple. Slightly disoriented, you pushed yourself back onto your feet and rushed away. No time. There was no time at all to get hurt. You needed to leave. What good were you to Yunho, to Wooyoung, if you were thrown back into a cell?

Utter relief sank its greedy claws into you as you burst into your room. No time, no time, no time, your own voice echoed in your head. You grabbed the knapsack and pushed at the window and—

“Shit!” You cursed angrily when the window didn’t budge, the cold panes wedged tightly against the wooden slats. It was then that you noticed the bolted lock clipping the window pane and wooden framing together. “Oh, fuck.” Your breaths came out as tight, staggered pants.

Before you could decide on what to do next, you heard shrill screaming come from downstairs, the terrible sound of steel against flesh reaching your ears. There was nowhere to go from here. You were trapped.

Practically hyperventilating at this point, you scurried back to the door. Perhaps if you went downstairs and blended into the crowd, you could get out without anybody else noticing.

But alas, you never got the chance. Because just as you turned into the hall, you were met with the horrendous sight of the stormy-eyed guard, the very same one that you saw every single day you were in that rotten cell, an appalling look of triumph splayed across his rugged features.

A leering grin twisted his ugly features in such a horrid manner that it took all you had in you not to retch. You noticed the way his sword was unsheathed, a ripe shade of carmine trickling down its sleek blade. No doubt that’s the innkeeper’s blood, you thought solemnly.

Before you could react, the guard’s calloused hand shot out to grab your forearm, pulling you along with him so roughly that you stumbled onto the floor, hands and knees scraping against the wood in a manner that had your skin torn and bleeding. Feebly, you attempted to grab at anything to hit him with, to hold on to out of desperation. With no remaining patience, the monster of a man yanked you upwards by the throat. Choked gasps left you as your hands darted up to claw at his clenching fingers, but you immediately stiffened when he snarled out something that had your blood running cold.

“The Gods have been kind to you today, girl. I would have you speared right here… have you bleeding out until all the life has been drained right out of you.” His putrid breath fanned across your neck as you struggled in his iron-clad grip fruitlessly. “Lucky for you, the princess has personally requested you be brought back alive.”

It was dark outside when Wooyoung cracked his eyelids open for the second time. Through the window across from him, he could see a plethora of stars speckled across a blanket of raven black, glinting and winking at him through the glass. The room he was in was beautifully decorated, stone arches elegantly curving just below the ceiling and intricate flame holders spaced out on the pristine walls. The candles bathed the room in a gentle honey-like luminescence; calming and tranquil, almost a sedative. All of his previous aches and pains were now dulled to gentle numbness.

Where am I?

“Glad to see you’re back awake. You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?”

Wooyoung nearly screamed at the sudden voice from beside him, flinching so hard that the crown of his skull knocked against the bed’s headboard. He hissed in pain, face contorting into a grimace.

The elf (Yeosang was his name, Wooyoung faintly recalled) muffled a snort underneath his breath before swiftly pulling up a chair and sitting beside him, “Does it still hurt anywhere? I tried to heal your wounds with sarcio essence, but seeing that you’re human, it’ll take a bit longer for you to recover. You took quite a beating, you know.”

Wooyoung tried to speak, but the dryness in his throat made it hard to speak.

“Oh, here.” The attentive elf poured cold water from a pitcher into a small cup, handing it over to Wooyoung. He gingerly drank, swallowing with great effort.

“Where… where am I?”

After pursing his lips in thought, Yeosang bowed his head slightly, glancing at the tight bandages wrapped around the dark-headed man’s torso. “You’re in Nymaeden.”

“Nymaeden?!” Wooyoung just about shrieked. His bruised features twisted in agony. Perhaps he shouldn’t have shouted. Then, in a much softer tone, he mumbled out, “how did I get here?”

He was, most likely, all the way across the world from you. Although his mind was still heavily clouded, you were still fresh and prominent in his mind. He hoped you were okay… left tied up on that pirate ship… Gods, this was all his fault… What a fool he was, thinking you’d be okay after all that you’d gone through. You probably thought that he was dead.

The blond elf arched an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?” When Wooyoung shook his head in hesitant denial, Yeosang continued on patiently, leaning forward.

“It was just three nights ago…”

The waters were cold, seeping into his flesh and bones, filling every one of his orifices, the salt trickling into him like sand down an hourglass. He could feel it drip into his lungs. Bubbles of his life slipped past his cracked-open lips and Wooyoung, with what little energy he had left to spare, lifted his fingers and tried to catch the small globules of air. The sticky blood that clung onto his skin like honey dissipated into the ocean, staining the waters a darker, sinister hue.

Wooyoung closed his eyes. His limp body sank further and further down. This was the end.

But was it?

Mermaids, being curious and spirited creatures they were, watched the injured handsome man drift across the ocean, crimson blood seeping out of his wounds. They had seen how he was thrown off the ship, how he had fought when he was onboard. They took pity on him. Even unconscious, a pain, far deeper-rooted than his physical cuts and gashes, was quite obviously splayed across his features. It was the face of a man with an utterly broken heart. He had just lost something very dear to him, that was made abundantly clear.

The small group of mermaids glanced at each other worriedly, almost immediately reaching a mutual consensus. In a swarm of colorful scales and wispy locks of hair, they swam towards the unmoving body.

One of them shamelessly prodded at him, ogling him with widened eyes, and they waited with baited breath. Wooyoung did not awaken. And so, two of the elegant creatures wrapped their arms around his leaking torso, and jolted into a brisk swim, carrying him across the oceans. Wooyoung’s raven hair pulled away from his face, revealing the deep gashes across his paling skin. A thinning trail of his blood followed them. They had to be quick; this man was just on the verge of greeting death.

They were taking him to Nymaeden, the land of the Elves. The elvish folk were the best healers they knew, and they were rather fond of the mermaids. Perhaps they would be willing to heal this unfortunate soul.

“We found you on the beaches,” Yeosang said in a discolored tone. “You were… you were practically dead. It was a miracle we got your heart rate back up, really. You’re either an incredibly thick-skulled fighter or… you’re just a coward afraid of death.”

Wooyoung winced at the elf’s stinging remark. Which was it? Was he running away from what was inevitable? What was he fighting for?

Y/N, the small voice in his head chimed. Wooyoung swallowed heavily.

“These mermaids… could I speak to them? Maybe they saw where the pirate ship went!”

Almost immediately, Yeosang shook his head. “I’m sorry, the mermaids are long gone now. They’re due up North, and I doubt they’d come back anytime soon.” There was a whicker of sympathy hidden behind his molten hazel irises. “Do you have any other plans? We can’t exactly keep you here in the medbay for all eternity.”

For a second, Wooyoung’s ragged breathing stilled.

“Pirates,” he murmured under his breath unsurely, just loud enough for the elf to pick up. “Where can I find them?”

Rearing back, Yeosang hissed out, “you must’ve hit your head harder one too many times, human. You were almost in death’s bony grasp, and now you want to go back?”

“I don’t care!” Wooyoung erupted, flinging his hands upward, despite his muscles screeching in agony. “It’s not about me anymore. I left her on that ship… and I have to get her back. Please, Yeosang. Please.”

There was a beat of tense silence. Yeosang was no longer looking at the pleading injured man, but his head angled towards the window, gazing at the pale moon that decorated the night’s horizon in deep thought.

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” the blonde elf warned, narrowing his eyes. Wooyoung nodded vehemently. “Elves and pirates don’t mesh well together, I’m sure you know. Pirates are nowhere to be found in this country, they know well enough to steer clear of our waters. However… if you head westward past our nation’s border, you’ll find yourself in Cinisia. It might look like a small, harmless country, but I’m afraid you’d be gravely mistaken. Cinisia is perhaps the most dangerous country on the maps. Along their west coast, there’s an illegal trading market. Pirates swarm the coast like ants would spilt honey. If you’re looking for pirates, I’d bet all my silvers they’re there.”

Wooyoung took a moment to contemplate this. “How do you know of this market?”

“I’ve got into muddy territory with pirates myself,” he uttered with a stormy expression. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I have said this before. Elves and pirates? Not the best of friends, I can tell you that.”

Releasing a shuddering sigh, Wooyoung asked one final question. “Do you think I’ll find them? Do you think I’ll get Y/N back?”

Yeosang leveled a cold gaze with the dark-haired man, before gracefully rising to his feet and striding towards the door. “I’ll get you a map and traveling clothes and rations. You can leave at first light, so get some sleep. You’ll be needing it.”

A sinking feeling weighed heavily in Wooyoung’s stomach. He hadn’t answered the question.

Right before he left, Yeosang paused by the arched doorway and spoke once more without even turning to look at him. “And just so you know… if you make it out of that market alive and empty handed… I want you back here in Nymaeden. There’s something I want to offer you.”

The elf left in a blur of sage fabrics and soft flaxen locks. The honeyed flames of the candles withered inwards with his departure, faint tails of smoke dissipated into the air. The room faded into darkness, but Wooyoung was far too afraid to shut his eyes.

He was scared of dreaming of you.

That morning was one of the toughest he’s ever had. Yeosang had handed him a pack of traveling rations and equipment, bidding him adieu with a stout nod of his angular face. His muscles groaned and screamed with agony with his every step. The trek to Cinisia took hours upon hours, with hardly a break. Wooyoung was far too jittery to stop. He had to keep going. Creeks babbled with glowing water and the trees whispered poems in the wind, their alluring shadows offering a tempting sanctuary.

The contrast between Nymaeden and Cinisia was startling. Whilst the former was a luscious country of opals and forestry and pale elegant fortresses climbing to the sky, the latter was… well, it was quite hard to tell what anything looked like past the thick red smog lacing the horizon. The air stank of ale and smoke.

Definitely pirate territory, Wooyoung surmised grimly.

The shrill noises of whistling and hollering was a telltale sign that he was close. Wooyoung stepped over weather-beaten rocks, peering around the rocky cliff ledge to see hundreds, perhaps even thousands of ruffians gathered together in a colorful flurry of stolen fabrics, foods, and riches that seemed all the more glorious under the sweltering sun. Now, it smelled strongly of stale fruitcakes and gunpowder and sweat. Not the best of aromas, that was for sure. There were also pirates yelling out indiscernible prices that seemed to climb with every shout. He was pretty sure he saw a couple of them scuffling in a fight, some landing a couple square punches (most missed because they seemed to be too drunk to aim properly) on the nose before brushing their injuries off as if it were nothing.

What an awful place. Wooyoung could only hope you weren’t here. Well, no, that was a blatant lie. He’d do anything to see you again.

After digging his knuckles into his eye sockets to wipe his weariness away, he blinked the colored spots away from his vision with a melancholic sigh. Gods, he was tired. Unfortunately, he had little time to lament, so he pushed himself onwards.

Wooyoung seemed to blend in just perfectly; he was thankful Yeosang decided to pack in a tattered cloak. The rest of the pirates didn’t seem to bat an eye. Standing in the middle of a throng of filthy seamen, it was hard for Wooyoung not to double over and retch. His roiling stomach didn’t aid his precarious state one bit.

Though everything seemed to be a cacophony of rowdy pirates and the clattering of illegal trade, Wooyoung picked up on a particular chunk of dialogue exchanged between a gaggle of men.

“Have you heard of the siren incident? Yeah, it happened near the Isles of Odralle! Can you believe? Ship was fuckin’ headed to the capital of Odralle, but they had a sudden change of plans; suddenly wanted to go to Aurecia. Cocky bastards think they can sell anything to anyone nowadays, yeah? Good thing the sirens took them. Wonder if they were tasty, though. Stupidity fouls the meat, my father used to say,” one of the pirates rambled as he slurped on his ale.

“Your father was a jackass,” another snorted, pounding on his chest with laughter. “What the fuck is a ‘siren incident’? I swear you lot gossip ten times more than me wife does.”

A third pirate shoved at his shoulder, a look of incredulity painting across his tanned features. “How have you not heard? A famous pirate ship - maybe one of the most famous ones in history - got lured into siren territory! The whole crew’s gone. Ship wreckage hasn’t been found. Nobody’s heard or seen them at all. My guess is that they made a calculation mistake and went off navigation charts once switching from Odralle to Aurecia. Then the sirens… got the best of ‘em.”

This elicited a gasp from the fourth in the group. “Wait! The big ship with the peg-leg captain with just one eye? Damn, just hearing stories about him gives me the creeps. Legend had it that he defeated not one, but two fuckin’ krakens during a storm! His ship flag is, er, the red and gold one… with a skull, right? And the skull’s laying in blood and swords?”

Wooyoung felt his blood run cold.

He knew that flag. The flag they were describing… was exactly the one he saw before they took you… before they threw him out for the sharks…

And before Wooyoung could even think it through, he found his body jerking forward, pushing past the bystanders and throwing himself into the gossip circle with all but a mangled growl escaping his throat. He yanked the last pirate to speak forward by the collar until the tanned man’s face was so close, his nose brushed against Wooyoung’s. The rest of the gang immediately quelled their incessant yammering, eyes growing wide in interest. Some placed their hands onto the hilts of their curved swords as a precaution, but they didn’t want to do anything hasty. After all, they loved a good fight.

“WHEN WAS THIS?” Wooyoung was glad his voice didn’t crack as he yelled, shaking the stricken pirate by the collar. “There was… there was a woman on that boat. She can’t be gone! She can’t be dead!”

They all looked at him as if he were crazy.

And after a second longer, Wooyoung’s grip loosened. It seemed he was a little rougher than first anticipated, because the fabric around the tanned pirate’s neck was crumpled and one of the pearly buttons came loose, dangling by a thin thread. He staggered backwards two steps, painfully sucking in lungfuls of rancid air.

Were you… were you gone? Was that it? Had you succumbed to the siren’s sweet song of death?

“Mate,” the tanned pirate spoke up with a lilt of sympathy in his tone. “There was never any woman on that ship. And besides, the ship hasn’t actually been found yet.”

The fire of hope that once burned brightly within the hearth of Wooyoung’s chest, was now but a dying ember. However, the man’s words gently blew on the warm ash until a new flame ignited. This was a different kind of hope. Who knows, maybe you had managed to escape the sirens. For all that was good on this planet, Wooyoung hoped you were still alive.

It was then that the most peculiar thing happened.

A man (if he could even be considered a man) - perhaps one of the ethereal beings he’s ever set his eyes upon - strode up to the circle of pirates, leveling his stormy gaze with Wooyoung. His hair was a shocking shade of pink, laying in loose strands across his forehead. A dirtied tunic hung over his shoulders in tatters, ripped and frayed in too many places to count. The belt that cinched around his waist was lopsided and unbuckled, dangling to the floor. The trousers he was wearing, a dusted shade of raven’s wing, was in the same state of disarray as his tunic. He was a mess, and Wooyoung could see a thick film of distraught glazing his eyes.

“My name is San,” he rasped. “And I was on that pirate ship.”

The marble was cold beneath your scraped knees. Your eyes studied the golden rivets decorating the pale white floor, splintering off into branches of aureate, though it was quite difficult to see through the bruises and unyielding blood obscuring your vision. If your hands weren’t bound behind your back, you would’ve at least tried to staunch the crimson seeping out of the fresh cut you sported across your temple. The guards had thrown kicks and punches everywhere they could reach until you had stopped struggling, every fibre of your being felt nothing but raw pain and the kind of anger that left you completely and utterly exhausted.

You just… you wanted it to all be over.

However, with the King and Queen sitting tall and proud just meters in front of you, you highly doubted things would be resolved at the snap of a finger. Beside their majesties sat the rest of the royal bloodline, dainty crowns of lustrous tawny and glinting silvers resting upon their regal heads.

They made you sick.

“I must say,” the Queen purred at last, placing her chin on her palm while gazing at you with a malevolent smile, irises of amethysts glinting in the cold light. “It’s impressive how you managed to escape the dungeons in your condition. Even got yourself a pretty little boat and everything.”

You could feel yourself blanching. How did she know about the pirate ship you left by the beaches?

“As I’m sure you’re aware by now, Y/N is only but a legend. Though nobody truly believes you’re real, you are still very much respected throughout the nation. And since you’re regarded so highly amongst the common folk,” the King rumbled, clasping his hands together with a smug leer tracing his lips. “You’ll be made a lowly servant for the lovely Princess, Amarelia.” He gestured further down the line, to a sweet young girl barely of age. The Princess was a frail thing, with skin of dove’s wings and lips of sweet peaches and lashes that kissed the apples of her cheeks. She somewhat resembled a fawn, what with her large eyes and innocently placant features. Her curled sienna locks were gathered into an elegant updo, showcasing the glimmering silver laces on her dainty neck.

The very ones that you tried to steal so long ago, and the entire reason you were even here. That necklace was what made you a well-known myth in Cerulea.

Anger broiled deep within you, but you kept your mouth clamped shut. There were guards ready to strike if you moved even a centimeter, and you decided to play it safe for now.

There was something you were practically dying to ask, though.

What did you do to Yunho?

“To welcome you into servitude,” the Queen surveyed you with hooded eyes. “Crawl to Amarelia and kiss her shoes. Thank us for not having you executed on the spot. Perhaps it shall give you an idea of your rank in this castle. You are nothing to us.”

“Mother!” The Princess gasped in protest with something akin to pity and horror melding into her soft complexion. It was clear that the sweet dove wanted nothing to do with this. In a way, you felt sorry for her as well.

Nobody paid her any mind.

With a heavy heart, you started shuffling towards the Princess. Pain and humiliation blossomed across your skin like flames crawling over oiled wood. A part of you considered standing your ground, lifting your head high, refusing to obey any of her commands. And you would’ve, truly. But… Yunho. If there was even the slightest chance he was alive and kept hostage because of you, you needed to remain on your best behavior. For his sake and even perhaps for your own.

Once in front of her, you dipped your head to quickly brush your lips against her fine cream flats, immediately straightening your spine with a grimace afterwards. Amarelia regarded you with a sympathetic look.

The guards stepped forward to roughly drag you back to your original spot. Your mind barely registered the cold sensation of metal clamping around your neck, the rattling of chains a ghostly echo in your ears. The Queen was grinning so widely it was a wonder her face didn’t split in half. It took everything you had in you not to spit onto the floor in defiance.

When they started tugging you towards the grand double doors, you realized that you couldn’t just sit around and allow them to throw you around like a ragdoll. You kicked out your feet in resistance, ignoring the cinching pain of the metal around your neck, boots thudding against the smooth marble surface. The guards swore under their breath, pulling you along ever harder.

“WHERE’S YUNHO?” Your hoarse voice ripped across the throne room. “DID YOU KILL HIM? DID YOU KILL YUNHO?! LET GO OF ME! YOU MURDERER!” The small quirk of the Queen’s perfect eyebrows had you spouting out obscenities, rage bubbling over your struggling form.

Double-doors swung open, and with that action brought the largest crowd you’ve ever seen in your life. There must’ve been thousands - no, hundreds of thousands of people out there. And they’ve all come for you. The myth and the legend. Y/N L/N.

It was all so sudden. You didn’t even remember how you got to the front of the highrise platform, being forced back onto your knees with a grunt. There were common folk and wealthy lords alike littered about the ocean of heads. Some looked to be terrified, others watching on with hanging lips of awe.

You swallowed heavily.

“Behold!” The King bellowed from somewhere behind you. There was a sneering lilt to his tone that made you want to spring upwards and knock his teeth out. “Your beloved Y/N!”

The crowd in front of you erupted into pandemonium. It was a strange and overwhelming cacophony of displeased boos and excited screams.

“A legend and a hero to some of you, I’m sure,” the Queen hummed, somehow instantaneously quieting the buzzing mass of people. “Now diminished to a mere servant. Y/N L/N is nothing, and acting like they are worth any bit more than scum will lead to treason. I’m truly sorry to disappoint some of you.”

She didn’t seem sorry at all. The crowd practically roared at that, most especially the commoners at the back, yelling curses until their throats were raw as they threw moldy apple cores at the guards.

You hung your head in shame, gaze trained to the wood slants of the stage. Hushed murmurs travelled about the rest of the crowd like waves gently crashing against shore. You were alone on this beach, it seemed.

Truly, utterly alone.

You must’ve had the worst luck in the world.

No matter how much you’ve fought, struggled, resisted, it always ended up the same. With you kept captive. That musty jail cell because of a damned necklace, then bound on the pirate ship to be sold off in Aurecia (a part of your heart sunk at the memory of the friendly fairy-pirate San jumping overboard)… and now a different cell, your wrists chained to the cobbled wall behind you. Your arms were sore yet numb, almost having lost any feeling in them, but that was the least of your concerns.

It was bright here, unlike your first cell. Back then it was always dark, and always cold. There was a crackling fire across the room, licking hungrily at the burning wood, casting amber phantoms across the expanse of your place of confinement. It wouldn’t be long until the fire died out and you’d be shivering once more. There was also a small window, but it was far away from your reach, and you wouldn’t even bother to try, considering your arms were laced above your head.

Being back in the castle had your mind racing. Everything had been so loud outside. But now that you were alone with only your own thoughts to accompany you, it almost felt suffocatingly quiet. The silence was deafening, roaring awful things into your ears.

You missed Wooyoung. What would he do in your position? You hoped he wasn’t here, truly. He deserved to be happy elsewhere. But you couldn’t deny that a small part of you wished he was back here with you.

Face it, he’s not coming to save you, the snarky voice in your head spat out. Nobody is. You’re on your own. You have to save yourself.

It was at that moment the door creaked open. A man with silver hair slid in, grimness splayed across his defined features, like the wiry shadows of tree branches marring the warm light of the room. You spotted the medical kit he clutched in his sure hands.

He was the royal healer. It somewhat surprised you that the King and Queen sent him. Perhaps it was Princess Amarelia’s doing; she seemed to have a pure enough heart. Her parents, on the other hand…

“Are you alright?” His voice was a soft thing, a mere whisper, almost lost to the loud snapping of the fireplace. Hesitance was evident in his tone, accompanied with stinging sympathy. “I apologize, that was a foolish question. Of course you’re not, that’s why I’m here. My name is Seonghwa, I’m the royal healer for this castle. May I?” He brandished a bottle of strange blue ointment and cotton patches. You had just been humiliated and degraded in front of thousands of people, and now a royal healer was apologizing to you? He was certainly giving you whiplash.

After pausing for the slightest of moments, you dipped your head just slightly, still waiting for something bad to happen.

“Sarcio essence,” Seonghwa murmured gently as he doused the patch with the blue liquid. “Ceruleans steal it from the elves of Nymaeden. Its healing abilities are unlike anything we’ve ever seen. Ever since magic, of course. But that’s a thing of the past now. Magic is illegal in Cerulea. Not sure if you heard while you were down there in your cell.”

That made a frown flicker across your face. Cerulea, the ever-perfect country, needing to steal things from other kingdoms?

And with another stout nod, Seonghwa leaned forward to swipe at your fresh wounds and bruises, cleaning away the dried blood with nimble movements. It stung at first, restrained hisses escaping your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut. It felt like your skin was burning, and everything was on fire and the silent monsters were screaming your name.

“It’s a good thing if it stings a little. That’s your body working to put itself together.”

It was silent for a long time. You had to clamp your teeth down on your bottom lip so as to not let him hear your pathetic winces of pain.

The healer seemed to notice this, brows furrowing. “You don’t have to try to be strong around me, Y/N. You’re hurting, and it’s okay to show that. I won’t think any less of you.”

You eyed him with somewhat of a dubious aura, before bobbing your head for the last time. “Thank you,” you muttered brokenly.

Seonghwa hummed softly in response, screwing the cap back onto the sarcio essence.

The familiar creak of the door swinging open floated across the rooms, and you snapped your head upwards. Even the healer appeared to be surprised, bowing his head low at the newcomers. Also known as, if you had to put it eloquently, the true and utter banes of your existence. If you were the single flickering candle, they would be the tornados constantly whispering your flame good night.

It was the King and the Queen, draped in a waterfall of golden lace, diaphanous silver silks, and striking tones of mauve matching the hue of their angry irises. They held their heads high, looking at you as if you were the shit stuck on the bottom of their fine shoes.

“Leave us,” the Queen commanded Seonghwa without even glancing in the direction of the medic. She kept her gaze trained on you, and only you. Silently, he left the room with not another word, shuffling out of the door, unable to spare you one last sympathetic glimpse.

After surveying you, the Queen graced you with what seemed to be a smirk, and beckoned towards the guards behind her.

“Bring him in,” she said, practically dripping with delighted malice.

What happened next had you choking on your own gasps, tears immediately rimming your eyes like frost sitting atop tree branches on a harsh wintry morning. It had your stomach curling into itself, nausea climbing up your throat, begging to escape. A scream, so disgustingly raw and broken that it didn’t sound like your own voice echoed throughout the room.

They threw a peach-haired man in front of you, and he crumpled to the ground as if he were nothing more than a stringless puppet. If you thought that you were hurt, it was absolutely nothing in comparison to the sweet baker that you were so very fond of. He looked to be half dead already, bruises mapping the expanse of his pallid skin as abundant as there were stars in the sky. His once-bright pink strands of hair now looked a sullen grey, as if all the life had been seeped out of him. Dried blood crusted his cuts and gashes, littered all over his shivering form. You swore, with every fiber of your being, you were going to kill whoever hurt him.

“YUNHO!” You cried, heart lodged in your throat. The soft giant who had once been so boisterous, laid unmoving on the cobblestone floor. Kicking against the wall, you yanked away at your manacles fruitlessly until your wrists grew raw, wanting nothing more than to fall to your knees and crawl to him and ask if he was alright. It didn’t matter that you were hurting yourself in the process, you just… you wanted to get out of these chains, out of here, away from everything.

How dare they?

Tears were rolling down the apples of your cheeks, conjoining at your jaw and dripping mercilessly onto the ground. A constant drip, drip, drip of your pain made loud and clear to everybody else in the room.

You were so furious, so heartbroken, that you had forgotten anybody else existed for a short second. It was a shame that you were only reminded when one of the guards stalked up with the King’s nod of approval, gripping Yunho by his faded locks and yanking him upwards. His face didn’t seem to even flinch, numb and desensitized.

Was Yunho gone? No… no, he couldn’t possibly be…

A confusing concoction of sobs and desperate pleas and hiccups tumbled past your lips far too quickly for even you to understand yourself

The events that transpired rushed by in an indecipherable blur. You could barely pick up what the Queen murmured.

“This beloved baker friend of yours…” she cocked her head to the side in mock-thought, purple eyes flashing dangerously. “He is strong, I’ll give you that. However, he seems quite adamant not to give us any information about the other prisoner, Wooyoung. They were childhood best friends, no? I’m sure you remember him, don’t you?”

Your heart stopped at the sound of his name.

How dare you? How dare you? How dare you? The mantra reverberated in your skull until it was all you could think, staining your mind with an inky, poisonous black.

The mocking sympathy evident in her tone had you thrashing against your bonds all the more. “And alas… I’m afraid we no longer have any use for him.”

Just like that, the guard holding Yunho upwards drove his longsword clean through the gentle baker’s abdomen, dropping him to the floor. An ungodly wail tore from your vocal chords, resonating across the room and painting wicked smiles across the two royal leaders of Cerulea. Much to your horror, Yunho uttered no sound, merely dropping onto the stone with a thud. Crimson pooled at his wound so quickly, that the rose-hued ichor grazed against your feet in a matter of seconds. You stopped struggling, the drumming of your heart loud in your ears.

Since your gaze hadn’t left Yunho’s unmoving body, you didn’t even noticed the Queen sidestepping the puddle of blood, forcing your eyes away by gripping your slick face with one of her cold hands. You tried to pull your cheeks away, but it was as if her fingers were steel. Her purple eyes were so close to yours, you could see the flecks of aureate gold embedded within the enticing lilac. The Queen flashed you a charming smile, as if she hadn’t just murdered your friend in cold blood. It seemed she noticed your pounding heart rate, because she murmured an incantation in old Cerulean that you couldn’t quite pick up. In an instant, you could feel yourself relaxing in her grip, wrists going slack in the cuffs, the muscle in your chest thumping slower and slower. A part of you was afraid it would grind to a stop.

Her pearly whites flashed as she grinned evilly. The lavender in her eyes darkened drastically, to the point where any trace of gold disappeared completely.

“We didn’t kill Yunho,” she leaned closer and whispered into your ear, her tawny locks tickling the side of your face. “Killing is barbaric.”

There was an old story of a gingerbread man and a fox crossing a river you often heard retellings of during your childhood. The fox swore up and down that he wouldn’t eat the gingerbread man whilst helping him cross the river. As suspicious as the gingerbread man was at first, he eventually climbed onto the sly fox’s back, naive with hope. The fox arrived at the other side of the river alone and with a full stomach.

It seemed you were the foolish gingerbread man and the Queen was the fox. The Queen’s magic seeped into your being, clouding your mind in a dangerous haze you could no longer fight.

You believed her.

120 notes · View notes

ratskal · 3 years

Note

"*winks at y'all with both eyes*" My guy that's called blinking. But yeah I get where you're going. I wanna send two characters if that's ok with you? Broadway Genie and Jafar(specifically '92 version but you can pick whichever version you want).

Some days you just gotta wink w/ both eyes dude idk what you're talking about (in all seriousness ty for the ask! I love having an excuse to talk abt Aladdin) (not that I need an excuse) (but still)

Broadway Genie!

favourite thing: Is it weird to say how emotional he is? Because he can switch between being such a primadonna to this deep sadness at his imprisonment (we've talked about his "I'll be in my prison cell" line, bro that HURTED), to this overwhelming joy in "Somebody's Got Your Back" (his little squeal is adorable). JMI also does a great job at being so expressive in his movements that you can really get a good read on Genie's mood throughout the entire show, even if you had the sound off.

least favourite thing: This is less to do w/ his character and more to do w/ the show, but "Friend Like Me" and "Prince Ali" both feel too long to be practically right next to each other when they don't move the story a whole lot within the confines of one song, if that makes sense. I love the songs and the performers are excellent, but it messes up the pacing a bit for me.

favourite line: "Now Al, I promised myself a million times not to get too attached to you, but you and I have more than just a business arrangement and I can't sit back and watch you make the same mistake—" (I WANNA KNOW WHERE HE WAS GOING W/ THAT)

brOTP: Him and Al, of course. I love the idea that Aladdin was one of the first people that really meant something to him, since he was the first to really to treat him as a person.

OTP: I don't really have one (yet).

nOTP: I don't think I've seen any ships w/ him in the Broadway fandom, since it's so small, so I can't think of any off the top of my head.

random hc: Like in the 1992 series, Genie eventually returns to Agrabah (bringing back personalize souvenirs for everyone) and buys his own house there. He likes to travel, but he likes to be close to his friends / found family even more.

unpopular opinion: Are there enough fandom opinions about him that would make any of mine unpopular?

song: Marina and the Diamonds // The State of Dreaming

1992 Jafar!

favourite thing: I think he's unique in his villainy in that yes, he's very elegant and cultured, but he's also just a weird dude. He's not above making bad puns, he cackles so much that Hades calls him a freak, his lab is canonically a disorganized mess, and he's so obsessed w/ magic that he owns every magic book there is. Relatable.

least favourite thing: We didn't need to write him as attracted to a sixteen year old, thanks. I get that it's a reference to the original story, but it's not something I'm a fan of.

favourite line: "If you will not bow before a sultan, then you will cower before a sorcerer!"

brOTP: I think Jafar and Mirage make a good power duo.

OTP: MozenJaf, but in a very specific AU set after KoT where Mozenrath resurrects Jafar to do his bidding and Things Get A Little Gay.

nOTP: I'm not big on Maleficent / Jafar. I can see him having a thing for her, but I can't see her reciprocating.

random hc: He got the first half of the scarab key from Destane. It was the first time he ever met him face-to-face and he decided there that it would be the last time. Dude's creepy as hell.

unpopular opinion: He had no romantic or sexual interest in Jasmine. He knew that she hated being objectified and used it as a form of torture / was only interested in the attention she gave him, not that it was her giving him attention.

song: Panic! At The Disco // Emperor's New Clothes

#I'm on mobile rn #watch as the formatting fucks up lmAOOO #asks #thatrandomartistgenie

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diabolikmosquito · 4 years

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Tag Game because I have no self-restraint

@the-mostdiabolik-of-lovers posted this one with permission for anyone to tag themselves so obviously I’m gonna take it and run. My asks are empty and I’ve been craving ask games and surveys lately, sue me. Putting it under a cut so I don’t clog anyone’s dash!

Gender: Female Star sign: Taurus Current time: 8:15 PM, though it’ll prolly be later by the time I finish typing this all out. Favorite song artists: Don’t make me choose. A lot of my favorite music is instrumental OST’s, though an instrumental artist or two that I love are ones like Jami Sieber, Brambles, Otto A Totland, and Joep Beving. For non-instrumental.. there’s a lot. Ellise, SYML, Nico Collins, Frank Sinatra, and Bohnes are a few I’ve had in some playlists lately, but there’s way too many. Favorite songs: This is harder than the last one and I am not obligated to answer it. (’: But if you’re someone who reads my samples or threads, you might find some of my favorite OST’s/mood musics that suit the post/hint at something hidden in there. Song stuck in your head: Again, these change so often daily it’s hard to pick one, but a handful include A Little Messed Up by june, Dance Monkey (the slowburn edit), and way more OST’s than are healthy. (Highlights for that include the original Medievil soundtrack, which for some reason reminds me of Castlevania at times.) Last movie you saw: Birds of Prey! I almost didn’t go due to not feeling great, so I’m glad I bucked up and saw it with some friends. Last thing I googled: If you ignore the numerous Castlevania-related things in the last 24 hours, then it’s “cat keeps sneezing.” If not, then it’s “castlevania vampire generals” because being totally frank, I didn’t even know the generals with no lines in the first two seasons had names until recently. Other blogs: I haven’t been on it in ages and actually forgot the password, but once I get on that I’ll get back to you. xD Do you get asks? Not really, but I stick around for the people who’re kind enough to take that interest! I keep all the ask/rp prompts tagged neatly in links on my profile so if someone new comes by one day and wants to interact, it’ll be easy for them to. Reason for your url: The original concept for Pepper was very much a mosquito-like cryptid created for a certain purpose, hence the mosquito. The diabolik part is because I originally joined Tumblr to find a community for Diabolik Lovers (due to some other writing sites being very.. standoffish if you don’t write canons/don’t exclusively write gay ships), but now it’s just all kinds of vampire hell. Once I actually get into some more vampy verses you can bet I’ll be writing/reblogging stuff from those as well! and yes I am looking for more recommendations in that vein (heh, puns) if anyone has some. Average amount of sleep: Erm.. 3-12 hours. During the week it’s about 3-5, and weekends is sometimes my “catch up” time where I still stay up quite late, but actually sleep in to let my body get some rest. Lucky number: It’s always been 9, and it tends to come up a lot in odd places so I might have to stick with it. Currently wearing: An old super comfy high school t-shirt and shorts, complete with a coat of long hair courtesy of my cat who was just laying on me. Dream job: Honestly? Still figuring that out. I’m going on a clinical psych track at the moment, but I’ve been doing a bit of soul-searching and testing to see if I’m actually strong enough for the therapist/clinician route I was originally after. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough just yet to settle into a job where I could very well have to help abusers in their early stages, something that I have no doubt will be upsetting to me personally. I’m a bit of an empath at times so it’d be excellent for the job, but I also feel I’d take it home with me which is dangerous. I don’t feel like I’m smart enough for psychology research on regular basis, though, so I have some thinking to do. Thankfully I’m still getting my bachelor’s so it’s not like I’m hard-pressed to immediately figure it out. On a lighter note, smol me was very much convinced I would be a marine biologist due to my love of the ocean and my skill in scuba diving, but that evaporated when research told me they travel nonstop and frequent travel makes me anxious Dream trips: I’ve been on a cruise a couple times and the experiences were honestly life-changing for one odd reason or another, be it how that time had me interact with my family and the things I got to see and experience. There’s a strange sense of freedom, even though you’re mostly confined to a boat. I’d love to visit Ireland and Germany since it’s where almost my entire family come from and often the landscape is beautiful, and since our culture’s kind of been watered down after a few generations living here I’d like to connect with that. Favorite foods: I have like 2-3 cups of tea in a day and keep exploring all kinds of new types, so that’d probably be it literally. Ones that I idealize in my head though wheeze would probably be things like steak, or scallops, or a specific kind of ice cream shaved ice thing I had once that legitimately made me tear up because it was so good. Play any instruments? I tried to pick up the coronet in grade school since my dad played the trumpet and I thought it’d be fun, but I had some trouble memorizing the order of notes for songs, and it all kind of fell apart after an instructor dented up my instrument with a drumstick and tried to refuse to apologize/pay for it. (Yes, seriously, but that’s a story for another time. xD)

Of course I’ll pass the blessing and say anyone who wants to do this absolutely should, but I’m also gonna tag @sherbetcoloured , @natacular , @lachrymosestorm , and @l-e-w-d-y (provided they’d like to do it, of course)

#yes this is a shameless excuse to feed my questionnaire addiction and yes i'm sorry #ooc

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rachello344 · 5 years

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A glossary of fandom terms that have either been taken from literary criticism (incorrectly) or that I use that are either no longer in use or have... different definitions now.

If anyone has any terms they’d like to see added or words you come across that have confused you, please drop me a line. I’d be happy to add to this whenever. It’ll all be under a readmore so that I can edit it when needed. ^^

Discourse--Literally a discussion, like, the act of discussing. That’s it. More specifically, people will say, “the novel here participates in one of the many discourses on gender” or something like that. Essentially linking one occurrence to a wider conversation. Literature and Media do not exist in a vacuum, but neither can one work make a trend, but I’ll get to that. Just call it wank or meta. Use the words we have, don’t take words from academia, especially when you don’t understand their context.

Romance--One of many genres of fiction. This is a story that centers around a romantic relationship between two or more characters. I could tell you about how all genres are crutches and constructs we assign to make ourselves feel better, but that might be moving too fast. For now, what’s important is what a romance isn’t. A romance is NOT some kind of idealist model that must serve as a positive example for the Youth. That would be Utopian Romance fiction (which is boring because stories need conflict, but that’s my own opinion on the matter). A romance only needs the major plot conflicts to hinge around the romantic (as in not platonic, this could be love or lust or some combination thereof) relationships between its characters. Pride and Prejudice is a romance. Captive Prince is a romance. The Foxhole Court, while containing a romantic subplot, is not a romance. Harry Potter is not a romance. A story can have romance without being a romance. Compare romantic comedies with action movies, as an example. But, don’t think that a romance can’t be tense or unhealthy or whatever. Fifty Shades is also a romance, remember. If you wrote out the Joker and Harley Quinn’s story, only focusing on them, their story would be a romance. It’s more complicated than that, obviously, and there’s nuance, but I think you get the picture. Regardless of your moral views on the love depicted, a romance is nothing more or less than a story about the development of a romantic relationship.

Fetishization--I hate seeing this word thrown around. This literally means that something has been made into a fetish object on a cultural level. You can have the fetishization of purity in American culture, for example. And you can have the fetishization of homosexual relationships in pornography intended for heterosexual audiences. However. A single work of fiction is not fetishizing anything. It may contribute to an overall trend, but this is not a word to use for single entities. This is a cultural trend word. Sure, it can be used for subcultures, but whenever I see this word used, it’s used to mean that some work of fiction or other is bad for displaying a queer sexual relationship in any kind of (perceived) perverse way. Please stop using this word incorrectly. As a kind of burgeoning critical theorist (i.e. English grad student), it is incredibly frustrating. You’re using words you don’t understand in ways that undermine the hard work being done by people in my field. Unless you’re going to read Marx and Lukacs and learn what the word “reification” means, I think you should use another word. In most cases, what is meant is that some group people don’t like are showing an interest in something perceived as not belonging to them, whether that’s true or not. I think if we unpack that a little, we can all find better ways to phrase things. Fetishization is an accusation thrown around, not the analysis it’s meant to be. And, frankly, it needs to stop.

Normalization--This is thrown around so often I hardly know where to begin. This is not a word that can be used for a single object, again. This is a word meant for trends. For example, we could talk about the fact that male violence in our culture is normalized and so no longer taken as seriously as it should be. A fictional work depicting something you don’t like in a way you perceive as positive and uncritical does not mean that it’s normalizing it. A single crime procedural does not normalize crime. You could say that the trend of always showing cops to be in the right, no matter the extreme actions they take, normalizes the liberties they take in the real world, making it difficult to speak out against police brutality and other such abuses. But again, that’s the genre as a whole--procedural cop dramas could all contribute, but one of them is not going to be normalizing on its own. That isn’t how that works. Just say that you find whatever it is unpleasant to read because of X or Y trope. Or talk about how the TROPE is normalizing something. That’s totally legitimate. The trope of X normalizes Y behavior in Z culture/situation/etc. and this is harmful because W.

Romanticization--This does not mean that something bad is shown in a romantic light. This is another big trend word. Cultural myths about heterosexual marriage and related gender roles contribute to the romanticization of domestic abuse. A single work of fiction depicting an abusive relationship in any kind of perceive positive light is not romanticizing abuse. Cultural narratives about women needing to be convinced can romanticize the act of rape, especially from the male perspective. One work of fiction cannot do this. It has to be on at least a genre level, if not cultural or societal. Again, subcultural too, but you have to make the argument apply outward. The BL/Yaoi trope of having a Seme character force an openly reluctant Uke character into sex romanticizes sexual assault. One BL using the trope can contribute to it, but it isn’t romanticizing anything on its own. It’s not powerful enough to be capable of that.

Wank--The word once used to describe what is now called “discourse.” It’s usually a circle jerk of complaints about some fandom or another or the people in it. Every example of so called discourse I have ever seen was actually just wank wearing a new hat. Don’t put on airs or borrow credibility. Call a spade a spade.

Meta--Analysis on a series or character. Some of these are better reasoned than others, but the only way to truly rate them is in how well they use their evidence (and how much evidence they have) to support whatever claim they make. These are often essays, but can be a couple paragraphs, sometimes with pictures as evidence along with quotes from the source. Some “discourse” falls into this, but only very rarely. Most people call meta either meta or analysis instead.

BNF--Big Name Fan. This is THE person in your fandom, generally an artist, occasionally a fic writer or other content creator. You’ll know them when you see them. This is the person everyone follows. Their headcanons are so widely accepted that they almost always become fanon (whether you like it or not). Some of these people are super nice and use their powers for good. Others can become divas, mad with the power the fandom has given them. Regardless, there is almost always drama brewing around them (whether they like it or not, unfortunately). I recently saw some commenting on people actually asking other fans for permission to hold certain headcanons. Someone with that power is a BNF. That is a TRADEMARK of a BNF. Their fandom credibility and respect is so high that people see them as some kind of authority figure. Be wary of people who go along with this. They’re not to be trifled with, and frankly, it’s safer not to engage.

TPTB--The Powers That Be, otherwise known as the writers/producers/creators of any given series. These are the people that create Canon and produce Word of God.

Canon--Anything that explicitly happened in the confines of a series. Basically, the events of any given series in whatever form the standard is. I.E. episodes of a TV show, books in a book series, etc.

Fringe Canon--Works that are connected to the series in question, but not part of the standard form. Often includes movies, novelizations, guide books, etc. Can be considered canon, but isn’t something every fan will see/have access to, so can’t really be considered The Canon. Can also includes things that are implicit in the text, so something that can be argued in meta but that not everyone will agree on.

Word of God--Something said by TPTB that remains outside of canon. I.E. interviews, panels, and other things said at conventions or for PR. Common mantra, “PR is not showrunning” meaning that Word of God often has little to do with what happens within the series. Example: Some sub-textual evidence of Dumbledore being gay does not make his being gay canon (it makes it fringe canon, imo). Rowling saying that he was gay in an interview is here considered Word of God. You can take it or leave it, because no one in the series says the words “Dumbledore was gay” or any other variation that would make it explicit canon.

Headcanon--Something that you decide about a character. This isn’t canon and often has no strong basis in canon. It can include sexuality, gender, religion, favorite color, anything not covered by canon. You can also have headcanons that contradict canon.

Fanon--Headcanons that have become Too Powerful. These are things, good or bad, that have been accepted by a probably absurd number of people. Some of these can be great, especially when the series has some seriously bad writing, but if you find yourself disagreeing, this can be the worst thing you ever have to deal with. Especially when people who subscribe to it insist on its being canon...

Ship--Any feasible romantic relationship, canon or non-canon. There are of course platonic variants, but those are usually specified (broship, brotp, etc.). Most often two people, but more recently polyshipping has come into vogue. To Ship (v.)--For me, this does not apply to canon ships no matter if I like them or not. Shipping is transformative. To me, more than anything, shipping (as a verb) means you consume or create transformative media centered around that relationship (most often non-canon or not explicit canon, but could include canon, it just needs to be an active not passive interest in the relationship).

Canon Ship--The series endgame, usually (but not always!) straight. This is an explicit couple. They are in a relationship. They kiss (or something) on screen. You can still take it or leave it, but that doesn’t stop it from being canon.

Rare Pair--This is a ship that has some basis in canon, but is extremely unpopular. Some people include anything with less than a certain number of fic on Ao3, but it varies by fandom. I’ve been into rare pairs with less than 10 fic written for them, so anything around 500 still seems like quite a bit in comparison. Your Mileage May Vary (YMMV), but you’ll know it when you see it.

Crack Ship--These people have probably never spoken. There is no reason for them to be in a relationship other than the fan’s preference (often aesthetic or story-related). A crack ship is often random and completely baseless. A crack ship is not simply a ship that won’t be canon. Most ships will never be canon. This goes beyond that into the ridiculous. As a recent example, Keith x Zarkon would be a crack ship, while Keith x Hunk is perfectly reasonable (if rare).

Multi-shipping--Shipping characters together without a strong preference for one combination over another. For example, shipping your fave with every possible romantic partner, not just one (or more in a polyship). This includes Everyone x Character type things, not just “I could ship them with literally anyone.” Both count.

OTP--One True Pairing. The ship you love above all others, canon or not. For me, I have exactly one of these per fandom, but I know other people use it differently now. This used to mean that you ship the thing exclusively. You might like art for other ships with the characters in this OTP, but you’re not that into it. This used to be THE ship. The characters in this OTP were not shipped with others, and other relationships were used for jealousy or plot reasons, not usually because you enjoy the other ships. This is the ship you go to war about.

OT#--Same as above, but there are more than two people involved. So, the one polyship you hold above all other ships (poly or not).

BrOTP--Platonic version of the above. These are the ride or die friendships of the series. You don’t see them as in love, but they absolutely love each other. There’s devotion and loyalty and affection--or you just think their friendship is the best/greatest/funniest and you don’t see them ever ending up together romantically. You want these characters to be BFFs, not lovers.

#fandom meta #my meta #Glossary of Fandom Terms #Lemme know if I missed anything big lol #I've been sitting on this for over a year XD

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almostafantasia · 7 years

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sail with me to someplace new

clexa pirate au | chapter 9/13

Summary: When Clarke learns that her father’s trading ship has been attacked by pirates, she sets out on a daring rescue mission. The only problems – Jake could be being held prisoner anywhere in the Caribbean and Clarke has never sailed a ship before. To help save her father’s life, Clarke attempts to enlist the help of the notorious Captain Lexa Woods, a fearsome pirate who is just as broody and mysterious as she is unwilling to offer her assistance.

Read on AO3.

The walk back to Polis is a silent one. Lexa leads the way and she can hears Clarke’s footsteps just behind her as they navigate a path through crowded streets and winding alleys back to the docks.

The sight that greets them as they round the final corner onto the boardwalk that lines the beach is one of Lexa’s favourites. Even in a town as pitiful as Tortuga, the harbour at night is beautiful – shadowy masts towering into the air from the tens of empty ships afloat close to the docks, the lanterns on the deck of each one casting the entire area in a dim orange glow. With most of the crews out within the town itself, the decks are empty but for one or two men left on duty, and the stillness of not just one ship that is usually bustling with life, but an entire harbour full of them, is a wondrous sight that never fails to amaze Lexa.

However, the view doesn’t quite do enough to brighten Lexa’s mood. The refusals to help Lexa in her quest to finally put an end to all of Nia’s trouble, even from her own sister, gnaw uneasily at her insides.

The relationship between Lexa and Anya has always been a tricky one. On one hand they’ve always been close - growing up as the only two orphan kids on a ship of otherwise fully grown pirates gives you a special bond that never really leaves you, even into adulthood when you both captain your own ships. But Lexa would be lying if she said that it didn’t bring its share of struggles with it too; an age old grudge, selfish deceit, and a fiercely competitive edge (mostly on Anya’s part) that can be detrimental to them working together in the most crucial of times.

One might have thought that growing up together on the same ship, they would know each other better than anybody, but Anya still remains a complete enigma to Lexa. Her actions are unpredictable, the things she says are often brash and unexpected, and most irritatingly of all, the opposite cannot be said - she can read Lexa in an instant.

The implications that Anya was making about Clarke, however, send a shiver of discomfort down Lexa’s spine. She doesn’t understand how Anya’s words can be so far from the truth, yet still resonate with Lexa as clearly as they would if they were true. And if Lexa is completely honest, though she hasn’t even thought about looking in Clarke in that way until now, she’s just starting to realise that maybe she has been doing so all along.

She can’t even begin to understand how uncomfortable the comments may have made Clarke.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa voices her thoughts aloud, as she stands aside to let Clarke walk up the gangplank that leads back onto the Polis first, before following her onto the ship.

“There’s no need to apologise,” Clarke assures her. “We can come up with a new plan, a better plan.”

“I meant about Anya,” Lexa is quick to correct Clarke, all thought of their failed task in Tortuga having been pushed completely out of her mind. “The things she was saying. I’m sorry. Anya can be…”

Lexa pauses for thought, trying to come up with a word to describe her oldest friend in a way that does justification for how much Anya cares about her despite the relentless teasing.

“Blunt?” Clarke guesses, filling in the gap herself.

Laughing softly under her breath, Lexa nods in agreement.

“That’s the polite way of saying it.”

Lexa leads the way into her cabin, hurriedly tidying a few things away until the small circular table is empty but for three thick candles and two bottles of the finest rum in Lexa’s collection, dusty from disuse. Without the need for formalities, she removes her heavy coat, tossing it haphazardly over the furs covering her bed, before gesturing to one of the two chairs at the table for Clarke to sit in while taking her own seat in the other one.

“We’re drinking from the bottle?” Clarke asks sceptically, as Lexa uncorks one of the two bottles and draws it across the table towards herself, leaving the other in the middle of the table for Clarke to do the same with.

“Welcome to Tortuga,” Lexa replies, smiling across at Clarke as she holds her bottle aloft over the table. Clarke reaches for the other one, quickly removing the stopper, before raising the bottle in the air and tapping it against Lexa’s with a soft clink.

Silence falls over the cabin as they each take a swig from their respective bottles. Lexa watches in mild amusement as Clarke’s face morphs into a wince at the taste of the bitter liquid within.

“Not a rum drinker?”

“Not without having had a great deal more ale first,” Clarke answers, before quickly forcing herself to take another drink of the rum, grimacing again as she places the bottle back down on the table and swallows. “So, what’s the plan now?”

It’s Lexa’s turn to recoil. It’s late, she doesn’t have to worry about what’s going on above deck while the ship is docked, and she’s got a bottle of fine rum in front of her that’s practically begging to be drunk. The very last thing she wants to discuss is work, particularly after the night that they’ve had.

“Can we talk about something else?” she asks, sending Clarke a pleading look.

Clarke speaks almost instantly, barely taking any time to think before she says, “Tell me about Costia.”

Lexa almost chokes when she hears the words. She doesn’t know what she was expecting Clarke’s idea of a casual conversation topic to be, but it certainly wasn’t anything even remotely close to Lexa’s brutally murdered ex-lover.

Seeing the wide-eyed expression of surprise on Lexa’s face, Clarke jumps in quickly to add, “Only if you want to, of course. I’m just intrigued about what kind of person she was.”

“She was…”

Lexa starts her sentence, then promptly trails off. It’s harder than she thought it would be to find the words to describe Costia, not just because she was a one-of-a-kind girl for whom there aren’t the words to do her justice, but also because it’s been three long years since she was alive and memories fade fast in that time. After three years, Costia’s face is becoming a distant blur, her voice no longer serves as Lexa’s conscience, her laughter doesn’t ring in Lexa’s mind when she dreams of happy memories from years past at night in the lonely confines of her captain’s cabin. Costia becomes more of a ghost with each day that passes, until soon everything about her will have disappeared like a wisp of smoke into the air.

Pushing past the lump that tries to form in her throat, Lexa shrugs one of her shoulders and then concludes, “She was special.”

“I’m sure she was,” Clarke hums in agreement, a curious frown on her face as she looks at Lexa with an expression that suggests she’s expecting Lexa to say more on the subject.

“I was never supposed to fall in love with her,” Lexa continues, smiling happily as she begins to recall the happiest moments of her life. The memories are like the old rum bottles that they drink from, hidden by a covering of dust from their disuse but now that she brings them to the front of her mind, the dust unsettles and they become a little clearer. “I was never supposed to fall in love with anybody but especially not her. We met almost by accident. I had a huge row with Anya – this was before I became captain of the Polis and I’d just told her I wanted to leave her crew to get my own ship – and I stormed out of the inn where Costia worked in a temper.” Lexa laughs quietly under her breath at the memory of their first meeting. “I left my hat in there in my hurry to leave and she chased after me to return it.”

“It sounds like you made quite the first impression,” Clarke muses softly, her blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

“That I did,” Lexa agrees. “After she returned my hat, she told me off for throwing a chair at Anya and then offered to listen to me rant.”

“Do you make a habit of that?” Clarke asks, leaning forward in her seat with an air of mischief etched up on her face.

“Of what?”

“Of throwing items of furniture at people when they annoy you?”

Lexa laughs aloud, then takes another swig from her bottle before she answers, “Well, it’s either that or I hold a knife to their throat.”

Clarke’s loud peal of laughter fills the room and Lexa can’t help but chuckle along. She doesn’t remember the last time she had this much fun – in fact, she can’t remember the last time she had any fun at all. If only she had known that all it would take would be a couple of bottles of fine rum shared with an almost complete stranger, she would have perhaps done this much sooner.

She has a feeling, however, that it has less to do with the situation and more to do with Clarke.

“You make a lot of good first impressions,” Clarke tells her jovially. Sitting back in her chair and taking a quick drink, Clarke looks at Lexa expectantly, awaiting the next part of the story. “So, what next? You two just fell in love like that?”

“Pretty much,” nods Lexa. “We stayed up talking until sunrise and I think I knew right then that my heart would belong to her. I complained about Anya and she told me about her three brothers and her job and her big dreams of leaving that town to explore the world, and then before we even knew it, she helped me to acquire my own ship and I asked her to join my crew. It was … she was perfect.”

“What was she like?” Clarke asks, seeming genuinely interested in hearing the answer. It’s rather refreshing actually, to finally meet somebody who seems interested in what she has to say, instead of only caring about who she is and what her next actions will be.

“She was everything that I’m not,” Lexa shrugs simply, “and everything that I needed. She was kind, and patient, and made me feel like I actually mattered for the first time in my life. She made me a better person. And she was so, so beautiful. I don’t know what I did to deserve to call her mine.”

Lexa almost jumps out of her chair when Clarke’s hand reaches across the table to cover her own. The feeling of warm fingers gently squeezing her own is far from unwelcome, but when it has been years since Lexa has opened herself up to accepting any kind of physical touch, let alone affection, it’s startling at first to receive even the most basic contact from another person.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Clarke tells her, earnest blue eyes looking at Lexa with complete sincerity across the table.

“Ever since she’s been gone,” Lexa continues, her voice gentler and even more nostalgic than before, “I’ve always been worried about reverting back to my old self, about becoming the selfish person who threw chairs at Anya and stormed off when I didn’t get my way. Sometimes I am that person and I hate myself for it.”

Lexa reaches out for her rum, wrapping her fingers around the neck of the bottle and bringing it to her lips to take a drink. She drinks long and slow, savouring the taste, before finally placing the bottle back on the table with a thunk. All the while, Clarke watches her with curiosity etched on her face.

“Costia wouldn’t have wanted me to kill Nia,“ Lexa tells her, thinking back to the Costia that she knew and smiling softly as she imagines the way that Costia would scold her for wanting to kill her enemies when she could spend that time bringing about more peace in the Caribbean. Back when Costia was still alive, Lexa hated being reprimanded by Costia and would do anything to avoid conflict but now, when Costia has been nothing more than a memory for three years. Lexa would give up her ship for the chance to see Costia with her hands on her hips, the little crease between her eyebrows, and the tone of voice that seemed to be reserved specifically for disagreeing with Lexa. "That’s the only reason I didn’t do it. The selfish part of me from before Costia wanted to exact my revenge and cause Nia as much pain as she caused me, but there was always Costia’s voice in my head telling me to be the better person.”

Clarke’s fingers resting over Lexa’s give the gentlest of squeezes, before Clarke says, "I’m sorry if me asking for your help is asking for you to become that person that you left behind.”

“Don’t apologise,” Lexa tells her. “If I had gone after Nia and tried to kill her three years ago, I would have been doing it for the revenge, for purely selfish reasons, and that’s what Costia wouldn’t have wanted me to do. But now, we’re doing it to save more lives in the future, to stop more people from meeting the same fate as Costia. She would have liked that. She would have liked you.”

"I’m honoured,” Clarke says earnestly. “She sounds like an incredible woman and I wish I could have met her.”

It’s strange how one’s perception of another person can change so drastically in such a short space of time. It feels like Lexa has known Clarke for years, not just a couple of short weeks, and she can hardly believe that only a few days ago, Clarke was somebody that Lexa found irritatingly obnoxious. The Clarke that Lexa sits with now could not be more of a contradiction to her initial judgement of the girl from Nassau. Those qualities - Clarke’s stubbornness, her perseverance - are still there but now they are qualities that Lexa admires and envies, and Lexa sees them layered between other traits - compassion, loyalty, and strength even in the face of truly dire adversity.

In a way, Clarke is just like Costia. The two are vastly different in terms of personality, like the difference between land and the sea, but the presence of both brings out the best in Lexa and makes her want to always strive to be a better version of herself.

Lexa never thought she would ever find herself wanting to open up to another person again after Costia’s tragedy and the agonising heartbreak that followed, yet here she is, spilling stories from her past to an almost stranger.

The last time she did that…

Thousands of memories flash through the front of Lexa’s mind in a single instant, but there is one that stands out more than the others, the one from the night that she and Costia met.

“I want to show you something,” Lexa says abruptly, getting to her feet and gesturing for Clarke to do the same.

She makes sure that her hat and coat are piled neatly at the foot of her bed, then unbuckles the belt carrying the scabbards for her dual swords with fumbling fingers, laying them carefully on top of her fur bedcovers too.

It’s a big gesture. Lexa wears her swords strapped to her side from the moment she wakes until she lays her head to rest at the end of the day. When she wears her hat, coat, and swords, she is Captain Woods, respected commander of the sea, but for this, for what she is about to share with Clarke, she wants to bare herself as just Lexa, a humble pirate with an appreciation for the beauty in the vast world.

“Come with me,” Lexa says to Clarke. When Clarke gets to her feet, the bottle still clutched in her hand, Lexa adds, “Leave the rum. We don’t need it.”

Lexa leads the way out of the cabin and onto Polis’ deck. It was already late when they arrived into Tortuga and their quest to find comrades for an assault against Nia took them well into the early hours of the morning. Though the sky is still dark, the firsts glimmers of morning light are just starting to seep into the inky blue sky on the horizon, and Lexa knows that they doesn’t have long until the break of morning comes in its entirety.

“Have you ever climbed the rigging of a ship before?” Lexa asks Clarke.

Clarke’s head tilts back as she glances up at the mast that towers above them, seeming impossibly high from where they stand at its base on the deck. She looks at Lexa with anxiety on her face as she shakes her head.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Lexa assures her. “You can take it as slowly as you want. Your arms might start to hurt after a while but you can stop and loop them through the rigging to take a rest. The hardest part is ignoring the wind and the swaying of the ship as you get higher but that won’t be as bad while we’re docked as it would be out to sea.” When Clarke still doesn’t look entirely convinced, Lexa adds, “The view when we reach the top will be worth it, I promise.”

They start their ascent, Clarke first and Lexa right behind her, calling up encouragements and reassurances every time Clarke looks a little shaky. Lexa has been climbing ships for well over a decade and could probably reach the top of Polis in just a couple of minutes, even blindfolded, so this is a comparatively slow climb, but once Clarke picks up the technique and settles into a rhythm they start making faster progress and the crow’s nest above them becomes gradually bigger with each rung of the rigging.

When they finally reach the top, Lexa instructs Clarke to stay where she is while she climbs around Clarke and hauls herself effortlessly over the barred railing that encircles the crow’s nest. She reaches both hands down and helps Clarke to do the same, finally relaxing when they are both safely inside.

“Wow,” Clarke exhales, gaping around in awe.

The view is indeed breathtaking. Behind them, the town is still full of life, hundreds of oil lamps flickering and bathing everything in an orange glow. Ahead of them, the sea stretches out for miles, beyond the cliffs and beaches of the cove that secludes Tortuga from the rest of the Caribbean, all the way to the horizon, where the yellow of the sky hails the imminent arrival of the rising sun.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” says Lexa, sighing happily. She remembers showing Costia the same view for the first time and receiving the same stunned silence in response.

They sit down, legs hanging through the bars of the crow’s nest, and watch as the sky gradually gets lighter on the horizon.

With memories of Costia fresher in her mind than they have been for a long time, there’s still one thing that Lexa feels as though she has to settle with Clarke.

“Listen,“ she starts, getting Clarke’s attention as blue eyes wide with curiosity turn to look at her, "what Anya was saying earlier about there always being a girl involved…”

“Lexa, I don’t care,” says Clarke, resting her hand on Lexa’s leg.

“No, please,“ Lexa insists, ignoring the way that her heart pounds in her chest at the feeling of Clarke’s warm palm, even through the material of Lexa’s dark britches. "I just want you to know that it’s not true. Costia was the only one.”

“I thought nothing of it,” Clarke shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me whether you have a preference for men or women or both or neither. And I couldn’t care less whether there’s been one woman or a hundred. It doesn’t matter to me.” Clarke pauses, then squeezes her fingers against Lexa’s thigh before she continues, “And … and what Anya was suggesting, you know? Between you and me? To be quite honest, I’m flattered more than anything else that she saw me as somebody worthy enough to receive that kind of attention from somebody like you.”

“Somebody like me?” Lexa queries, her words almost getting stuck in her throat.

“You know…” Clarke answers vaguely, then glances away, her cheeks pinkening slightly. "You’re so brave, and strong, and yet so compassionate and…” Clarke takes a deep breath and continues, “and you lost somebody so special to you yet you kept going, you kept fighting for the rights of so many other people who don’t deserve to call you their Commander. I admire that a lot.” Clarke frowns, a hint of sadness in her eyes as she stares out at the yellows and oranges of the sky ahead, and then finishes, "I don’t think I know how to continue without him.”

Lexa covers Clarke’s hand on her leg with her own, leaning into Clarke’s side slightly as she reassures her, “You lost your father earlier this week. I’ve had three years to grieve for Costia.”

“But still…”

“But nothing. You are the brave one. You’ve faced one obstacle after the other on this journey and you haven’t let it stop you from doing what you believe is right.”

Clarke glances up, the little smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth almost enough to mask the sadness in her eyes, as she teases Lexa, "Most of those obstacles were you.”

“Sorry,“ Lexa mumbles, though she does smile softly in amusement. Clarke’s comment does lead to wonder if her answer back in Nassau would be different, if she had the hindsight to know how things would turn out. But this journey that they have been on, right the way from their first meeting when Lexa threatened Clarke with a blade to her throat to where they are now, sitting at the top of Polis’ tallest mast and sharing stories as if they have been friends for years, despite the tragedy of Clarke losing her father along the way, has been one of Lexa’s greatest adventures. And if it continues as she intends it to, with her plunging the blade of her sword through Nia’s heart, it will go on to be her greatest triumph as a captain.

And all because of Clarke Griffin, an unknown island girl who has unwittingly changed Lexa’s view on the world forever.

(However long that forever might last, though Lexa tries not to think of what might happen if a confrontation with Nia does not go her way.)

“I know this isn’t really my place to say because I didn’t know your father,” Lexa says, lacing her fingers through Clarke’s and giving them a gentle squeeze, “but I think he’d be very proud of you right now. You really are an incredible woman, Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke glances away, a pretty blush decorating her cheeks as Lexa continues to flatter her.

“Ever since I first met you I’ve been intrigued by you,” confesses Lexa. “Frustrated as hell, but intrigued. There’s just something about you that catches my attention. And then what you said the other day, it changed me. Because of you I’m trying to do something that I should have done three years ago. You’re a true inspiration, Clarke.”

On the horizon, the sun chooses that exact moment to appear over the sea. The sky lights up in a dazzling explosion of yellow, almost blinding in its sudden intensity. From the central point, where white hot orb of the sun slowly creeps up in the sky, the rays are visible shooting outwards in every direction, a beacon of light signalling the arrival of a new day in Tortuga.

Beside her, Clarke raises a hand to shield her eyes and lets out a breathy, “Wow.”

Lexa must have watched the sunrise hundreds, if not thousands, of times, but it is a sight she will never grow tired of. When she was younger, watching the sun slowly emerge of the horizon from the deck of Gustus’ ship was a reminder of the huge world out there waiting to be explored, a symbol of hope for an abandoned orphan kid trying to find her way. In the early years of her captaincy, with Costia by her side, the sunrise was a symbol of their love, a reminder of the night they met and a promise of an endless number of new days together. Since Costia’s death, Lexa has climbed to the highest point of Polis at the end of some of her darkest nights and the explosion of colour on the horizon has allowed to reminisce the happy times in her past, as well as reminding herself of why she must be the Commander and starting the new day with a fresh mind.

Today, watching the sunrise with Clarke is a symbol of new beginnings, of this terrifying yet incredible adventure they are about to go on where Lexa will either avenge Costia or join her. It’s an overwhelming prospect, Lexa’s most daring mission yet, but with Clarke by her side feeding her courage she hasn’t known since Costia, Lexa is full of hope that together they can pull it off.

“That’s a beautiful sight to fall in love to,“ Clarke muses softly from beside Lexa.

"What?”

Lexa’s eyes widen and her head jerks to look at Clarke. Surely she can’t be suggesting that…

“You and Costia,” Clarke explains, and Lexa’s heart drops in her chest a little bit, before Clarke repeats, “It’s a beautiful sight to fall in love to.”

Lexa can’t tear her eyes away from Clarke as she replies, “Yes, it is.”

#clexa #clexa fanfic #clarke griffin #commander lexa #pirate au #swmtsn #almostafantasia

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sleepycoffins-and-benhargreeves · 7 years

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TumblrFrostbite's AU Question: Regarding your OTP (Josie and Kazuya)'s child, how similar and different from their parents would they be growing up?

OHMYGOSH I CAN’T BELIEVE PEOPLE ARE INDULGING ME INTO THIS CRACK SHIP RARE OTP OF MINEbhsdbj. You are heaven sent bruh

Also, this got a little too long so I’m sorry ;w; I just have these two’s story written out so much in my head that I can;t help but, explain in so much detail ;w;

Okai, so Josie and Kazuya getting married and having a kid is a BIG WHAT IF or just a heavily implied AU. Because seriously, we’re talking about Kazuya here. The dude with serious daddy issues, mommy issues, child abuse, and trust and abandonment issues. Hell, he is clearly a textbook sociopath from the books I read.

But, let’s say he’s just a really heavily scarred man that can stray away from his past issues and can actually break away from said textbook sociopath. I imagine some life-threatening event happened first to either him or Josie before they actually got married. He’d be all like, screw world domination and destruction, if he can have a chance of a happy life with Josie, then he’d try to change. If that thought seriously came to him tbh.

So, if this were going to happen, I imagine him and Josie having deep talks and months or even a year of planning first before even considering having a child at all. Kazuya would bring up the past a lot and the devil gene. He probably already has it ingrained in his skull that his family was always meant to betray and kill each other and that would be fine for him, if Josie wasn’t in the picture. I imagine Josie trying to soothe out Kazuya’s past traumas herself until they eventually come to a time where they have couple/marital consultation and family planning consultation. But of course, entirely private at the confines of their home and no, they will not talk about the devil gene with the therapist.

This was probably suggested by one of Josie’s friends or advisors of Kazuya. I imagine the dude actually having advisors or something. Although, they’re usually for business, but since Josie talks to them, they caught up on the problem and tried to help. (Besides, Josie helped them with Kazuya actually coming close to below average nice.)

So, after months or a year of planning and consultations you’d think Kazuya would be ready for that shit but, no. This would be one of those very rare moments where Kazuya would feel a mixture of nervousness and joy and fear all at the same time.

In my head filled with fanfiction stories, I headcanon them having 3 kids, 2 boys and a girl. (PS: This fanfiction will never be written because not only do I not have the time for it but, I also know nobody would be interested enough to read it lol)

Their first child was a boy, which is why Kazuya was also reminded by Jin. Their first kid looks nothing like Jin(except maybe for the eyebrows), most of the baby’s features leaned towards Josie, even the skin colour and hair. So, he cried because he has mix feelings of wanting to protect the child but, also being heavily worried because what if this child would grow up to be just like him and Jin?

Kazuya is strict, more strict than, Josie could ever be. Having grown up from a traditional family of “Are you worthy enough to carry the name Mishima?”, all of those expectations and not to mention his own molded personality of being cruel; he has a hard time knowing which is punishment for the child and which is being a cruel father like Heihachi was to him.

Josie agreed on their child learning the Mishima fighting style as long as the kid also gets to learn Arnis and Yaw-Yan. Their children’s fighting style is a mixture of those two. Josie is your strict Asian mother that’s like “Your grades and all this blah blah blah must be high”, although she’s just a model and professional kickboxer, I imagine she’s also a college graduate with a degree somewhere in the field of medicine or engineer. She takes studies and extra-curricular activities very seriously and is always on full-on support to whatever her child loves to do.

But, she can also be a very doting mother who’s easy to give in to her child’s wants. But, It’s something like a reward system of “If you finish your homework then yes, we can go to Disneyland afterwards.” type of thing. Josie quite easily fit into the rick lifestyle since her family was already above middle-class before marrying Kazuya. Also, how she raises her children is exactly the same as to how she was raised, only with more expensive tastes.

Kazuya never realizes or most of the time doesn’t realize when he’s being too harsh and pushing their Mishima heir too hard. The kid would be in tears and he’d only think of it as “Inheriting the cry baby trait from his mother.” thought.

Him and Josie would have constant fights about how Kazuya is traumatizing their child. Kazuya tries to listen of course but, he always gives the rebuttal of “How can he be a Mishima if he can’t do this and that” kind of thing or “If he doesn’t become strong enough, his devil will consume him!” and the only way for him actually see that he’s in the wrong is when Josie tells him that he’s turning into his father. Kazuya would never want to be like Heihachi so, they make up with that and more therapy for Kazuya ensues.

Kazuya only got to be really close with their kid when Joshua (Yep,their kid’s name. Something like Joshua or Junichirou because it’s a Mishima thing to be named after their mother) was around 5 years old. Yes, they had their playdates together and Kazuya wanted to be home more often because he wants to see his family (But also protect Josie and see if the kid’s devil gene would active early)

Josie always explains to their kid how Kazuya is a good man and he just has a hard time understanding others so she asks for their child to be more understanding of his father. Joshua always tries to win his father’s favor by training hard, doing good academically, and trying to be an affectionate son by giving letters, handmade gifts, and cooking with his mother. More often than, not Joshua breaks down from pressure and high expectations from both of his parents. They’re both very demanding so, I imagine Joshua getting a therapist even at a young age.

That and also because I love the headcanon from Kazuyagoddamnmishima that the devil gene gives you chronic nightmares. Kazuya is used to it, but ever since he and Josie got together, they’ve lessened. He can’t teach his son how he coped with them so, they brought him to a therapist instead. Even though, Joshua hasn’t activated his devil gene yet, the nightmares still happen because of the pressure and expectations. They all stay up together to keep Joshua company (Kazuya is quite reluctant at first but, eventually gives in and it becomes a family routine to sleep together from time to time)

On the less angsty side of this though, is that Kazuya and Joshua play baseball together and bond over their shared loved of collecting sneakers. Their love for sneakers got them to spend more time together; shopping for sneakers all over the world. Kazuya had already forgotten how fun it was to actually not think about anything and just enjoy being a sneaker head with his son.

Their favourite family trips would have to be either playing baseball or basktetball (Josie kinda pushed for it because it’s a well loved sport in the Philippines and Joshua likes it too) or going to beaches. They make sure to always visit the beaches in the Philippines so their kid could also spend some time with his grandparents.

Also, Kazuya buying every game console known to mankind and inviting the Rizal family over to Japan so the relative’s kids could play with Joshua. That or they bring everything to the Philippines and it somehow worked out with them renting a whole hotel because their stuff could not fit inside the Rizal family home.

When Kazuya’s defenses against Joshua eventually crumbled down, they decided to have another since Joshua was already 5 or 6 and Josie really wanted a new baby, especially a girl.

They had twins. Kazumi is older by 2 minutes to Alfonso (named after Josie’s grandfather). Josie gets to name their children because Kazuya isn’t good with them in a sense that he feels uncomfortable with it. Joshua only got the second name Junichirou because he’s going to inherit the Mishima Zaibatsu one day. He’s happy with the Filipino names though and there was a time where they thought using real Filipino names (because most are either Spanish or Ameircan names in the Philippines) but, they decided not to do so because family tradition. They both come from families where you hand down an old family name to the children or well, in Kazuya’s side the feminine or masculine version of the grandparent’s names.

Kazumi looks like Kazuya, hence she looks a lot like her grandmother Kazumi Mishima. The only thing she inherited from Josie is her wavy hair, almost morena skin colour and short stature (both Joshua and Kazumi are on the rather short side. 5′5/5′6 and 5′3 respectively) whilst Alfonso is a mixture both of his parents, Kazuya’s hair and eyes, Josie’s eyebrows and nose, Kazuya’s lips, Josie’s cheekbones, and out of all the siblings he has the lightest skin colour. Alfonso stands about 5′9 to 6′0.

When Kazumi and Alfonso were born that was the moment Kazuya felt like a real father whom was protective and would do anything for his family. Kazumi was like a precious little treasure to him and was pretty much at shock for the feelings of becoming a father to a daughter.

When the twins were born Kazuya started to really drill into Joshua about the family and inheritance. He trains both Joshua and Alfonso hard and when it comes to Kazumi, he doesn’t realize how soft he becomes until Kazumi herself points it out to him.

Out of all the siblings, Kazumi inherited Kazuya’s rather dark and stoic personality. Although, Alfonso has that scary unapproachable aura to him, people should be more afraid of Kazumi. She’s as cruel, unforgiving, and sadistic as her father(Josie eventually soothes it down from her). Joshua and Alfonso are the softy cry babies that are more like, Josie(They grow out of it unlike, Josie though. But, they have what we call Pusong Mamon-literal translation sponge cake heart, where you’re a cinnamonroll softy that cries even at the smallest saddest things and love helping people out like a saint-). And yes, they all inherited Kazuya’s sense of humor. Very dark.

All in all, the Rizal-Mishima family is a cute coping family that goes on routinely scheduled therapy. Except for Kazumi, nobody knows how she can keep herself normal with the nightmares. There is a small fear in Kazuya that she’d end up like her grandmother but, they all pray it won’t happen. But, it just so happens that there is a strong personality trait like that in the Hachijo clan that Kazumi inherited.

They’re all Roman Catholic btw, the kids and Josie. Kazuya doesn’t believe in religion but, Josie does and that influenced their children and made them accept their devil gene a little more easier in a sense that they could use the power for good. Alfonso has yet, to active his devil gene till he reaches somewhere around 20. Joshua activated his when 13 and Kazumi 5.

#frostbite883 #Tekken #Josie Rizal #Kazuya Mishima #Mishima Kazuya #Rizal Mishima Family AU #Jozuya #Josuya #Kazusie #Heihachi Mishima #Kazumi Mishima #Mishima Heihachi #Mishima Kazumi

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athyrabunlord · 7 years

Text

Daydream [V]. Dia

Reminder: This is based off of Daydream Warrior and this fanart I did Warning: Profanity, violence and sex. Ships: You>Chika>Kanan>Riko>?; with mentions of YouMari & KanaMari, and implied DiaYoshi & Maruby Words: 2,397

[I. Mari] [II. Chika] [III. Yohane] [IV. Kanan] [V. Dia] [VI. Hanamaru & Ruby] [VII. You] [VIII. Riko] [IX. ???]

V. Dia

“Even as I search, I don't want to find you Once I find you, I have to attack ”

You absolutely hated the hospital.

There was something about the artificial scents, the inhuman bleach-white wall and the carefully neutral expressions of the staff that put her on edge. This was a place where some lives were saved and some were not. People came to the hospital for a reason, whether to seek treatment for ailments, to receive operations so they could be functional again, or just to visit those who were unfortunate enough to become confined.

Here, even the toughest and proudest of people were forced to shed their cover, exposing the vulnerable part of themselves to complete strangers.

You despised that.

She didn’t mind the pain. Her injuries would eventually heal without her ever visiting the hospital. She had long grown numb to the concept of time, so she was fine with waiting in spite of the inconveniences her limited movements would cause.

But she promised Chika that she would go to the hospital.

Chika tasted so sweet and warm. Just as Kanan said.

Infuriated by the reminder, You shifted and deepened the kiss. How dare Kanan had claimed Chika. No, she shall mark Chika as hers. Watanabe You was just a human too. Was it so wrong to seek physical connection with the girl she loved? Chika wasn’t resisting at all, so perhaps there was hope for her?

You kissed the corner of Chika’s mouth, jaw and neck, relishing in the warm and soft skin as she pushed the latter onto the floor. She palmed up Chika’s smooth thigh but found herself unable to move any higher. Her trembling hand stopped at the hem of the oversized shirt, frozen by an automatic decree not to trespass the forbidden.

I am hurting her, aren’t I?

“You-chan…” Chika’s hand gingerly cupped You’s cheek, her movement so gentle as if mindful of the horrid bruises that marred her wet face. Wet from blood or tears, You no longer knew, but the soothing sensation was a jarring contrast to that animalistic desire gripping her mind earlier.

Now snapped back to her senses, You recoiled and got off Chika.

“I-I… I was…”

What the fuck did she do to Chika? What had she almost fucking done to the girl she swore to protect?

Ashamed and horrified, You staggered towards the door, desperate to leave this place so she could somewhat think again.

“You-chan! Wait-”

“Don’t come after me!” You gripped the door frame and kept her gaze at the ground. She was too scared to look back and see Chika’s expression. “I shouldn’t be anywhere near you right now. I don’t trust myself, Chika-chan. Who knows what else I might do?”

There was shuffling noise and quiet steps until she felt Chika tug at the back of her shirt. “Then promise me you’ll go to the hospital or clinic at least, okay? Y-you’re really hurt. I-I want you to be o-okay.”

“... even after what I’ve done to you?”

“You’re still my best friend-” Chika stopped abruptly, and You carefully loosened her grip on the doorframe. “You’re still You-chan. P-Promise me you’ll get your injuries checked. Afterwards, please c-come back and w-we’ll talk, okay?”

You breathed shakily and slouched in her seat. Even though she had picked an unoccupied bench at an inconspicuous corner, she could still feel people glancing her way. Such scrutiny angered and amused her at the same time. She hated the innocently curious and pitiful eyes, condemning these strangers for drawing their own conclusion about her story when they didn’t even have a damn clue.

On the other hand, well, she wasn’t as invincible as she believed herself to be.

Images of what happened at Chika’s place kept assaulting her mind. Groaning, she sank deeper in her seat and pressed her clenched fists against her face, though that did nothing to alleviate the nausea. Pain was scorching her body, yet it did not originate from her wounds but from her chest and head. The guilt was making it so damn hard to breathe.

Sure, she was fuelled by rage and a myriad of hideous emotions back then, but that did not excuse her actions. She could no longer blame Kanan, now that she had done the same thing.

No, not the same. Chika at least loved Kanan, while Watanabe goddamn You was supposed to be Chika’s best friend, yet…

And there was something else that perturbed her. When she kissed Chika, memories of another girl flashed faintly but unquestionably behind her closed eyelids.

Mari.

You whimpered and tightened her fists. Just what the fuck was wrong with her? She frequently pictured Chika whenever she had sex with Mari, yet now that she had briefly and dastardly got to taste the girl of her dreams, her thoughts had gone back to Mari?

What exactly did she feel guilty for? For almost violating Chika? For cheating on Mari even though they weren’t in a relationship? Or was it for-

“Breathe, and try to relax.”

You felt an unfamiliar presence sit beside her, and a steady hand prevented her from bolting away, not that she was in any condition to do so anyway. The rhythmic pats on her back helped her get her breathing under control and gradually, she was able to unclench her fists and sit up.

“...thanks, I guess. Who are you?”

The stranger had long black hair and a severe expression that commanded the primal part of You to be civil towards her.

“Dia.” She said curtly, and stared at her. Though uncomfortable with Dia’s searching gaze, she remained still.

“...I’m You.”

Dia nodded distractedly, as if satisfied by the formality of exchanging names but not really caring about the knowledge itself. “You are waiting for your turn?”

You glanced down the hallway, where the number of people lining up had not diminished since she last checked. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe I’ve already missed my turn, I don’t know.”

Dia did not seem happy with her response. She stood up and gestured for her to follow. Though bemused, You decided to see what this stranger wanted and hobbled after her. She stubbornly shook off Dia’s hand when the latter tried to help her.

“I can walk by myself.”

“I can see that you are doing a fine job of it,” Dia said flatly. Warningly.

You winced but allowed the taller girl to support her weight afterwards. “So, where are we going?”

“To a nurse station. Get your wounds looked at at least.”

“I can just do that? Don’t I have to report in, wait in line or some sh-” You stopped herself, thinking Dia most likely would not appreciate the coarse language. “Er, isn’t there some kind of rule?”

“There is protocol, but I did not expect you to be concerned about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dia shrugged but did not offer more explanation. There were curious glances as they made their way down the hallways, but by the time they reached the station, the nurses there only gave Dia a brief nod in greeting and let them be. Dia bid You to sit in an empty chair while she perused the antiseptics, bandages and other items with great familiarity.

“I am here frequently enough that I sometimes help out,” Dia elaborated when she noticed You’s bewildered expression.

“What… is this even allowed? Seriously, who are you?”

“Dia, I have said that already.”

You scowled at the taller girl, trying to see if she was joking or teasing. However, Dia’s features remained as infallible as ever. Sensing that she would not receive any more explanations, You allowed Dia to treat her wounds.

“Quite the fight you were in.”

“Cheh, you should’ve seen what I did to the other person.”

“I was not complimenting you.”

You was about to retort, but she had to muster all her strength and pride to muffle a pained squeak when Dia tightened the bandages around her arm. Again, her base instincts commanded her to just shut her mouth and let the older girl check her wounds. For some reason, she felt like a chided child when Dia’s disapproving eyes swept over her bruised stomach.

“Even if I were to advise you to actually wait for a professional, you would not wait, would you?”

“Nope. You’ve treated most of my injuries now. Whatever internal ones I have, feh, they’ll heal eventually.”

Unimpressed, Dia prodded at her stomach, making her flinch and hastily roll down her top.

“Very well then. You are free to go now.”

You rolled her shoulders, glanced over her forearms and touched her face. The bandages were itchy, the cuts dabbed with iodine stung like hell, and her tummy still felt sore but she knew that numbness would set in soon enough. It always did.

However, she did feel slightly better overall and, this way, she could tell Chika that she had fulfilled her promise.

Time to leave this suffocating place, but there was no reason not to be polite to the helpful albeit stringent stranger.

“Thanks… for all this. You didn’t have to though, so why did you?”

Dia tilted her head. “I felt like it.”

“Huh. Well, I sometimes just go with the flow too so I guess I can relate?” You shrugged and stood up to stretch a little. She tried to think of what else to say but nothing came to mind. “Whatever. Maybe we’ll see each other again. Later-”

“You feel like you’re unworthy of her forgiveness, do you not?”

You tensed. “How did you-?”

“I do not know what happened to you, and I do not understand how you feel, but… this sense of helplessness, and the need to seek punishment, is something I can relate to.”

Dia slowly stood up and looked down at her. They stared at each other for a moment until the taller girl’s deep voice struck her again.

“You have to learn to forgive as well. You are not the only one suffering. There is nothing to gain from allowing wounds to fester.”

Perhaps she had imagined it, but there was a flicker of something foreboding in Dia’s impenetrable gaze. You swallowed hard, now unsettled by Dia’s proximity.

“Let it heal,” the older girl hissed.

“Don’t speak as if you know me, stranger.”

Dia smiled coldly, but the slight change was fleeting and her expression reverted to the blank one.

“I know you better than you know yourself, Watanabe You.”

You’s eyes widened. She never told Dia her surname, did she? Had she met this Dia before? Not trusting herself to reply properly, she shook her head and walked away at a brisk pace. To her relief, she did not hear Dia following her, though she did feel Dia’s gaze until she turned corner.

She leaned against the wall and exhaled shakily. Something clicked in her mind and she pursed her lips in confusion.

Dia was Riko-chan’s friend, wasn’t she? Indeed, whenever Riko wasn’t with Kanan, there were usually two other girls that Riko hung out with. One must be this Dia, and who was the other one?

“You should be nicer to her.”

“Fuc- where did you come from?” You snarled raspily and clutched her chest in indignation. It was only because her throat was parched and sore, otherwise she might have yelped in shock. How pathetic would that be? She glared at Yohane, whose smirk showed just how pleased she was at her reaction.

“I’m wherever you want me to be, You.” The dark-haired girl stood out in the empty bleached hallway, donned in her signature gothic dress. The black and white contrast was almost ridiculous, really.

“That’s creepy. You’re lucky I’m not in the mood or I’d pound you the ground, hospital or not.”

Unfazed by the threat, Yohane made a pose. “Tsk tsk, here you go again. I know you want some company, so be glad the great Yohane-sama is here to provide you just that.”

“No I don’t. Seriously, why do you always pop up randomly? What, you like me or something?”

“Dream on. I’m just worried.”

The younger girl’s response caused You to frown. Worried, like how Chika worried about Kanan? You stared at her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve always been the voice at the back of your mind, so I’ll be here whenever you need me.” Yohane held up her chin, grinning proudly with such sincerity that You didn’t know whether to feel weirded out or touched by the concern.

“Er, thanks? Not that I need you or anything-”

“Yeesh, what happened to you this time though? I thought you looked like crap before but now, wow.”

There went the heartwarming feeling.

“I… was in a fight alright?”

Yohane whistled and crossed her arms. “Really? Finally met your match? Never seen you so beaten up before.”

The reprieve from their meaningless banter vanished and You was reminded of the fight again. Kanan. Chika. Herself. Mari. Riko.

“Fuck off…” You stuffed her hands in her pockets and stormed away. Yohane really knew how to push her buttons, didn’t she? And it frustrated You to no end that she could never follow through with her threats. As much as she wanted to scare off Yohane a little, she just couldn’t bring herself to harm the eccentric girl.

After a few moments of silence, You turned around and found that she was alone in the hallway. Guilt seeped through her conscience and she called out softly. “Hey, I was just… it’s not like you to just back off when I tell you to. When have you ever listened to me anyway?”

There was no response, as if Yohane had really left the area. The eerily quiet environment made her realize that she was still in the damn hospital. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed, deciding that she really needed to get out of this place before she lost her mind or something. She needed fresh air. As she looked for a directory for this accursed labyrinth and passed by many rooms in this secluded wing, one of the nameplates caught her attention.

Tsushima Yoshiko.

You frowned and glanced at the name again. She was certain that she had never heard of the name before yet the sense of familiarity was there.

Shaking her head, she resumed her search for the exit.

#athyra writes #chikayou #after a million years I finally updated this #things getting more and more convoluted no? lolololol #you is such an unreliable narrator #dia is scary ain't she #yohane such a bruh #youhane bromance #no fights in this chap people #sorry for the disappointment #but hopefully the mood/atmosphere made up for it #next chap when :'D #at least 2/3 tsurime trio shown now

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brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

Note

❓

Reflections || Accepting

Nova Heart || Anikeni

~Does my muse trust yours~

Anakin sleeps. Fever-wet brow, deep hollows below closed eyes. Old scars and healing wounds. A sickness of the mind so deep that even she cannot reach him entirely. This rest is fitful and the nightmares are so real they threaten to choke everything in miles around his presence. She has been more than once in these few hours tempted to tie him down to the makeshift bed. To make a choice for him and course-correct. Never go to Mustafar and find some way to secret him back home where he can get the care and rest he needs. To maybe bring her Anakin back from the abyss he's fallen into, or at least some semblance of their former normalcy.

But to do so would be to admit that her trust, her absolute faith in him, had broken right along with his sanity. That there are, in fact, limitations appended to her promise that wherever he was, she would be too. That maybe loving each other just wasn't enough. And that she cannot do. She would sooner burn the galaxy down to the foundations, sacrifice everything that ever existed. She would give up the living Force before she would betray him.

So she mops his brow with a cool cloth and lets his hand curl in hers. She becomes an anchor, a beacon in the dark. Her trust remains inviolate.

~Does my muse dislike yours~

"I almost had you!"

She throws down the practice sabre, it's green blade disappearing after she lets go and it makes a defeated, metallic thunk when it lands. Her face is flushed green, dark strands of her hair stick to her cheeks and her neck having escaped the tight confines of its braid, and no one with olfactory senses in the room can miss the distinct but vague floral scent that rises from her skin.

"You did," Anakin says mildly, unbothered by her outburst, at least on surface level.

He did not tell her she let her guard drop, nor that she was distracted and thereby allowed her speed to be effected. He knows how much that stings coming from anyone but the masters, and from them it's murderous. Just like she doesn't dare utter the words 'I hate you'. Because even if he knew she was just frustrated, it would eat him alive. And she could never dislike Anakin. "We take five, and go again."

~Would my muse kill someone for yours~

Anakin is on Coruscant. She can only imagine the cruelty being imposed on him by the Emperor. Imagine because she is languishing in the Halla sector, currently locked in her quarters avoiding it's Moff. His crime is that he is both insufferably arrogant and mind-numbingly boring. His only real desire is to regale her with tales of his bravery and genius in the war, and in crushing the Jedi. He speaks of personally having a hand in dispatching General Skywalker, and claiming several of the young Jedi's victories as his own.

Clearly, he cannot read his audience.

To entertain herself in her solitude, she pulls out her datapad and keys in a specific encryption. She scans through faces, through condensed personnel records. Certain Moffs, admirals, courtiers...who thought they could replace Anakin as the Emperor's right hand. But what they fail to see when they look at her Za'lali is exactly what a man is capable of when that hand is cut off... And that he has two others, always. Kenobi escaped, much to her disappointment, though in no situation would she put him above Anakin. She has been gathering rumours as young women collect flowers and young men collect hearts. The strongest of the whispers point to either the Outer Rim or the wild-space beyond. It's only a matter of ti- The chime on her door breaks through her thoughts. Shouting, pounding on the door, demanding she come quickly. It would seem that the Moff had ingested something that did not agree with him and required emergency medical attention.

She smiles languidly, before deleting one of the records.

~Would my muse kill your muse~

"No, and do not ever think to ask that of me." She means it. The seriousness etched not only in voice but visage too is harder than any other thing she has ever said to him. A deep verdant blush creeps about her cheekbones though there is nothing romantic about it. It's spoken in the way she rises up where they'd been lounging seconds before, his hand that had been tucking strands of hair behind her ear left hanging in place until it falls out of sight in shame, discomfort. His Presence is as turbulent as her own though held in an infinite check. Emotions as hotly burning stars are dangerous things within the Temple walls.

It has never been easy for her to be angry with him, and isn't so now. She only has indignation to stand on. But for him to ask if she would do such a thing is so utterly galling she can't even begin to unpack the flicker-flash of temper. She would willingly die for him. She would think it a gift to slaughter half the galaxy in his name. But that he would even think to ask if she would ever hurt him, much less... It's...it's... "I could not do it, Za'lali. Not really. And...you must forgive me for that."

~Would my muse save yours~

If Melakeni had a heart it would be in her throat. Choking her slowly until black spots danced before her eyes. It is lucky that she does not, she's hyperventilating as it is, having run from the final push of the assault. She'd known something was wrong long before they'd reached the breach. She'd heard his scream through the Force and had nearly staggered under the weight and the pain from it.

By the time she'd found him the scene before her felt almost serene, which was wholly incongruous to the reality of it. Two others were fawning over Master Kenobi, but she only saw Anakin. And the Senator wrapped around him. Consoling him, holding his long and lithe frame...missing one of his limbs. His face is so pale, his body in such shock, she's surprised he's still upright. Her eyes narrow, murderously so, as she surveys the two of them. The jealousy is bitter in her throat. But the Senator is...just that. She has no place here and even if Keni herself had to participate in battle, she is still a Consular knight, a healer and Anakin falls under her care.

She strides like small thunder to present herself to them both, and with great care she gingerly wraps an arm around him, pulling him from the other woman's embrace. "You should report to one of the other healers, Senator. You wouldn't want your wounds to fester. Skywalker is in good hands now."

~Does my muse find your muse attractive~

When he was a child Keni's affection was entirely based on the fact that he seemed so lost and so lonely, so very out of place. She always hated the cruelty of the other children who thought themselves superior to him simply because they'd had the misfortune of being snatched away from their families sooner. It grew as they did. It became something no less protective but infinitely more attentive when they started maturing, and Keni began to notice exactly how he was growing into the man he would become. And then even that slowly began to change to, though she couldn't say when. But standing here in her quarters, turning her head over her shoulder to see him leaning in the doorway? Everything inside of her seizes up. She can drown in his eyes. There are entire other worlds that linger in those depths that she has never seen before. She wants to run her fingers through the burnished gold curls now lingering close to his shoulders like strangler vine. She wants to kiss the lips slowly drawing into a smile meant only for her. She swallows hard as her mouth has gone suddenly dry, sets down her brush. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

"Anakin. I wasn't expecting to..."

She rises like a rogue wave and perhaps with as much grace spills across his chest when she finds herself beside him. Breathing him down into her lungs, every cell in her body joyful that he has returned, whole and with only a week long need to sleep. But even haggard, exhausted, utterly spent in every possible way, he is still beautiful. He is still Anakin. "Welcome home." ~Is my muse disgusted by yours~

"Incredibly, utterly, totally inedible." Her whisper is a breath, the words meant to impart the height of displeasure, though they carry none of it in their seductive tone. A specific sort of tease meant for no one else to hear. Arms wound up behind his neck, legs wrapped around his hips. Every thing soft about her body is gently pressed into his as though with enough desire they can transcend physical limitations and become literally one body with two souls. A moment later she gives lie to the feigned disgust by sealing her lips to his throat, a long leisurely lick of his skin, indulging in the texture, the warmth, and absolutely the taste of him. It has nothing to do with feigned cannibalism, not that she's sure it counts considering they are different species, but the little sounds the restrained affection draws out of him is worth every bit of the game.

~Would my muse go on a date with your muse~

If she were to be honest, Coruscant is an eyesore. More than that it is the thing from deepest nightmare, thousands of layers of ever increasing scar-tissue atop the body of a dead or dying world. There is no sun here. No real wind to speak of, no life giving waters. The only greenery that exists are the cultivated kind set aside only for the incredibly fortunate wealthy, and the Temple gardens which are necessary to help provide food. The light is as loud as the people, and since the day she stepped foot on this world, it has caused her a perpetually low-key anxiety that she cannot shake. She still has the occasional nightmare of her own world becoming like this if they let outsiders in.

The only soothing thing about it is being up here on the roof. Laying back and staring up at the skies, watching ships break atmosphere in one direction or another. Fingers laced in the small space between them. Listening to him spin stories of the places they will one day go see together that are nothing like this monstrosity. This is the only time they seem to have to be together unimpeded by things like Masters and politicians, ever increasing missions of importance. And she wouldn't trade it for anything, not even a glimpse of trees.

~Would my muse kiss yours~

They pass one another in the halls, and fingers brush accidentally against the other's before they continue one, each as silent as barren worlds. Contemplative hours give each of them the meaning of patience. During a mission briefing from Master Yoda, they sit opposite of one another in the semi-circle. A shared gaze perhaps no more than seconds before their field of vision is full of holo star maps and battalion formations. A meal taken in the dining hall together. A cup is lifted and sipped from. Set down. The other takes it up and has their own drink. They eat in silence. The water pouring down over them both, the small confines filled with breath-stealing steam. Her forearms brace against the wall. His lips find a particularly tender spot at the name of her neck and he whispers a term of endearment across her skin. He sits on the edge of the exam table, anxiety fluttering the tips of his fingers inside the sleeves of his robes. There's a thousand different things he could be doing. That he thinks he ought to be doing. That this isn't a necessity, and that is why she insists. Better to loose an hour for a thorough neurological scan than the alternative. And at least this way, he has a touch of privacy. She steps into the small space between his parted knees. She presses her mouth to the outside corner of his lips. There are a hundred ways to kiss someone that you aren't allowed to. There's a hundred intimacies that go unnoticed. Anakin and Melakeni know them all.

~Would my muse betray yours~ "You are distracted, my little apprentice." She raises her eyes to her Master's, and is once again reminded of darkest Nekotrig. Of the dozen superstitions, the most compelling being the tale of how having it's lack of light falling on a person would kill them. The same could be said of his glittering black gaze. "I am sorry, Master." He raises an infinitely sharp and deceptively delicate looking quadranium stiletto, tests it's heft then balances it perfectly on the tip of one long and elegant finger. The keenness of the double edge could slice a whisper in half, it's strength allowing for deeply penetrating injuries. A sentient could bleed out in a matter of seconds. "Is it the Skywalker boy? You two are very close...friends." She doesn't hesitate to lie. "I do not know what you mean, Master. He is merely my clan brother. And is often injured. Careless of him, I know." She is only grateful to the Living Force that she has no heartbeat to escalate and prove her falsehood, and it pains her to reduce Anakin to nothing more than someone inept at taking care of himself. But she knows better. One wrong word, one moment of her Master's displeasure and... Accidents happen, or so they say.

"Next time allow Offee to see to him. You cannot play nursemaid forever." She lowers her gaze so that she can squeeze her eyes shut without him noticing, the hood of her cloak offers what scant privacy that it can. She licks her lower lip. "Yes, master."

~My muse's favourite thing about yours is~

Everyone else could make an argument were it common knowledge of just how much Melakeni loves Anakin that it is because he is young, he is handsome, he is the Hero With No Fear. They could say it comes down to the brilliant blue of his eyes, or the way his smile lights up entire sectors. They could say it is because he is the perfect Jedi...strong, courageous, compassionate to a fault. And she would not be able to say any of these things are a lie. But that isn't why she does. She loves that he is a quiet spirit, sometimes too nervous inside of his own skin, sometimes too thoughtful by half. But it is because he is gentle and puts so much of himself aside for the good of others. He believes very much in what the Order was supposed to stand for that he'd risk life and limb at any moment to uphold that ideal. He is perfect because he isn't at all. He has very real emotions, strong and grounded in love. That kind of selflessness is not something the Order ever taught him. If anything that was something they'd hoped he'd grow out of, given time. But then again, the Order never quite understood him. They are gone now, shattered and broken as they tried to make him. What few of them who have survived now hide like animals, which is something Keni cannot bring herself to be upset about. She crosses the catwalk of the Executor soft as snowfall until she comes to rest at his side. Though her arms remain at her side, her Presence envelopes him with every ounce of love she possesses.

Come to bed, Za'lali. We have hours still before we arrive. ~The thing my muse dislikes about yours is~ She watches him agree to what Palpatine wheezes about and lowers her eyes demurely, not for a moment allowing the sneer to curve her lips and bare her teeth. Flesh crawls at the mere idea of rending him apart fang and claw. Everything inside of her seethes that the ancient Sith lord still draws breath, still holds his invisible chains around Anakin. Who accepts the snide comments made with a grace that even in the courts at home she could never hope to duplicate. The not-so-veiled threats, the constant goading of hands that belong nowhere near him much less stroking his arm, his back, wherever they like with impunity. She can see now that it is better that she be sent away for these kind of affairs. She wants to create a new ocean for Coruscant out of the blood she wishes to spill. She doesn't only because she does not wish to make things worse for him. And just maybe she cannot help but to be angry with him. It seems Anakin has finally learned patience.

#mynameisanakin #Images of Broken Light|Anakin Skywalker #Pools of Sorrow-Waves of Joy|Anikeni #Across the Universe|Star Wars AU

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