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queenxxxsupreme · 2 years

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A Convergence of Cataclysmic Sorts (Netflix!Eskel x witch!reader)

A/N: This is the long awaited sort of 1st part to The Witcher and the Witch series where Eskel meets witch!reader! It’s not exactly how I wanted, but it’s something for now :) I wanted to post this part before I continued on with anything else so I hope you guys like it. As always I’ll link the other parts below. If you’re new to this, you can read this first, then go to the linked parts, or read the linked parts and then this. Whichever you want!

Note: Also idk if I ever mentioned it, but the main timeline where every other story takes place is at the end of the year 1258 and into 1259. That doesn’t really matter but in case you were curious :)

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: death, blood, a bit of a gory moment, nothing outside of canon

Summary: The moment the witcher sets his eyes on you, he knows you’re bound to be trouble.

Year 1255

The door to the tavern groaned as you pushed it open. The sound of drunken laughter and singing filled your ears.

You adjusted the hood of your cloak to make sure it still properly covered you. Your eyes flickered around the large room.

Tables were filled with patrons happily drinking their sorrows away and warming their bones with whatever ale the barkeep had to serve. A trio of bards entertained the crowd from the back of the room.

The moment you stepped into the tavern, you could sense the presence of a magic aura. The aura was strong and powerful, but not quite as powerful as a fellow mage. This aura made your fingertips buzz like an electric current was coursing through them.

As you made your way to the bar, a bit of silence fell around the few tables you passed. You ignored the looks and whispers from those at the table. Whether they were looking at you because of how much you stood out or because you looked familiar, you weren’t sure. Hopefully, it was the former.

Unlike the rest of the common folk that filled the tavern, your clothes were made of expensive fabrics. Your dress was deep red with silver embellishments around the neckline and the cuffs. Your cloak was gray silk, heavy to keep you warm from the cold autumn air. And you didn’t smell of pigshit, unlike most of the others in the tavern.

You stood at the end of the bar, waiting a bit impatiently for the barkeep to finish with his other customers.

You could feel numerous eyes on you, and thanks to your magic abilities, you were able to hear a lot of what was being said. Luckily, everyone was just commenting on who you might be.

You casted a glance over your shoulder, wanting to survey the room once more. This time, you wanted to try to find the owner of the magic aura.

Nearly the second you looked across the room, your eyes made contact with a man. He sat at a table in the far corner, lounging back against a woman with his legs spread apart. She slowly twirled a ringlet of the man’s dark hair around her finger, whispering something into his ear. A second woman sat on the other side of him on the same bench, stroking his arm and giggling at whatever it was the first woman said.

The man didn’t seem to be paying attention to them. His eyes were set on you.

You knew very well that even as a witcher, he couldn’t sense your chaos. He couldn’t tell you were a sorceress. But that made you feel even more uneasy about the fact that he was watching you.

“You don’t look like you belong in this shithole, love.” The barkeep spoke.

You turned your attention to him, putting on a smile.

“I’m just waiting for a few friends. I’d like a drink, please.”

“What sort of friends are ya waiting for?” He sat a tankard down in front of you and poured a dark liquid into it. You wanted to question what the liquid was, but you decided against it.

“Business friends.”

“Business at this time?” He raised his brows. “I wouldn’t take a gal like you for the night workin’ kind.”

“A proper gentleman, aren’t you?” A voice came from your left. You turned your head to see the man from across the room now standing just a few feet away from you. “Prying in a lady’s business?”

The barkeep muttered a few curses under his breath before wandering to the other end of the bar. He didn’t care to stick around the witcher.

“You’re an interesting one.” The man turned to face you, leaning against the bar.

You briefly looked him over, eyes lingering on the wolf medallion on his chest. Your gaze lifted back up to meet his.

“Do you use that word to describe women often, witcher? Interesting?”

“Not often, no.” He gave you a sideways smirk that pulled at the scarred side of his face. The scars looked to be three to four slash marks down the side of his face from his temple to his lips. “Just the ones who show up in rundown taverns and order pisswarm ale even though they look as though they should be sitting on a throne next to a lord.”

“Perhaps I do have a lord awaiting me.”

“Oh, doll. If you had a lord, you wouldn’t be standing here.” The witcher paused for a few moments. “You told the keeper you were waiting on business friends. What sort of business?”

“It’s rather rude to ask a woman about her businesses when you haven’t even asked for her name.”

The witcher chuckled, shaking his head lightly.

“Something tells me you wouldn’t give that away so easily, and if you did, it would be a lie.”

You held his gaze. Your heart was beating steadily in your chest.

For a split second, you wondered if Geralt sent him ahead to scope out the tavern.

“Now what would make you say such a thing, witcher?” You placed the tankard down on the bar and cocked your head to the side a bit.

He ignored your question and instead asked one of his own.

“Have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

That was your cue to leave. Geralt hadn’t told you he was sending anyone ahead of himself, and you weren’t willing to take any risks.

“I make it a habit to stay as far away from the likes of your kind as I can. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

You turned to walk away, but a man stopped you. He held a sword up, the blade coming to your throat just as you turned around.

“You’ve caused quite the trouble, lass.”

There were half a dozen men standing just behind him, all awaiting their turn to hack at you and take a body part back to whoever had the highest bounty out for you.

“Get that rope around her hands before she tries to cast any spells on us!” Someone called from behind him.

“Slice ‘er fuckin’ head clean off! Cintra’s taking the bitch dead or alive!”

“Why don’t you buy the lady a drink before butchering her?” The witcher spoke from your left.

“Fuck off, witcher.” The leader of the group, the one who held the sword to your throat, cursed. “This bounty is ours to claim.”

“I wasn’t aware of any bounty.”

“Wasn’t aware of any bounty?” A third man repeated. “What kind of witcher doesn’t know a fuckin’ monster when he sees one?”

“This is Y/N of Lyria.” The leader pressed the edge of the blade against your throat. It wasn’t enough to slice skin, but it made you uncomfortable. You took in a breath through your nose, glaring down the blade at the man. “Killer of Kings. Destroyer of Cravaria, the Kingdom on the Coast. Lost Soul to the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. Seductress and murderess of men.”

You locked your jaw.

“That’s a fucking mouthful.” The witcher commented. You sent him a sharp glare.

Now, a large majority of the tavern goers who were close enough to hear the man’s deep voice had heard who you were, and they seemed just as interested in taking a claim at the bounty hanging over your head.

As patrons began to flock towards you and the man’s comrades started to try to fight them off, you kept your eyes on the man holding you at the tip of his sword.

“Veloe dearg folie.”

Within seconds of the words falling from your lips, blood began to trickle from the man’s nose. He brought his hand up to wipe the blood away, but he was bleeding far too quickly. He opened his mouth to speak, to hurl curses and insults at you. However, he began to choke on his own blood.

In a matter of ten seconds, the crimson liquid was pouring from every orifice of his head. He collapsed to his knees, the sword falling to the floor with a loud clunk against the stone floor. His comrades followed him, choking and sputtering on blood.

“And Gem of Aretuza.” You adjusted the sleeve of your cloak.

Patrons began to panic, some rushing towards you while most of them ran away from you.

With a wave of your hand, the madness ceased. Everyone seemed to freeze in place. Everyone except for the witcher.

He took a step away from you, drawing a sword from the sheath across his back.

“Witcher.” You cautioned him with your tone, raising a brow. Was he really stupid enough to tempt you after having just watched you so easily stop an entire tavern?

He lifted his sword, unfazed by what he had witnessed seconds ago.

“Witch.” He tilted his head to the side just a little. “But…. you certainly had me fooled. I can’t sense your magic.”

“Perhaps you aren’t as good at your job as you think you are.”

He chuckled, his lips still pressed together firmly.

“I would have thought that someone would’ve got you by now. You’ve got perhaps the highest bounty on the Continent.”

You said nothing.

“So tell me. How does a pretty little witch like you end up causing a catastrophic event such as the fall of an entire kingdom?”

You held the witcher’s gaze. Playtime was over. He was no doubt going to capture you or slaughter you, and you didn’t know which would be a worse fate.

“I’d really love nothing more than to stand here and chat with you, witcher, but I need to be leaving.” You turned to walk away, but a hand grabbed your arm.

“Your bounty could have me set for life–,”

Using your chaos, you teleported yourself across the room. It took him a moment to figure out where you had gone.

A sideways grin came to the witcher’s lips as he turned to face you. He adjusted his grip on his sword.

Before much of a fight could ensue between you and the witcher, the door to the tavern opened and in walked Geralt of Rivia and his bard, Jaskier.

The bard looked around, his eyes lingering on the bloody bodies on the floor not far from where he stood.

“What in the fuck happened to those guys?”

“Y/N.” The White Wolf grumbled.

“You know this witch?” The unnamed witcher gestured to you with his sword as he looked at Geralt.

“Eskel.” He smiled lightly at the sight of his brother. “Glad to see you got my letter.”

“You said you needed me here, so I’m here.” The other witcher, Eskel, nodded.

“I see you’ve already met Y/N.”

Eskel turned his head to watch you as you crossed the room to stand close to Jaskier and Geralt.

“Indeed, I have.”

“You are supposed to be keeping a low profile.” Geralt told you.

“I was, until these bastards decided to announce my name to the entire village.” You stepped over one of the bodies on the floor so you could stand with the men.

“What’s wrong with everyone else?” Jaskier asked, looking around the rest of the tavern. The patrons seemed to just be frozen in place, whether they were in motion as they danced, walked, or ate, or as they were seated or lying across tables.

“It’s just a little spell.” You answered him.

“We must be leaving.” Geralt turned to go towards the door.

“You said in your letter that you were on your way to Kaer Morhen.” Eskel spoke up. “That you needed help with something.”

“We are, and I do. As you can imagine, Y/N’s unfortunate bounty comes with quite a few obstacles.”

“It wouldn’t be such an unfortunate thing if we turned her in to the closest ones asking for her head.”

You glared at Eskel, which just earned a smirk from him.

“Y/N is traveling with us, Eskel.”

“You stay away from the likes of my kind, huh?” Eskel raised a brow at you. You offered him a shrug of your shoulder.

The dark haired witcher rubbed his brow, shaking his head as he realized what was happening.

Geralt held the door open for you and Jaskier, then looked back to Eskel.

“Are you coming, Eskel?”

Eskel sheathed his sword.

“So now we are harboring killers at Kaer Morhen, huh?”

“It’s a long story, Eskel.”

“She could be the end of us, you know.” The dark haired witcher stepped out of the tavern and into the cold air of the night. “If the Nordlings find out that we have offered her asylum, they won’t spare us.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, witcher.” You rolled your eyes. You were riding just behind Jaskier on the mare he had.

“Dramatic?” He raised his brows, taking a few steps towards you. “You killed King Branimor. You caused the fall of Cravaria. Hundreds of people died and thousands were displaced, left to be absorbed by Temeria and Redania. My kind have plenty of issues with humans driving us to the edge of society, witch. The last thing we need is a murderess coming in and giving us the last little push off the cliff.”

A few moments of tense silence followed Eskel’s words as you held his gaze.

Geralt ran a hand over his face, looking down the street to make sure they were alone.

“Jaskier, take Y/N ahead.” Geralt told him. “We will catch up to you momentarily.”

Jaskier nodded and gave his horse a little nudge to get her moving.

Eskel watched the bard and the witch disappear down the dirt road.

Anger had been growing inside him, festering and boiling until he could no longer hold it back.

“For fuck’s sake, Geralt! Did you not think about what could happen if anyone found out–,”

“I did, Eskel!” Geralt cut him off. “But Y/N…. She needs us. She needs to go to Kaer Morhen until we can figure something out for her. No where else is safe for her.”

“We do not get involved in the politics and courts of kings! You fucking idiot! Can you think without your dick for once?”

Geralt rolled his eyes.

“I am not interested in Y/N that way, and I highly doubt she has any interest in me.”

“I find that hard to believe knowing you.”

“Just trust that there’s reason to what I am doing.”

“Reason? She fucking slaughtered an entire kingdom!”

“I can’t tell you what happened in Cravaria, Eskel.” Geralt spoke quietly. He knew his brother’s anger was justified. It was stupid to take you to their home, but it was the only thing Geralt could do. “I wasn’t there, but I just…. I need you to trust me.”

Eskel held his brother’s gaze for a few heartbeats.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Vesemir’s face when you tell him we’re harboring a fucking wanted witch for the winter.”

Geralt chuckled just a little, putting his hand on Eskel’s shoulder.

Taglist will be reblogged because tumblr hates me :)

#netflix!eskel x witch!reader #netflix!eskel x reader #netflix!eskel #eskel x reader #eskel #eskel x reader netflix #netflix #the witcher #the witcher eskel #queenxxxsupreme #the witcher and the witch #series

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smouldring · 2 years

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so basically.

we are still in the early stages of puzzling out the lore, so what i say may not end up being canon. but also souls lore is intentionally obscure, even with my man germ at the helm, and miyazaki isn't one to say that x interpretation is wrong.

godfrey, first husband of marika and first elden lord, eventually lost sight of grace, and was banished from the lands between, becoming the first tarnished. he was never a god, but he was the favored of marika, her lover and father to her demigod children, blessed by the greater will. when the war against the giants came to an end, however, godfrey lost his glow. reduced once more to a mere human, albeit an incredible warrior and a hero, he took up the name hoarah loux - which was perhaps his name before he wed marika, as she was first drawn to his prowess in battle - and became chieftain of the badland warriors. whether or not these warriors technically count as tarnished is hard to say, as theoretically tarnished are those who lost sight of grace and were banished from the lands between, but nepheli, who was born in the badlands, is sometimes referred to as tarnished. i like to think that the people of the badlands are tarnished, if only because they are led by the first of them all and possess some desire to return to their homeland.

merrimac is a hero class tarnished, buried in the garb of the badlands warriors. she woke with no memory, just beyond limgrave, sealed in a crypt. grace woke her from death; it found her beneath the earth. beside her were other fallen warriors, and they did not rise. she followed the golden trail to limgrave and beyond.

she spent a great deal of time in the mistwood, becoming acquainted with kalé and blaidd, who would become her first friends. only after she'd grown comfortable there did she dare approach stormveil castle, as the grace compelled. there, she met nepheli by chance — the first person she'd seen dressed like her, with a grudge against godrick. merrimac did not hate godrick, but she despised his soldiers, who harassed her in the field and on the roads, and so she offered of her own accord to go with nepheli and bring him down. all the while, she wondered if she and nepheli were from the same place; and, after their defeat of godrick, began calling her sister.

nepheli returned with her to roundtable hold. she spoke of her father, which excited merrimac. perhaps this was another person from her forgotten homeland? but no, it was gideon. fucking gideon, who had been so rude to her, one of the few people she genuinely despised and did not try to get along with ( even godrick, she had come to admire and appreciate ). luckily, it was a matter of adoption. nepheli's love for her father was real, and merrimac respected her and by extension the relationship she had with gideon, but was glad to find that she and he were not from the same country.

she doesn't know about hoarah. she doesn't know much of the demigods' family tree, though miriel has begun teaching her some. she continues to help nepheli, clearing out the albinauric village with her and internalizing her belief that the common folk should not have to suffer due to the demigods' warring. she has agreed to help ranni, more for blaidd and ijis' sakes, not knowing the history there. she may never know where she came from, and to a great degree, it doesn't matter. all questing tarnished have the spark in their eye, the spark that godfrey lost. that inheritance is ubiquitous; it's simply more direct for some than for others.

#✢ headcanons.#|| merri is like. an adult warrior. she doesn't NEED to know and doesn't want to know.#|| and she would feel no kinship with the lords.#|| but i do think it's extremely funny ngl.#|| also again she's not a demigod; the godhood came from marika and not godfrey.#|| she's just a Very Determined Tarnished.#|| not a demigod... a demigirl. and what's better than that.

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bokettochild · 3 years

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Day 4 - Trust Fall

Went with the prompt 'taken hostage' for this one, and I'm quite pleased. I might follow it up from another prompt on the list, but I quite like how it ended.

Suffer :)

There are many people who hate the Hero of Warriors.

It was a well-known fact, and something that had haunted him since the ends of the war, but he couldn’t exactly blame the folks who did. After all, it was for lust of the hero that Cia had killed so many, and there were families all across Hyrule who had lost loved ones because the hero had refused the affections of one lonely, corrupted woman.

Zelda had tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but that changed nothing; people had still died because of Cia’s lust, and still more had died because of his own over-confidence. So, when he walked the streets of Castletown and the people who wanted to thank him faded to the background as a single soul would stand and spit insults loaded with venom more poisonous than a deku baba, he would take their words and let them speak, never once challenging them, even when his men would protest and beg for permission to reprimand his attacker. Zelda had pleaded for him to stop, claiming that he lowered the moral of the army by not carrying himself strongly and with honor, but how could he rob someone of their voice when he’d already robbed them of everything else?

There was one upside to it all though; when Warriors met Legend, there was nothing the younger hero could say that could truly hurt him. Legend would huff and complain and tease and jab, but his insults were a gentle nudge in comparison to the hearty shoves into boiling lava that he’d seen from his own people, and he welcomed the verbal sparring with the other hero. It was nice to be able to speak back without having guilt rise in his chest, and he enjoyed getting to tease and bother the veteran hero in return.

In that manner, an unlikely friendship had formed between a hero who hated soldiers and a soldier who hated being a hero.

He was close to all of the others of course; Sky, Wild and himself would spend hours discussing their worlds and the systems of knights and training and the like. Time and Wind, his boys and the pride of his heart, would mess around with him and it warmed him body and soul to offer them advice or comfort after a long day (and having the two of them cuddle up when they thought no one was looking was an extra warm bonus on multiple fronts).

Four was- well, there was no words for the relationship he shared with the smithy. It was a relationship of exchanged looks and mutual silence. One of two brothers who knew each other as well as if they’d actually been born to the same mother, and who could read the others actions as if they were reading their thoughts. It was them flopping over each other and Four climbing onto his shoulders to reach things, it was him throwing the smithy bodily up towards high places and leaning on the top of his head when he was drained or feeling playful.

Wild and Hyrule were his baby brothers, the chaotic ones who he was helping to bring up right, the boys who needed a guiding hand and a firm voice to push them and guide them, but who reveled in warm hugs and teasing or encouraging words.

And Twilight? Twilight was his sparring partner, his closest brother and the one he’d probably end up socking in the face one day. There was enough said on that front. Legend very nearly made the same rank, except...

Except Legend was, truth be told, as much a kid as the others and despite their verbal battles, he didn’t think he could actually ever hit the kid for real, no matter how often he cuffed the pink head or pushed the short vet over in jest, he didn’t think he could ever cause the younger hero harm. Yeah, yeah, so maybe it was the big brother and father in him that said he wouldn’t live with himself if he hurt the kid, but it was also the soldier and captain that saw a reflection of every cocky recruit he’d ever trained and a certain mask wearing child in the vet’s painfully rare smiles and much more common snarky comments.

And he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt a kid in the first place.

No matter how much of an ass they were being.

“Seriously though, how have you not died?” Legend was scoffing, but the vet’s arms were wrapped tight around himself as the kid rolled his eyes. “I mean, one bokoblin? How is that the first time an enemy has ever grabbed your scarf?”

Warriors would have laughed it off with a tease about the vet’s lack of leg protection, but he could see the worry shining in violet hues and feel the tender bruising that wrapped around his own neck. He hardly remembered the last battle, adrenalin and the concussion had seen to that, but legend had been weirdly snappish with him since, yet simultaneously clingy in a way that was painfully uncharacteristic of their salty veteran. “Most monsters are just dumb.” He’d shrugged off at last, but Legend hardly looked contented, picking at his tunic and scowling at his boots as if there was something more he wanted to complain about or say, but he lacked the words to say it.

Oh goddesses, the vet really was like Mask, wasn’t he? All bashful worry and fussing disguised as insults and annoyance, but underneath just a kid who desperately needed the assurance that the people around him weren’t seconds away from death.

“I’ll be fine, you grouchy little bumblebee.” He scoffed, tugging at one of the vet’s long ears, just as he did with Time when the now older hero was getting to wrapped up in his head. “We’re in my world anyway and the monsters here are dumber than rocks.” Usually he’d just say ‘dumb as rocks’ but they’d met a talus in Wild’s Hyrule and he couldn’t honestly think of that phrase the same way since.

“Black blood makes them smarter.” Legend huffed, batting his hands away with a scowl, nose wrinkling up in an almost adorable manner as he sidestepped a swipe at his hair. “And I just fixed that thing for you, I don’t want to have to do that again.”

So much like Time had been, did the vet see it? Just like his middle kid and it was messing with his brain in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. How upset would Sky be if he gathered Legend in amongst his boys as well? The Skyloftian wasn’t particularly possessive of his descendants and he might not mind sharing responsibility over the vet. He’d have to ask, but only once he was sure Legend was out of earshot, the kid was barely tolerant of Sky coddling him, and even then, usually only when he was sleepy or scared shitless.

“Are you listening, Captain? I’m not mending that scarf again this week, you ass.” Legend flicked his ears, irritation at being ignored coloring his face with a scowl that quickly faded into surprise as a blue heap of fabric settled over his head and shoulders. Of course, the surprise disappeared too once Legend’s face was covered with the tail end of the scarf, and he had to grab the back of the vet’s tunic to stop him from tumbling to the ground as he tripped over the rocky path.

“What the heck, Wars?!” The teen squeaked, fumbling with the fabric as the captain let a laugh rumble up through his chest into his throat.

“You keep fussing about the scarf, yeah? Well,” He reached out to tug the loose end down, chest thrumming with warmth as the pout on Legend’s face beneath the scarf and a fierce blush. “So how about you keep it safe for me, just for a bit.” He shifted the fabric again, arranging it to lay better around the veteran’s thin shoulders. “You can give it back after the next battle, yeah? Then you’ll know it’s not damaged.”

The pink-haired hero rolled his eyes at that comment, but Wars didn’t miss how the kid nestled in amidst the blue fabric with a soft hum.

Oh yeah, despite all the teasing, it was clear Legend liked the scarf as much as his other boys. He hoped Sun and Sky didn’t mind sharing too much, because there was no going back now.

“Dramatic arse.” Legend huffed, but despite the vet tugging the scarf up over his nose and mouth he still saw the grin the lay beneath.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear Time and Wind exchanging whispers while Twilight grumbled something exceedingly rude and fond all at once.

“Should we split up to find supplies then?” Sky asked, pointedly ignoring Twilight’s comment as he addressed the group as a whole, earning a thoughtful nod from Time.

“Probably best.” The man hummed out. “Groups of three, Hyrule and Wind, you’re with the vet, Four and Sky, you’re with Wars, Cub, Pup, I want you two with me, if something happens I want a responsible adult on every team, as well as someone who knows this Castletown well.”

Agreement thrummed over them as they split up, Wind catching his party members by their hands and pulling them off towards the tailor and apothecary shops so Legend could restock on thread and fabric and Hyrule could gather more healing supplies. Time’s group turned the opposite way, heading off into the main market square so Wild could restock on food stuffs and a new haversack for the traveler as Hyrule’s had had a hole worn in the corner that even Four doubted he could fix. Warriors himself led his team towards the fletchers and the forge, with the intent of buying more arrows and getting Four permission to repair a few of their weapons.

The chatter of the town was cheerier than usual, and to his surprise, not a single person spoke to him beyond the occasional inquiry about directions or an apology or insult after bumping into them. It was like he was invisible, or very nearly, and even those who made a point of calling out thanks or insults only waved cheerily to him as if he was just another passing soldier.

At the smithy, the Master Smithy, Gaepak, blinked in surprise for a good minute when Wars had approached to ask for use of the workroom. “Gen’ral? Is ‘at yew?”

He cocked a brow at the question. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

Gaepak boomed a nervous laugh, motioning to his own short neck with a faint flush on his face as his ears twitched lightly. “’Ard to tell you apart from yer men wit’out that scaaf of yers.” The man apologized, and the apprentice at the blacksmith’s side nodded nervously.

He couldn’t help back slip into a disarming smile (although he had to fight not to slip into their heavy accent as well when he spoke). “Quite alright, gentlemen. I’ve just let it out to one of-”

“Yer boys.” the smith nodded knowingly, earning a snigger from their own short-statured smithy and a light chuckle from Sky.

Warriors flushed slightly. Really, the people of Castletown knew him too well. “Yes, one of my boys.”

“An’ a moighty fine father ye are.” Gaepak drawled with a grin. “Use the forge ta yer ‘eart’s content.” The smith added, moving back to his own workstation with a cheery wink. “Jist moind ye clean it up when ya done.”

Four had shouted something of a reassurance before moving to the offered work station with shining hazel eyes and fingers already flitting over the available tools to familiarize himself with them. In the meantime, Sky had shot him a knowing smile, eyes twinkling as the captain had flushed softly.

Four was deep into his work and the two of them had already finished a lengthily talk and a trip to the fletchers when Wind and Hyrule had burst in, heavy breaths heaving through the two and a healthy flush over two sets of rounded cheeks as wild eyes had turned to the two adults.

“Wind, you can’t bust into a forge! Four shouted over the clang of metal. “It’s dang-”

“Legend was kidnapped.” Wind blurted out, voice strained and barely holding onto the collected and controlled report method Warriors had drilled into all of his soldiers during the war. Four’s hammer froze mid-air as the three had whipped around to face the two younger heroes, both knights stiffening instinctively as all laughter left their faces.

“What happened.” Warriors demanded, stepping forwards, jaw set and eyes hard as he met the sailor’s wavering gaze.

The aura of peace faded in instants, and soldier met the eyes of soldier as Wind snapped a neat salute. Unnecessary, yes, but trained into the kid by the other soldiers and probably a comforting sort of habit to revert to in the moment (Warriors felt the same about standing at parade rest as he listened to the kid’s report). “We were just entering the apothecary when a couple of folks approached Legend outside the door. He waved us inside to do our business while they talked, and Hyrule and I did as he asked. We gathered the needed supplies- that doesn’t matter though- the point is, when we were at the counter ringing up-”

“There was shouting outside!” Hyrule interrupted, fingering the strap of his faded satchel. “We thought it was just Legend being Legend, you know how he is but-”

“But then there was something of a scuffle and some bangin-”

“- and when we finished at the counter, because the man wouldn’t hurry up and refused to let us leave ‘till we’d been rung up-”

“Legend was gone!” Wind exploded, eyes shining with near panic as they met his own.

“Where were you exactly?” Wars demanded, mind already flitting across the list of people who were likely to have taken the vet. There weren’t many people the kid would have interacted with here, especially not alone, and saving the soldiers he’d accidentally embarrassed a couple of switches back (kid needed to wear some pants if he didn’t want to mistook for a girl) there wasn’t anyone he could really think of that would have cause to try anything. Sure, Legend’s winning personality might earn him a blow to the face from some of the rowdier townsfolk, but at worst he’d be left on the street on in an alley with a bruised face and a fractured rib or two, not taken away entirely.

As he considered, Four was already tidying up behind him only to have Gaepak wave them off with a worried look. “Moi boys will see to this ‘ere mess, don’t botha. Yew got a kid missin’ you go fetch ‘im, goodness knows Gen’ral that yew don’t need to be suff’rin’ that again.”

It was a bitter reminder, but he’d nodded his thanks all the same and grabbed ahold of Wind’s hand as he led the charge back into the street, Hyrule and Sky tagging along as Four made arrangements to come back later for the still cooling weapons before scampering out after them.

Searching Castletown’s streets would take hours, but after they’d run into one of his men, Bav, he’d filled the soldier in on the situation, and hardly had the words ‘my kid’ been out of his mouth before the other was nodding and agreeing to get the rest of the squadron to search the town. They’d found the others not long after, and the trio had dropped everything (even Wild’s slate for a hot second) to come rushing after them, their now two groups weaving in and out of alleyways and streets.

“Your wife?” A painfully familiar farm-wife had tutted. “First your poor daughter and now your poor wife. I’m sorry, luv, but I haven’t seen a thing.” Wind had crooked a smile at the groan Warriors had barely stifled as he led their group away, Sky and Hyrule both staring at the duo in confusion as they pressed further into the crowd.

Continued asking had brought up nothing, and after hours of trotting through the streets in a growing panic, Sky at his side and Hyrule nearly fluttering along with them, they’d finally been pulled aside by one of the soldiers and made to sit down in a guard-station long enough to drink some water and be caught up on the soldiers’ findings.

“Nothing yet, General Link, but we’ll keep looking. Until then, you should take a rest-” He’d moved to protest only to be cut off by a frown from one of his mates. “You’ll be run ragged by the time we hear word, and if the scamps intend harm of any sort, you’ll be in no state to help.”

He’d had to agree after that, but it hadn’t stopped him pacing while Sky held the other two close, rocking them softly and humming soft reassurances to the two smaller heroes that he’d bundled in his cape. The other four joined shortly after, Time demanding that Bav tell him what was happening and Twilight bundling over to grab Hyrule from Sky and curl up around him, the rancher’s nose buried in Hyrule’s curls as Four had settled between him and Sky, the smithies callused hands gently rubbing both their arms as he murmured soft reassurances to the others.

It was Wild that pulled him down to rest, flinty blue eyes sparking dangerously as the kid pulled him down to the ground and thrust something edible into his hands. Vaguely, he processed eating it, but his mind was too lost in spinning to take note if it was hot or cold or even what it tasted like.

When word finally came, it was with Bav’s face drawn and the entire guard having had to leave the post in wake of the nervous energy that flowed out from the exhausted heroes.

“Well?” He’d snapped to his feet, jostling Wild on accident as he did so and making the kid nearly toppled over with his sudden movement.

“An ultimatum, General.” Bav replied, clipped and carefully emotionless, even if there was pain in his eyes. “It’s addressed to General Impa, but-”

The note was snatched from waiting fingers before the other soldier had a chance to finish, and he was already breaking the seal as the man stepped back with a shake of his head and a murmured ‘poor man’.

The text that stared up at him stank, copper assaulting his senses as looping crimson script stared mockingly up at him. “General Impa,” The note read. “We have in our possession your branded puppet; the ‘hero’ of the war. We write to you now with a warning; should Hyrule and her queen not repay the debt owed to those fallen and forgotten, he will not be the first to pay the price.

“Repay that which is due, and release the prisoners who you hold unjustly under the claim of treachery. If this is done, your ‘hero’ will meet a kinder fate, and we may even allow you access to the corpse.”

The note was left unsigned, save a spattering of blood over where the signature ought to have been.

“A threat.” He choked, furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “It’s only a threat.”

“I wish, sir.” Bav’s eyes were downcast. “But they sent this as well.” A bundle, already unwrapped by the soldiers was offered to him. “But based on your description, that kid- I'm sorry, Sir.”

Trembling fingers tore aside the stained brown paper as he stared at the contents within.

A blood-soaked blue scarf stared back up at him.

#whumptober 2021 #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu warriors #lu wind #lu sky #lu legend #kidnapping #dad warriors #warriors' scarf #scarf #idiot writes angst #idiot writes whump #will I follow this up later?#who knows!#until then #draw what conclusions you please #about what's happened to legend #i have no regrets

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sup-hoes-its-me · 3 years

Text

Golden (Kakashi x Reader)

A/N: you are in a relationship with kakaski, but after an accident, you have amnesia, and can’t remember him anymore. angst baby. Very feminine Civilian!reader (you own a bookstore, so cliche lmao) essentially, this series is mindless romantic indulgences i wrote mostly for myself, but if other people can enjoy them then i did my job as a fanfic writer.

A/N: im definitely not writing a fanfic for every song on fine line...haha

Word count: 5600

_____

He lay awake at night after the incident, imagining the moment he truly knew he was in love with her. Completely infatuated with this beautiful woman working at the bookstore. It was the only thing he could do now that his entire world had come crashing around him. With everything that happened in the hospital, this was the only way he knew how to cope.

He drifted off into the dream once again.

Kakashi stood by the front gates of the village, a paperback book he had just bought in his hand, folded over so he could read with one hand. One more time before he left for this mission, one he knew would last longer than anyone would like, he visited the old bookstore in town. He wanted to think he just stopped by to stock up on reading material, but that wasn’t it.

It was always about her.

When he saw Y/N running up to him, her apron nearly falling off and her hair in disarray, his eyes widened and he set the book down by his side. She was out of breath when she got to him, pressing her hands to her chest to get herself put together. Her brows furrowed deeply as she lifted her eyes to meet his.

“Kakashi,” she exclaimed.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“I know you’re going on this long mission and you won’t be around for a few months, and I can’t stand the thought of you leaving without me telling you this,” she said, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t insanely curious what she had to say. She was a sweet village girl, and he frequented her store, quite a bit actually. On occasion, he would drop by a few times in a day just to say hello. He definitely wasn’t slick.

He waited for her to continue and she didn’t hesitate. “Every time you leave, I get this pain in my chest. I worry about you day and night because I know the life of a shinobi is never guaranteed. I just couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you this time, if I kept acting like the coward I am.”

“I see? Well, what’s on your mind?”

“I-I’ve never felt this way for anyone before, and I don’t know how to deal with it, so here goes,” she told him, taking a deep breath before her next words, “I think I’m in love with you, Kakashi Hatake. I think I’ve loved you since the first time you stepped foot in my parents store.”

“I…”

What was he supposed to say to that?

“You don’t have to say anything back. It doesn’t bother me, I know how closed off you ninja are. Just please, take my words and hold them close on your journeys.” She paused, clenching her soft fists by her sides. She wasn’t scared of rejection, not at all. She was only scared that Kakashi might not care about her words at all. “Please, don’t forget someone loves you.”

In that moment, he felt his heart stop beating, only for a second, but he felt it. Shifted awkwardly, not wanting to let off that he was getting even a little emotional at her declaration. He was tough as nails, the copy-nin. Not some lover boy, even if he wanted to be. Even if he wanted to swoop in right then and kiss her to pieces.

All he could say was, “I’ll keep that in my mind. Thank you, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome. Now, don’t fool around out there so you can come back to me in one piece!” she laughed, feeling tears bubbling up in the corners of her eyes.

He found himself smiling back at the young woman. “You got it.”

__________

Kakashi was never really one to express his feelings. Generally, he kept them inside to mourn alone. It was just in his nature, it was nothing personal with the people he knew and trusted. There was just something about Y/N that made him drop down some of those thick barriers.

His girlfriend was a normal woman, working long shifts in the village bookstore since she was a teenager. She never attended the academy, wasn't chakra sensitive, nothing in particular was so outstanding that she was noticed. Nothing on the surface, actually.

It was her smile and her laugh, the way she could make anyone feel like they were important and wanted, that attracted Kakashi to her in the first place. From the first time they met as teenagers in the bookstore aisles, he knew he was caught in some sort of trap. For a minute, he compared the feeling to that of a genjutsu, even though he knew that was far from a possibility.

To him, when she smiled, it felt as if everything was going to be okay. All the pain and suffering disappeared when she was around. He really couldn’t understand how that could be happening, with the world crumbling around him everyday.

That was a particularly rare attribute among ninja folk, whose lives led them to believe that happiness wasn’t achievable and death was common; pain was so normal for him. It was refreshing to have someone around who didn't think like that, that could change the tone of a room in a moment with just an ounce of positive energy. Y/N was innocent to the majority of these harsh realities that the ninja faced, for the most part.

As with most people in the village, her parents lost their lives during the invasion of the nine tails. She was alone for a long time, but despite that, she tried to find joys in reading, in stacking new books on shelves, in talking to unique individuals that would stop by. And as she aged, she realized her most favorite customer was one with a masked face, and a love of gushy, perverted novels.

She was even friends with some of his closest friends, Gai, Yamato, Sakura. She reached out to them, getting visits here and there while she worked during the day. After he informed his closest companions of his blossoming affair with the bookstore girl, they just had to get in an insider view. They kept visiting after the first meetings. Sakura bringing lunch, Yamato helping her with repairs, and Gai just bringing his brightest smile and a boatload of jokes and giggles to share at the front counter.

It was only a matter of time before they fell into some weird friendship, a civilian and one of the top shinobi of their village. He was gone half the time on missions, and sometimes, when he was ANBU, she wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time. Occasionally, when a mission was long and difficult, she would hear pawing at her window late into the night. When she pulled back the blinds, a small dog would be sitting there with a folded piece of paper in his mouth, waiting for her to take it.

She loved those letters, they became her prized possessions. There was nothing else she loved more in the world than seeing his kind words written out on paper, his declarations of love that he would never dare say aloud. To him, it was easier to say those things on paper, to not be around when she read about his feelings for her. He was still attentive and kind to her in person, but the letters spoke with a romanticism that he couldn’t.

Y/N practically glowed when she spoke to him, so in love with him she could barely keep it restrained. He knew this. He knew she was as deeply in love with him as he was entranced with her. It had been 5 years since they started dating, and he prolonged the inevitable path of marriage as long as he could. Having a girlfriend was one thing, but marrying someone felt like a burden he couldn’t shoulder. He wanted to, but it just seemed like too much work, too much risk.

After years, he realized the waiting just wasn’t worth it. They were only getting older as the time went by. She just warmed his empty heart, he knew that was something only she could do for him. He needed that.

And that's why he sat in the comfort of Ichiraku, Sakura by his side, sipping on some soup. She was the only one he truly trusted with this knowledge, the only one who could give him genuine advice. He just needed to tell someone what he was about to do. He sat there, his fingers hovering over his pants pocket, eyes trailed down at the table.

"What did you want to talk about, Sensei?" She had asked.

"You really like Y/N, right? Think she's good for me?"

She smiled with a small nod. "Of course. Y/N is so sweet. She makes you so happy I can tell. I think it's really good for you." It was true. Sakura didn’t know what her sensei was like before he met the woman. That was years ago before she was even born. What she did know is that someone with that much pain seeping from his heart could use some love in his life, a stable shoulder to lean onto. If anyone was stable, it was her. Without any cares in the world other than worrying for her boyfriend and keeping her business afloat. Her trauma was behind her, unlike some of the shinobi that carry those with them for the rest of their lives. Guilt, anger, resentment.

He pulled a tiny, drawstring bag from his pocket and fiddled with the strings between his fingers. "When I was in the Land of Fire last month, I picked this up from a merchant," he explained, pulling open the bag and pouring out the contents. A small ring clicked against the bar table. "Take a look, tell me what you think."

She dropped her spoon and reached over for the ring, holding it gently with the pads of her fingertips. It was beautiful. It sparkled like sunlight hitting clear blue waters. A stone rested in the center, flecks of lavender and blue floating in the sparkly gem. When she turned it in the sunlight, more colors appeared and changed, morphing into something spectacular in every sense of the word.

"Kakashi-sensei, it's gorgeous. Are you going to give this to Y/N?"

"After all this time, it seems inevitable really. Time flies."

"Oh my gosh. I'm so happy for you. She's going to be ecstatic, I just know it. She loves you more than life itself." He liked hearing that reaffirmed for him, even though Y/N frequently told him how she felt, daily ‘I love you’s. Unlike him, those words were not rare, but each time it filled his chest with warmth.

He smiled fondly, watching as she continued to turn to ring in her hands. He never thought this would happen to him: marrying someone. He didn't want to lose anyone else. He didn't want to put that risk on someone, especially Y/N. He had suppressed his feelings for her for a few years before he finally succumbed to the urge to tell her. Finally, after years of longing and avoiding the obvious, she became his, and he was undoubtedly hers.

It was a hard decision. He knew it was wrong to risk it, put her life on the line, but now he felt ridiculous sulking around waiting for something that was never going to happen. Nothing had happened to Y/N yet, and it had been years. She was gonna be fine. He was only being paranoid, he had convinced himself.

"Tonight. I'm going to help her close the store and do it then."

"You're a good man, Kakashi. She’s so lucky to have you protecting her and watching out for her, ya know? You two balance each other out perfectly,” the girl sighed. If only she could find a love like her sensei had with his significant other.

"Thanks, Sakura.”

They finished up their conversation, and he paid the bill for her, feeling so high that a bit of money from his wallet didn't even bother him. It was slightly later than he was supposed to go see her. The bookstore should have already closed by about 10 minutes.

All he could think about on the way there was how she would laugh about him being late, as usual. She would hug him to say hello, like she usually wound, and then give him a kiss on his masked cheek. He would help her quickly reorganize books before pulling out the ring. To him, it wasn't really about her saying yes at all so much as this moment, proposing to the love of his life, meant he could leave his curse behind and be happy for once with someone he cared about. She was his savior, an escape from a mindset so ingrained he couldn't fight it on his own.

But when he walked up to the front of the store. He noticed the lights still on even though she would have shut them off by now. The sign out front still flipped to open. He didn’t think it was too weird at all, he just thought maybe she was waiting for him to come along to finish up.

As he walked in though, he noticed the whole reams of paper strewn across the floor. Piles of books were aggressively thrown from the shelves, scattered around the floor like someone side swept them from the stands. Ink stained the checkout counter where she normally sat, inkwell tipped over the edge and dripped onto the carpet which she took care to keep clean. It was disastrous getting stains out of that carpet, she always said to him.

Most importantly, on some of the papers scattered around, he spotted blood splatter, drips of half dried blood present all the way from her desk to the back door. He felt panic rise up from his stomach all the way to his throat, and his heart raced. It was rare something made him truly terrified, and this was one of those moments.

He searched, god, he scoured that entire building over and over again for the woman. He checked every aisle and under every table. He ran upstairs to her apartment and checked in the few small rooms she had, scared she was cowering in her bathtub or hiding under the bed. He ran to the neighboring stores, asking if they'd heard from her, and received nothing but empty words. He just wanted her to be anywhere that he could find, anywhere but in the arms of someone evil.

His Y/N was gone, and he was hopelessly at the mercy of his curse once again.

______

He wasn't even allowed to go on the search mission for his girlfriend. Instead, Tsunade sent Yamato as well as a few chunin who knew Y/N enough to recognize her but not enough to fail at being objective. Apparently, the copy-nin wasn't in his right mind to go on a mission right now, especially one that was so personal to him. All his missions for the foreseeable future had been cancelled and another jounin was set to replace him. He could only sit back at home, guilt ridden and feeling useless, unable to help, unable to search. He did this to her. He knew that putting his heart into someone else's hands wasn't right, that it would only lead to her suffering but he couldn't listen to his own experience. He didn’t think it could happen to Y/N. he thought he could protect her.

But fate finds a way, it seems.

He trusted Yamato and the others to find her, but it was nothing like going himself. He wanted nothing more than to see the men who stole her away taught a lesson for what they had done. He wanted to cradle her in his arms and kiss her head, and promise something like this would never happen again. At least, that’s what he wanted to do. He didn’t know how he would react in the moment, despite developing quite good self-control over the years. How could he contain himself when the perpetrators caused his beautiful girl to bleed, and no doubt suffer?

Sakura felt the worst for Kakashi, knowing what she knew. She could imagine him heading to propose to his little girlfriend whom he loved more than anything in the entire world, and see only her blood splattered across the room and endless signs of a brutal struggle. Not to mention no one had a clue why they stole her or what was happening where no one else could see. The medical nin nearly shed a couple tears when Kakashi rushed into the Hokage's office without announcement, proclaiming that his girlfriend was gone, kidnapped from her own store where she worked alone all day.

Tsunade, despite barely knowing the girl, knew it was important; for anyone to be stolen from their village was serious enough. Although she felt for Kakashi, she had to keep him calm while she worked on finding the subject of his affection. She sent out teams immediately, and stressed that Kakashi was to remain in the village until everything was resolved one way or another. She didn't want any accidents because of a reckless, emotionally compromised shinobi faltering.

It only took the teams a single day to find their target.

Shikamaru and Choji were the ones to come back first, and in the larger boy's arms rested the limp, unconscious body of a missing woman. Ever so gently, he had her head tucked away against his chest the entire way home, trying his best not to hurt her anymore. Even if she was unconscious, he wanted to respect the body. From the moments they spoke before, she seemed like the nicest girl. He felt awful. She wasn’t the one putting her life on the line, she was the one that shinobi were supposed to protect. And they failed her.

When they walked through the gates of the village, Kakashi was already rushing up to the gates waiting for their arrival. He caught up to the boys and reached out to take her body from his arms, just to cradle her against him. It was the least that he could do was take her to the infirmary. To feel her faint heart beating against his chest. He was surprised when one of the chunin sadly shook his head.

"Kakashi, she's alive, but trust me, you don't want to see what they did to her," Shikamaru warned, and Choji flinched, just thinking about what her poor face looked like when they found her. Shikamaru knew for a fact that if his girlfriend was ever handed off to him looking so pitiful, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He didn’t want the same to befall on his sensei. "Just trust me, I cannot let you see it, for your sake. Let Choji bring her to Tsunade."

He felt a burning in his stomach, pain creeping up in his abdomen like he was going to throw up all over the dirt path they stood on, but he did his best to remain calm despite the mix of emotions running through his head. He watched as the Akimichi carried her quickly off to the hospital. Kakashi didn't miss though, the blood stains on his tunic surrounding the area where her head was resting, circling her face. She had bled a lot in her time away, he realized.

God, he felt sick. So fucking nauseous.

"What happened?" he breathed heavily, words slipping through.

"Apparently, the guy had a grudge against your clan for something your father did to his family. Killed a criminal brother or some shit. When he heard wind of your girlfriend he knew he would take his revenge. Didn't want ransom, fame, nothing, just to torment you and torture her. Disgusting bastard."

There was one thing he wanted to know on top of his worry about her condition. He’d been thinking about it for the entire day she was missing. Obsessing even.

"What did you do with the man?" He hoped that justice had been served, and he couldn't imagine the two boys doing anything less.

"A man that would do that to a woman doesn't deserve his life," he muttered, his eyes trailed off to the village, “I made it painful.”

Kakashi nodded to him, and together they stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity.

“Sensei?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

____________

When he got to the hospital, Choji was directly quickly to a special unit with particularly fancy machines around the room. Sakura was standing beside her own mentor awaiting the arrival of her friend. The moment she finally saw Y/N's exposed face, she cried. Tears fell from her eyes and she leant over the hospital bed to get a look at all her wounds. She looked alien, and the amount of blood that stained her hairline and cheeks was thick and heavy. Choji had tried to wipe it off, but he just couldn’t get it all.

"Y/N! Oh my God, what did they do to you?" She cried, running her hands shakily over the contusions and the cuts and the bulging areas near her temples. Her body was no better but her face is what hurt Sakura the most. It was hard to believe that all the life had been drained from her body after this one incident.

The light had left her body. Her familiar glow emanating from her soft skin was missing. She looked cold and dead. For the first time, Sakura saw her without her smile, without any bit of optimism. It felt like she was staring at an empty shell of the woman she knew.

"Sakura, get the IV ready. I need to get to work."

And so she did what she does best. Healers at work in their element fixing broken bones, burst capillaries in her head, torn skin. Everything they could. It took hours, and her face still wasn't completely healed in the end, just less swollen. She still had some bumps and bruises but those weren't going to be so bad. They could heal by themselves with a few days of rest and care.

She would be okay, they decided after a while of treatment, and moved her into a normal hospital room, under watch of nurses every so often, no visitors allowed either. Not for the first few days, much to Kakashi's displeasure. He was really getting irritated with the way everyone was keeping him from seeing her. Shouldn’t he be allowed? Essentially, the only family she had left? In reality though, he was scared.

But did he even want to see her again? He loved her, would do anything in the world for her. If only he had the guts to just give up on her and let her meet a normal man from the village, let her marry him and just forget all about their relationship. Then, nothing like this would ever happen again. She would be safer without having connections with him. He was so upset with himself for letting this happen.

He hated himself. It had been a long time since he genuinely thought those words. He hated himself more than anyone else. He let this happen, he was to blame for all this mess. A monster.

He headed back to his apartment that night and stared over at her tiny pile of belongings in the corner, ones she had left over his place as time went on. They still didn't live together so it wouldn't be the worst thing if he broke up with her. She would be hurt, probably cry for a few days, a week, maybe a month. He didn’t know. All he knew was that a little bit of crying was a lot better than getting fatally injured.

Just return her belongings in a box, and never go back to that fucking bookshop where he fell in love with her. He could get his novels directly from Jiraiya if he wanted them.

Tsunade already told him it would be days before he would be allowed to see her again, something about the healing process and that her chakra wasn't enough to fix everything. Based on what Shikamaru had told him, the way he acted- it must have been pretty bad. He couldn't even imagine her face beaten and broken.

All he knew was that in 2 days, he would be allowed to see her again, to possibly talk to her and apologize for what he had caused. It was the least he could do. At this point he couldn't imagine giving her that ring. How could she accept when he was the reason she was abducted and tortured?

He barely slept that night, but it didn't matter. He didn't have anything to do. He was given time off work until everything was resolved. He wondered if it would have been better to have a mission and forget all about the situation for even a couple fleeting moments.

He was just so tired of these feelings. He felt suffocated, and unlike himself. He was finding it hard to be cool, calm, and collected like usual. He just felt terrible. Too terrible to eat, too terrible to sleep, too terrible to do anything but stare up at the ceiling and wonder what could have been.

______

It was time to head to the hospital and see her. Yamato had come to his apartment so they could go and see Y/N. Tsunade gave him the green light first thing that morning when he reported to her. The wood style ninja wanted to see her as well, just to say he was happy she was recovering and even tell her that next time she needed help, if Kakashi wasn't around, to run to his apartment. He would always open his arms to help. So many shinobi of the village, after this incident, would be willing to drop everything and help. Her bookstore would probably always have eyes on it from now on.

Word travelled fast between the shinobi and soon enough almost everyone was giving Kakashi sympathetic looks, patting him on the back and apologizing to him for something they knew nothing about. He just wanted to get to her and say sorry for everything he had done. For not being there sooner, for his father and his clan causing this whole thing. He just needed to see her face. He couldn't get her out of his head.

Sakura was standing outside the room when he arrived. She was biting on her nails, which was oddly uncharacteristic of her. She rarely got nervous enough for habits like that to arise. She was normally so confident. That was the first of the red flags.

"Kakashi-sensei, Yamato. You're here to see Y/N, aren't you?" she asked, her voice quiet and hesitant.

She let him Yamato walk past her into the room but she raised her hand before Kakashi could walk in. She gave him one of the most sorry, pitiful looks he had ever seen, and her lip was quivering just a bit. It was barely noticeable but Kakashi was talented at noting the smallest things.

"Kakashi, I'm really sorry about everything. Lady Tsunade did everything she could. When you go in there, just please don't get upset. It's not as bad as you think. I'll explain everything later, but I want to see how she reacts to seeing you first," she bit out, her words mending together awkwardly.

He figured she was just nervous about her condition or maybe she was still bruised and bandaged up. If she was in a full body cast, he wouldn’t care. As long as he could see her. He couldn’t understand why Sakura was so worried. She would still be beautiful to him. She could never lose that shine that she carried regardless of her external features.

"Hmm. I'm sure it will be fine."

"I'm serious. Don't get upset and alarm her, it's very important you be careful."

"Gotcha."

She watched as he walked past her into the white room, sunlight leaking onto her bedside. The woman was fond of staring out the window since she woke, comforted by the familiarity of the village and the birds that flew by. That was the one thing she needed. Comfort.

Yamato sat at her bedside, and she seemed to be talking to him quietly. Her brows were furrowed deeply and she seemed strained, thoughts running through her brain.

"Kakashi-" the man began to say, desperate to say anything to his friend before the inevitable, but was interrupted.

"Y/N, I was so worried about you," he said, words tumbling out before he could even think. He just had so much to say. He continued, "I need to apologize for what happened. I know I should have been at the shop earlier to help you close, I just got caught up in something. It was my family's fault for your kidnapping. I cannot believe I dropped my guard and let this happen to you, baby-"

She looked at him, but without an ounce of the fondness he was so used to. Instead, his girlfriend just looked confused.

"I… I'm sorry but, Sir, do I know you?"

No.

Not this.

He pleaded in his head that this was not happening. That somehow he had misheard.

"It's me, Kakashi,” he replied softly, almost pleading for her to say something else.

She smiled sympathetically, peering up at him with a little glimmer of that kindness he knew in her eyes. He could tell she was confused, and he began to feel his heart break. "Uh, I'm so sorry but I don't remember you. We're we friends or something?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say something like that,” he muttered, his eyes turned to stare at the white tiles beneath his feet.He couldn’t look at her anymore.

"Yamato, you're friends with Kakashi-san, too?" She asked the brunette at her bedside, sitting in a chair wiping his sweaty palms on the thighs of his pants. He felt himself becoming nervous, especially when he felt Kakashi watching him. Why did she have to ask him that question? Why did she have to address him by his name so casually? He could feel Kakashi begin to bubble up emotions he hadn’t felt from him before.

"Yes. We are all very close friends, Y/N. You were closest with Kakashi actually."

"Then how come I can’t remember any of you?"

"I don't know." He felt fear creeping up his neck, Kakashi overwhelming his senses. The grey haired man just stood there, his eye flickering between the love of his life and his friend who apparently her brain thought was more important than him. Did he not look friendly enough to talk to? Was Yamato more inviting than he was, was that why she stopped talking to him? “I really wish I could help you there,” he mumbled.

She turned back to Kakashi and smiled, but it wasn't the one he knew from her. It was different. He hated it. He didn't even want to look at her anymore.

"I hope I remember you soon, or I'll just have to get to know you again, Kakashi-san," she chirped, reaching out to touch his hand which rested on the edge of her bed. The reaction he had was immediate and almost startling. The second her hand touched his, her warmth pressed to his cold fingers, he yanked his hand away and shoved it into his pocket.

He didn't want her to touch him. He didn't want anything other than to leave. Fuck getting to know him again. That wasn't an option.

"I need to go. I've got a mission I need to prepare for."

"Okay! Goodluck out there," she called to him as he turned on his heel to leave. He grit his teeth, feeling another wave of emotion overtake him. As he stepped outside the door, Sakura was still waiting there for him, her arms crossed over her chest sheepishly.

"Will she ever remember me again?" He asked simply.

"I don't know. She's got retrograde amnesia which can sometimes be permanent depending on the damage done to the brain. We couldn't fix it, no matter how much we tried. She doesn't remember me either. She doesn't remember Gai or Naruto or even Tsunade. She only remembers the village and a few bits and pieces that she can associate with it. Of course she remembers her name and her bookstore, but specific people and memories are essentially gone for now."

"So she's lost to us?"

"She can still get her memories back, but it will take time," she explained. "Sensei, I'm so sorry. None of us wished anything like this on you. I told Tsunade about the ring you were going to give her and the proposal, and we mourned for you. I'm so sorry." She felt so bad, and they did cry for him. They cried for the girl who got to keep her life but lost her soul.

"I have to get back to my apartment and clean up a few things," he dismissed, turning his head away from his student as well. He felt his heart clench in his chest as he walked away. The ring still sat deep in his pants pocket and he wanted nothing more than to throw it in the river.

He wished he was the one who forgot everything. Maybe this pain in his heart would subside. Maybe all the guilt would be washed away once and for all.

Part Two and Three are out.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #naruto x reader #kakashi oneshot #kakashi fanfic #naruto one shot #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi imagine #naruto imagine #fluff #angst #the reader is a vert sweet and feminine girl and i hope that doesnt offend anyone

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

Guess what, guys? IT’S WEDNESDAY! >:D You know what that means~!

TIME TO SHARE!

I’m excited because I finally, finally found the inspiration and motivation to write chapter 13 of my main fic! And I used the good old, ‘And he returned...’ technique! X’D

Time to talk about mages and templars everybody!

“Ma halla,” Cyfrin’s voice came forward, laced with tiredness and unusually serious as his eyes fell upon his sister, “the Chantry has not had control over either side for years. If they had, the Chantry in Kirkwall wouldn't have met the fate that it did.” He picked up the stick they had been using to tend the fire, giving the logs a gentle poke and sending sizzling embers upwards, “Now, it is merely a war of endurance; who can last the longest and who can end it with the most spite, the most damage. Blood will run for many moons as it has for several years now. Except this time, light is being shone on those crimson puddles rather than being mopped up with a," A finger rose to slender lips, a pantomime of silence and secrecy.

Fane sighed, grimacing a bit when Mhairi shifted against his side and watching those embers rise and then blink out of existence. Cyfrin was right. This was a war without end, and each side was merely swinging at whatever happened to move now. Power corrupted, and it had done so in this instance; mages overwhelmed by the taste of air, magic responding with giddy excitement; templars breaking the chains that held their hands and feet in place, as well as their swords. Both had never known what it meant to be free, and now that they had it in aces, they couldn’t cope with it. All the common folk, them included, could do was wait it out, like a parent waiting for their child, who refused to listen, to settle down. That was all there was to it.

Fane slowly rubbed his palms together, wringing his fingers a bit as he spoke, “Whatever it is now, it doesn’t matter. It’s a mess made for a different rag,” With a tired movement, he let his head roll to the side a bit to rest atop his sister’s, relishing in its silkiness. To think, he had almost abandoned that comfort for fear. He continued with another sigh, “All that matters is staying away from it. It isn’t our fight; it never has been.”

Silence passed between them all after his words had fallen, the crackling of the fire and the drone of crickets and cicadas the only sounds to fill the air. Cyfrin only gave him a nod that said, 'I agree' before going back to idly poking at the fire. However, Fane could feel something like a tense ripple from Mhairi, her body suddenly rigid where it rested against him.

Shit, Fane thought, growling a bit as he recognized this rolling wave exuding off Mhairi. He should have kept his mouth shut.

A few more moments of silence passed before the words he had been dreadfully waiting for passed lips gingerly being bitten into.

"Is it really not our fight, though?," Mhairi asked in a sheepish whisper. Fane watched from over his nose as delicate hands appeared from under fur and cotton, pink with Fereldan chill and palms up, "Or at least, my fight? I mean, I'm a mage, so really--"

"Mhairi," Fane cut off his sister's words, voice dropping low in warning, "Whatever's going through your head right now, end it."

Fane caught the flicker of amber from across the way, their owner knowing where this was going as much as he did, but he was more focused on ice as it hardened before him. He was not going to entertain this ridiculous train of thought! Was his sister mad!?

"But, brother--!"

"Enough," Fane snapped with a harshness he rarely used with her, "Do you want a templar on your heels!? Do you want to be silenced again!?"

Nostrils flared as he brandished a glare downwards, but his irritation cooled as Mhairi's icy gaze melted and turned downwards, guilt and pain in turquoise. Fane frowned deeply at that. Shit, he hadn't meant to…! Damn it all! This was why he should have left on his own! All he did was pull down, down, down! He could never find the right words!

"Of course I don't want those things, brother. You know that," Mhairi said with tightness, voice like a taut cord before letting out a tiny sigh, down-turned eyes staring pointedly at her hands--the tools for which another tool could be wielded in, "It just...feels wrong to turn away and let not only the mages and templars suffer, but innocent people, too. The people on farms and in villages didn't ask to be involved, but they are." A gentle blue glow enshrouded slender fingers and smooth palms, making Fane's nose twitch in irritation and his stomach roll uncomfortably, but he watched it same as her, "I guess I just want to help them, to show them that it doesn't have to end in flames. Magic is beautiful, and it hurts to know no one but the Dalish recognize that."

Fane listened, rapt and attentive even though he knew his face showed otherwise. Mhairi had vocalized these thoughts before to him, and while he understood where she was coming from, that still didn't mean this was their fight. What was there to gain from throwing themselves into the pan? Nothing but an early grave, that's what. Or worse yet, tranquility. The very idea of that happening to his sister made him sick. How such a practice came to be was beyond him, and yet, it made his mind prickle and pull with those odd feelings of ‘wrongness’. Obviously, stripping a person of their emotions was vile and grotesque and disgusting, but it felt like something more to him. It always felt like more with so little.

Fane let out a long sigh through his nose at himself and his sister, the air condensing in front of him, "It's not your job to present that to the world, Mhairi." He shifted a bit, the fur lining of his cloak brushing against the bottom of his cheeks as he did so. He was starting to get warm, uncomfortably warm.

"Isn't it?," his sister forwarded, pressed, pushed, sparkling eyes slowly rolling upwards to look at him; the glow of her hands fading away to let firelight take center stage again, "I’m a--”

Fane growled, his chest rattling from the depth of it. “Yes, you’re a mage, My, but that’s more likely to get you killed, or worse, made tranquil than understood,” He met her slowly narrowing gaze unflinchingly before sighing tiredly, shoulders slumping and voice softening at the look of hurt in icy blue, “Listen: stop chasing after trouble. No good can come from involving yourself in this mess,” His tired eyes shifted to the fire once more, watching it dance and consume both air and forest wood, “This continent is engulfed in war, and it’s not your job to fix the mistakes of others just because of what you are. That type of blind thinking is exactly why all that’s happened, happened.”

He felt his fists ball up against where his hands were resting between his thighs from anxiety and frustration, the skin along his arms pinching to where he could finally feel his scars start to act up. Great. Just what he needed alongside all this ridiculousness. Why did his sister always have to play this card? Yes, she was a mage, but there were a thousand more who could, but wouldn’t do what his sister wished to. And why? Because they knew it was pointless as narrow perspectives were set in the stone of ages.

Time and time again mages had tried and failed to show the world the intended use for magic. Time and time again restrictions were set ever tighter because of those harmless displays, the Chantry crying, ‘Demon, demon! Blood magic, blood magic!’, and a single, single show of defense against such accusations was treated as a literal felony. Now, the Fade touched were doing the only thing they could think to do after so many disappointments; fight. A caged animal was bound to break the door holding it back, and that was exactly what had happened to every Circle; they broke.

They went silent, voices stolen straight from their throats, emotions ripped away so as to be unable to defend themselves any longer, and the beauty his sister desperately wished to show no longer relevant as it had no place in war, in a world where beauty was a stranger. Fane didn’t have much allegiance to either side, both were foolish and pathetic and tiring, and despite his personal experience with magic, he didn’t detest it. It had its uses, just not on him and that was because he didn’t relish getting uncontrollably ill. He was open minded enough to know magic hadn’t been the true culprit, it had only been like the innocents in this pointless war; used against its will. It had been the blade that carved the stone of his body, but it hadn’t been the hand to wield it.

So, he would admit he felt sorry for the endlessly warring factions, even the templars despite his personal feelings regarding them. To be played like a fiddle by a bunch of tottering zealots, zealots that used ‘faith’ as their bargaining chip to garner influence and power while declaring, ‘It is the Maker’s will’. Sadly, despite how thin the veil of deceit was, the people fell for it like raindrops during a heavy downpour, fast and hard. Was it the humans’ ‘god’s’ will to rip away independent thought? To sunder the minds of those who broke the leash long having held them back?

To indiscriminately kill another on the basis of ‘you’re a mage’ or ‘you’re a templar’ or ‘you’re a threat to our power’? Apparently so. Tragic, but there was nothing to be done about it now and Mhairi needed to understand that.

She needed to understand there was no ‘beauty’ in war.

Mhairi let out a disgruntled huff before her form shifted away from him to sit up. Fane squeezed his already tight fists tighter, the leather of his gloves creaking from the force as he watched his sister rise up from the log, her action calm, but her eyes and face held frustration in delicate edges and firelit ice. He felt his expression go hard as he sat up straight, silently mourning the loss of momentary comfort. Again, he should have kept his mouth shut. Why did he even try using words?

“I think I can see perfectly well, brother. I saw the corpses mutilated beyond recognition, the burnt buildings and the sacked ones, the people crying over what they lost, children wailing as their parents wouldn’t wake up. I saw,” Mhairi said, lilt strained and lips twitching with the urge to bend downwards as a forlorn mutter came after, “I wish you would stop treating me like I don’t, like a child.”

With that, Fane watched his sister quickly stride away towards where they had pitched tents, darkened cloak fluttering behind her and kicking up the dusting of snow with her partially bare feet. It was only when Mhairi completely disappeared from his sight, safely burrowing into her tent, did he let out a sigh, the exhalation hard and long.

“Damn it all,” Fane cursed out under his breath, bringing hand out and up from his cloak to rub at his face. He felt ten years older all of a sudden. Scratch that, a thousand years older. How much older could he potentially feel at this rate?

“Tactful as always, ma falon.”

----

Fane can be incredibly harsh, and a downright jerk sometimes. He doesn’t mince words or give platitudes. He says it how he sees it.

Tagging: @noire-pandora @oxygenforthewicked @varric-tethras-editor @dreadfutures @the-dreadful-canine @drag-on-age @a-drama-addict @little-lightning-lavellan @whataboutbugs @blueheaded @aymayzing @rosella-writes @1000generations and anyone else that’d like to share! (no pressure! <3)

#wip wednesday #my writing #oc: fane lavellan #oc: mhairi lavellan #oc: cyfrin azurel #cyfrin's baaaack~ >:3 #and mhairi just wants to help #fane wants to STAY AWAY #you can guess how that works out~ >:3 #although. it IS fane's fault when it happens ehehe~ :3 #i'm so happy to be working on this again! X3 #*bonks the unknown dragon on the head* STAHP. BE NICE.#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #writing

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Either a prompt, or just an answer! But based on your post about JGY and using microaggressions, what do you think would have happened if it had been LXC who caught him in one of his manipulative stunts and realized it was all a trick, rather than NMJ? I almost feel like he'd talk himself out of believing what he's seen, or let JGY talk him out of it, and then neither of them might have guessed at his true nature.

Lan Xichen did his best to like most people, to give them the benefit of the doubt whenever possible – truly, he did. He even thought he was mostly successful at it, purposefully looking at Sect Leader Yao’s boorish nosiness as well-meant although ill-executed sympathy or Sect Leader Ouyang’s tendency to follow the crowd as a sense of fellow-feeling taken to an extreme.

And yet –

He was certain that there was something wrong with Meng Yao.

The seeds of doubt had been planted the first time they’d met – or rather, the first time he’d seen Meng Yao, he supposed. The man had been travelling in a caravan of merchants, heading towards Qinghe; Lan Xichen, on the run from the burning of the Cloud Recesses and utterly exhausted, had abandoned his initial campground and hidden himself in a tree.

He’d intended on simply continuing onwards, ignoring his tired feet (what right did he have to be merely tired, after all, with uncle injured and father likely dying and Wangji taken away by the Wens to be abused…), but something he’d stuffed into his mouth earlier had disagreed with him and he’d just hidden in the tree instead, thinking it’d be nice to see the faces of some fellow humans, even from a distance.

He’d seen Meng Yao then, though he hadn’t known it was Meng Yao, and the way he investigated the campgrounds with a slight frown that turned into a pleased smile, as if something had worked out according to plan –

They’d bumped into each other again a few days later, when Lan Xichen was even more tired and hopeless and fleeing a badly timed set of Wen cultivators out on a night-hunt, only Meng Yao had been alone.

Alone, and with rations to spare, and a story that he’d left Lanling after his terrible disgrace to travel all on his own.

Lan Xichen had been starving at the time, too busy to think twice about it or ask about the other merchants he’d seen with Meng Yao, and it wasn’t until later that night that he opened his eyes and looked up at the moon, bewildered by the one flaw in the otherwise truly piteous story.

If Meng Yao had merely parted ways with the merchants, why lie?

The seed of doubt remained only a seed, then, and they travelled together some ways before parting – after all, Lan Xichen had assured himself, in some ways it could be said that Meng Yao had saved his life; it would be impolite, churlish even, to question him on something he clearly didn’t want to talk about.

It wasn’t until later, when Lan Xichen began to act as courier between the sects during the Sunshot Campaign, that the seed bloomed into a flower, and then began growing even more rapidly than a weed.

A weed like Meng Yao, who was brilliant enough to piece together information and yet selfish enough to use it for his own benefit instead of the benefit of all.

Lan Xichen hadn’t realized it at first, too busy lecturing himself on his pointless suspicion of his benefactor, but the information he collected – some too late to be helpful – suddenly put certain things in context.

Certain battles that didn’t have to happen, but did, and the way that they did threw Meng Yao’s merits into sharp relief – he wasn’t the best at battle, but he was excellent at clean-up, especially in aiding the common folk, but for that to happen the battle had to take place somewhere where they would suffer.

And then there were certain groups of people, Nie cultivators or otherwise, that died shortly after crossing Meng Yao – one survivor telling Lan Xichen that he hadn’t known some critical information that Lan Xichen was certain that he’d conveyed to the Nie sect in time.

He’d been about to go demand answers from Nie Mingjue when the survivor had let slip that it had been Nie Mingjue’s so-capable deputy that had given them the briefing – and that the deputy was Meng Yao.

Lan Xichen had fought with himself, not wanting to believe it. He had no solid evidence, after all, merely suspicions, and Nie Mingjue was delighted by Meng Yao, praising him as virtuous and capable. Nie Mingjue was not a man to praise people lightly, so this was evident evidence of his esteem, and a sign that Meng Yao had managed, somehow, to get in through the usually standoffish sect leader’s guard and into his heart.

But once the suspicion was there, the signs were there, too – things that Lan Xichen would have written off if he hadn’t been looking, things that he would never have noticed.

How facile Meng Yao’s face was, how responsive to his will, and yet how different he was when around different people. Lan Xichen had had to learn to read emotions from the smallest of signs to understand Wangji, prided himself on it, and when Meng Yao was around him, the little things – the crinkle of his eyes, the pursing of his lips, the quivering of his cheeks – all accorded with his words. In other words, he was sincere and true, as far as Lan Xichen could tell, and the only deviation was when he so-nobly tried and yet failed to avoid talking about the occasional injustices that he suffered, and yet those were subject that he had brought up himself, or which Lan Xichen just happened to walk in on.

It was precisely the sort of person he most liked, straightforward and sincere and just a little piteous, someone combining the best parts of Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji and yet also reminiscent of when Lan Wangji was a child young enough that Lan Xichen could actually do things for him, to be the protective and indulgent big brother in a way Lan Wangji hadn’t needed in years.

If he wasn’t already suspicious, Lan Xichen was quite sure that he would be as enchanted by Meng Yao as Nie Mingjue was.

After all, Nie Mingjue was good with reading emotions, too – only his favorite type of person wasn’t the honest-but-shyly-pitiful type, but one who was straightforward yet restrained, who was hurt by the slights of others but who held his head high regardless, who had a spark of mischief and humor hiding behind his solemnity. And when Meng Yao didn’t know Lan Xichen was watching, that was exactly the sort of person his face said he was: his eyes dancing in amusement at Nie Huaisang’s latest antics even while his mouth remained stern, his chin lifted a little as if he didn’t even notice when other men spoke ill of him…not shy, not subject to coaxing, still young but in a different sort of way, a happy and energetic way that was reminiscent of Nie Huaisang’s younger years (and, indeed, of his current ones) rather than Lan Wangji’s solemnity, his hidden pain and earnest striving to be good.

A first-class manipulator, Lan Xichen concluded after months of study. Meng Yao’s preferred mask was a display of weakness perfectly tailored to the interests of others, and he wielded that weakness as skillfully as Nie Mingjue wielded his saber or Lan Xichen played his qiao – and as ruthlessly, too.

He was a dagger hidden in the dark.

Lan Xichen tried to warn Nie Mingjue, but to no avail: Nie Mingjue was a stunning fighter, a brilliant general, and there was none better when it came to understanding how the quirks of his enemies would translate into strategic and tactical decisions that could be used on the battlefield, but outside of that context he had always been a little naïve about human nature.

It was something Lan Xichen should have known – Nie Mingjue had never understood, not really, why the other clans would allow themselves to be insulted by the Wen sect, trod upon, why they would selfishly turn their face away from the cries of the innocent to preserve themselves, as the Nie sect had only not declared war because it was too busy helping others – and most of the time he found the almost child-like innocence and inflexibility extremely cute.

Not right now, though.

Nie Mingjue simply couldn’t conceive of someone he was close to lying to him like that. His exterior was fierce but his heart was warm; once he was convinced you were one of his people, he would never turn against you no matter how harsh his tongue might be.

So when Lan Xichen told him he needed to be wary of Meng Yao, he tried, in deference to their old friendship and the trust between them, but he just couldn’t do it. He tried to be wary, tried to watch him, and then something more important distracted him and he fell back into his old habits of trusting and relying on him – no, until Nie Mingjue somehow saw with his own eyes what Lan Xichen put together through clues, he wouldn’t be able to believe that the man was a scorpion rather than a friend.

And while he didn’t say it, the distressed look in his old friend’s eyes suggested to Lan Xichen that Nie Mingjue was worried that he was the one affected, that his suffering at the Cloud Recesses and thereafter had injured his kind and trusting nature, and that he was merely being unduly paranoid.

It was a fair point, so Lan Xichen turned to the one he trusted most.

Lan Wangji listened solemnly to his suspicions, to his concerns, and promised to investigate, agreeing that there was enough there to merit justified suspicion even if he wouldn’t commit to a final decision until he’d had a chance to determine it for himself.

That was fine.

Lan Xichen was sure that there was a problem, even if no one else in the world believed him – but he had Lan Wangji at his side, capable and earnest, and that meant he didn’t have to be the only one in the world. They would unravel the riddle of Meng Yao and shine a light into the dark spaces he preferred to hide, and they would do it together.

#mdzs #lan xichen #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #chuplayswithfire

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seonghwa-is-babie · 4 years

Text

I'll wait

Y/n is a vampire who's been alive since the 18th century, but whilst others like him already found their soul mates, he was left waiting until a certain boy was born

Seonghwa x vampire! Male reader

Note: as soon as I saw the thing about this being seonghwa's first life, I just had to make this. Btw vampires don't burn in the sun in this fic

Being immortal wasn't that bad, you could see how humanity evolved alongside you, how new species were discovered and how old ones went extinct. You could try and perfect just about any skill you desired

What is bad, is not having to wait for your soul mate to be born while suffering an empty life, this was a problem for y/n, who even after nearly 200 years of waiting, still hasn't gotten his soulmate

He could vividly remember that day he touched the globe which would reveal where your soulmate was with a light, only to have nothing light up, much to the vampire's dismay

🐯

That was in 1760, and has been waiting ever since, checking the globe just about every day, but never getting that light he longed for

In the mean time, y/n made several identities for himself, only to die in a tragic 'accident' and start again as a 20 year old in a different setting, as he had the connections to do so

🐯

The year was 1998, y/n's persona this time around was a successful artist, painting for many people in his for now home, Germany,

He's been reluctant to once again look at the globe, afraid he simply didn't have a soulmate, alas, he did check, on April 3rd, and something he never expected to happen, happened

It lit up, a small light emitted on the map, in South Korea. Y/n couldn't hold back the tears of joy "welcome to the world, my darling, I can't wait to meet you"

Now, y/n knew not to go to a child and declare they're soulmate, but he did make sure someone kept an eye on him for his safety and to get to know him just a little bit

🐯

In the years he had someone look after them, he had learnt his soulmate was a boy by the name of Park Seonghwa, he had gotten some pictures over the years, and he absolutely adored how he looked, he couldn't wait to see what he'd grow into

🐯

It was in late 2017 when he decided to fake another death, by paint this time. He had 2 fellow vampires photograph him and make up the story he got drowned by paint in his lungs when a bucket fell. And people believed it

He quickly got a new passport after and moved to South Korea, where he would have to make a name for himself once again, but first he met up at a café with the friend who had to keep an eye out for Seonghwa

"how is he?" y/n asks, curious about what his soulmate was doing "he's training to become an idol, expected to debut sometime next year" he nodded "so how are you gonna tell him?" y/n hadn't thought about it that much "I'll move in and make a name for myself first, then I might be able to somehow get an interaction"

"how about fashion design, idols often have many different outfits, so if you just work at one that's fairly popular, I'm sure the opportunity will be there"

🐯

And so he began as a designer at a company, whilst also keeping track of seonghwa, which had become a lot easier thanks to social media

He was still waiting to formally meet him, but he went to every show Seonghwa's group, Ateez, performed at, he was fascinated by the boy's moves and good looks. He made sure seonghwa didn't fully see him though, wanting to safe that for when they met

🐯

It actually happened later then he expected, when he was an independent designer in late 2019, KQ, seonghwa's company, asked him to come design outfits for their new album, all to action

He was excited to finally meet the boy who had grown into a charming young man. Of course he was also excited to meet the others, but he's been waiting for over 200 years for this to happen, so of course it's understandable

🐯

Y/n had arranged a meeting with all 8 boys, one by one, leaving seonghwa last, he wanted to spend some extra time with him whilst making sure he didn't see him beforehand

🐯

One by one, he spoke to each member, wrote down some notes, and took their measurements, until the final person came to him, his soulmate, who he'd been waiting so long for

To say he was nervous, was an understatement. He tried distracting himself by turning around and looking outside his window, to the bustling streets of the city

"umm, hello? Sir are you okay?" he heard a concerned but also confused voice say. It's him, Park Seonghwa. He mustered up all of his courage and turned around, approaching the young man "it's nice to finally meet you in person" he held his hand in both of his

"You're..." before seonghwa could continue, he felt a sensation from the man's hand, a warmth so new, yet seemingly so familiar "my soulmate...?" the young man had never experienced such a thing before, and neither did the other, but with lots of stories, he knew what it was

"you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you, my darling" the younger still looked quite confused "if I have some time left after, I'll explain it to you briefly, but if you really wanna know all of it, I suggest you could come with me" he got a bit nervous "You're not gonna do anything bad, right?" y/n looked almost shocked he even asked "of course I won't, I didn't wait this long just to hurt you, alright?"

🐯

After everything was done, y/n took seonghwa back to his apartment, of course with seonghwa's manager's approval "do you want anything to drink?" the younger shook his head

They sat down in the living room "where do you want me to start?" "you said you waited a long time for me, how long was that?" y/n already saw this question coming, but he was willing to explain it all for seonghwa "about 260 years, you see I'm a vampire, an immortal being that's been alive since the 18th century. Of course common folk couldn't know about this, so about every 40 years, I fake my death and start a new life somewhere else, this time I went from a painter in Germany to a fashion designer here"

"but how come you didn't have any previous soulmates?" y/n sighed "because it's only your first life here, darling. Back in 1760 when I interacted with the globe that showed your soulmate's location, nothing lit up. It wasn't until April 3rd 1998 when it lit up, when you were born. I decided I wouldn't see you until you were older, since I also have my morals of not going after children or minors. I've only been here since 2017 actually"

Seonghwa was left in awe and shock, but also slight guilt that y/n had to wait so long for him "I'm sorry you had to wait all that time for me"

"don't be, I learned a lot of useful things and had lots of experiences thanks to the time I was alone" y/n smiled fondly at all the memories "did you fall in love with anyone else along that time?"

"I've met and seen many beautiful people, but none were as beautiful as you are now" seonghwa blushed at that "You're cute when you blush" this made him even more flustered

🐯

They talked for a little while longer before realising how late it is "I have a spare room you can stay in, it's right across from my room, so if anything's bothering you, just come to me" seonghwa nodded and went to the room with some clothes y/n handed him to sleep in

🐯

At night, seonghwa found himself not being able to sleep, there was a constant feeling that something was missing. He figured out it must have something to do with the fact that he now has a bond with y/n

So he made his way over to y/n's room, gently opening the door to find y/n also being awake, seemingly also not being able to sleep "can't sleep either" the latter asked, seonghwa nodded "it's like something's missing"

"maybe because we found each other now, we don't wanna be separated again" seonghwa was still a bit in thought, but suddenly started blushing "ummm, w-would you mind if I stayed here... With you?" y/n smiled and slightly threw the covers open so seonghwa could climb into bed with him. They didn't say anything after just staring at each other in silence, until y/n noticed seonghwa was getting tired. He leaned forward and kissed his forehead "goodnight, my darling"

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x male reader #kpop x male reader #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa x male reader #vampire!reader

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the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

Text

You Belong With Me - Chapter 34

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 6972

Chapter Warnings contain major spoilers so they’re at the end of the post, but please scroll down to check them if you need to! This chapter gets a bit heavy <3

Logan inhaled slowly as he cast one last glance down the empty corridor behind him. He could feel Dee's impatience growing behind him as he took another step towards the fae's cell. Still, he felt himself pause, subconsciously doubting his choices as he turned to to face the wall outside Dee's cell. A dim, amber light fell from the small sconce burning on the wall to his left. He quickly reached up to the thin torch, wrapping his fingers around the wooden base. With a light shove, he dislodged the lit torch from its holder and turned to step through into the grey light of Dee's cell.

He slowed, holding the torch out in front of him as he ducked through the doorway. He turned his body, edging carefully along the back wall, scanning the cell in front of him to catch sight of Dee's shadowy figure. The hairs on the back of his neck started to raise as continued to search the dim cell for the hostile fae. He barely kept the fear that his enemy had escaped at bay with the knowledge he’d heard the man's voice only a moment before. Logan could feel his energy. He had to be here.

Finally, his heart jumped in his chest he caught the subtle glimmer of his torchlight reflecting in Dee's eyes at the back of the cell. Logan straightened upright with a questioning glance. Dee’s restraints appeared to be pulled taut and Logan could only guess the fae was as far back into the cell as the chains would allow. Logan continued to hold the torch out in front of him, crouching defensively as he quickly glanced up and down at the thin silhouette standing in the dark abyss of the back of the room.

“Well, well,” Dee's dry laugh sent chills down Logan’s neck. “I almost didn’t think you had enough of a spine to ditch the prince's lap dog—”

“Don't.” Logan gritted his teeth as he cut off Dee's attempt to get under his skin. He kept he gaze trained carefully on the billowing figure as he reached upward to place the torch in his hand into the empty sconce across from Dee's cell. The thin torch barely illuminated a small radius in front of him, barely keeping the shadows close to him at bay. “I'm not here to talk about Virgil. Refrain from insulting my friend or I’ll—”

“Or you'll what?” Dee's wry grin stood out starkly against the shadows around him as glared threateningly at Logan. “Leave? If you had a shred of common sense, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.” Dee scoffed as Logan's expression soured. “Unfortunately for you, you’re the one here who wants something. So, I think you'll find I can speak about your friends anyway I damn please.”

Logan stood against the far wall, rigid with irritation at the truth of Dee’s statement. He clenched his jaw as his eyes shot daggers across the room at the faint silhouette of Dee leaning against the wall at the back of the cell in front of him.

“That’s what I thought. You’re as weak as I expected.” Dee sneered. A slight hiss escaped his lips as he struggled to contain the disdain in his voice. “I may be the prisoner, but you’ll never hold power with me. You’re merely a pawn in the bigger game I'm playing.”

Logan paused, blinking in surprise. His careful, guarded expression faltered briefly as the air wavered with an emotion he didn’t recognize. He parted his lips slightly, subtly tasting the unfamiliar feeling in the air. He stared into the dark blankly for a moment, trying to parse out some meaning to Dee's quickly shifting emotions before bitterly swallowing back the urge to comment and moving on.

“Well, clearly you wanted me here, Dee. The pawn moved where you expected, and now it's your move.” Logan pulled his shoulders back, not allowing his emotions to breach his carefully neutral expression. “So, are you actually able to tell me what happened to my parents or was this merely a ruse to get me alone?”

The silence hanging in air between them would have been deafening if Logan's heart wasn't pounding in his chest as he waited for Dee’s answer. He stared rebelliously into the subtle reflection of light in Dee’s unblinking eyes for what felt like an eternity, willing himself not to show that even without access to his power, Dee’s cold gaze sent a chill down his arms. Eventually, he couldn’t help but take a step back. His arm brushed the surface of the wall behind him and he jumped, almost missing the words that left Dee’s lips in that moment.

“You really don’t know anything. Do you?”

Logan paused, slowly glancing up in the cell as he processed Dee’s words. “What?”

“You don’t have parents.” Dee stated dryly. “You had Tara. “

The light Dee’s eyes flickered as he blinked and Logan tensed as he waited for Dee’s to continue.

“Actually, come to think of it. Tara wouldn’t have been able to resist my invitation either." Dee mused quietly. "It was easy to tempt her with knowledge. I would have pitied the fool who dared stand in her way of what she wanted to know.”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as the name seemed to resonate with familiarity in his mind. “T-Tara?”

“That was your—” Dee snarled with disgust. “—your mother's name. Her full name was Taranis of the Southern Sky, but she went by Tara.”

“Taranis of the Southern Sky?” Logan spoke slowly tasting unfamiliar words as his mind race. He almost found himself stepping forward in curiosity, but immediately halted, remembering whom he was speaking. With a twitch of a frown, he glared across the line of the cell bars. “Like the planet?”

Dee’s scoffed at Logan’s timid question, and amusement radiated out of the cell. “Yes. Though in the interest of being entirely accurate, the planet was named after her, not the other way around.”

Logan narrowed his eyes into the dark, taken aback by the sudden lack of malice in Dee’s voice. “What do you mean?”

“Humans are nothing but parasites on this land.” Dee drew out his words thoughtfully. “They’re disgustingly cruel, but even I will admit their tendency to connect two completely separate ideas by a mere thread is endlessly amusing.”

Logan stood motionless, listening to Dee as he reflected nostalgically. He held his breath not wanting to draw Dee out of his seemingly peaceful state by reminding him of who he was speaking to.

“The planet you’re referring to glows a brilliantly bright blue, just like Tara's lightning.” Dee mused quietly. “That's all the connection humans needed to connect her power to the celestial body in the southern sky. She even added it to her own name in appreciation of the connection.”

Logan stared into the darkness, nearly paralyzed in disbelief at what could only be sadness in Dee’s voice. “I-I thought—” Logan paused, staring nervously as Dee's eyes turned up to him. “—I ‘ve read extensively about the mythology associated with Taranis. Everything I’ve read implied that it had been named after a god of thunder.”

Dee was silent for long time and Logan couldn’t help but jump when he finally let out a deep sigh. “One of humans’ less endearing tendencies is their absolute inability to recognize the value of all of their own members. Some of them may even be tolerable if their leadership wasn’t worthless.”

Logan was quiet as Dee’s eyes flickered dangerously in the dark.

“She was a goddess in her own right, though thunder was far from her only claim to power. Humans have oh-so-kindly altered her myth to fit their own narrow view because they’re threatened by someone perceived as feminine having power.” Dee muttered bitterly. “Such petty cowards.”

“Was?” Logan struggled to keep his voice steady as he stared into the shadows at Dee. Dee started to move, pacing the back of the cell, but Logan forced himself to continue to speak. “You keep using the past tense to refer to her.”

“Well, I’m shocked.” Dee hummed condescendingly. “Maybe you’re not as much of an idiot as you look.”

Logan subconsciously took a step back into the wall at the venom that dripped from Dee's words, jumping as his back struck the wall behind him. He gulped, feeling the air shift back to the familiar aura of Dee’s hostility.

“You heard me correctly, Logan,” Dee’s eyes flickered in the torchlight as he snarled at Logan. “because that traitorous leech condemned her entire race to suffer and then left her only kin to pay her debt.”

Logan’s heart dropped as Dee stepped forward. His eyes glowed gold as he stared threateningly at Logan as he stuttered out a response. “W-what?”

“I don't have time to repeat myself, so get this through that thick skull of yours. She bolted. Well over a century ago, she took whatever reward the human king offered her, and fled the country, leaving you to the mercy of the human king. It's really no wonder you grew up to be the prince’s loyal pet.” Dee growled. Logan felt chills creep his neck as Dee’s anger turned to a smug satisfaction. “Not all is lost though. Fortunately for the Fair Folk, in her absence, the debt she owes passes to her next of kin and at the very least, she left us that.”

“D-debt?” Logan trembled. Even standing in the heat of the flames of the sconce above him, he felt his blood run cold.

“Surely, your dear prince told you what your mother did,” Dee replied in a disinterested tone. “though clearly he didn’t see fit enough to tell you who you were. I don't imagine you’d be here if he'd simply had the guts to tell you the truth.”

“What are you—” Logan muttered defensive, feeling his hands start to shake.

“Tara’s lightning is unmistakable. There's no way our dear prince didn't know exactly who he was speaking to.” Dee continued unempathetically, barely deigning to look at Logan as he started to crumble.

Blue lightning.

Dee's words trailed off as a loud ringing filled Logan’s ears. He slumped clumsily back into the wall behind him. Roman had reacted to his power and the air had flooded with regret.

He knew.

Roman knew.

Logan swallowed, almost choking on the lump in his throat as he slid down the wall. His muscles strained painfully as he became rigid, forcing down a vocal reaction to Dee's words. He squeezed out a few weak words, desperately needing confirmation of his thoughts.

“She was the Elder Fae.”

“Finally,” Dee growled impatiently. “Maybe there is a brain cell rattling around in that empty head of yours.”

“How—” Logan nearly retched as his stomach twisted and he curled closer to the ground. “That was a century ago. How is that—"

“Stop babbling.” Dee snapped. “Fae live for centuries. We simply age how we choose.”

"But that can't—" Logan choked on his words as he clenched his hands into fists. “I don't remember anything. I grew up normal—”

“Please,” Dee sneered. “I definitely don’t have anything better to do than refresh your memory.”

Logan shivered, barely functioning as he curled his knees to his chest. One thought seemed to keep resurfacing in his mind as grief racked his body.

Roman knew.

“Fine. You worthless—” Dee growled derisively, cutting himself off. His eyes narrowed on Logan as he hissed out his words. “She left you in the hands of her master, the human king. We only assumed she took you with her when she fled the country, but it seems she lost no more love leaving you than the rest of us. You were held by the royal family for two generations before we even realized they still had you."

Logan tilted his head up slowly. Dee’s silhouette stood out slightly against the wisp of moonlight from the narrow window behind him.

“We knew only Tara's magic could end the curse, so once we realized there was a solution to the Fair Folk's suffering, we set out to take you back. Unfortunately, our mission was ill-fated from the start and before we ever reached you, you disappeared. I personally mesmerized and interrogated every knight and guard in the castle. I even got my hands on that foolish king, but you were gone without a trace.” Dee paused, tone dropping as he grew deadly serious. “So, congratulations. You got two more decades of freedom out of disappearing, but it's time to pay up.”

“It's all my fault—” Logan dropped his gaze to the ground bitterly, feeling numb to the tremble in his limbs. “An entire generation gone—for me.”

Dee was silent for a solid minute as he stared at Logan curled against the wall. His gaze drifted up to the torch above Logan, pondering curiously. “I must admit I didn't expect you to take the blame so easily.”

Logan sucked in a breath as his stomach clenched. “They killed her.”

Dee blinked in shock. “What?"

“She died—” Logan dug his nails into his arms at the realization. “She died protecting me.”

“No—That’s not possible.” Dee whispered and Logan looked up, barely catching sight of the fae's eyes before they disappeared into the dark.

“The spell—or curse—” Logan whispered quietly. “Whatever term you prefer to use for the enchantment they forced her to cast.” Logan swallowed, casting his eyes to the ground. “R-Roman said that was the last request the king asked of her and it was too much for her to handle.”

“That’s a lie.” Dee hissed threateningly. “Tara was nothing short of a god. She knew her limit. She would have backed out, if she thought it would kill her. They couldn’t force her hand—”

“They had me.” Logan whispered quietly, running his fingers through his hair. “They took me from her and threatened to—Gods, it's my fault.”

Dee sucked in a sharp breath and was quiet as Logan's breath became rapid. When he finally spoke, his voice strained as he attempted to hold back his seething anger. “I don't mean to rain on your pathetic pity party, but no. If that spell killed her, it was because the king drained her dry of all her energy. I told her—I told her it was too much, and she cut me out. I tried to tell her but I never thought she'd take it that far.”

“She didn’t have a choice. The king left her with no other viable alternatives that would also keep me safe.” Logan felt his stomach unclench slightly at the soft regret in Dee’s voice. He put his hand down, pushing himself up of the ground curiously. “You knew her?”

“I considered her a friend,” Dee scoffed in disbelief. “though she was clearly a wonderful friend, running off to be some human’s lapdog and cutting off contact with the only people that could have helped her."

“The choice clearly wasn’t in her control.” Logan muttered defensively.

“Right, because choosing between her entire race and the allies she'd kept for centuries and you—” Dee sneered condescendingly. “would be a difficult decision.”

Skin prickling with anger, Logan's gaze narrowed into a glare. “Perhaps she made the right choice cutting you out, if this is how you treat your late friend’s only son.”

“You hold your tongue or I'll tear it out.” Dee snapped with a guttural growl as he took a step forward. “You may be her creation, but you’re not her son.”

Logan growled. “You’re the one who called her my mother—”

“I needed your attention, you pesky nitwit.” Dee’s voice dripped venom as he glared at Logan down the dark. “You are not worthy of her name. She was a goddess who was able to pluck the rain from the sky and the dirt from the land and she bind them together to make you. You are no more her son than the wind and the rain.” Dee's teeth almost illuminated in the dark as he bared his teeth at Logan. “You're simply a ragdoll she breathed a wisp of life into. Nothing more.”

“Clearly, she didn’t feel the same.” Logan growled, unable to hide how deeply Dee’s words cut.

“She was a fool.” Dee's sharp disdain cut through the air as his eyes flickered gold in the dark. “Even if she considered you her child, do you even know how many children have disappeared from their parents over the last century? Do you know how many were orphaned because their parents weren’t strong enough to fight off the humans who were hunting the Fair Folk?”

Logan swallowed painfully, breath catching in his throat. “I know—"

“No, you don't.” Dee hissed venomously. “Don’t pretend you have even a shred of understanding of how many lives were sacrificed to spare yours. Fae disappear and are smuggled over the border to be used for whatever power they have left. They drained of their will to live. They—”

“She didn’t know.” Logan whispered quietly, guilt rising in his throat as empathy welled in his chest. “R-Roman said even the king couldn’t have predicted the destruction—"

“What a comfort for the families whose lives were destroyed by their negligence.” Dee spat. His voice gradually raised in volume as emotion crackled in the air around him. “Who could have possibly predicted that humans would take advantage of the weakened fae?”

Logan looked up suddenly as a gasp escaped Dee’s lips. The sound of metal clanging filled the air as Logan tipped his head up to see Dee’s dark silhouette bent over staring at his wrist.

“Dee?”

Dee's eyes shot up to him with a feral growl as Logan suddenly scrambled back to the wall behind him. Dee hissed as Logan rushed to dislodge the torch from the wall and crouched back into the dark as Logan spun back around to rush the metal bars.

“Dee, you’re hurt.” Logan whispered breathlessly. He bit his lip, stomach twisting in empathy as the torchlight revealed streaks of red on Dee’s wrists.

“Keep my name out of your mouth.” Dee snapped. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You need treatment—” Logan muttered, ignoring Dee's hostile remarks. “I'll get Roman—”

“If you bring that prince anywhere near me, I'll tear out his pretty throat with my bare teeth—”

“Virgil, then.” Logan pleaded, suddenly growing frantic as blood dripped from his wrist."

“No.” The wounded fae snarled, baring his teeth at Logan as he paced the bars.

“I can't open the door without assistance—”

“Then, don't.” Dee snapped with a menacing step forward. “I didn’t ask you for help.”

“I don't accept that.” Logan's mind raced as stared at figure of Dee crouched over in the dim light of the back of the cell. His eyes widened as he noticed dark pools at the fae's feet. “I'll be back in a moment.”

“Where do you think you’re going, Logan?” Dee stepped forward, metal clanging as he rushed the bars. "We're not finished here."

Logan bit his lip, feeling a wave of guilt as he took in the full extent of Dee's injuries. A mixture of dried blood mixed with fresh as it streaked down his arms. He softened his expression. “There is a medical kit near the guard's quarters that I was able to raid for supplies for the antidote for Roman's poison. It was well stocked.”

Dee gritted his teeth silently, unable to stop Logan as he turned to place the torch back in it's holder.

“I'll only be a minute.” Logan whispered apologetically, briefly glancing back at Dee's deathly glare he ducked through the archway.

Getting to the medical kit proved to be as little of a challenge as it had been the first time he'd raided their stash of supplies for ingredients. Fortunately, they seemed to have restocked from his last encounter and even added to their extensive supply. His face twisted in disgust. Realistically, he knew he should be grateful he hadn’t needed to go far for supplies, but the sight of the growing collection sent bile rising in his throat.

Logan knew all too well the supplies were kept stock for when Remus pushed too far on his victims. There's no mistake that this was here to keep the prisoners comfortable. There had been many instances where he'd been left to bleed in the dirt without concern for him to believe that, but the few times he'd been truly afraid he may not survive the night, Remus had allowed one of the guards to haphazardly treat his wounds. The unforgettable experience of his wounds being treated so roughly sent shudders down his body, but he'd survived, perhaps thanks to the clumsy treatment he'd been granted. Still—He clenched his jaw, refocusing his energy away from the uncomfortable memory.

Subtle, colors filled the air as he quietly dug through the various pouches of herbs and oils, trying to guess what he might actually need. He’d only gotten a cursory glance at Dee’s injuries and hadn’t dared ask the already seething fae for a closer inspection.

What am I doing?

I mean, he knew he couldn’t just leave Dee to bleed out. He didn't have that cruelty in his heart, but nothing was stopping him from grabbing Roman or Virgil at this point. He'd walked away unscathed, and he knew they'd certainly help him if he asked, but he couldn't bring himself to break the small amount of trust Dee had placed in him letting him walk away.

Not that he'd had a lot of options.

Logan clenched his jaw and quickly hooked the waterskin he'd swiped from the guard's supplies on to his belt loop and shoved the rest of the bandages and a collection of salves and oils into his bag. He groaned and pushed himself back up toward the door, quickening his pace. Subtly, he gave a brief pause at the door, listening quietly at the door. He paused before pushing himself through the crack and making his way back to Dee's cell. Logan edged along the shadows near the walls as he deftly avoided the unobservant guards patrolling hallway of cells. His anxiety started build, creeping across his skin as he approached the figurative lion's den once more.

Logan slowed as he tiptoed into the hallway with Dee’s cell. He could see a subtle cloud of colors drifting out of his bag carried by the wind back the way he'd came. He could taste the herbs on the air as he stopped quietly in the hall outside the door, listening intently.

He heard a subtle whisper as he crept across the threshold toward Dee. Listening intently, he peered around the corner as the whispers stopped. Logan looked into the dark corners of the cell as he turned the corner, immediately spotting Dee’s eyes glowing their usual bright gold.

Logan stared curiously at Dee, who seemed to be too distracted to notice Logan re-entering the room. He carefully traced Dee's line of sight to the far corner of the room as he let out a distinct hiss while he appeared to stare at nothing. Logan froze in place, miscalculating a step as Dee's cold stare turned to him.

“Oh, good.” Dee snipped. The glow of his eyes flickered with exhaustion as he watched Logan slowly unfreeze and move quietly to the cell door. “My daring hero has returned from his harrowing journey that was absolutely not pointless—”

“Shut up.” Logan muttered in an exhausted tone as he grabbed the torch out of it's holder and turned to scan the walls of the cell. “You need treatment.”

“You can't get to me.” Dee spat coldly. "Therefore, this venture was pointless."

“I can, actually.” Logan stated dryly.

Dee paused, staring at him suspiciously. “How?”

“You'll see soon enough.” Logan’s chest tightened nervously as he turned to face the wall behind him. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the lockpicking set Virgil had given him. He hesitated, fidgeting with the tools in his hand as he cautiously kept the picks out of Dee’s sight. Picking the lock to the cell door would certainly easy enough. Virgil had implied that the locks in the dungeons were of amateur design, but doing so was as good as showing his hand to a man who seemed determined to prove himself Logan’s enemy, and Logan certainly couldn't see how that was a wise course of action.

Logan sighed, defeated. He couldn’t knowingly walk away while Dee was in his current condition, not even to fetch Roman. So, he steeled his stare and turned to move to the cell door fiddling with his picks.

“What are you doing?” Dee hissed the demand, staring at him..

“I think it is very apparent what I attempting to do.” Logan growled back. “Unfortunately, if you have questions, they will have to wait as I need to focus.”

Dee seemed to bite back a sour retort as Logan slid the first pick into the narrow lock. He glared silently at Logan, but allowed him to work in peace as he got a feel for the pins. Logan glanced up at Dee’s unblinking stare as he manipulated the last pin into place. He knew he could simply pop the lock open, but he let the pin fall out of place, but Dee’s injuries didn't appear to be an immediate threat to his life. To be perfectly fair, if he was being forced to show his hand on his new skill, he still didn't have to reveal to Dee that he was good at it. A few minutes passed as Logan played up his lack of skill, smiling subtly as Dee grew frustrated.

“Why don’t you give up? You obviously don’t—"

A single pop from the metal of the cell door stopped Dee’s statement in it's tracks. Logan couldn’t help the smug smile that spread across his face as Dee watched him slowly push open the cell door.

“Stay away from me.”

“I think we've established that's not going to happen.” Logan chided softly as he stepped forward. He kneeled down in front of the fae and held out his hand to Dee expectantly. “Give me your wrist.”

The scales on his face glowed a dull yellow as Dee hissed threateningly at Logan as he kneeled beside him, but much to his surprise Logan simply hissed back at him. Anger burned in Dee's eyes at the response. “Don’t treat me like a feral animal.”

“Don’t act like a feral animal.” Logan grunted as he gestured sternly for Dee to extend his wrist. He felt a small surge of empathy as he met Dee’s gaze. His scales dull glimmer gave away the exhaustion he was so clearly trying to hide.

Dee's heated glare would have withered his willpower away in any other circumstances, but right now, he had a job to do. His focus narrowed as Dee reluctantly held out his wrist. The wounds were not immediately apparent under the layers of dried blood, so Logan reached into his bag, pulling out a cloth to wet with his waterskin.

“Tell me if this hurts.” Logan muttered, not looking up. "I can be more gentle, if I need to."

“Like you’d care.” Dee hissed back, flinching at the feeling of the cold water as the cloth brushed his skin.

“I do care.”

Dee paused, staring at Logan uncertainly. “Why?”

“I simply don’t glean pleasure from seeing others in pain,” Logan whispered as he gently began to work away the layers of blood.

Dee scoffed quietly. “Well, I certainly have not extended you the same courtesy, so surely some part of you enjoys the reversal of power.”

“I want to help you, Dee. Any power you claim I have over you exists purely in your own perspective.” Logan stated without glancing up. He examined Dee’s wrist closely, knowing he couldn’t proceed with the cuff around Dee’s forearm in the way. He tilted his head up to Dee’s golden eyes. “I’m going to take your bind off, but I expect for it to go back after I've finished.”

“Starting to give commands already,” Dee muttered. “How noble our sweet ragdoll is.”

“I don't enjoy seeing you bound either, but I'm no fool.” Logan pulled out his tools and started to slide the pick into the lock, allowing his focus to drift from Dee’s intense stare. “You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear and I'm not interested in being a willing target of your rage.”

Dee was quiet as the first cuff popped open and Logan froze as it revealed several deep gashes underneath the cuff. Large, red welts raised on his arm around the cuff, an indicator of the powerful fae’s reaction to the metal. The welts and irritation were to be expected but Logan couldn’t deny the cuts looked more purposeful.

“The guards haven’t noticed your injuries?” Logan whispered, gently rolling Dee’s wrist to get a better look.

“You know firsthand they simply don’t care, especially since I’m not human to begin with.” Dee growled avoiding his gaze.

“But they should have reported it so that Roman could have done some—”

“Your idiot prince has no idea about my injuries. I can assure you of that.” Dee replied bitterly.

Logan swallowed, not wanting to admit the relief that washed over him at the thought that Roman had not been the one to be negligent of the fae's injuries. He bit his lip as he dropped his gaze. “Still, surely the guard would’ve approached Remus, given your relationship.”

“Bold of you to assume that Remus was not the source of my injuries.” Dee whispered tiredly.

Logan paused, looking up at him in horror. “I thought—"

“You thought wrong.” Dee cut him off, and Logan looked up to see him staring distantly over Logan’s shoulder. “I told you there was no affection between us.”

“Still,” Logan whispered. “I didn’t imagine he would hurt you.”

“It's my own fault really. I should have predicted he would become destructive if left to his own devices. He can't resist the temptation of hurting someone powerful when they're helpless in front of him.” Dee whispered quietly, still staring absently over Logan’s shoulder. “I’ve been his keeper long enough to know it's the way he was created.”

“His keeper?” Logan asked, his voice carefully neutral as he listened curiously.

Dee seemed to tense with the realization of what he'd said, but Logan remained patient. He kept working at Dee's injuries gently applying the soothing salve to his irritated injuries. The methodic movements seemed to lull Dee into speaking the words he seemed to desperately want to say.

“You may be the key to undoing the curse that Tara placed on us, but that doesn’t mean that the Seelie and Unseelie courts simply rolled over and gave up when you disappeared.” Dee started tiredly. His voice hung heavy in his throat as he watched Logan begin to wrap his arm. “There was a plot. When Roman and Remus were born, the courts were reeling with grief from the loss of our chance at redemption. You were gone, and with your disappearance, the courts lost all hope of lifting the enchantment. It was a dark time for our people, and in their grief, for the first time in nearly three centuries, they made the choice to create a changeling."

Logan paused as pinned off the end of Dee's bandages and moved to the next arm. He hung his head as he listened, pulling his lockpicks out of his pocket as he started on the second cuff

“They wanted to fell the humans from the inside out, create a kink in their rule that would destabilize their monarchy and maybe give us a chance to survive their systematic destruction. Unfortunately, as had been the case so many times, the universe seemed determined to foil our attempt at salvation.” Dee watched absently as the second cuff fell off his wrist, barely reacting as Logan set to work on clearing the blood off of the deep cuts. “Despite popular belief, changelings can't be created on a whim. They take seven years to grow and nurture for the right traits before they can be switched. Continuing our stellar streak of luck, on the night of their birth, a lock of hair was taken from the kings' son and the process of creation had begun. No one realized until later that twins had been born and we had created a changeling of the wrong child.”

Logan gently lifted his head as he worked the blood on Dee’s wrist, glad to see a slight glimmer to Dee's scales. “Why not simply correct the mistake and start over?”

“The lock of hair must been taken before the moon sets on the night of their birth.” Dee voice hung heavy in the air as he leaned against the wall. “We didn’t learn about the twins until weeks later. So, we had a choice. Work with what we had created or wait another generation to try again.”

“So, why you?” Logan asked quietly as he returned his gaze to the salve he was spreading on Dee's wrists. "How did Remus end up in your hands?"

“I have acted as the Seelie court’s ambassador to Unseelie court for well over a century.” Dee whispered sadly. “Actually, Tara had acted the Unseelie ambassador until she disappeared.”

“She was a dark fae?” Logan whispered.

“Dark and light have different meaning to the Fair Folk.” Dee growled in discontent. “Neither is good nor evil. They simply exist to balance the other.”

Logan looked up at the serious expression on Dee's face and nodded slowly, still processing the new information. He reached to his bag, pulling out a new strip of bandages.

“Remus was created to spread misery. He was meant to fell a kingdom, but we knew he'd need guidance. Tara’s replacement had led the mission to collect you, so the representative of the Seelie court became responsible for Remus.” Dee sighed. “I became responsible for him. Still, nothing we seemed to do was enough, and once Roman acquired his pet—” Dee stalled as Logan glared at him. “Once he acquired Virgil, he was untouchable. He overrode every bad decision Remus threw at him. We thought the game was over when Remus' bored attempt to murder the prince somehow turned up you.”

Logan pinned the end of the bandage in place and glared up at Dee defensively.

“Your eyes glowed while he was having his fun with you in the dungeons. That's how he knew. Honestly, you probably could have fried the little bastard if it weren’t for the shackles so conveniently placed on your wrists.” Dee snipped as he pulled his wrist back from Logan. "Fortunately, you weren't so lucky."

“You seem as determined as ever to hate me.” Logan whispered quietly, shoving his supplies into his bag. He glanced down at the shackles on the ground, but made no attempt to force Dee to replace them.

“I can't afford to believe that any piece of her lives in you. If I did, I may not have the willpower to finish what I started.” Dee replied coldly. “You have a debt to pay and if you won’t own up to it—”

“I will.”

“What?”

“Whatever it takes, no more lives will be sacrificed in my name.” Logan whispered, looking up at Dee’s subtly shimmering scales. “Show me what I need to do.”

Dee scanned his face, taken aback by Logan’s words. He watched curiously before testing Logan’s truthfulness. “Fine. Let me go.”

“I can't. Not yet. ” Logan added as Dee's eyes stare distrustfully up at him. He brushed himself off, glancing out the cell door. “I’m going to fetch Roman.”

“What?” Dee hissed, his mouth hanging agape.

“I'll do whatever it takes to end this, Dee. I give you my word.” Logan promised, holding his wrist tightly. “My life is in your hands, but I want Roman there. Whatever happens to me, I want him there.”

“I can’t let you do that, Logan.” Dee warned with a growl. "Don't walk out that door."

Logan took a step backwards towards the exit, holding up his hands in reassurance. “I promise I’ll return. My word is goo—”

A grunt escaped Logan lips as a body slammed into him from behind. Instinctively, he moved to slip out of his attacker’s grip but their grip was iron tight. He struggled for a moment, blue sparks erupting from his arms until he was forced onto his chest with a painful thump. He gasped a metal shackles latched around his wrists and his lightning vanished. He gasped, feeling his power dissipate as a familiar giggle sounded behind him.

“Oh, pretty boy.” Remus chirped happily in Logan’s ear. “For a second there, I thought Dee wasn’t going to let me out to play. He gets awful sappy when he talks about his dead friend—”

“Get off him and give me the key, Remus.” Dee ordered, not looking up at Logan as he shamefully hung his head.

“Dee, please.” Logan begged as Remus pulled him to his knees. He watched helplessly Remus tossed a brass key at Dee’s feet. “I said I’d do whatever you asked.”

“Gag him.”

“No—” Logan started to squirm, but Remus was prepared. He held him easily as he slipped a piece of cloth between Logan’s teeth.

“You had to have known I'd prepared for your visit, didn't you?” Dee drawled lazily as the binds around his neck and legs fell free. Immediately, he took a deep breath as the light from his eyes glowed brighter and a bright shimmer passed down the scales on his face and hands. “Nothing I've done has been left to chance. I kidnapped your prince and forced your hand on learning to use your power on your friends. I offered you the temptation of knowledge and tricked you into prying a confession out of that oaf of a prince. This was all planned for you to end up here understanding exactly why this is your burden to bear.”

Logan glared at him, shivering as Remus’ hands grasped his shoulders. Dee stepped toward him, raising a finger to trace the scar on his face. He nearly collapsed to the ground at the reminder of the last time he’d spent helpless with Remus.

“Our dear Remus has the unique ability to become undetectable when he needs to and fortunately you stepped right into my trap as predicted.” Dee smirked as his finger slid down Logan’s face. “The only thing I didn’t predict was your willingness to sacrifice yourself to make things right. Truly, that was a noble offer and one that won't go unnoted." Dee grinned as Logan's head shot down to the ground. "Maybe there truly is a glimmer of Tara behind those bright eyes.” Dee whispered as Logan hung his head to his chest as tears blurred his vision. “I don't want you to think this is personal, Logan. I’d be much happier walking you into this willingly, but I can’t take a chance that your prince wouldn’t be so honorable, so I'm sorry." Dee smiled sympathetically as Logan struggle in Remus' grip. "Truly I am, but too many people are relying on me to finish this for me to take chances.”

Logan slumped back, defeated in Remus’ grip. Dee's gaze only lingered on him for a moment before he tore his gaze away and looked up to Remus.

“Get him out of the castle. I will meet you at our rendezvous point,” Dee order sternly. “and Remus?”

Logan shivered as Remus’ hand brushed his neck. He resisted the urge to retch as Remus grip on tightened on his shoulder, but the feeling only lasted a moment as Remus' hand was immediately yanked away from him. He flinched, expecting a blow to the side of his head, but when none came, he timidly looked up to see Dee holding Remus’ hand away from him. Both the men's eyes glowed brightly in the dim light as they stared at each other. Logan froze watching as power radiated through the air between them. An uncomfortable minute passed before Remus’ glowing green eyes flickered and returned to their normal color. Dee continued to stare at the changeling, voice dripping with power as he continued.

“Not one hand on him that’s not absolutely necessary.” Dee hissed threateningly as Remus bowed his head submissively. “If even one hair on his head is out of place when I retrieve him from you, I will make you regret existing. Do you understand?”

“If control’s what you’re into, I’m not objecting," Remus quipped with a chuckle. "but I really think we should talk about these thing beforehand—”

“Answer me, Remus." Dee growled impatiently.

Remus glared at him petulantly, but eventually he turned his head down with a snarl. “Fine. Pretty boy stays in good condition until you come to fetch your toy.”

“Good, then go. I'll meet you as we planned,” Dee ordered sternly, shamefully avoiding the horrified look in Logan’s eyes as he pulled his sleeves over the bandages on his arms.

“Alrighty then, pest.” Remus’ high pitched chuckle sent shivers up his spine. “Time for a nap."

Logan’s cry was muffled to a whimper as Remus pressed a cloth against his nose and mouth. He struggled in Remus' grip. The corners of his vision darkened as his movements weakened. He fought to remain conscious, but the battle was already lost. Regret flooded over him as his muscles stopped reacting and he drifted restlessly into an uncomfortable sleep.

---

Chapter Warnings: Restraints, Anger, Angst, Death Mentions, Lashing Out, Mentions of Kidnapping, Medical Treatment, Injuries, Blood, Guilt, Very brief unintentional self-harm, mentions of genocide, Drugging, Actual Kidnapping, Unsympathetic/Questionable Janus/Deciet

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @theoddkidnextdoor @dwbh888

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts logan #ts janus #unsympathetic deceit #unsympathetic janus #You Belong With Me #villain writes

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mutasharid · 3 years

Text

[Continued from HERE.]

@surpassing-limits:

Curious as to what the man hoped to get as a reaction out of the prince as he somewhat ranted at the blindfolded man, whom would only cock his head to the side slightly, not interrupting the speaker that he would recognize soon as he spoke. It were perhaps why Zenos even bothered to listen in this case, acknowledging them for the entirety of them.

❝Does it matter how I came to be this way?❞ he'd ask mildly after a few seconds of silence at the end, gauging that the man he claimed as friend were waiting for an answer. ❝We all make choices. Certainly, much of what I & the soldiers have done much at the behest of my father, yet many of them were loyal to the cause they thought they fought for, not so much because they were evil or heartless. Many more perhaps only fought to provide for their families. But yes, several more of them took advantage of the conquered & asserted behavior that is, quite frankly, deplorable.❞

❝Given what I have known of others from listening to their idle quips & gossip, my childhood is nothing like theirs. But I hardly think it matters, ultimately. I doubt you wish to be bothered with dissecting my past to learn whether I am what I am because of poor raising, or even conditioning. I had been seemingly incapable of feeling attachment or feel emotions as one should, even as a child.❞

His lips would curve slightly, though it were not really in any amusement in this case. ❝Tis why I latched onto you, I suppose. Battling you had made this dull gray world a little more colorful to the likes of me.❞

Zenos being the unmoving and obdurate stone that Vali’s hate and spite crashed against like a wave- it gave rise to something dark and unsettling that left a distinct, acrid taste at the back of his throat. He refused to give it a name, bilious as it was, making his lower gut churn from the sting of it all.

He was surprised that the Garlean condemned the brutality that had haunted the Resistance’s ever dwindling ranks, having expected him to have the same arrogant attitudes and prejudice he had heard about from the common folk living under imperial occupation. Being treated as an annoyance and a drain on Ul’dah’s resources was one thing, another to be viewed as completely subhuman or not better than the intelligence of a small animal.

Perhaps that much was true- Did it really matter, in the end? For a moment, the thaumaturge wasn’t sure what exactly he’d come here to do, this wasn’t turning out the way he had expected it to. Venting out his anger and resentment had been a stopgap, it alleviated the itch somewhat but did little to cure the festering wound on his psyche that was demanding and commanding his attention away from near everything else.

“Such detachment sounds like a blessing to me,” he replied, his voice sharp- Like a poised rapier, attempting to jab at weak points so he could dig in deeply with the next aggressive attack. It was completely abhorrent to him- The death toll, his own mutilation, the suffering endured and the fear steeped in dark stains to their souls… All for the sake of some perverse attempt at gaining amusement?

“Would but I had the luxury of such a thing…”

His eyes went distant, not seeing the present, but a scene seared into his mind from the past. The way that the Crania Lupi had stormed in with such brutality, cutting down his countrymen. How he had hesitated mid-incantation at the sight of her utterly crushing Meffrid in combat, the curved blade of her scimitar gleaming ominously in the moonlight and surrounding fire. Feeling detached from his own body, the sounds of the chaos around them muffled as if by water. His limbs refusing to budge, the concentration needed to pull from his own wellspring of aether completely shattered.

In that instant, he was in darkness again, the only light trickling in from the vertical sliver between the wardrobe’s double doors. Eyes wide as a bullfrog’s yet only seeing flashes of movement amidst the raised voices. A sudden scream and he’d blinked, wet warmth splattering through the crack onto the front of his face. A metallic scent, coppery and rich filling his nostrils. The polished shine of the convex edge on a backsword belonging to the notorious Brass Blades. In that moment, it was as though his world had shrunk to an alarmingly small space, occupied with nothing but a heart-stopping, oppressive presence of fear.

Vali hissed in a sharp inhale and pinched the bridge of his nose in a display of frustration.

“I don’t- I can’t understand you, or her. Any of it. But I have to,” he ground out, pulling the glove on his right hand away with his teeth.

He paused. Was this crossing a line? A form of violation, in a way- Reading the Garlean’s aether without consent? Would he regret ever having brushed his own mind against something so innately sinister?

Only one way to find out.

His capable hand shook just slightly as it’s fingers splayed out a little, palm gingerly resting against Zenos’ exposed wrist.

#surpassinglimits #�� RP THREADS #sorry this got WAY out of hand but yes #my brain is all out of energy

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sukifans · 4 years

Text

PET • RI • CHOR

[n] a pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather

ZUKO X OC SERIES

SUMMARY: a captured waterbender and the fire prince may sound like an unlikely pair, but kena never much cared about others’ expectations and zuko, well… he was just along for the ride

⏎ MASTERLIST // PART II « PART III » PT IV

Zuko was starting to enjoy his life in Ba Sing Se a lot more now that Kena was a part of it. She liked to visit him during his shifts to sit and do her coursework. Even though they didn’t get to talk much while they were both busy, he liked just knowing she was nearby. She radiated a calming energy from her table in the corner that seemed to make difficult customers and broken teacups a thousand times more bearable. In slower moments he found himself studying her — how her brow furrowed in concentration, the way she chewed her bottom lip, when she tapped her pen against the table as she read, and (his favorite) the small smile that her lips quirked into whenever she looked up and caught him staring at her. Uncle teased him mercilessly and almost always wore a knowing smirk, but it was okay because it made Kena laugh. Hearing her laugh after all these years was his favorite sound in the world and he tried to hear it as often as he could.

Kena liked to coax him out of the apartment when he wasn’t working. She claimed he still looked a little worse for wear after his travels and sulking inside certainly wouldn’t help with that. He complied easily, of course — she didn’t know it, but he thought he’d do pretty much anything for her. He was firmly wrapped around her little finger and, honestly, he didn’t mind all that much. That particular day they were both free and she had decided to take him up to the Middle Ring to visit one of the nicer parks. They sat in a large open field, leaning against a tree trunk in the shade of the foliage and relaying their stories from the years apart. She was trying to teach him how to weave a flower crown like she’d learned from a group of singing nomads but he was pretty miserable at it.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he muttered when he caught her grinning at his lopsided attempt that looked nothing like a crown, even by the loosest definition.

“You’re tying them together wrong. Look-“ she said. She leaned over and slowly showed him the proper knot. His brow furrowed as he watched her nimble fingers wrap and pull at the stems, resulting in a perfect two-piece chain amongst his many attempts.

“I don’t think this is salvageable, Kena.” He looked irritated, dropping it in his lap. She picked it up and pulled it over her head, setting it on her shoulders.

“Maybe not as a crown, but it makes a very lovely necklace, I think.” He smiled at her.

“That’s not saying much. You could make a rice sack look good.”

“Oh, uh... thanks, Zuko,” she responded, taken off guard by the compliment. She looked down at her hands as her cheeks warmed. They sat quietly for a bit, enjoying the gentle breeze on the warm day. She was surprised when Zuko shifted to lay down and set his head on her lap. When he noticed her wide eyes, he sat up again.

“Sorry, was that okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it just... surprised me, is all. Lay back down.” She put her hand on his shoulder and guided him back down. Grinning, she set the intricate crown of white and yellow flowers she’d made on top of his face. He squinted up at her. “A crown fit for a prince,” she declared. He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think this is how crowns are meant to be worn,” he said.

“Forgive me, my liege.” She bowed her head dramatically. “Us common folk know not of such things.” She laughed when he groaned and closed his eyes, moving the flowers to sit on his chest instead. He sighed contentedly when she started playing with his hair, twisting the short strands between her fingers. Cautiously and delicately as one would handle a butterfly’s wing, she ghosted her fingertips over his scar, sending a not-unpleasant shiver down his spine. He cracked one eye open to be met with her questioning gaze.

“My father,” he said in response to her unasked question. He closed his eye again as she frowned and moved her hand back to his hair. “Uncle let me sit in on a war meeting and I spoke out of turn. I questioned one of the generals’ tactics and got challenged to an Agni Kai for my disrespect. I thought I’d be fighting the general, but since I had spoken out in the Fire Lord’s war room, it was my father. I refused to fight and begged for his mercy. He... did not forgive so easily, and- ow, Kena.” Zuko opened his eyes fully when she tugged too hard at his hair.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, dropping her hands. “I just- hmph.” She clenched her fists and sucked in a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m fine. Keep going. How did you end up in Ba Sing Se?”

“Well, I was banished after the Agni Kai. Uncle came with me — thank Agni, I think I would’ve been dead ages ago if he hadn’t — and we’ve been... traveling for the last three years. I think Uncle got sick of being on the move all the time, so now we’re here, I guess.” He carefully avoided mentioning his hunt for the Avatar. He didn’t want Kena to know that side of him because it might push her away. He desperately wanted to be the person she thought he was and he was terrified of losing her again. She was the best thing to happen to him in a very long time. Kena could sense wasn’t telling her something, but she knew better than to push him. He’d obviously been through a lot, and she wanted to be a positive force in his life. Positive forces don’t pry. He would tell her when he was ready.

“What about your mother?” She felt him tense up and she slowly began carding her fingers through his hair again, weaving small individual flowers into the inky black.

“What about her?”

“Did she try to stop the Agni Kai?”

He squeezed his eyes shut again and sighed heavily. “She left when I was eleven. I haven’t seen her in years. I don’t know why, or what happened, or even if she’s still alive, but I know she’s gone because of him.”

“And Azula?” She frowned at his scoff. “I know you two never got along, but she’s still your sister.”

“She only got worse as we got older. She was practically jumping for joy when I was banished because she could be Father’s little pet in peace without her failure of a brother around.” His voice was filled with bitterness as he spoke about his sister, mouth twisted into a deep frown.

“You’re not a failure,” Kena said gently.

“Only you and Uncle seem to think so.”

“Well, that’s because we’re smart. I’m quite proud of you, actually.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “For what?”

“For not going back. It’s very brave of you. You grew up sheltered in the palace and then were thrust out into the world with nothing after losing everything you knew. It’s admirable, how you kept going.”

Zuko felt his stomach churn uneasily. She was too confident in him, too ready to believe that he was as good and strong as he pretended to be. He felt sick lying to her but he knew he would feel much worse if she left.

When he was silent, she continued. “It’s difficult to go through all that and still make an effort to be kind.”

“I don’t think that’s how many people would describe me.”

“You’re a bit grumpy and gloomy, sure,” she laughed at his offended look, “but I think you’re very sweet.”

He ignored the warmth flooding his face. “It’s easy to be nice to a person like you.”

She smiled. “Kindness, compassion, empathy — they are all choices you have to make. If they were easy, the world wouldn’t be in a century-long war.”

“I’ve done a lot of bad things in the past.”

“We all have. We are products of our circumstances. Your whole life you’ve suffered and yet you’re still a good person.”

“I don’t think I’m a good person.”

“Well, I do. Good people make bad choices, too. Being good doesn’t mean being perfect.”

He avoided her eyes, focusing on ripping up the blades of grass. “You sound like Uncle.”

“Like I said, we’re smart.” She used the pad of her finger to smooth the lines between his brow, rubbing away his anxious look. They were silent again for a few minutes while he mulled over her words. She could tell he was deep in thought, so she just continued her ministrations on his hair while she waited for him to speak again.

When he did, his voice was soft. “My father used to say that Azula was born lucky, and I was lucky to be born.”

“What an idiotic thing to say,” she said simply. His eyes snapped up to her. He’d forgotten just how blunt she could be.

“Excuse me?”

“I think you’re luckier being you than her.”

“She’s a prodigy. She’s always been his favorite.”

“Yes, and where has that gotten her? Azula is still a child and yet she’s been driven to the brink of insanity trying to be good enough for your father but she never will be.”

“She was loved.”

“She was used. You were loved, Zuko. What about Iroh? Your mother? Me?” When he didn’t answer, she shook her head. “What your father gives her, that’s not love. You have both suffered at his hands, but you have people who love you. Azula doesn’t have love, she has fear. I feel bad for her. I hope one day she finds peace within herself. I hope she learns to love and be loved.” She propped her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands, leaning over his face as her hair fell around them and shielded them from the rest of the world.

“You loved me?” he asked quietly, staring up into her eyes in amazement. Her heart broke a little at the shock in his expression.

“Of course I did. I’ve always loved you.”

His pulse raced at her words and he leaned up on his elbows to get closer, examining her face for signs of deception. All he saw was the gentle smile that graced her pretty mouth, the raised white scar stark against her brown skin, her soft grey eyes that beckoned him in. He could stare at her until he went crosseyed, memorizing every detail. She’d been cute when they were kids, sure, but now... he thought she might be the most breathtaking person he’d ever seen. His gaze flicked down to her lips and he thought about kissing her.

Before he could move she was shifting to stand, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to his feet as well. She propped the crown she’d made him onto the tangled nest of black hair and tiny wildflowers on top of his head before dragging him out of the shade and into the bright afternoon sun. She sighed happily before flopping down in the grass again to lay on her back, stretching languidly like a cat in the warm rays.

“Come on, fire boy; you need some sun. You still look sickly.” She patted the ground next to her and bent her other arm behind her head.

“That’s just my skin... water girl,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he laid anyways when Kena laughed at his weak retort. She slid her hand over his and laced their fingers together. His palm radiated warmth into hers. She smiled and closed her eyes, tilting her head into the sunshine. His eyes devoured her, admiring the way the light bounced off her high cheekbones and silhouetted the slope of her nose and the gentle curve of her lips. She felt his stare and opened one eye.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

Like you love me, she wanted to say. “Like a weirdo,” she joked instead, poking her tongue out at him playfully. His huff of annoyance was betrayed by the small smile he couldn’t fully hide. They laid there for a while, just staring at each other and basking in the other’s presence with their hands still clasped between them. She scanned his face unabashedly. Anger still bubbled in her core when she saw his scar, only to be assuaged by the way his honey-colored eyes seemed to glitter and glow in the sun. There were no words in any language sufficient to describe how they felt being together again, but they didn’t need words. All that mattered was that it was the best and most content either of them had felt in years. Her heart felt remarkably full when he kept her hand squeezed tightly in his as they made their way back to the Lower Ring in the orange glow of the setting sun.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the news,” he said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. She looked back at him with raised eyebrows, signaling him to continue. “Some men came by the tea house yesterday afternoon and offered Uncle the chance to start his own shop in the Upper Ring.”

She frowned. “What’s the catch?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “but they offered him total creative control and a new apartment for us. He agreed.”

“Oh,” she said hollowly, “that’s nice.” She dropped his hand and turned to keep walking, looking troubled. Surprised at her reaction, Zuko jogged to fall back in step next to her. He hadn’t meant to upset her.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy to hear that. It’s just like we used to talk about as kids, remember?” She sighed.

“I am happy. It’s just... I won’t be able to see you in the Upper Ring.”

“What? Why not?”

“People down here need a passport and approval to get up there. I don’t have either.”

“Oh,” he echoed her from earlier.

“Yeah.” They stopped outside her apartment and Kena avoided meeting his eyes. “But I am happy for you and Iroh. You both deserve better than this.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want it unless you’re with me. I can’t lose you now. Not again.”

She ignored the way her pulse jumped. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will, but I won’t. I- I need you, Kena,” he admitted, voice soft. “Finding you here is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Zuko...”

“Come with us,” he said suddenly, standing in front of the entrance to her building and taking both her hands in his. She sent him a sad sort of smile.

“I can’t just up and leave, even though I want to stay with you.”

“Why?”

“What about Fera? She’s been with me since my mom died. I go to school, I have friends, a job... I’ve been here for years. I had to make a life for myself.” She felt bad when the excitement fell from his face, but she couldn’t just give up the little illusion of normalcy and stability she’d built here in the Lower Ring. It was what she’d craved after a life as a political prisoner and on the run with her mother, on her own, or with Fera.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, that was selfish. I understand.” She stepped forwards and hugged him, burying her face into his neck and soaking in his warmth like she’d done in the sun earlier. Though he’d tensed at first, he slowly wrapped his arms around her in return and held her tight. He’d buried his craving for friendly, loving touch after his mother left and now that she was here again and offering it so freely, so genuinely, he felt the walls he’d built around himself crumbling. It scared — no, it terrified him to sense himself becoming more vulnerable again (something that had for so long felt all too much like weakness). If he had to be weak for someone, though, he was glad it was for Kena. She was one of only two people in his life who had never hurt him or lied to him or left him (she didn’t leave him, he’d rationalized long ago; she’d been taken away).

“You can still come see me down here,” she mumbled into his skin. “People of the Upper Ring can travel as they please.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll come see you every day, even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Zuko, you don’t have to-“

“I know, but I want to. I don’t want to go another day without seeing you ever again.”

“So dramatic.” She rolled her eyes as she pulled back but beyond her teasing tone he could sense her gratitude.

“I’ve been told,” he chuckled.

“I’ll miss seeing you at Pao’s, though. You always looked so cute in your apron.”

His face went crimson. “I am not cute,” he muttered as she giggled.

“Are you hungry? You can come up for dinner, if you’d like.”

“I promised Uncle I’d help him make roast duck tonight to celebrate the new shop. Thanks, though. Another night,” he said as he stepped back from her. She smiled.

“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I want to come by in the morning to see you and Iroh off before you move up the social ladder.”

He nodded in agreement and started to leave, but not before she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him close again to kiss his cheek. She giggled when he flushed again, just as red as the day he gave her that fire lily. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, then mumbled something about seeing her tomorrow and hurried away as she laughed. She loved how easy it still was to get him flustered.

A sense of guilt gnawed away at his stomach as he walked back to his apartment. He felt bad about lying to her again, but he couldn’t exactly mention his plan to steal the sky bison as a means to capture the Avatar without admitting what he’d done over the last few years. He felt so conflicted as the two sides of him tore further apart — the side that wanted to be who Kena and Iroh thought him to be, and the side that still wanted to prove everyone wrong by bringing the Avatar back to the Fire Nation. Maybe he could make Kena understand; maybe she’d even go back with him. If he fulfilled his destiny, surely his father would let her stay.

When Kena made her way up to Zuko and Iroh’s apartment early the next morning, she found it already deserted. She frowned as she left, wandering into the street outside. Had she missed them already? Did they leave the night before for some reason? She couldn’t imagine why Zuko would lie to her about something so silly. All she wanted was to say goodbye, whether or not they were actually moving to the Upper Ring.

She walked to Pao’s and asked if he had seen them. At the mention of “Mushi,” the man went into a long-winded spiel about loyalty and betrayal that left her regretting her decision to ask. As politely as she could manage, she excused herself and left the premises. She desperately wished she could talk openly to someone about everything going on. At this point, she’d made up so many fake identities and backstories that it was sometimes hard to keep straight what was real and what was false, and who could know what about her various personas. At one point she’d considered writing it all down somewhere but that would be difficult to explain should anyone stumble across it. Only Fera knew what was happening, and even she was still in the dark about some things. Feeling a familiar sting of loneliness, Kena resigned herself to returning home to wait for Fera to get back from work so she could vent for a while.

Iroh sat by Zuko’s side for the entirety of the day, unable to sleep despite being awake through the night at Lake Logai. He watched his nephew twitch and sweat in his feverish dream state, pressing cloths soaked in cool water to his forehead through the hours. He could hardly even enjoy his tea as he waited for the prince to awaken. Every time his breathing changed, the older man would sit up at attention, watching with baited breath. It now neared sunset, and Zuko had still not opened his eyes.

Watching the sky change color through the window, he thought about rumors he had heard amongst the peoples of the Lower Ring about a benign spirit that visited at night. If one left a white candle burning in the window with a strip of blue cloth hung nearby, she was said to appear and heal the sick and injured. The people called her Tui’s Daughter. The stories reminded him vaguely of the legend of the Painted Lady from the Fire Nation. As he lit the candle, he hoped she would happen through the Upper Ring this night. Perhaps a visit from a spirit is exactly what the prince needed to help along his inner turmoil.

No matter what she did, Kena seemed entirely unable to fall asleep. She tossed and turned in her cot for what seemed like hours to no avail. Something still felt wrong about Zuko’s sudden disappearance, even after talking with Fera about how flaky and dishonest men could be. It was like an itch in the back of her skull that she couldn’t scratch and it her made her antsy and restless. She sighed in resolution and abandoned her attempts at sleep to dress in the bright moonlight pouring in through the window. She had to know he was alright, even if that meant he’d abandoned her.

As she came to the wall that closed off the Upper Ring, she kept to the shadows. The area was crawling with guards and surely Dai Li agents to keep the elite of Ba Sing Se secure and comfortable. She’d snuck into the Upper Ring only once before, and it was the closest she’d ever been to getting caught. She hoped the blind spot that opened during the shift rotation hadn’t been remedied yet, otherwise she’d have to take more drastic measures. Patiently, she waited for the opening.

The spirits must’ve been on her side that night because she was able to slip through into the Upper Ring with relative ease. That, or the Dai Li were occupied elsewhere. Whatever it was she was happy for it because now she was running through the pristine empty streets, searching for some sort of indication of where Zuko and Iroh may be. She didn’t know exactly what it was she was looking for, but her gut told her she’d know when she found it.

A flicker in her peripheral caught her eye and she whipped her head around. A few buildings away, a white candle burned in a window on one of the upper floors. She had to admit she was curious; The people of the Upper Ring rarely called on Tui’s Daughter because they could afford the best doctors Ba Sing Se had to offer. The spirit tended to stay in the poorer areas, especially in the refugee ghettos, because they needed her the most. Despite her desperation to find her friend, she moved towards the apartment with the candle.

Iroh immediately tensed when he heard a creak from the stairs leading up to their apartment. He hoped it was the spirit, but was ready to defend himself if need be. He hid himself from sight when the knob rattled and the front door slowly cracked open. Relief flooded his body when he saw the intruder donned a long, flowing white dress and a black smiling koi mask exactly as the rumors had described.

“Thank you for coming,” Iroh said as he emerged from his hiding spot. “My nephew is very ill, but I’m afraid it is not a natural sickness.”

The spirit had jumped into a defensive position when he spoke. Now that they stood facing each other in full view, she lowered her hands. As he looked on, the realization dawned that this was no spirit at all.

“Iroh?” the woman whispered and the old man hummed thoughtfully.

“I’ll admit I was doubtful about the rumors, but I can say I never expected you to be Tui’s Daughter.” Iroh moved closer and bowed his head in greeting. She ripped her mask off to reveal her face and Iroh smiled when he recognized her. “Hello, Kena.”

A/N: was originally going to end this at crossroads but this is long enough and also seems like a good stopping point for now. thank you all for the lovely response to the last part, yall made my heart uwu and i hope you liked this one just as much!

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