#so does purple have a vivid imagination or is he remembering something? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jingyismom · 3 years

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Thanks everyone for the prompts! I decided to try and knock these all out in one go:

@thegirlwhotrashcans: remember, you asked for it. au, nobody dies, wwx and yanli bodyswap. they're married to lwj and jzx. 100% crack. bonus points if jin zixuan completely loses his shit and lwj looks very calm but loses his sh*t after everything is back to normal

@alightbuthappypen: Competency kink! One or both of them (when I say 'them' I mean wangxian obvs, I know what I'm about) getting hot and bothered about the other being amazing. On a nighthunt maybe? Or anywhere else that strikes your fancy!

@hearteyeswangji: WRITE MORE P*RN

I think I can manage that. With a few tweaks, accidental seriousness, and broad, ridiculous fix-its tacked on. I have no idea how long this might be. Let’s try it in installments? I’ll reblog and add on as I go. Maybe it’ll be fun. We’ll find out.

Disclaimer that this is just gonna go for it with no revising and no beta readers, so pls do not hold me to any conceivable standard of coherency thx

WILL INCLUDE: wangxian, xuanli, let jyl and lwj be friends agenda, canon divergence, fix-it, everybody lives, arranged marriage, bodyswap, light angst, getting together, Attempts at Comedy, eventual (light?) wangxian smut

The Sunshot Campaign has just been won. Everyone goes over to Jin Guangshan’s house after the Nightless City banquet, to Negotiate Stuff, and some hasty political marriages happen resulting in Xuanli Wedded Bliss and Wangxian Un-confessed Wedded Tension. Then, suddenly...a curse befalls our brave heroes.

Wei Wuxian wakes suddenly, feeling odd. He’s sleeping on his stomach for one thing, which is not his usual, but he feels warm and comfortable enough that he doesn’t think it strange. But then there is the scent of peonies and gardenias, which is both familiar and alien, somehow. It makes him open his eyes.

Which is when he sees the hand before him on the bolster. It is slender and elegant. Small. Pale. Familiar? Wearing a jade bangle. He pushes himself up a bit, startled, only to see the hand move when he does.

The hand. Is his hand. He stares at it. The shock of it, coupled with the early hour, leave his mind working very slowly.

At length, he becomes aware of an odd weight across his back, which then shifts. Wei Wuxian turns.

He is met with the sleepy, moon-eyed stare of one Jin Zixuan, still cradling him in his arms.

“What the fuck,” says Wei Wuxian. His voice is. Soft. And high.

He would think this was all some messed-up dream if not for the fact that his dreams of late have all been messed up in an entirely different way. He’s also certain, in an odd, detached way, that he never would have imagined the battle scars that mar Jin Zixuan’s distressingly visible skin.

Jin Zixuan’s brow furrows, and he blinks. “A-Li?”

“...What the fuck.”

~~~

When Lan Wangji wakes at his customary hour, he is just slightly more tired than usual. The coverlet over him is oddly heavy, but he does not give it any thought until light from the rising sun slips over an unfamiliar sill and into his eyes. His entire body goes tense as he remembers.

Jinlintai. The long hours of debate, of negotiation. The hasty marriages.

He sits up in his strange bed and turns. There, in the bed opposite, is Wei Ying’s sleeping form. Close, yet still distant. Safe, at least.

Lan Wangji relaxes, and takes a breath. It was a near thing, keeping the sects from demanding more and more from Wei Ying, from treating him like a criminal instead of the hero he is. But somehow, Jiang Wanyin and Xiongzhang ended up on the same page, defending him, working tirelessly toward a compromise with the more critical parties. And now Lan Wangji has the dubious honor of ‘keeping Wei Ying in check,’ as Yao-zongzhu so inelegantly put it, through marriage.

A strictly political marriage. A convenient solution. To bind them together, to keep Wei Ying tied under the umbrella of Lan Wangji’s rigid honor.

It is unclear, as of yet, if Wei Ying resents this arrangement. He has not been himself since Nightless City, and the destruction of Wen Ruohan’s forces. First his long coma, then a lingering tiredness that he has not seemed able to shake, which dampens his normally-vivid expressions of feeling.

Lan Wangji is worried. But this, at least, Wei Ying has made clear is unwelcome. He seems to want to pretend that nothing has changed. Not about himself, and not between the two of them. Lan Wangji has done his best to honor his wishes, despite everything.

Now, he rises and dresses before sinking into his morning meditation. It is still strange to do so fully dressed, weighed down by the propriety required for the public, but it has felt necessary, now that Wei Ying shares chambers with him. A physical manifestation of the barrier between them, more important than ever now that they are, bizarrely, married.

Before his meditation is finished, he hears Wei Ying stir. It is unusual for him to wake so early. Lan Wangji’s eyes snap open, immediately searching him for signs of pain.

Wei Wuxian turns over, then goes very still. He sits bolt upright, searching the bed with wild eyes, then turns them on the room at large. When they land on Lan Wangji, he curls in on himself, the fingers of one hand tightening at the collars of his sleeping robe, clutching it closed.

“La—Lan-er-gongzi?”

His voice is oddly breathy, and his eyes...they are wide with confusion, with just the slightest tinge of fear. Lan Wangji is struck nearly senseless by the term of address, aberrant in Wei Ying’s mouth.

“What is wrong?”

Searching the room again, Wei Wuxian moves toward the edge of the bed with a strangely graceful modesty. It looks alien on his long limbs. “My...my husband. Where…?”

The word jolts through Lan Wangji’s entire body. He has never heard Wei Ying say it before. He has...wanted to hear it. Dearly, he realizes suddenly. But it sounds wrong. Distressed. Everything Wei Ying says sounds wrong.

“Wei Ying,” he says.

Wei Ying’s eyes snap to his. “A-Xian? Where is he? Is he with A-Xuan? Are they alright?”

Lan Wangji blinks at him, uncomprehending, for several seconds. Then he begins to understand.

“You are not—”

The doors to their chambers burst open, and Jiang Yanli rushes in. The tasteful purple and gold robes she has adopted in the few days since the weddings are loose, uncharacteristically askew—not impreprietous, but verging on it. She spots Lan Wangji and her stormy expression clears.

“Lan Zhan,” she says, and her shoulders droop.

Lan Wangji blinks at her, thrown by her use of this name, then glances at Wei Ying, who has gone completely still, his mouth open in a small, shocked ‘o.’ Jiang Yanli follows his gaze and freezes.

Just then, Jin Zixuan comes barreling into the room, significantly more unkempt than his wife. He has not even tied back his hair.

“A-Li,” he implores, “what’s happened? We can’t just go barging into our guests’,” he pauses, and bows awkwardly, hastily, to Lan Wangji and Wei Ying in turn, “rooms like this. Please,” he takes her arm, but she shakes him off.

She’s still staring at Wei Ying. “Sh...Shijie?”

Wei Ying startles, and looks down at himself. He holds out his arms, his hands, and looks at those too. Then he looks up at Jiang Yanli. “A-Xian?”

“Shijie,” Jiang Yanli says, and slumps over to the bed, embracing Wei Ying.

“A-Li,” hisses Jin Zixuan, scandalized.

Lan Wangji glances at Jin Zixuan’s wife embracing his own husband on the bed, and rises. He walks briskly past them all to shut the door. Then he returns.

“Wei Ying,” he says again. Jiang Yanli looks up at him.

It is obvious, now that he has realized it. Her face, animated by his personality. The soft warmth of her eyes sharpened just so. The deliberately graceless way she threw herself—himself—into Wei Ying’s—no, Jiang Yanli’s—arms.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. “Is this a curse?”

“Yes,” Wei Ying says with Jiang Yanli’s face, but his own certainty.

“How can we break it?” Lan Wangji asks.

“I”m not sure, not yet. I need to try a few things—or—having the original curse would be safer.” He looks at his sister in his own body. “I...don’t really want to experiment with this.”

Jiang Yanli tsks and bumps his shoulder a little too forcefully, jostling Wei Ying in her currently slight form. “Vain,” she says, teasing.

“Shijieee,” he whines. It sounds bizarre in Jiang Yanli’s voice. “I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“I know,” Jiang Yanli says, soothing.

“Do you feel alright?” Wei Ying goes on, urgent.

“Perfectly alright, now that you’re both here,” she says, smiling at the newcomers in turn.

Something sharply acidic surges in Lan Wangji’s stomach at such a look on Wei Ying’s face, directed at...Jin Zixuan.

“Really, though,” Wei Ying presses, “any nausea? Dizziness? Pain? You’re not worried?”

“Not at all. Our A-Xian will figure it out.”

Lan Wangji watches as the appearance of Wei Ying’s knuckle affectionately brushes Jiang Yanli’s nose.

Strange. It is all...so strange.

“If—”

“What is happening?” Jin Zixuan interrupts.

All three of them look at him. He stares between them, wild-eyed and desperately askew. Lan Wangji has never considered him to be particularly slow on the uptake, but he supposes allowances must be made for the stress of waking up with a stranger in one’s bed.

He does not care to investigate the perverse pang of jealousy he feels at the thought.

“A-Xuan, it’s me,” Jiang Yanli says. Jin Zixuan stares at her in Wei Ying’s body, uncomprehending. She goes on slowly, but not unkindly. “A-Xian and I have been cursed into each other’s bodies. He’s in there, and I’m in here.”

Her husband blinks several times, very quickly. Lan Wangji recognizes the moment it sinks in by the deep flush that rises across his entire face, and is certain he does not wish to know what precisely inspired it.

Jin Zixuan takes an involuntary half-step back, then forward again, as he speaks with renewed urgency. “Why has this happened? Can it be undone?”

“Great questions,” Wei Ying says, falsely encouraging. Lan Wangji exchanges a glance with him, and it almost feels natural, to share such a thing with either Wei Ying or Jiang Yanli. “Someone was clearly either targeting me—that’s Wei Wuxian, that’s me, in here—or you...whom you know to be Jin Zixuan. I hope.”

Jin Zixuan turns a deeper shade of red. “Obviously,” he bites out. “But why?”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes dramatically. It is not something Lan Wangji ever imagined Jiang Yanli doing.

“We don’t know yet, but we will once we find and question the person responsible,” Wei Ying says. Jiang Yanli grips his arm suddenly. Wei Ying looks at her. “And yes, it can be undone. Of course it can. I’ll figure it out.”

“Cast a rebound,” Lan Wangji says, brisk. The more quickly they are done with this, the better.

Wei Ying’s face falls. “Ah,” he says, “well, we…”

“My cultivation is too weak for him to reliably use,” Jiang Yanli says suddenly. “And I’m not very good at the method, I’m afraid.”

Lan Wangji nods. Steps forward. Then hesitates. “If the curse was cast in such a way, one of you may end up in the caster’s body. And they in yours.”

They all look at Jiang Yanli. Her expression grows grim. “Alright,” she says, then looks to Lan Wangji. There is something steely in her expression that is familiar on Wei Ying’s face. “Thank you for the warning. Go ahead.”

Lan Wangji hesitates only a moment longer, expecting protests from the other two. But Wei Ying is wearing a small, knowing smile, and Jin Zixuan merely nods at her, reassuring. Lan Wangji senses his esteem for the Jin heir rising at such solid trust in his wife.

He steps forward and casts the rebound. They all hold their breath.

Wei Ying glances around, his wry expression entirely foreign on Jiang Yanli’s face. “Anything?”

“No,” says Jiang Yanli.

Wei Ying sighs. “More work for us, then.”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, taking gentle hold of his wrist. “You know what this means.”

“Ah?”

“You’ll have to be me.”

“Ah. No, I—”

“A-Xian.”

Wei Ying scratches his head, a not-at-all ladylike gesture. “Or we could just stay in here and let these two investigate?”

The smile Jiang Yanli turns on him is tender, and knowing, and indulgent. “I’d like to see you try to sit still when there’s a puzzle to solve.”

He sighs. “Alright. But you have to be me, too.”

She nods, and theatrically slouches into a sprawling, sloppy posture. Wei Ying laughs, his head thrown back, a hand on his stomach. Jin Zixuan turns around, looking almost ill.

Lan Wangji understands, and he doesn’t. It is dizzying, and distinctly wrong-looking, to see both of them this way. Yet there is also something endearing about it. About the parts of them that do overlap, and fit into each other better than one would expect.

“A-Xuan,” Jiang Yanli calls softly, noticing her husband’s distress.

Lan Wangji gets the distinct impression that that tone in Wei Ying’s voice is not helping the situation.

“Jin-gongzi,” he says. “It would be best for all of us to go about our days as normal, and not to arouse suspicion. Wei Ying sleeps late, and will not be missed for the morning. Jin-shao-furen may claim mild illness until the afternoon. But you and I must behave as normal. There are still the other sects to host.”

“Yes,” Jin Zixuan says absently. He runs a hand over his face. “Yes. You’re right. A-Li—” he turns and looks at the pair of them on the bed, and pauses. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I’ll go back and dress. Join me when—or—Wei—” he stops. “I will be attending my duties. Please let me know what else I can do.”

“Remember to act natural,” Jiang Yanli says. “When A-Xian joins you later, try to look less like a roasted tomato, hmm?”

Jin Zixuan’s mouth twists into a wry smile, and he nods at the floor, then flees the room. Jiang Yanli and Wei Ying turn their eyes to Lan Wangji.

“I shall also depart,” he says. He circles his arms to bow to Jiang Yanli, but Wei Ying stands and pulls him over toward the door. Lan Wangji lets him, and tries not to pull away from the improprietous touch from a married lady.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, hushed and urgent. “I’m not...you don’t think I’m hurting her, am I? Just by being in here? Can you sense any resentment?”

Lan Wangji feels something tighten in his chest. Wei Ying has not let Lan Wangji so much as examine his pulse since he roused from his coma, but the idea that he is so constantly steeped in resentment as to cause worry that his very soul may be harmful...is distressing. He takes hold of his slender wrist carefully. It is still Jiang Yanli’s body, and he will treat it with the respect it is owed.

“I cannot,” he says. The only energy in Jiang Yanli’s body is generated by her own small but steady golden core. “I sense nothing that may be harmful.”

Wei Ying lets out a relieved breath. “Alright. But, um. What about the other way? Is her...is my body harming her?”

Lan Wangji turns to go back and perform the same examination, but Wei Ying stops him. “No, that’s alright. I’ll. We’ll just get this over with, and we can. Between the two of us, we can fix whatever...whatever damage I do.”

Lan Wangji stares at him, but Wei Ying refuses to meet his eyes. At length, he nods. “We can.”

“Alright. Ah, thanks. You should go.”

Lan Wangji goes.

#my fic #prompt fic #the untamed fanfic #lan wangji #wei wuxian #jiang yanli #jin zixuan #i don't know why i bother this is NOT gonna show up in tags #i'm not gonna go through and censor things. i'm just. not gonna #also this post is...so ugly #will anyone even read it??? who knows elksfdjns #let's have some fun

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isthisthingeven0n · 4 years

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knowing you : s.r

spencer has been a regular at your cafe for a few months, and after working up the courage to ask you on a date he disappears out of the blue without an explanation. (2.4k)

knowing you / forgetting you / remembering you / with or without you / starting over, with you

There were elements to your job that you had a love/hate relationship with. The mornings where you woke up before the sun fully had, dealing with rude customers deprived of their first dose of caffeine along with the pseudonyms they provide you with (which you’ve learned you can’t always yell out as the elders freak out.) And lastly, your staff (but they tended to lean heavier on the love side of things.)

Yet, amongst all of it, you still managed to smile by the time you closed up in the evening. You adored your little cafe, though it was never heaving with people, it was comfortable.

“Hey, look who’s hovering outside.” Your colleague, Maggie nudges you playfully as you glance over the counter to the large window filled with your menu written in calligraphy.

And standing in front of it, the quiet smart guy you’ve grown fond of; Spencer.

A smile grows across your face, but you hide your head in the steam that rises from the milk for a second. “It’s been what, two days since he was last here?” Maggie quips, waiting for you to comment.

“Everyone’s gotta get coffee somewhere, Mags.” You remind her, brushing it off.

Spencer was a customer at the end of the day, just like everyone else. Just because he came to your cafe doesn’t mean he’s here for anything more than his double espresso and a blueberry muffin. Even if your heart wished it could be more.

Pushing open the door, the little bell sounds and Spencer looks up before smiling over to you. “Morning, Spencer.” You beam as you lean across the counter as Spencer eyes up the various pastries and paninis you had to offer this morning.

“Hi,” Spencer speaks quietly, clutching his satchel across his chest. “could I get a double espresso and two muffins, please?”

“A double?” Maggie pitches in, and Spencer looks over to your colleague who stands beside you, holding back her tongue as Spencer nods.

“Caffeine stimulates a similar effect as the stress hormone cortisol, which is secreted in large amounts after an hour or two of waking up in the morning. It takes on the form of waking you up, making you believe you need the caffeine as, without it, you can have stomach aches, headaches and trembles.” Spencer rambles, and you nod in appreciation for the knowledge. “And I prefer a double.”

“Guess you like strong coffee, then.” Maggie mutters, giving you the eye as you smile to yourself.

Turning around you carry on prepping the machine as the espresso drips into the paper cup. “Two muffins, huh? Saving one for later?” You chuckle as you pick the two freshest muffins out that are still warm from the oven.

And then you hear it, Spencer’s awkward chortle that causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach and rise to your throat.

Swallowing the butterflies back down, you place the box onto the counter alongside his coffee, his name written across it with a smiley face.

“Well, I wanted to take one for my friend, Garcia. She’s been by here before, I don’t know if you’d remember her?” Spencer explains and watches you closely, noticing how your eyes drift off into deep thought and your tongue slips through your lower lip before you shake your head. “She probably complimented every single detail in the cafe, wore something colourful?” He adds, and suddenly your eyes light up as you remember.

“Penelope? How could I forget! I’ll give her a complimentary muffin if she comes in again.” You giggle, and Spencer’s eyes crinkle up as he accepts the small box and coffee.

“She’ll love that. Thank you.” Spencer states as he places the cash onto the counter and adds a few dollars to your tip jar- something you forget exists as it collects dust most days, but Spencer always leaves a three dollar tip.

“Thank you, Spencer. Have a good day.” You begin to turn away as you clean up the counter and coffee machine, missing the longing glance Spencer has before he heads to the door, but thankfully Maggie is watching like a hawk.

“Have a good day?” Maggie mutters, crossing her arms. “He was giving you the eyes, babe.” She comments, but you roll your eyes in response once more.

Picking up your tray, you move past the counter and over to clean up a table. “He wasn’t, Maggie.” You simply reply.

“He was dear.” A new voice pitches in, one of your regulars, Annie. “Finding someone who looks at you like he does is a rare thing, I would know.” Annie’s focus drifts to the empty seat opposite her, one that has been vacant for a few months since her husband passed.

“I don’t know, Annie,” You trail off, but some of your other regulars also comment on the small looks exchanged between you and Spencer. “Sorry. am I being interrogated in my own cafe?” You joke as three of your regulars laugh before returning to their own conversations.

“Don’t let it slip out of your grasp, Y/n.” Annie finishes as she rises to her feet, leaving her mug with a few dollar bills underneath before walking out of the exit.

Sighing deeply, you run your fingers through your hair as your mind goes blank, unable to apprehend how various people have seen you giving Spencer those soppy glances and the fact they might be reciprocated?

You shrug it off, allowing your mind to return to work as another customer comes in, and your day can proceed as normal.

“Bye guys,” You wave off your colleagues as Maggie closes the door behind her, leaving you to close up for the evening.

It had been a fairly slow day, but Thursdays tended to be in the cafe so it wasn’t anything to worry about.

As you walk around to the counter and bend down to collect the leftover cakes you hear the bell chime. “Sorry, we’re closed!” You call out, placing a few cakes away before lifting your head up to see a rather flustered Spencer. “Spencer?”

Pushing his hair out of his face, Spencer sighs happily as he smiles to you. “Hi, I, I’m sorry I didn’t realise you closed at 6.” He rambles, a look of hopelessness in his gaze. “I’ll head out, sorry for bothering you, Y/n.”

Spencer turns around, but before he reaches the door, you stop him. “Spencer?” Immediately, Spencer awkwardly spins on his heels, facing you once more. “Would you like a coffee, one for the road anyway?” You shyly suggest, watching as Spencer’s smile only widens as he nods.

“I’d love that, I, I only just got back from a work trip and thought I’d see if you were still open.” Spencer explains as you push aside your containers and take out a go cup.

“That’s alright, I like to do what I can for my regulars.” You chuckle, placing the cup on the counter. As Spencer reaches into his satchel, you shake your head. “Oh don’t worry ‘bout it, Spencer.” You tell him and Spencer pauses.

“I have to pay you, Y/n!” He laughs, but you insist. “Well, at least let me help you close up.”

“Spencer it’s fine honestly. You’re probably tired as it is.” You shrug him off, expecting him to just walk out after that.

But Spencer isn’t like any other guy, he takes a sip of his coffee and removes his satchel and places it on a chair. “Where do I start?” He questions, rolling the sleeves of his purple shirt up to his elbows, prepared for business.

The sight makes you laugh lightly, he looks adorable in every sense which makes you slightly flustered. “Well erm,” You look around, trying to think of an easy job that’ll result in the least hassle for him. “how about you put these cakes away? I’ll drop them off to the food shelter on my way home.” You explain, motioning to the containers and Spencer nods, taking his place behind the counter whilst you clean the tables.

Pausing from placing the cakes into containers, Spencer looks up in awe as you carry on cleaning. “Do you have any flaws?” He thinks to himself, knowing the answer rationally is yes, as every human being has 10 design flaws in the human body, but you personally, he can’t imagine any.

“Did you say something, Spencer?” You quip, lifting your head up as Spencer quickly shakes his head, missing the smile on your lips as you hold back a soft laugh.

“Which food bank do you take these to?” Spencer asks as you move onto your last table, picking up your small menus and coasters whilst you place them onto the chairs.

“Usually the one two blocks over, but sometimes I stop on the way to Gary - he’s a homeless veteran who camps out under the bus shelter. He’s a good man, but life hasn’t been kind to him.” You explain, thinking how different his life could’ve been. “I’ve tried offering him a job here before, but he shakes uncontrollably.”

“That sounds like a sign of PTSD, Veterans used to go undiagnosed during the war and suffered from vivid flashbacks, trembling, nausea and intrusive thoughts. Most were outcasted from society, but expected to adjust to normal life afterwards which is what leads many to the streets.” Spencer explains, and once he finishes, you raise an eyebrow.

“And here I thought you were just a pretty face.” You chuckle, causing a blush to cross Spencer’s cheeks. “You’ve never told me what you do Spencer, outside of drinking heavy doses of caffeine.”

Spencer rests his hands out over the ledge behind the counter as you walk over, discarding the cleaning supplies beside him. “I work for the FBI.” He starts, and you nod along, trying to hide your surprise. “For the BAU, the behavioural analysis unit. We analyse peoples behaviour to assist in cases around the country to help solve crimes.” Spencer explains simply, not wanting to overcomplicate the matter as your eyes widen.

“So you analyse people’s behaviour? Does that mean you’ve analysed me?” You slowly trail off as you move away from Spencer and sit down at one of the tables, suddenly feeling self-conscious as his eyes remain on you.

Moving across the cafe, Spencer pulls out the chair opposite you and rests his hands on the table, firmly clasped together. He doesn’t want to lie to you, but he equally does not want to sound like a creep.

“You can be honest, Spencer.” It’s as if you can read his mind as you give him those warm eyes that greet him in the mornings, making him sure that whatever happens at work, you’ll be alright when he next comes in.

Fidgeting ever so slightly, Spencer closes his eyes to allow his mind to focus- something that is usually effortless, but whenever you cross his thoughts they become scrambled.

“You are a warm person naturally, an extrovert as you invite people into your cafe. Mornings are a struggle as you keep a refillable cup by your side next to the coffee machine. I saw you refill it last Tuesday and it must’ve been at least your third cup as I was later that day. You like to please others, make them happy and by doing so you sacrifice your own wellbeing. Helping people makes you happy, but you don’t do it for selfish reasons which I like a lot about you, Y/n.” Spencer explains, and as he looks up you stare at him in a state of awe.

“And you got all that, from interacting with me every week?” You laugh lightly, leaning back in your chair as astonishment crosses your eyes as you click your tongue.

“Yes.” Spencer curtly nods. “That and I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and 3 PHD’s.” He adds nonchalantly.

“Just casually slipping that into conversation, Doctor.” You raise an eyebrow, and Spencer brushes his fingers through his curls.

Tearing your eyes from him, you look up at the clock and swear under your breath. “I’m sorry, Spencer, I’ve got to go.” You tell him with a sad smile, not wanting this to end as he gathers his things along with his cold coffee- not that he’d ever tell you otherwise.

Spencer hovers by the doorway as you switch off the last of the lights and juggle the containers in your arms along with your keys. “Let me help with that, Y/n.” Spencer reaches out, his fingers gliding over yours as he takes the boxes painfully slowly.

“Thanks,” You mutter as you turn the sign over on the door and lock it behind you whilst Spencer stands idly outside, the temperature dropping fastly compared to the LA sunshine he had experienced mere hours beforehand. “my cars just up here, do you mind?”

Shaking his head, Spencer walks alongside you. It feels strange, interacting with him outside of your little bubble, but to him, he likes the chance to burst the comfort bubble.

Bearing in mind all that Penelope and Derek have told him on the jet home, Spencer places the containers in the trunk of your car before you close it.

“Well, this is me.” You rock back and forth on your heels as Spencer wracks his mind to communicate with his mouth. “Spencer?” You wave your hand over his face, and suddenly he snaps out of his deep thoughts.

“Sorry,” He mutters, tugging on his scarf. “Y/n, would you like to go out somewhere, sometime? I mean, I love your cafe, but a change of scenery never hurt.” Spencer asks, and he can see the surprise in your expression as you glance away to your feet. “If not, that’s okay. I understand-”

“I’d love to.” You cut him off from his own doubts as you step closer and rise to your tiptoes, kissing his cheek. “Here’s my number, I keep some business cards in my pocket.” You hand him your card and Spencer runs his thumb over the embossed logo.

“I’ll call you.” Spencer tells you with a bright smile, one that causes butterflies to swarm in your stomach as you walk to your car door. “Drive safe, Y/n.”

“Take care Doctor,” You salute to Spencer before you close your door, driving off out of sight as a squeal escapes your lips in excitement at the thought of Spencer calling you.

Except, what you missed as you turned the corner was Spencer getting a phone call that would change everything for the worse, leaving you in the dark as Spencer answers his phone with his full heart now sinking.

He’s heading to Mexico.

PART TWO

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thebadchoicemachine · 3 years

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Okay, idea: tma getting a statement on Karl Jacobs.

I'd like to imagine it's a worker from the diner place we came up with that ksq would go to after some adventures and started getting along with the staff.

They clarify that who, or more likely, what Karl Jacob's was, did not scare them. He wasn't human, they thought he was at first but they know very well now that he isn't. But he is polite, respectful and kind. If he ever made a mess from bring a bit of a klutz, he always cleaned it.

They had actually been the first to meet him, on their second shift at the diner. It was night and their coworkers called in sick last minute but they'd already had basic training and said it was fine. It had been a Wednesday night, so while they expected there to be not a lot of people, once it was after midnight people just stopped showing up. Not a single person entered the diner. The only other person was the chief and they had found that we had run out of tissues, since no one had shown up in the last several hours they told me they'd do a quick run to buy some more, they hated the one's that the diner typically bought and jumped on the chance to buy some that they liked. I truly didn't believe anyone else would come in so I waved them off and said I'd cover for them.

Five minutes after my coworker left, he poked his head in the door. I was so startled at the sight of a figure there that I fell off the chair I was sitting at. He apologized repeatedly and when I stood up, I found him leaning far too close for comfort. His goggles. I've seen him without them once but that's later in the story. They look like a pair of aviator goggles, I think, the style is a bit different from the real ones but it's the closest match I could find. The lenses though, they're both different colors, one purple and one green with matching swirling patterns on them.

He seemed to immediately realize he was too close as he leaned away and shuffled to lean against one of the tables giving me more than enough space to breath. He was rambling about something but I was far more focused on his outfit. More specifically the colors of that outfit. I know now that he's not color blind, but back then that was the only reason I could think of as to why anyone would wear what seemed to be a thick leather trench coat looking thing half splattered half dyed with several bright, vivid colors, like bright orange, yellow, highlighter blue, green, purple, all he was missing was red, although he actually does have a red sleeve on his shirt, I just couldn't see that at the time.

I suddenly became aware that he had stopped talking and seemed to look like a kicked puppy as well as a bit guilty, ready to shuffle out the door at a moments notice. I asked him what he wanted to get and if he wanted a table. I swear it was like watching a cartoon character, he became so animated and bouncy, for lack of better term. He explained that he was scooping out places to "introduce his friends to new places and experiences" and wanted to check our kitchen for any food containing "allergies". When I started to say something about having gluten free options, he immediately cut me off, explaining that the allergy wasn't well known, very rare, and that the name of the food often varied. He simply said that he wanted to take a quick peak in the kitchen and make sure it would be safe for them to eat there. He was so ernist and I felt so awkward so I lead him to the back.

Nothing bad happened, if anything I felt calmed by the endless chatter of Karl Jacobs, I learned his name when I asked about the stylized "KJ" on the back of his coat, and he really did nothing but talk and poke at some of the ingredients, even sniffed a few. He nodded to himself and told me he'd try and remember to bring his friends soon but admitted that he wasn't the best with time or remembering things. He wished me a good night and said he hoped we got to meet again. Somehow, I think I knew we would.

Anyway, by the time my coworker was back he was gone into the night. I didn't mention it and it didn't come up in conversation. I don't know why I didn't tell anyone, it just felt rude.

I was working night shift again, a few months later during busy season, when he appeared with two people in tow. Not humans, but still, people.

--------

Okay, it's 2 AM for me and I need to sleep. I'll continue in the morning, unless you want to continue describing Quackity and Sapnap? I do have an ending and reason for someone filing a report on Karl planned.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆!! I love!

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

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(( Soooo Pokemon AU? Idk if you’re a fan of Pokemon but given all the cool snippets and stuff you’ve written I figured I’d return the favour in a way and write this and submit it to you! I included some notes at the end! ))

– Unstable Genes –

Billy knew Steve would have a preppy, rich boy Pokemon. He just knew it. Granted he expected it to be something more powerful and less, cute.

The Eevee was always at Harrington’s side, matching brown doe-eyes observing the school. It didn’t shy from the larger Pokemon that approached it, nor did it act sickeningly sweet. It stood it’s ground, head held high, matching Steve’s general disinterest in the bustle of the school or the gossip around it. It was so weird to see such a small ball of fluff regard bigger, tougher Pokemon with such little concern. Billy didn’t know a lot about Eevees but he knew Steves was… off. For one thing, the aloofness. For another, it was (apparently) strong as fuck according to Tommy and half the school. Tommy in particular wouldn’t shut up about the battles the little Eevee had won, helping to secure old King Steve’s crown before he lost it. The other thing was that it hadn’t evolved, despite Steve apparently having it since he was ten.

Billy knew an Eevee’s DNA was extremely fucked. They evolved if you so much as looked at them funny. Buy some expensive stone and shove it in your Eevee’s face? it’ll evolve. Take them aboard to some fancy place and rub it on a stone in a specific place? It’ll evolve. Give it a ton of cake and pet it a bunch? It’ll evolve. It’s not hard to get those things if you can afford the Eevee in the first place. There were no wild Eevee’s anywhere; they were all from breeders and cost far more than anyone should pay for a Pokemon, so if you could afford the Eevee, you’d evolve it. If you weren’t keeping it for a pet.

It just made Billy all the more curious. Curious about the once King Steve and his un-evolved Eevee. And Klaus - his Luxio, the only Pokemon he had managed to keep from Cali - was equally curious. It wanted a decent fight. It saw the little Eevee, heard the stories, and licked it’s teeth, eyes gleaming. Klaus always looked for that Eevee, always trying to catch it’s gaze, caught between growling for it’s attention and purring, letting eelctricity crackle in it’s fur with every step. Billy couldn’t blame Klaus. He saw Steve and ached for the fight. To see his eyes focus on them and them alone, take charge of the battle, hear him issue commands to that Eevee. To get Steve’s skin under his fists, under his hands, to scratch, to grip, to grapple. To feel him sweat and bleed. To press him down with his body.

Then came the Night. Billy got to face King Steve, staring him down after being sent on a bullshit mission to find Max. He’d wanted this for so long but not like this. Not when it was backed up with the shit from his old man. Not when he saw Max peered from the window. Not when Steve fucking lied to his face about his sister being there with a bunch of weird boys. Klaus snarled, and Steve’s little Eevee puffed up, digging kitten claws into the earth.

It was criminal Billy couldn’t remember the fight that followed, thanks to the drugs Max had shot into him (that shit was crystal clear - the rest of the tape, the good shit, was covered in static and fuzz). He remembered throwing a punch. He remembered getting punched back. He remembered smashing a plate. He remembered feeling a pair of canines sink into his ankle as the little furball bit him, evading his attempts to kick it off. He remembered Klaus lunging, electricity crackling in his teeth as he lunged at the Eevee. And then, jackshit. But he saw the results of it the next day.

Steve was bruised, deep purple splotches darkening as his body worked to recover. On his pale skin they were beautiful, vivid proof that Billy had gotten his hands on King Steve and left a mark. Steve glanced over and for a moment, their eyes met. Billy didn’t look away. Steve didn’t either. Billy resisted the urge to lick his teeth. To make it another challenge. It was when his Luxio gave a deep, rumbling noise beside him, caught between a growl and a purr, that Billy turned, following his Luxio’s gaze to the Pokemon at Steve’s side. Billy wanted to punch something. Steve’s Eevee was no longer an Eevee. Steve’s Eevee had evolved, during or just after their fight, and he couldn’t remember it.

Billy didn’t know a lot about Eevee’s aside from them evolving at the drop of a hat. He didn’t know what it was, but it was not a preppy little furball anymore. It’s fur was sleek and black, with yellow rings on it’s legs and forehead, matched by bands around it’s ears and tail. The doe-like, black eyes were gone, replaced by knowing, red eyes. It looked directly at Billy. For an eternity, Billy stared at it as it watched him. The yellow rings glowed and dimmed in a hypnotic pulse rhythm. Yellow on black, like every caution and warning sign Billy had seen. Finally, it turned, following Steve down the hallway.

It didn’t take long to find a book on Eevees in the library, to find out what the hell Harrington’s Eevee had become. He found the page with a picture of the Pokemon, reading through it and freezing, ignoring the dirty look from the libraian as Klaus stood on his hind legs to look at the book, as if he could fucking read (Really, he was just staring at the picture).

“Umbreon, the Moonlight Pokemon. A well trained Eevee with a strong bond to it’s trainer can evolve into an Umbreon under the influence of the Moon.

A nocturnal hunter, it blends in with darkness by dimming the markings on it’s body. When excited and ready to strike, the markings shine brightly, startling it’s prey. It’s possible that it uses the glow of it’s markings to communicate with others… Not much is known about this Pokemon; Umbreons (and Espeons; see page 196) are unknown in the wild, and few trainers evolve their Eevees this way. Most cite that it is easier to evolve their Eevees through other means and train them appropriately according to how they evolve, rather than spend the time to attain these forms and then hone their training. Fewer still are willing donate their Pokemon for research on this elusive species…”

Billy looked down at Klaus, snapping the book shut. He knew Max had told him to stay away from her little weirdo friends. Which apparently included Steve. Which was still extremely fucking weird. But he wanted to know. He wanted to know what the fuck happened that night. Why Steve was there. What the fuck Max and those kids were doing. How Steve’s Eevee had evolved from some little bundle of fluff into a literal Pokemon of the night. “Klaus. We got some training to do.”

—

(( Steve’s Pokemon is an Eevee! It’s a rare Pokemon; in earlier games it couldn’t be found in the wild at all, and you’d only get one given to you. They can evolve into a total of eight different Pokemon, depending on what method you use, and each evolved Pokemon is a different type with different stats and abilities. So it’s very popular! It feels like the kind of thing Steve’s parents would give him and think “yep, we’re good parents, back to work/never being at home”. And given how listless Steve generally is, he wouldn’t have decided how to evolve it. Until it evolves in response to…well, the everything happening! Steve’s evolved into an Umbreon, a dark type, which has high defensive stats. Eevee evolves into Umbreon when it had a strong bond with it’s trainer and levels up at night-time - I feel like the events of Stranger Things would cause Steve to develop a very real bond with it and cause the evolution. And I can’t decide what he would name it or if it would be a boy or a girl (girls are much rarer than males - it’s like a 1/8 chance of obtaining a female Eevee).

>>>

Billy’s Pokemon is a Luxio! It’s essentially a teenage lion, and an electric type. They’re not super rare but they look extremely rad and channel electricity into their claws/fangs when they attack! They also develop the ability to see through walls when their eyes gleam a golden colour, which they use to trakc prey or lost cubs of theirs… It evolves from a Shinx (a cub basically) and then evolves into a Luxray (the adult lion). It feels very Billy to me! I imagine he had another pokemon that was a water type/fish, so he had to leave them in the sea when he ended up going to Hawkins. I also took the name Klaus from the lead singer of the Scorpions cos I am not that good at coming up with names.

God this ended up being massive, I completely understand if you don’t post this. I don’t really know how to sign this off cos this is literally my first contribution to the Harringrove fandom despite lurking for a while. But again, thank you for all the stuff you write! I hope that even if you don’t like Pokemon, this makes ya smile. I guess I should leave a name or something, URM

- that guy who made the stupidly long Pokemon AU submission

I LOVE pokemon this is so fucking good. I’ve definitely thought about Steve having an Eevee before, and I love it evolving That Night, especially into Umbreon, that’s so GOOD and POWERFUL. I also love the idea of Steve with Mimikyu for,,,, angst reasons. And I love Billy with Luxio. I totally see him with electric or fire types because he would really like the strength and energy those types bring. I’ve thought about him with Cubone (also for angst reasons), or even Growlithe/Arcanine mostly bc I’m more familiar with gen 1 and 2. Seriously, I love this SO MUCH and if you ever wanna write more 👀👀 I would LOVE to read it.

#submit to yikes #submission #this is the fucking best think ever #thank you for the submission #harringrove #not my writing #steve harrington #billy hargrove #pokemon au

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uwua3 · 4 years

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price of being a dad.

🍁💸 furuichi sakyo

summary: you may not have a birth father, but you do have a family.

warnings: abandonment issues, abuse (mentions), angst with happy ending, birthday, daddy/parental issues, food

author’s note: for everyone who grew up with no father figure in their life, a dad who didn’t do shit, or a man who never loved them, this is for you ♡ sakyo loves you! (reminder this is a completely platonic/fatherly figure one shot)

word count: 2,859

music: since the day i was born – lostcrowboy

You wished your father loved you.

Maybe, you stay up late into the night, staring up at the ceiling, wondering why he left. Why did he selfishly pack up and go forever? How come he didn’t want to play the role of your father anymore when you needed him most, sobbing and begging for a second chance even if it wasn’t your fault? Or on the other hand, you may be hiding away in your bedroom, shaking and asking why he stayed. Why would he abuse the entire family with his violent, aggressive presence? How did he have the nerve to put a picture–perfect front in the public with the sting of his hits burning into your cheek?

Did he say he’d come back for you one day? You couldn’t remember anything—not his words or what he looked like. Your dad was gone, it didn’t matter how, he left you. He gave up, he was a quitter.

You said you hated your dad, but you knew, you’d take his love back in a heartbeat if you could.

Especially today, since it was your birthday.

It was another day in your calendar, another day to be alone and angry over something you couldn’t control. You would never admit it, but you wanted a happy birthday for goddamn once. The ridiculously cheesy triangular hats strapped on your head, a store–bought ice cream cake with your name in icing on top, a crowd of your friends and family singing the traditional song off-tune with big smiles. It would’ve been something you wished for, if only you had the appropriate amount of candles.

As you woke up to nothing, you couldn’t help but bear the weight of immense disappointment you experienced every year. For some unknown reason, a small, childish part of you wanted to wake up to a “Happy Birthday!” from your loved ones. It wasn’t their fault, though. You did everything possible to make sure no one knew it was your birthday so you wouldn’t be let down again.

First thing in the morning, and your thoughts already trailed back to your deadbeat father. How nice. You sighed, not exactly having the energy to wake up and face your own fears before a harsh knock sounded at your door. Did one of the boys need help setting up for the latest play or something? You hurriedly rushed to open the door, about to ask what was wrong before you stopped, meeting face to face with a familiar pair of black, square glasses and a blank expression.

It was Sakyo, infamous yakuza with a glare that could kill. He stood before you in his usual black turtleneck and grey suit, his arms across his chest with his foot tapping against the ground, a sign he was growing impatient. Before you could slam the door closed and run the hell away, Sakyo seemed to notice and stuck his foot right between the opening, pinching his nose bridge with a frustrated groan. Of course, the yakuza had quick reflexes for his old age.

“Rookie, learn some proper manners for once!” Sakyo barked, prying open the door against your very insistent will. You eventually let the door slam against the wall, knowing it was a losing battle because once Furuichi Sakyo put his mind to something, he’d always win. With something akin to satisfaction, Sakyo met your eye with a huff, pushing back a strand of blonde hair covering his vivid purple eyes.

“Good. You’re awake, I would’ve had to kill you if you were still sleeping.” Sakyo cursed casually, blinking at your sudden flinch from his words. He paused, before adding a “Nevermind that... Anyways, get dressed”, closing your door quickly and disappearing down the hallway. You took a moment to process what he just said, before quickly preparing for the day with a million questions running through your head.

Why would Sakyo need you for anything? He was more than capable of ordering Mankai, nevertheless Autumn Troupe, to do the dirty work around the dormitory. After all, no one wanted to deal with the backlash of Sakyo’s (unfortunately correct) criticism about how twenty plus boys couldn’t just live like they were all teenagers. So, why you? You grabbed all your proper necessities for an outing, knowing damn well a job done with Sakyo wasn’t just a short trip.

Reaching the main lobby, you noticed Sakyo pass a list of some sorts to Izumi, who glanced over it and nodded. She was about to say something before her eyes landed on you, sending you a bright smile and waving good morning. You couldn’t help but notice how much they looked like parents sending their children off to school, the observation causing a deep sense of sadness to settle as you looked away uncomfortably.

You missed the way Sakyo’s hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before dropping it to his side, clearing his throat to get your attention. You turned to him, seeing the car keys already in hand and an itinerary written in his planner. Oh no...

“You’re here quick, good job.” Sakyo mentioned offhandedly, pushing his glasses up with his free hand as he reviewed his own list. You didn’t know why, but you almost felt overwhelmed with being praised by Sakyo so early in the day. A warm sensation of pride filled your chest, replacing the previous melancholy from before. You tried not to make your smile obvious, but Sakyo narrowed his eyes at you.

“What are you laughing at, rookie?”

“Nothing, nothing!”

“That’s what I thought... kids these days.”

(You weren’t the only one who tried to hold in your laugh, though some did better than others. Luckily, you weren’t at the receiving end of a harsh threat from Sakyo.)

Sakyo was only thirty (30) years old, but sometimes, he acted like an old man despite his impressive agility and athleticism that challenged the teens. You admired this as Sakyo ordered for the car keys from Sakoda, catching them smoothly with his hands gripping them without fail. You were certain you would never witness Sakyo drop anything in this lifetime, and dutifully followed him to his car, saying your goodbyes to the rest of the company.

Weirdly enough, Sakoda didn’t follow, but stayed behind with the group who was oddly awake already. You didn’t have the guts to question it, as you moved to sit in the back of the car. Sakyo was about to start the engine before he stopped, looking in the mirror with an almost confused glint to his eyes.

“Why are you in the back?” Sakyo asked, to which you blinked as if it was most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t deserve to sit in the front.” You retorted immediately and Sakyo frowned, a deep furrow to his eyebrows as you wondered why he reacted the way he did.

“Who taught you that?” You didn’t respond to the question, so Sakyo just exited the car, opening your door with the same displeased look. Yet, it wasn’t aimed at you, it seemed to be distant and cold.

“Get in the passenger side, sit anywhere you want.” Sakyo demanded and who were you to refuse? You slid into the seat beside him and Sakyo drove off, the Veludo Way scenery passing by you. You glanced at the dashboard and of course, he was driving at the safe speed limit. A yakuza who obeyed the law, how uncommon.

Ten (10) minutes must’ve passed before you shifted in your seat, fidgeting with your fingers. Sakyo sighed tiredly, as if he hadn’t slept at all as he slowed down to a stoplight.

“You know, you don’t have to be so uncomfortable around me, rookie.” Sakyo said calmly, tapping his fingers on the wheel with his eyes trained on the lights.

You were constantly being taken by surprise today, all because of Sakyo Furuichi. Before this, you hadn’t shared more than a few sentences at a time with Sakyo. The most you’ve said to him was during a financial budget meeting for the staff, mostly to halfheartedly support Yuki & Tsuzuru’s demands of a larger budget. Yet, here Sakyo was, acting as if you both were... family.

You swallowed down the bitterness from the thought of your actual family, before looking over at Sakyo. Sakyo was already looking at you and attempted some sort of smile. Even though you wanted to laugh at how hard he was trying to appear normal, you appreciated the effort. Sakyo naturally had a dad–like smile, how fitting.

Sakyo’s smile grew genuine at the sight of yours and before he said anything, a car horn cut off his thoughts. You didn’t know when the light turned green, but Sakyo quickly drove off while muttering a curse at the impatient line of cars behind them.

“Sakyo, where are we going?” You asked after you realized the roads were leading directly to the shops. Sakyo pulled into a parking spot carefully, but with the ease of someone who’s driven a thousand times and more. How did he just parallel park like that? You tried to hide it, but you were always impressed by Sakyo.

“Where does it look like?” Sakyo opened his door and slipped out, looking out of place during the daytime. You watched him before snapping out of it, hurriedly clambering after him as he barely looked over his shoulder. Sakyo was already halfway down the sidewalk before you caught up, knowing he must’ve been running on a tight schedule doing god knows what.

“What are you shopping for?” You questioned, trying to maintain your breathing. Sakyo finally looked down at you, furrowing his eyebrows before relaxing his face, noticing your worried expression immediately. You easily read the smallest signals from people, and it wasn’t hard to wonder why.

“We,” Sakyo emphasized, making a point to include you as he stopped, nearly making you bump straight into him. “are going to every store in this place. I need help buying... a gift, for someone. You pick, got it?”

You couldn’t help but imagine a father buying a gift for their child. This was the closest you would ever get to that dream—that dream of being loved in such a parental way. You just nodded, knowing if you spoke, your voice would crack. Sakyo didn’t ask, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment before searching the random assortment of stores.

“They’re like you. I’m sure they’ll like whatever you choose.” Sakyo tried to comfort you, but his tone fell flat and he seemed out of his element. Before the silence got too awkward, Sakyo gestured towards the food court. “Forgot breakfast this morning. Let’s go.”

Who were you to argue with Furuichi Sakyo? You followed him, even if he was a bit lost. Sakyo must’ve avoided the mall for its crowds of people, because he did a full 360 as he read each menu.

“... What place do you like?” Sakyo finally asked, peering down at you to catch the smallest movement. You barely glanced at some breakfast display before he made his way over, ordering for you. For some reason, you were flattered at how Sakyo actually knew your favorite breakfast option. You didn’t even have to correct him, he just knew.

When you both sat down at a table (after Sakyo embarrassingly demanding a wipe to decontaminate the dirty spaces malls offered), Sakyo glanced up every once in a while to make sure you were eating a full meal. Sure, mall food was less than ideal, but you seemed so content that he didn’t mind the overpriced options, surprisingly.

“Thank you for the food, Sakyo.” When you thanked him for the meal quietly, Sakyo felt a pain in his heart from how nervous it was. Sakyo just waved his hand as if to say it was nothing, looking away. Why did Sakyo suddenly feel so proud all of a sudden?

As you stood before all of the stores, not knowing where to start, you heard a sentence you never thought possible from Sakyo.

“Today, price doesn’t matter. Go choose whatever you think is best.”

In fact, today was possibly the worst day to be shopping with Sakyo. Anytime you picked something up, he would attempt to buy it without you looking, thinking mere observation was interest. You had to explain to him that just because you complimented something, didn’t mean you wanted it to be the choice.

“How many gifts are you planning on getting this person?” You laughed, a part of you jealous of this mystery person. Sakyo must’ve really cared about them. Sakyo just shrugged, putting back a shirt you thought was fashionable. Sakyo was truly unfamiliar in this new territory. Sakyo really wasn’t a person who spent money, so being inside a mall was enough to make him on edge at all times. But... Sakyo contentedly watched you as he made sure no one was following. Sakyo would never get used to a mall, but it wasn’t so bad today.

Sakyo breathed a sigh of relief when you finally chose something, most likely fed up with the number of people at any given place. You were surprised that Sakyo didn’t even check the price and swiped his card. Yakuza money must’ve been a different lifestyle, you thought. At the register, the cashier checked the item out and looked up, politely making small talk.

“Are you shopping with your father today?”

You looked around and realized they were asking you. The cashier thought Sakyo was your father. You both froze, shocked at the simple question. You failed to recover, attempting to adamantly deny the conversation with a nervous laugh.

“N–No! Um... he’s—” “Yes, I am their dad. It’s our special hang out this month.” Sakyo replied smoothly, seemingly unbothered by your reaction. The cashier seemed touched by the fact you two went out monthly, sending you both their congratulations. Sakyo took back the credit card and purchase, thanking the cashier for their service as he escorted you to the front of the store.

You were still in shock by the time Sakyo made you sit down on a bench. You couldn’t process the words even if you kept hearing them in your head. Sakyo confirmed he was your father, and although you knew it was a lie, you felt proud. Why did it make you so happy to hear Sakyo say that? Why did Sakyo even say that? Was this what being someone’s child felt like? You couldn’t even remember the last time your father was publicly proud of being related to you. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your head.

Sakyo was... patting your head? Sakyo seemed caught off guard, even if he moved to do so. It must’ve been subconscious because Sakyo took a moment before ruffling your hair, the action unfamiliar to both of you.

“Don’t blank in a public space. It’s not safe.” Sakyo said firmly, looking at his hand. On the same hand, he was wearing a watch. Reading the time, Sakyo’s eyes slightly widened before he stood up, quickly mentioning something about being late to an event. You nodded as Sakyo scrolled through his phone, the buzzing consistent as some sort of group chat was blowing up his device.

“Okay. Let’s go home.” Sakyo casually mentioned but you experienced a warm sensation of pride once more. Home... you hadn’t had a place like that in so long. You followed Sakyo to the car, noticing he checked to make sure you were following this time.

On the way home, Sakyo properly made sure all roads were safe (Sakyo let you turn on the radio this time). When Sakyo pulled in and stopped the car, he pulled the bag from the back of the car and shoved it into your hands. Even though Sakyo pretended it wasn’t a big deal, you saw his embarrassment on his face. Sakyo didn’t give gifts often, but when he did, it meant something.

“This is for you. Keep this, okay?” Sakyo pulled at his collar when you finally smiled, unable to deny it when it was a token of your time spent together. Before Sakyo could leave the car, you pulled Sakyo into a hug with a big grin.

“Thanks, dad.” You accidentally let slip out, but Sakyo awkwardly patted your back. “Of course, rookie. I’ll see you next month for our hang out.”

That was the start of hanging out with Sakyo every month, and it all started on your birthday. When you walked into the pitch-black dorms, all you heard was a “Happy birthday!” from every person in the company. While everyone began singing, You noticed Omi and Izumi carry out a homemade cake with the right amount of candles, the flames dancing in front of you. You blew them out ceremoniously, smiling as Mankai cheered.

(For once, you didn’t wish for anything. You had everything you needed, right here.)

When you spun around, you saw Sakyo wearing a dumb party hat and that’s when you knew: Your home was with your second family, Mankai.

You didn’t have your birth dad, but you did have a family.

#furuichi sakyo #sakyo furuichi #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! one shots #act! addict! actors! one shots #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! sakyo #a3 sakyo

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riversofmars · 3 years

Photo

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your lovely comments, very happy you all approve of my choice of cast lol! I'm still in the early stages of setting up the story so I'm still mulling over some of the details but I think it's coming together. This chapter actually took a lot of restructuring and rewriting but slowly I'm getting there I hope. I really hope it works for all of you, I've re-read it so many times now that I can't see the wood for trees so I'm just gonna post it now and hope for the best lol :D Enjoy!

Chapter 3: There’s Stories About Us

London, late 19th Century

“Why don’t you have a seat?“ To Vastra, the Doctor’s pacing around the drawing room was becoming increasingly irritating. She was engrossed in the file River had left behind and refused to sit down.

“I think better on my feet.“ The Doctor retorted without looking up. It was the first full sentence she had spoken since picking up the file. Her expression was unreadable.

“Is it still five sugars?“ Jenny questioned, pouring tea for everyone, hoping to lighten the Doctor’s mood.

“You do know her well.“ Yaz commented while the Doctor just took the cup without comment and carried on.

“I take it she doesn’t talk much about her past?“ Vastra easily picked up on the hint of jealousy in the young woman’s voice. The Silurian had seen it many times. The Doctor was very private and by neglecting to speak about their past, they tended to make the person they were travelling with feel all the more special. To them it was like they were the first person to experience all the wonders of the universe with them. Finding out about all those that came before them wasn’t always easy.

“She never… I never expected her to have a family.“ Yaz looked over to the Doctor who was still walking up and down the drawing room, mumbling under her breath as she kept reading. She briefly put her cup down on the mantle of the fireplace so she could turn a page. Her brow was knitted in a deep frown, she was restless though more level-headed than before.

“I don’t think she expected it, either.“ Vastra conceded, taking a sip of her own tea. As she watched Yaz’s reactions to the change of circumstances, she felt reminded of the time the Doctor had regenerated and Clara had struggled to adjust to them changing. This situation wasn’t so different, Yaz was struggling as well. They were all going through a big change, and the Doctor even more so than the rest of them. Vastra could tell the Doctor was different from her last regeneration, even without the added pressure of finding out about having a child. This Doctor reminded her so much more of the one they had accompanied to Demon’s Run, than the one they had last seen. It seemed fitting as again, a child’s life was on the line; just one generation on.

“Why does her wife not travel with her?“ Yaz turned to Vastra with the question that had been bothering her.

“Professor Song travels in time as well. Their timelines are not always synchronised.“ Vastra explained, hoping not to reveal too much. It wasn’t her place.

“So like The Time Traveller’s Wife?“ Yaz asked, but found herself looking into confused faces. “It’s a book, do you not… right 19th Century…“ She waved it away but it gave her cause to think. Being out of sync with the person you loved had to be incredibly hard indeed. She remembered crying over that book and she couldn’t imagine this would turn out to be a more cheerful tale.

Suddenly, the Doctor halted in her tracks, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Is everything alright, Doctor?“ Yaz asked as their friend’s face went very white as she stared at the page in front of her.

——

Darillium, 52nd Century

River stirred slowly, a light breeze tickled her nose though she couldn’t remember leaving a window open. The bed was soft and familiar, she stretched her limbs into the silky sheets and hummed contently after a good night’s sleep. She rubbed her eyes as she sat up slowly when she realised something was off. It should not be as quiet as it was; and she should not have slept through the night. The explanation to her questions perched on the side of the bed. The Doctor was feeding a bottle to his son who quite happily curled into his father’s arm, allowing his mother some well deserved rest.

“You can lie back down if you like, we’ve got this, haven’t we.“ The Doctor gave her a soft smile when he noticed her sitting up.

“How long have you been up?“ She asked, her voice sleepy still. She hadn’t heard either of them waking.

“You know I’m always awake before you.“ The Doctor reminded her. River smiled, her hearts swelled at the sight in front of her. She couldn’t remember ever seeing her husband look so utterly content and happy. She wanted to enjoy the moment but a strange, unsettling feeling was seeping into her subconscious

“Yeah but I didn’t even notice…“ She looked around, wondering what was intruding on this perfect moment.

“Everything okay?“ The Doctor asked with a frown. He lay the empty bottle down on the bed and pulled his son against his chest.

“I just…“ River couldn’t put her finger on it. It was like things weren’t adding up. “When did we come back?“

“What do you mean?“ The Doctor started sounding more concerned. He gently tapped and rubbed the baby’s back.

“Vastra, Jenny, Strax… the Library…“ Slowly River’s memories were returning but they weren’t compatible with where she was.

“What are you talking about? Did you have a particularly vivid dream?“ The Doctor chuckled. “Or nightmare, rather, if Strax featured.“

“The sunrise.“ River looked out of the window to see orange and purple stretching across the sky.

“It’s almost time.“ The Doctor nodded with a soft smile. “First light.“

“But we’ve already seen it.“ River looked back to him, confused.

“I think I’d remember if we’d already watched the sunrise after twenty-four years of waiting for it.“ The Doctor retorted amused. “Are you feeling okay?“

“This isn’t right…“ River shook her head slowly. Her hearts sank at the painful realisation. “I’m not meant to be here…“ She wanted to lean forward, reach for her husband, touch her son, but she didn’t dare.

“River…“ The Doctor said but she shook her head more firmly.

“No, I left before I even… and you didn’t…“ She looked at him with sorrow and the genuine concern in his eyes only made it harder. This was where she wanted to be.

“River.“ He reached out for her but she pulled away.

“This isn’t real, it can’t be, I…“ River turned away and closed her eyes, shaking her head to herself. Her hearts ached. She wanted this to be real so badly but she knew better. Her mind was playing tricks on her.

“River!“ This time, the voice changed pitch and River woke with a start.

“Anita.“ River looked up to her colleague, blinking against the morning light. She found herself surrounded by piles of books and notes, back in the artificial reality of the Library. She must have fallen asleep on the sofa while reading last night.

“Considering we probably don’t actually need sleep in here, you were very difficult to wake up.“ Anita pointed out and held out a coffee to her. “Went anywhere nice?“

“You could say that…“ River gave a mournful smile but quickly put her walls back up, projecting confidence and assurance. “Thanks.“ She took the coffee offered to her and sat up properly. “Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it. I didn’t realise we’d dream…“ She gave a wary smile. Though it felt like real life, she couldn’t quite let herself fall for the comforting illusion; not yet anyway. Not while she was still so deeply concerned with what was going on in the universe beyond.

“It feels like real life.“ Anita shrugged and took a sip of her own mug as she perched on the coffee table. “Certainly beats the alternative.“

“Certainly does.“ River admitted.

“So what have you been up to? Everyone was meeting up for breakfast and when you didn’t show up, I thought I’d check on you.“ Anita revealed her reason for being here and River glanced to the clock on the wall.

“Are the kids up, too?“ She found herself asking, almost instinctively.

“Been up ages. CAL said they thought it best to let you sleep, you were in a happy place.“ Anita explained with a smile. She hadn’t taken River Song for the mothering type but she had taken on that role without a second thought. She seemed to be taking comfort in it.

“I suppose I was…“ River thought back to Darillium and the Doctor, the perfect family life they could have had, had she just stayed. She took a deep breath to maintain her composure.

“So what’s all this?“ Anita asked, gesturing at the mess around them.

“Ah, just a bit of light reading…“ River smiled weakly, sipping her coffee. It tasted just like the real deal.

“You call this light?“ Anita laughed. “What are you researching?“ She picked up a sheet of paper that River had been making notes on.

“I may have… lied to you about why I agreed to lead this expedition… It wasn’t just for the money.“ River answered slowly, realising there was little point in keeping secrets now. They would be spending eternity together and River knew she needed a friend. She’d gotten on well with Anita from the start and she wanted someone to confide in. “The Library is the sum knowledge of the universe, as it were, and I needed access. Looks like I got more than I bargained for, eh?“ River joked but the sorrow behind her eyes was easily spotted.

“I’m not trying to be rude or anything but… what’s the point now?“ Anita asked, contemplating her words. “Technically, to the universe, we’re dead…“ She could tell River wasn’t adjusting all too well.

“Doesn't mean that the universe out there stops, does it?“ River pointed out.

“Are you trying to get out of here?“ Anita raised her eyebrows.

“And go where? None of us have a body to go to.“ River gave a bitter laugh. “No… but eventually, he’ll come…“

“Your Doctor? The one from your time?“ Anita asked and River nodded:

“One day, I’m sure of it.“

“And you need all this for when he does?“ Anita concluded, feeling like she was beginning to make sense of the professor’s actions. “So tell me what this is? Maybe I can help.“ She picked up more notes, skimming them.

“They’re stories, myths, every record, every…“ River started but Anita was quick to pick up on one unifying factor as she picked up more of the articles:

“It’s all about you.“ Anita looked up with amusement. River Song had a reputation of course. She was an accomplished archeologist who had published a lot of research. Who would have thought that there were also plenty of books and articles about her, not just by her.

“Some of it. I always told him there were stories about us… he was modified.“ River smiled as she recalled bringing it up with the Doctor.

“The Doctor?“ Anita asked to confirm. “Is he your husband?“ She exclaimed as she continued reading.

“Afraid so.“ River chuckled.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re doing this? Or will I have to drag it out of you?“ Anita prompted, looking back to her.

“This is just the start… it might look like a lot already but really, I’m just a tiny speck of dust in his life. There is so much more I don’t know, so much more that’s in his future and in his distant past…“ River mused. This was just a tiny fraction of the records she’d found so far.

“You’re not just being nostalgic, are you?“ Anita asked, putting the books down to give her her full attention.

“Before I joined the expedition, I received a message from a friend, someone who deals in information. They came to me with concerns about a prophecy and rumours.“ River said, tightening her grip around her mug. “Now, there are a lot of prophecies out there and I don’t pay much heed to any of them, but there was something about it… stories of a Timeless Child that somehow relates to the Doctor, to me… and as it happened, I just found out I was pregnant at the time.“ She explained and Anita’s eyes widened in shock at the revelation.

“Were you still pregnant when…“ Anita was stunned. She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“No, thankfully.“ River smiled, touched by her concern. “My son is fine, he’s with some dear friends. He was three weeks old when I set off to the Library…“ She revealed with a sad smile, wondering how the Paternoster Gang was getting on. Surely they were doing an excellent job at looking after her little one… but she regretted her choice nonetheless. She should never have come here.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.“ Anita reached out and gave River’s hand a squeeze. Immediately, she saw River’s interest in looking after the children in a completely different light. “Does the Doctor know?“

“I don’t know. They may have told him by now…“ River shrugged taking a deep breath to maintain her composure. “God, he will be furious… Hopefully furious enough to come and shout at me in here…“

“So you think your son is the Timeless Child?“ Anita asked, trying to make sense of what River was telling her.

“Maybe…“ River couldn’t be sure of anything. She had found no clues either way, despite her many inquirers; but it seemed like a funny old coincidence that whispers of a child surfaced just as she’d found out she was pregnant. “I haven’t been able to find out much at all, so I’m hoping I can now.“

——

London, Late 19th Century

The Doctor’s mind started racing, as did her hearts. Where, when and how had River heard about the Timeless Child? And why was it referenced in her file? The Doctor hadn’t told anyone about what the Master had revealed to her and she couldn’t imagine the Master would have shouted it off the rooftops either, seeing as he’d murdered everyone that could have known. Even when the Doctor had briefly spoken to Ryan about learning about the gaps in her past, she had never used this term or gone into detail. She hadn’t even filled Yaz in either. Someone out there knowing that exact term couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Doctor?“ Vastra’s voice was sharp, drawing the Doctor’s attention at last.

“Sorry…“ The Doctor snapped out of her thoughts when she realised everyone was looking at her.

“Does something stand out to you?“ Vastra prompted, gesturing towards the file.

“It’s nothing, never mind, just… it’s not related to this.“ The Doctor shook her head, closing the file disappointed, yet unsettled. This was in no way helpful for finding out where their child was or who could be behind the kidnapping. It did, however, raise some very unsettling questions. How did the secret about the Timeless Child get out? Though River might have drawn some wrong conclusions about who it might be, she couldn’t discount the possibility that there might be a connection between the myth and the kidnapping. Maybe there were Time Lords involved in this after all.

“So what do you think?“ Vastra pressed on. “Time Lords or…?“

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t…“ The Doctor shook her head. “First thing’s first. I need to find out where River got her information from.“ The Doctor decided after brief consideration. She rolled up the file and stuffed it into her coat pocket to study more intensely later on. Someone out there - Time Lord or not - knew about the Timeless Child. Maybe, whoever was behind this, already knew it was the Doctor and were trying to get to her by kidnapping her child… There were a lot of possibilities but all seemed as unlikely as each other at this point.

“So can’t we just, like, talk to her?“ Yaz interrupted. “Why don’t we go and find her, your wife, I mean. You must be itching to go. She’ll be able to fill us in far better than…“

“Can’t.“ The Doctor cut in sharply.

“It’s not as easy as all that.“ Jenny gave Yaz an apologetic smile.

“Why not?“ Yaz frowned. “You know where she’s gone, you said earlier: The Library. Let’s go there.“

“River died at the Library.“ The Doctor shot back, anger returning to her voice. Rationally, she knew Yaz couldn’t know all these things, but that didn’t change how she was feeling about it being brought up or having to explain.

“What?“ Yaz was dumbfounded. She looked around into knowing faces and realised she was far out of her depth. There was a lot she had yet to catch up on.

“Well, Doctor, technically, we could try and…“ Vastra started but the Doctor wouldn’t let her finish:

“For all intents and purposes she died at the Library, she can’t help us now. I was there, remember? I know that she didn’t make any great discoveries about the Time Lords while we were running from the shadows. There was hardly time.“ She stated bitterly.

“There must have been a reason for her visit there and she said she would need your help.“ Vastra was getting frustrated with the Doctor’s refusal to give weight to her wife’s concerns and attempts at research. Just because she hadn’t found anything yet didn’t mean she was wrong to be looking.

“She didn’t get the Doctor she was hoping for.“ The Doctor huffed.

“Obviously not, which is why you visiting her now could prove enlightening.“ Vastra countered.

“Sorry, I’m not following.“ Yaz looked to Jenny for an explanation as she didn’t want to interrupt the increasingly tense conversation the other two women were having.

“Professor Song died but she��s not really gone.“ Jenny explained kindly. “The Doctor saved her.“

“I didn’t save her, I trapped her.“ The Doctor interrupted angrily.

“Her consciousness remains in the Library’s computer.“ Vastra clarified which only seemed to infuriate the Doctor more.

“Yes and she has to exist in the knowledge that she will never hold her child again! If I didn’t think she hated me for putting her there before, I’m damned sure of it now.“ The Doctor snapped.

“She will want to help.“ Jenny interjected.

“I will not be the one to tell her her child is gone!“ The Doctor yelled, her emotions boiling over. She had caused River so much pain. She had thought she’d done a good thing when she had saved River’s consciousness only to learn during their next meeting that she hated the idea of being trapped like that. The Doctor already carried so much guilt, she would not add this to the pile. She refused. How was she to break this news to her? “I won’t do that to her. Put that on her while she can’t do anything to help, having to rely on others, no! I can’t do that to her!“

“Doctor…“ Vastra tried to intervene but to no avail.

“No! Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. She thinks he’s safe with you and I will not tell her otherwise until we’ve found him.“ The Doctor snapped.

“If you’re sure.“ Vastra knew there was no talking to her when she was like this. She would come to her senses eventually but she appreciated the sentiment. If at all possible, they should go about things another way before breaking the news to the Professor who would have to watch from the sidelines, unable to help.

“Someone else might have got their hands on Timelord technology…“ Yaz said changing the subject and breaking the heavy silence. Perhaps her not knowing too much about the Doctor’s wife would be a good thing. Perhaps she could look at things more objectively. Tensions were running high indeed.

“It might be more likely than someone surviving the Master’s destruction.“ The Doctor conceded. “But it’s very little to go on.“

“We have to start somewhere.“ Yaz got to her feet feeling a sense of determination. They had to stop wondering about the ifs and buts and start doing something. A child’s life was on the line.

“River started investigating a myth based on some rumours that someone might be after us, after our family.“ The Doctor explained of Yaz’s benefit. “I have a pretty good idea who would have brought it to River’s attention. Perhaps we can trace these rumours back. It’s as good a place as any to start.“ She decided at last.

“Excellent. We shall carried out our own investigation and torture those we find for information!“ Strax stated in excitement as she returned to the drawing room at just the right time. He was carrying several bags.

“Really, Strax, that is not…“ The Doctor started but Vastra interrupted:

“I hope you don’t think you’re going without us.“

“I have packed three types of grenades and the caustic blaster I have been dying to try.“ Strax announced with great enthusiasm.

“And I will get the swords.“ Jenny nodded, exchanging a quick glance with her wife.

“Please, Doctor, we owe you this.“ Vastra didn’t give the Doctor the opportunity to protest. “Let us help bring your child home. We failed you. We won’t fail you again.“

“Let’s go.“ The Doctor wasn’t so proud that she would refuse help offered. She would do whatever it took to get her child back.

#doctor who #fanfiction #river song #thirteen #thirteenth doctor #action/adventure #space wives #yowzah #river x thirteen #river x twelve #twelth doctor #femslash #madame vastra #Jenny Flint #strax #Yasmin Khan #the timeless child

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i-jus-wanna-writehappy · 4 years

Text

Handful

Pairing: Finan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut y’all 18+ READ ONLY

Author’s Note: I love Finan with all my heart, and I have a fluff for him started, and for some unknown reason, this idea clocked me clean in my jaw, lol. I hope you enjoy. I do some head hopping by paragraphs in the beginning. I know a lot of people don’t like it, but I really enjoy writing it

Tags: @thotyana-in-this-hoe @neeadinghugs

Masterlist Black Girl Insert Series

* * * *

Finan huffed as he watched the women sashay through the alehouse. It wasn’t a huff of judgement, not at all, these were beautiful women, perfectly plush women. His huff came from a place of frustration, because he was surrounded by all the ale he could want, and multiple women perfect for a drunken hump, and his cock didn’t stir at all. Finan grumbled into his ale and looked around with a sharper eye. He didn’t have to look long before a slender hand caressed the back of his neck. He didn’t have to see her to know that touch, he’d spent a lot of silver on it.

“Leofwen.” It was Uhtred that called out the woman’s name. He’d noticed his friend was in a mood, and surely a good fuck from one of his favorite women would make him feel better. Leaning back in his chair and watching the woman scratch softly through the hair at the nape of Finan’s neck, Uhtred was sure the two of them would be gone in a flurry of hands within moments. Much to his surprise, Finan simply leaned back into her touch for a moment and groaned, “I’m not much tonight, Leofwen.” The tall woman snorted and leaned down beside Finan, “When are you ever much?” Finan laughed and Uhtred felt a little better for that. “’S nice to know I don’t have t’ lose any silver for your mouth.” Finan took one more breath enjoying Leofwen’s hand on the nape of his neck before leaning out of the embrace, “Seriously, go find someone who’ll give y’eh some silver tonight.”

With one last scrape of her short fingernails, Leofwen sashayed across the alehouse, eyes on a man with shiny shoes. “What is it?” Uhtred finally asked, watching Finan watch everyone in the alehouse grab tits and laugh merrily. He would usually be the life of the night, shouting out songs for people to join in singing and wooing women left and right. It wasn’t until Finan answered with a closed-eyed, “Nothing.” that Uhtred found the problem with his friend. “Ah, so it’s Y/N.” Finan groaned, hating the teasing he knew was to come.

You’d asked for a place in Coccham nearly a year ago. You’d heard of Uhtred, that he was an honorable lord and had no qualms with the religious preferences of his peoples, and the prospect of starting your adult life under his eye was promising. You’d been presented to Uhtred and his men, and as soon as Finan saw you, he knew you’d be trouble for him one way or another. He had no idea that his torture would last so long and that every conversation with you would add more pressure to the heap of heat in his body firmly stamped with your name.

“It’s becomin’ a problem. I said no - to Leofwen. And you know she does that thing I always like -”

“With your ear, yes, I remember. Have you spoken to Y/N about it? She doesn’t have a man, and she doesn’t dislike you, she listens to you tell shit jokes too often for that.” Uhtred poked fun at his friend. And he was right about that, you had seemed a bit friendly with him, flirtatious even, so maybe he could turn on some Irish charm and pull you his way. But you were surely long sleep, and he needed something to sate the more primal hunger he had for you now. “Maybe I’ll stop by her door tomorrow, tonight, I hav’ta sleep off this ale before I fall asleep here.”

Giving pat to Uhtred’s shoulder, Finan made his way out of the alehouse. The cool air was helpful in clearing his head, the alehouse was humid and stuffy, but then Finan passed by your home and knew what he needed to do. He didn’t necessarily like it, but he knew.

Stepping into his home, Finan lit a fire and shed his clothes. The night time left a chill in his home it would take a while to shake, but still, with goosebumps rising on his skin, Finan flopped down on top of his furs. For a moment, he was just there, lying spread eagle, naked as the day he was born, wondering if he’d hate it as much once he started. God, once he finished. Listening as the wood crackled, Finan closed his eyes and thought about the nights you’d join him and the others at the alehouse. The dress you’d wear in hopes of finding yourself a man. It was low-cut, and a rich purple that made you look like royalty. It began to get a lot easier from there as Finan felt himself heat up and his cock harden.

Keeping his eyes closed to keep you with him, Finan lowered his hand to his growing member. Behind his eyelids, Finan saw you open the door to his home, dress cut low and feet bare. You’d rushed to him in the night, so needy for the feel of his flesh on yours that you couldn’t be bothered to put on shoes or a cloak. Your voice came to him easily, and he could hear you in his mind, “Fin? I’m sorry to bother you so late.” Finan can’t decide whether he’s wearing clothes in this encounter, still so caught up in the nickname you’ve given him, so for now he focuses on you as his warm hand squeezes his base.

“Yer fine, lass. What’s botherin’ ya?” You looked behind yourself to make sure you weren’t being watched before slipping in all the way and closing the door behind you, “I just - I can’t generate any heat. My fire isn’t building, and I can’t seem to get comfortable in the cold tonight. This was the only place I could think to come.” You didn’t need Finan to say anymore, you looked at him and knew you were welcome. The warmth of his home wrapped you up in a tight embrace as you made your way to the edge of his bed. Sitting down, feet still on the ground and hand achingly close to his decidedly bare leg, you stared into the fire as you spoke, “Can I tell you the truth?” Finan shivered as he began to throb in his hand, but he couldn’t move yet. He was waiting. “Anything, Y/N.” You kept still, “I came here straight from the alehouse.” You turned to him now, scooting your body and resting on your knees so they were pressing against the side of his leg, “I saw you leave and I couldn’t go another moment without touching you,” You ran your hand up his side and rested your forehead on his temple, “Feeling you. Can I feel you, Fin?” Another shiver made its way through Finan’s body as he nodded.

You shifted again until you were sitting right behind Finan, your legs were spread so his body was nestled between them and your hand caressed its way down to his throbbing cock. Finan grunted, applying more pressure, the heat from the fire began to reach him on his bed and for a moment he felt like maybe he wasn’t just imagining you. Finan still knew better than to open his eyes and check for you, so he put his attention back on you behind his eyelids. Finan pressed his hand over top yours to finally get you to move. His senses were bouncing all over the place: he could feel your breath on the nape of his neck, the sweat on your thighs made them stick to his skin just a little, the fabric of the dress you had pulled up to your waist brushed against his back, and your warm calloused hand, just rough enough to make him grit his teeth.

Part of Finan wanted to commend itself for how vivid his imagination was, but his cock twitched in his hand and he realized he didn’t care enough about how he was doing it, but he did care that you were fully present through the entire endeavor. Without him even having to say anything, you pressed your lips to the back of Finan’s neck kissing between your words, “I’ve wanted this for so long. To grip you tight and listen to the sounds you make when you’re enveloped in the warmth of a woman. To feel you sweat and pant against my skin. The only thing that could make this better would be you getting me here for real. Do you know what I would do if you came up to me, Fin? What I’d say when you recommended we have a hump?”

Finan groaned and pumped his hips up into his hand, “I don’t, but I reckon you’re gonna tell me?” He gritted through clenched teeth. You nodded as your lips pressed to his neck in a wet kiss, “I would tell you how often I reach beneath my gown at home, fingers seeking to give me release as I think of you. I would moan and cry out your name as I bounced on your cock. Hold you tight when I came, whimpering and hungry for more of your touch.” Your confession was all Finan needed. He was sweating like a madman now and he was sure that anyone passing by would hear him grunting, but his orgasm was so close, and nothing but God could stop him from chasing it.

Releasing the tight grip he had on his covers with his free hand, Finan cupped his balls. “Fuck, fuck,” He muttered over and over as he imagined your hands beneath his own, jerking him faster as you whispered words of encouragement in his ear. A handful of fires sparked in succession in the pit of Finan’s stomach and with one final growl, his release spurted from the tip of his swollen cock.

Finan spent some time recovering, panting with his eyes closed as the warmth of your imaginary touch slipped away. Once he’d gathered himself, Finan was able to open his eyes and see what a mess he’d made of himself. His right hand was still wrapped softly around his dick, the edges of his fingers warm and sticky from his cum. Up his stomach and neck, Finan’s cum sat, thick and still. He was glad that he hadn’t gotten any in his beard this time. He already hated having to fuck himself in your absence, he didn’t want to do anything like clean the cum from his beard too.

Standing with a stretch, Finan grabbed one of the loose strips of fabric he had to wrap or clean woulds and wiped the cum from his stomach. He also found that he was efficiently exhausted and collapsed back onto his bed. Just as Finan was letting sleep take him, a knock shook him out of his slumber. “Whadda ya want?” He called out, sure the know was coming from Sihtric, who probably had some dumb drunken game or adventure he wished for Finan to join. A jolt went through his body when he heard you speak, “Fin? Can I see you? I need your help with something.” Thinking back to his little dream, Finan felt his cock begin to stiffen again, and almost asked you to leave, but he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see you. Finan jumped up and rushed to grab some clothes, “Yeah, Y/N, I’m in my sleep clothes now, just give me a moment.”

He heard you huff outside the door and the knob began to turn, “That’s fine.” You replied, pushing the door open. Finan didn’t know what to do what you opened the door and saw him naked, but he knew he was in need of another release.

#finan #finan imagine #the last kingdom imagine #Smut #finan smut #tlk imagine

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celestias-right-hoof-mas-au · 3 years

Photo

WARNING: Although this particular chapter does not depict violence or cursing, future installments will. As this story is based on an adult parody of MLP called The Mentally Advanced Series. I would encourage that if you had not watched it to do so to get a grasp of the world in which this takes place. Many of the jokes, lore, and otherwise are in reference to MAS, not just simply My Little Pony. I have also made a supercut that includes every reference and appearance of Celestia in the series. In case watching the entire MAS series maybe too time consuming. If you find Celestia, or other canon characters, used in crude and unpleasant depictions offensive, this is your warning. However, I would appreciate that you take a look anyway with an open mind.

Celestia Supercut Link

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“And here’s your armor and weapons. You should be able to start working tomorrow, but take it easy when you can. Magic works wonders, but if you’re not careful you’ll black out from exhaustion.” The front desk nurse recommended sliding over Valiance her belongings.

“I will. Thank you, ma’am. It feels great to stretch my legs after being in bed all week.” Valiance chuckled as she quickly put her body armor on, hooking her helmet and weapon onto her side.

“I could only imagine.” the nurse smiled, “There’s a soldier waiting for you in the lobby. I’m sure it’s important, so I wish you luck.”

Just as the nurse had instructed, a soldier in royal guard uniform awaited for Valiance at the medical bay’s entrance.

“Valiance Ascalon?” he gruffly asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well come on, soldier. I’m here to take you to your quarters.” the soldier informed as he began leading away with Valiance in tow.

The walk was mostly quiet, but in time, Valiance noticed the regality of her surroundings. Banners and painted glass of the sisters’ various achievements adorned the halls with very little modesty. As they continued, one photo in particular caught Valiance’s attention enough to stop in her tracks. The photo contained Celestia wearing a suit with a leather overcoat hanging from her shoulders.

Valiance raised a brow dumbfoundedly. ‘Huh. Not the kind of attire I’d expect her to wear… but not bad at all.’ she thought to herself while gazing into the picture.

“Come on, you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the scenery on your days off. Don’t fall behind!” the soldier called from further down the hall.

Snapping out of her trance, Valiance trotted back up to the soldier as they continued. Although, the scenery did spark some questions in her mind. After a moment, she finally decided to ask, “What does an acolyte do anyways?”

“That’s just a fancy name for a personal assistant. Though, judging by your particular skills, my guess would be being a personal bodyguard and just generally following her whim.” the soldier pondered as they approached a door and unlocked it.

Stepping into the room, Valiance softly muttered, “Wow, this is… lovely.” It was spacious with a large bed resting at its center, accompanied by a nightstand on each side. To the far left was a personal restroom along with a panoramic window with a beautiful view of Canterlot. To the right side of the bedroom rested her wardrobe and a bookshelf.

“I’d say I’m jealous of you, but in reality I can’t.” the soldier commented while handing the keys over.

“Why do you say that?”

“Acolyte’s are hard to come by. The last one that worked here was before I was old enough to get a job. Let’s just say he didn’t have the heart for it.”

Valiance was perplexed by the soldier’s warning. However, she knew that no matter the task, it would be done in Celestia’s name.

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

Back at the medical bay, a small pink pony with a satchel and large tight curled hair briskly made her way to the front desk. In a soft spoken voice the little mare asks the front desk clerk, “Hello, Nurse Flatline.”

“Hello, Mentee. Can I help you with something?”

“Um, do you know of a large pale mare who was committed here recently after the attack? She wore a purple and gold set of armor, not like the castle guards.”

“I'm sorry to say that the patient you're looking for was released earlier today.” The clerk replied, looking the pink horse up and down.

“Oh, well, can you tell me where she is then?”

“No Mentee, you know I’m not at liberty to release that information.”

Mentee groaned, “Pleeease, I really have to talk to her. She saved my life during the changeling attack, can’t you just give me a hint where she might be?”

The clerk pony pondered momentarily, letting out a deep sigh, before firmly answering, “If I give you a hint, you didn’t get it from me, is that clear?”

Mentee eagerly nodded with a small smile as she leaned in closer.

“She’s a castle employee as well, if you ask around you could probably find her.” Flatline whispered.

Mentee gasped and shouted, “Thank you so much, Flatline!” Only to be shushed and shooed away.

After asking around, Mentee had finally made her way to Valiance’s room. Her body began to rattle as she grew ever closer to the door. Closing her eyes to compose herself, she finally mustered up the courage to knock on the door… nothing. Maybe she just hadn’t heard the knock on the door. Mentee tried again, this time louder… still nothing. She pressed her ear up against the door only to find absolutely no noise on the other side.

“No one is in there, miss. She left for a walk.” a disapproving voice slated.

Mentee flinched and quickly spun around to see a blue coated maid sneering at her. Rather than attempt to explain herself, Mentee panicked and bolted.

Sweat gathered on Mentee’s brow as she came to rest in an empty corridor. Running a cloven hoof through her bangs she uttered to herself, “This is ridiculous, I just wanted to thank her for saving me.” She glanced down to the satchel dejectedly, “Maybe I can find her tomorrow once my shift is over… I need to get some air.”

The cool evening air was a blessing that gently kissed Mentee’s face. She had made her way to the castle courtyard and basked in its soft serenity. Plopping on a nearby bench next to a batch of daffodils, she gingerly took off her satchel to lean back and relax. Their light aroma invited Mentee into picking one and absentmindedly twirling it around. Taking a light whiff, she smiled and placed the flower in her hair. Stars twinkled in the strawberry sunset while a few ponies walked the courtyard to head home.

‘Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.’ Mentee thought, as she scanned her surroundings. Suddenly, a glint caught her eye. When she focused, she could swear her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. Before her was her knight in shining armor, casually walking around the courtyard smelling flowers.

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

Valiance took comfort in the beauty of the flowered and marbled plaza, having spent the entire day getting to know the castle’s layout better and what would be her new home. The giant fountain gently ran in the center, soothing all who heard it. Giant hedge sculptures, vivid red roses, and yellow daffodils were all perfectly nurtured to be a sight for even the sorest eyes.

“E-excuse me.” a small yet eager voice called from behind. Valiance turned and was greeted by a small pink pony, with thick ringlets for hair, and spectacles. The mare shuffled slightly closer and gently continued, “Uh, h-hello. I don’t mean to disturb but… um, well, you probably don’t remember me but-”

“Oh! You’re the mare that was almost carried off during the attack!” Valiance blurted out with a smile.

The little unicorn blushed, surprised that Valiance had even remembered her at all, “Yes, that was me. M-my name is Mentee, Mentee Prim.”

Valiance’s face softened further, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mentee. My name’s Valiance Ascalon.”

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

Valiance and Mentee were not alone, the God Princess, Celestia, too had wished to enjoy a stroll to revel over her recent success. True to her word, the Princess oversaw the remainder of the changeling hive eradicated and their maggots turned to fertilizer. With that, and the acquisition of a new acolyte, Celestia had almost considered relieving her favorite student of her friendship studies for the day. Almost.

Voices had tickled at Celestia’s ear from the courtyard. Since the sun had set, most ponies would have gone on their way to the dining halls, barracks, or home at that point so she had a small interest to inquire the purpose of the conversation.

It didn’t take long for Celestia to find the source of the whispers. She easily spotted her new acolyte talking to one of the castle’s library assistants, Mentee Prim. The conversation itself was harmless, with small talk abound and a few thanks sprinkled in. However, when Mentee pulled her gift out of her satchel, Celestia’s cold stare stabbed at Mentee’s glimmering eyes. Celestia scrutinized deep into Mentee’s heart, seeing through her feeble façade. This was no mere thanks, the pink mare’s soul pounded with infatuation. The way she kicked the dust and tugged at her hair all the while coyly glancing at Valiance left no doubt in the Princess’ mind; and it filled her with vile intrigue.

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

“I, uh, wanted to let you know how thankful I am for saving me. I really thought that I was gonna be a goner until you came along.” Mentee said, rubbing her neck. She tapped her hooves together in thought then reached for her satchel, “This isn’t much, b-but I hope you still enjoy it well enough.” Encased in periwinkle blue magic, Mentee unlatched her satchel to reveal a small pink box tied in a red laced ribbon.

“Oh! Well thank you, Mentee. You really didn’t have to do that.” Valiance assured, gently taking the gift.

“You know, I’ve been working at the castle for a while now. There've been plenty of acquaintances I’ve made… but no one to really call my friend. I was just wondering… if you would… maybe…” Mentee sheepishly stalled.

Valiance chuckled heartily, “Of course we can be friends. It’d be nice to have company with someone who knows their way around here, not to mention someone so sweet.”

Mentee’s stomach twisted into a knot, her already flushed face was now blistering red. In an act of feverish joy, Mentee sputtered, “T-t-thank y-you! Y-you too!” With nothing holding her back she sprinted away, nearly tripping over herself as she spun around a corner and out of sight.

Perplexity gripped Valiance’s thoughts, ‘I wonder where she ran off to, I hope I didn’t say anything stupid. That would be embarrassing.’ Turning her attention to the box, Valiance pulled the ribbon and peered inside. Her benign smile graced her lips again. Inside, were cookies in the shapes of flowers, hearts, and bunnies. Each one was carefully decorated in a shiny pastel colored frosting, some were adorned with cute smiles to top it off.

As Valiance innocently popped one in her mouth, a sudden chill ran up her spine when she felt the looming presence of some wicked soul behind her. “And what have we here?”

Valiance twisted around to see the owner staring down at her through biting amethyst eyes. The moon’s rays illuminated the roses in the garden, bathing Celestia in the color red. Although initially shocked, relief washed over Valiance as she sighed, “Oh, Princess Celestia, it’s you. This is just a little thank you gift from a friend I saved.” Valiance passed the gift box to her majesty to see personally.

The Princess shook the box slightly with a sneer, and with her magic, pulled out a heart shaped cookie. “How sweet.” she hummed as she jaggedly pulled the cookie in half. Without giving Valiance time to think, Celestia jammed one of the halves into her acolyte’s mouth before turning and walking away.

Bewildered by Celestia’s actions, Valiance chewed her half and absentmindedly reached for another cookie, but was only met with air. It was then that she snapped back to her senses, realizing that Celestia had taken the entire box for herself. Conflicted, Valiance chose to keep her mouth shut. It was Celestia’s will, after all. But that doesn’t mean that I’m happy about it.’ Valiance huffed to herself, having really wanted to enjoy her gift. “Forget it.” Valiance groaned, throwing her hooves into the air, “I’m just gonna go to bed.”

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

The Dragon Egg (Parts 19-25)

Another set of chapters for @secrettunnelatla’s event.

Chapter 19 Leather For Sequin

She should be eating better, should be better hydrated, should bathe more, should exercise more, should be sleeping better. She finds it harder to do these things at all, much less to an optimal degree. Sleeping is especially hard, having favored doing so on her belly. It helps little that the baby seems to be particularly active when she is trying to sleep with its kicks and squirms. She still can’t get used to it, she doesn’t think she will. It leaves her feel queasier than the morning sickness ever had.

Even if she were as physically comfortable as possible she doesn’t think she’d sleep. Her mind is stuck on Seicho and on all of the articles she has scrolled through during the past few days. Articles that drag her name through the mud and articles that praise Blue Talon for things she should be credited for. She lies awake, staring at the ceiling, hands clasped over her belly. She finds the baby’s foot--or maybe it is a hand--and rubs over the spot, a fruitless attempt to get her to settle down. All the while her mind runs in circles over the headline, ‘Fire’s Reign’s Fire Lord Ozai Denounces Pregnant Daughter’. She didn’t think that he would so publicly condemn her. She should have; he does, afterall, have an image to protect. As if he hasn’t already tarnished it with his binge drinking. She imagines that Zuko is probably getting a good kick out of it. She brings her rubbing to a stop and closes her eyes.

She gets little sleep, but enough of it that she has to be woken by Zhao. She doesn’t know why he bothers, it isn’t as though she will make use of the day. But the man is annoyingly persistent, refusing to leave the living room until she declares that she has to get dressed.

She slips into one of Koemi’s dresses. Eventually she is going to have to pester Zhao to help her buy at least one outfit that suits her aesthetic more, his wife’s attire is absolutely gaudy. Today’s disaster is orange with a sunflower print, which might not have been so horrible if the sunflowers weren’t purple and pink in color. She feels more ridiculous than usual when she emerges into the kitchen.

“I have some good news for you.” Zhao smiles.

“You’re going to take me back to that volcano you hated so much and pitch me into it.” She mumbles.

The man looks horror-stricken. If she weren’t so low she certainly would have laughed.

“I managed to get you a record deal under a new label.”

“Please tell me that it isn’t Uncle Iroh’s sketchy basement recording studio.”

“It isn’t. It is another label that I work for.”

“And which one is that?”

“WSLSE.”

Apparently her reaction isn’t satisfactory.

“Wan Shi Tong’s Library Of Sound Entertainment.” He clarifies. “You left a good impression on the man. Raava has also been speaking fondly of you.” He slaps a print out onto the table and pushes it to her. “You have been visiting the wrong websites.”

Her brows crinkle. “You have no right to…”

“Monitor my children’s browsing activity?” He asks. “My children still listen to Happy Hei Bai and my wife doesn’t follow music news. That leaves one person who would search up Blue Talon over and over again.”

She folds her arms. “What of it?”

“You’re making yourself miserable.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “All of this talent is just...confined to a couch.” He pauses. “Which is why I took it upon myself to get you signed to a new label…”

“With what band, Zhao!”

“You’re a soloist now.”

“A soloist?” She sputters.

“You don’t exactly mesh well with people.”

No doubt he had overheard her screeching at Seicho. “And yet, I can’t seem to do without them.”

He chuckles. “That’s where we disagree. You have a divine voice, to have it buried under wailing guitars and pounding drums is a shame. The idea I pitched is to have you go acapella and truly showcase your voice for everything that it is.”

Azula’s face pales. “In other words, there’s no room for error. Mistakes are easily detectable.”

“You aren’t one for mistakes and error.”

She frowns rather deeply and gestures to her bump. Ever the gentleman Zhao tiptoes his way back a statement or two. “You won’t be alone, you’ll have a team of fantastic producers and a very talented manager.”

Azula inhales through her nose.

“I dropped Blue Talent to focus on this new project…”

“Me.” Somehow she manages to frown more deeply still. “You dropped a band with a perfectly flawless trajectory for me. Since when do you take risks?”

“Since I found someone worth placing a bet on.”

“That’s what I am to you, a bet. A product.”

“A child.” Zhao cuts in. “I’ve known you since you were as young as my own little ones.”

She massages the bridge of her nose. “Zhao, Audio of Agni is a battle of the bands.”

His smile falters. “I am working on that.”

“Spirits, Zhao! What’s the point of putting me back in the studio if--”

“You don’t need Audio of Agni to make it big.” He mutters. “I don’t know what it is with you youths and hinging your entire careers on it. We didn’t have battle of the bands when I got into this industry. The Tui La’s didn’t part-take until the fourth event.”

“Zhao…”

He cuts her off once more, the audacity of the man. “We’re going to make a name for you regardless of Audio of Agni. And we’ll do it on raw talent alone.”

“Acapella artists never do well.”

“Acapella artists seldom do well. Most of them are generic. Their voices don’t stand out without instruments.”

“I’m known for metal music…”

“And you’re capable of ballads and operatics. With this project we’re going to put emphasis on your clean vocals. Once that takes off, we can take more risks--you can try doing acapella with those screaming vocals…”

This time she cuts him off. “What about piercings and tattoos says, ‘acapella and opera artist’?”

“Your vocals don’t have to match your looks. But if you must have it that way, we can swap out some of your piercings for less...bold ones. We can cover the tattoo. Your pregnancy might help with this new image.”

She cringes though she isn’t entirely opposed to a more elegant style of dress; she enjoys the glitz and glimmer every now and again. But, Agni, she can’t pull it off not when she has let herself go like this.

“Your first session will be tomorrow, I’ll send my wife shopping with you, you could use a wardrobe for photoshoots and what not.”

She only agrees so that she won’t have to beg the man to buy her better clothes.

Chapter 20 Dragon Tongue

It is daunting to see one of her monikers in the headlines again. To see it there in a more neutral, speculative light. ‘Blue Talon Vocalist Flies Again as Dragon Tongue’. She wishes that she could feel something other than dread, a growing sense that she is only building up momentum for a mightier, more embarrassing fall than her first one.

The announcement of her new single is daunting. And attempting to record a whole new extended play before Audio of Agni and the birth of her baby is twice that. Hama is adamant that she should be taking it much easier, especially since finding out that her baby might be born with an unusually low weight.

She thinks that she should be taking it slower. And yet she can’t afford anymore slacking. She has already wasted so much time sulking and moping and making a deeper mess of herself.

And so she is in the recording booth again and with new material. Material and lyrics that are so much rawer. So much more painful to sing through. They are confessions of shame and inadequacy. Laments of betrayal. And ballads of loneliness. And she can’t hide any of the pain behind indistinguishable growls or loud guitar shreds. It is all crisp and vivid. Open. Naked. She isn’t sure that she wants to do this anymore. Not when every session brings her closer to tears. Closer to a total meltdown.

Every session reminds her of what she lost. Every session reminds her that what she is doing now is nothing compared to what she could have been doing. Every session reminds her of Mai and TyLee and of Seicho.

And when her mind isn’t ailing, her body is aching. Aching in ways that she hadn’t anticipated. Her feet hurt so bad, they hurt when she is sitting down. Her ankles are swollen--Hama assures her that this is normal. As normal as the persistent ache in her back and the odd nose bleeds and congestion that she gets every now and then. On those congested days, she can’t even work.

On other days she finds herself short of breath. Her growing baby is pushing against her lungs. On those days her voice is so weak and breathy. She records regardless. Perhaps she would have allowed herself a break if Zhao weren’t so adamant that the breathy quality gives her a one of a kind sound. An ethereal sound.

She is inclined to disagree. She just sounds weak and weird. She pushes through, she always pushes through.

She promises herself that, whatever she does, she will not read the critiques of her new work. Her self-esteem is already in tatters. They talk more about her pregnancy and what it is doing to her body than they do her work. In that regard she almost hopes that Dragon Tongue is such a flop that it will eclipse that sort of talk.

It is well into the evening. The studio gets so much quieter in the evening. And in the silence her loneliness is emphasized. She remembers late nights of purposely poor vocals and drinking. Of idle chatter between songs. She remembers the crashing of a drumsets when Chan forgets to watch where he steps. She remembers stupid cover songs when they had time to kill. She remembers laughing. She remembers happiness. She remembers friendship.

Chapter 21 A Phoenix In The Winter

His world is in a perpetual winter. A little is no longer enough. He no longer needs food or love or inspiration. He no longer needs a band. He only needs a white winter and his presents come in pouches and needles.

He is losing his senses; of time, of himself, of everything really. One day is the same as the next and none of them bring him any closer to true stardom. His bursts of artificial energy only result in disjointed lyrics and half-assed ideas.

There is no organization and no real attempt to turn them into full songs. He has missed shows to the point of his tour being cancelled. It is so much money down the drain that even Iroh has turned his head. And when the word ‘rehab’ falls from his lips, Zuko runs. Perhaps not literally, but he hasn’t spoken to his uncle since, snubbing all attempts at conversation.

He is perpetually twitchy and agitated and Iroh makes a mistake. He enters the room, guns blazing, “Zuko, get in the car.” It is firm but not firm enough for him to put the needle down. The man sighs, “alright, nephew…”

The minute his hands take him by the shoulders, he is on the ground and Zuko is standing over him seething. “Don’t tell me what to do! What are you, anyways!? A fat, lazy, washed up rockstar! I don’t need advice from you!” But he does, he needs it more than ever. He yanks Iroh up and drags him to the door. He knows that uncle is holding back. He would be flat on his own ass if he wasn’t.

“Zuko, don’t do this. Let me help you get off of this path.” He hears as the door slams.

He is already too far down this path. His only option is to keep on walking. Walking down his cracked and lonely, frigid path. It is desolate now that drumsets, guitars, and microphones no longer clutter the street. He doesn’t pass many people. It is just he and the snow and it is falling thicker than ever.

Iroh hasn’t dropped him from the label yet, but he isn’t making anything of it and so it comes as no surprise to him when TyLee informs him that she would like to try her hand at the school’s gymnastics squad. He lets her go because she can have something. She can make something of herself.

He is less surprised when Mai declares that she is going to write a few poems or, “maybe just focus on school.”

It is fine with him, he doesn’t want to drag them under with him. And so he sits alone in the dark, huddled in a corner rocking back and forth, enveloped in a drug induced anxiety. A state of panic and paranoia that he can’t seem to stave off.

He is deep into it when his phone rings. “We need to talk.” Says the voice on the other end.

“Not right now, Mai. I can’t talk right now, Mai.”

She exhales long and audibly. “Yeah, that’s just it, Zuko. You never want to talk. You never want to do anything…” she backtracks some. “You only want to do one thing. You’re high right now aren’t you?”

“Yes...no?” He doesn’t remember. He isn’t sure if he is coming down or in the middle of a bad trip. “Mai? Mai, are you there.”

“I was there, Zuko. But I’m not now. Not anymore. I can’t be.” The line goes dead.

Phoenixes aren’t meant for snow. It is no wonder he is dying.

.oOo.

The school has been closed for hours now. The windows are as dark as he feels within. He scales his way up the roof. Up to the place where his hopes were born and discussed. He can practically taste the cigarette smoke, the anticipation, the energy that came with a dream in the making.

In its wake is a stale taste, he will drown it with another. He pops the cap off of his beer and gives it a good chug, music blasts loudly and aggressively through his headphones. He drapes them around his neck so that he may hear the cars below and the wind around him. It rustles his flannel shirt.

It’s a nice night, clear and warm. Spangled by a vast array of stars that he can’t seem to reach no matter how high he climbs, no matter how far he reaches. He lays back, he wishes he could relax but he doesn’t have enough coke in his system for it. He sits up for another good drink and then another until he feels a buzz. He doesn’t have enough bottles to take him any further. He supposes he doesn’t really need the help, he has his own woes and hopelessness to propel him the rest of the way.

He stands up and makes his way to the very edge of the roof. He swings his arms back and forth in preparation. He takes a deep breath, the song drones on. He takes another breath. Swings his arms. He’ll finish the song and that’s it. Then he’ll take flight.

He inhales deeply as the song fades out. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out, inclined to throw it as hard as he can; at this point, Mai can go fuck herself. But it isn’t Mai’s name that decorates the screen. It isn’t TyLee’s. It isn’t even Iroh’s.

He doesn’t know why, but he picks up the phone. For a moment he only hears breathing, breathing and perhaps sniffling. It takes him a moment to realize what he is hearing, but before he can make anything of it, she speaks, “Zuzu?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Zuzu, I really need someone. I need you.”

Chapter 22 The Dragon & The Phoenix

His chest constricts and he grits his teeth. “I need someone too.” He turns off his music and kicks the empty bottles, they shatter upon the pavement below. “Where are you?” The line goes dead and a text comes through.

By all means, he shouldn’t be driving, but he climbs behind the wheel of Iroh’s car. Spirits, he hopes that he doesn't wreck it. Iroh is already furious.

Truth be told he hadn't known what to expect. Throughout the drive images flashed through his mind, each of them involving a drunkenly enraged Ozai and Azula huddled in the corner. When he reaches the studio he does fine her in the corner. But she is alone.

Alone and very heavily pregnant. He thinks that he remembers reading about that somewhere but, like many other things, it had slipped his mind. For a moment he thinks that he got the wrong address, he doesn’t recognize her with her belly so big and her expression so tired and defeated.

Even if he did have the wrong address, he wouldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. He can’t remember the last time he had sobered up so abruptly. With fumbling fingers he ties his headphones tightly around her arm just above her wrist.

Her other hand comes to squeeze his own wrist. “You don’t have to, it’s not that deep.” She mumbles softly.

“Not that deep!?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “I changed my mind. It’s...it’s really not that deep, I just need a bandage.” She gestures vaguely towards the door. “There’s a first aid kit in the lobby.”

He gets up to leave and hesitates, casting a look back at her.

“Go on, Zuzu. I’m not going to do anything else. I...I don’t want to die.”

He wishes that he could say the same. He comes back with the first aid kit and begins bandaging her wrist only to have her slap his hand away with a curt, “I can do it myself.”

He scoffs, “then what the fuck am I here for?”

She flinches. “Nothing, never mind. You can go.”

He rubs his hands over his face. He hasn’t spoken to her in so long, he’d forgotten how she can be. Even when she’s asking for help she can’t swallow her pride. Even when she’s asking for help she’s intolerable. He almost does leave but he thinks that if he does she might just change her mind a second time. He sighs, “why did you ask me to come here if you don’t want my help?”

She holds her silence until he is on the very edge of frustration. “I want you, Zuzu. I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

“So I’m your last resort?”

She nods. At least he can commend her for her honesty.

“I think that I need to talk to you specifically.”

His brows furrow, “why do you think that?”

“Because you would understand.”

He tilts his head.

“What failure is like.” She elaborates.

He feels as though he has been punched in the gut. “Seriously, you called me here to insult me? I don’t need this shit right now, okay!”

She shakes her head vigorously. “I--no, that’s not what I meant.” She rubs her hands over her face. He cringes at the smear of blood she leaves behind. He doesn’t think that she has noticed. If she has, she doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“What else can you mean?”

She thinks for a moment, “Empathy. I’m empathizing?”

He has to laugh. He face falls. It is his turn to clarify, “we’re a pathetic duo, aren’t we?”

She nods, “very.” She wipes the remaining tears from her eyes. “I suppose that it’s the rockstar lifestyle. The parts they don’t talk about…”

“Or it’s the father that raised us.” He grumbles. For once she doesn’t protest this. He wonders just what the man did to her. “What happened? You were doing so good.”

“So were you.” And with a shake of her head she adds, “no I wasn’t.”

“Neither was I…” He trails off.

“What happened…” she repeats the question back to him and then she rubs her good hand over her baby bump.

“Right. Yeah. That’ll do it.” He frowns. “Chan’s?”

“How’d you know?”

“He’s a total tool.” Zuko shrugs.

She laughs, a very quiet and sad sort of chuckle but a laugh no less. “What about you, Zuzu. I haven’t heard a thing about From Ashes To Phoenix since…”

“Since I went berserk and got arrested at my own concert? Yeah. Because there hasn’t been a thing to talk about since.”

“Not even one new song?”

“There’s no time for songs when you’re...when you’re…”

“On drugs?” She finishes. “Zuko, what happened to us? How did this happen?”

“It just did, I guess.” He frowns. It is much more complex than that. “Are you still with father, I’m sure that Iroh wouldn’t mind letting you stay with us. He probably needs a break from me.”

“I’m staying with Zhao. He got me a new record deal and…”

And Zuko is once again furious. Even when she’s falling, she’s still on her way up. She still has something going for her. She’s probably still getting good publicity. Hell, even bad publicity can take her far. It’s all about the spotlight and she decided to open her wrists. And with a baby in her belly. Perhaps that is why she changed her mind so quickly. Perhaps it is why she had made her initial decision. The anger passes as quickly as it had come over him. “I’m angry all the time.” He doesn’t mean to cut her off, it just falls from his lips. He hasn’t really gotten a chance to get it out.

“I can tell.” She replies. “It’s in your eyes.” She seems to hum to herself. “But you have Mai,TyLee, and Iroh, right?”

He shakes his head. “They’re all disappointed, mad, both?”

“Everyone, except Zhao--I guess--is angry with me.”

“For being pregnant?”

“For being...unbearable. You don’t even want to be here, Zuzu. I can tell.” “I don’t want to be anywhere, actually. It has nothing to do with you. Really, it doesn’t.” He pauses. “I was about to jump.”

“Why did you change your mind?”

“I was interrupted.”

She nods and then her eyes widen, only briefly, with understanding. “Why didn’t you call me?”

He almost tells her that it is because she is her. Instead he responds, “I didn’t think about it, I guess. Drugs do that.”

She nods again. And then her eyes light up. “You can record things with me! I won’t be alone anymore and you’ll be able to get back on track!”

“I can’t focus on music right now.”

And her face falls again.

“But you can still talk to me. I can go with you to appointments.” He offers.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Can I come with you to rehab?”

He rubs his hands over his face. “I guess. If Uncle is still willing to take me there.”

“He’s uncle. Of course he’ll still take you.”

Chapter 23 Life In The Embers

She feels both better and worse all at once. In a sense it had been liberating to let her emotions flood over, to get them out, to let herself reach the very bottom. There is a sense of calm that follows in its wake. A sense of calm that has compelled her to call Seicho and ask her if she could meet her in the recording studio. Only after the girl had said that she would think about it did Azula send her, her schedule for that week.

At the very least, she can talk to Zuko now. Even if much of their conversation has been getting him through the first stages of withdrawal. Truthfully it was nothing like she had expected.There was no shaking, no vomiting nor sweating. If she didn’t know him she would say that he wasn’t going through withdrawals at all. But she does know him well enough to know that he isn’t himself.

It has been six days since he’d found her with her bleeding wrists and five days since she’d accompanied him to his first rehab visit. Five days since Iroh, for the first time, looked at her with care and trust. Five days since she realized that she might not be left on her own with this baby. Five days and she is due to check in on Zuzu, if only to intimidate him into keeping on track.

She removes her studio headphones, hangs them up on their designated rack, and exits the recording booth.

“Done for the day?” Zhao asks.

Azula nods, “I promised Zuzu that I would meet him at The Serpant’s Pass Cafe. I’m ahead of schedule anyhow.”

“Very ahead. You’re only a song away from a full setlist.” Zhao agrees. “How about you take the day off. If you’re up for it, I can try to get in touch with a director and we can discuss a music video. It doesn’t have to be fancy…”

“I think that simplicity will work well for this new sound.” Azula agrees. “We’ll talk, Zhao.”

For the first time in a while, she leaves the recording studio with a smile. A smile and a sense that things will come together as they used to. She slips her sunglasses over her eyes and makes her way across the street as hastily and discreetly a possible. People are paying her attention again and it comes in the form of photo op and autograph requests and an occasional paparazzi intrusion. For now she evades their lurking.

She finds Zuko sitting at the corner most table of the cafe’s patio, already well into an appetizer. She slips into her chair only to find that it is not an appetizer at all, but spicy wings. “You started eating without me?”

He shrugs, “want one?”

She shakes her head.

“But you love spicy food.”

“The baby doesn’t.” She frowns.

“Well I already ordered the rest of our food.” He gestures to the waiter heading for their table with a rather absurd amount of platters. Between her pregnancy and his withdrawal cravings, she and him are a horrid duo in this regard. She thinks to question it only until Zuko begins tearing into his meal.

She rolls her eyes, “don’t be sloppy.” At least she can handle her liberal appetite with poise and grace.

“Don’tell me whadda do.” He grumbles through a mouthful.

She cringes. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

He repeats himself. When he finally swallows the rest of his food he asks, “how have you been holding up.”

Azula sighs deeply, “I can’t breathe properly and I’ve had this annoying itch.”

“An itch.”

“On my belly.”

“Is that...normal?”

“Hama, my physician, says that it is. Something about skin expanding and dryness.” Nevermind the technicalities, the results are very mildly agitating. “And you, Zuzu?”

He frowns, “it’s hard Azula. You can’t even imagine.”

“You look better.”

“But I feel...restless and anxious. And depressed--I’m not sure if this is the drugs though.” He pauses. “I’m tired all the time and the nightmares don’t help.”

“What sort of nightmares?”

“They’re intense. Everyone is reminding me that I’m not going to amount to anything. Dad is always there. He...does things to me in these dreams. Worse than the real stuff.”

Azula nods.

“And Mai is there. So is TyLee, but she’s...weird. She contorts in ways that are crazy even for TyLee. I also had a dream that Aang, you remember him, right?”

“The neighbor kid with the big dog who liked to eat glue? I remember him, yeah. Why?”

“In one of my dreams he had these wild powers and there was this comet and Aang had to stop our father from using it to set the whole world on fire.”

Azula blinks, “Zuzu, there are corners of your mind that disturb me.”

He laughs. Admittedly it is nice to hear him laugh and nicer still to know that she has helped him laugh--a far cry from the distress she used to cause him.

“I suppose that I wouldn’t sleep easily either if I was dreaming about the glue kid getting superpowers.”

He laughs again. “Thanks for coming here, Azula. It’s nice to have someone to keep me company while I go through this.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Zuzu.” She roll her eyes. She knows that if he does and starts hitting the right cords that she’ll probably start weeping, a humiliating mess of chaotic hormones. “I suppose that I share the sentiment.” She taps her fingers nails against the tabletop, they have grown increasingly long as of late. “You should try to get in good graces with Mai and TyLee again.”

“So should you?” He quirks a brow.

“They’re your bandmates and you still have a chance if you get it together. You already have enough material for Audio of Agni, you just need some publicity. Good publicity.” She pauses. “Of course, you’ll need a band first.”

“Azula, I’m still going through withdrawals.”

“All the more reason to do it. You could use a distraction.”

“You’re a distraction.”

“A bigger distraction. I can’t be here all the time, I have doctor appointments and a career to keep on top of. I’ve only just started getting back on front pages…” for good reasons, she nearly adds, “I need to keep my momentum.”

“So you’re choosing your career over me.”

“I’m choosing my well-being, my baby’s well-being. I don’t really have many other options, a successful solo project is my best chance to provide for this baby.”

“Have you considered adoption?”

It comes like a slap to the face, though she doesn’t think that he means it as such. She bites back her initial scathing retort. “I’m not going through all of this discomfort, disowning, and humiliation just to give the baby away. It’s mine. I want her.”

Zuko lifts his hands, “alright, sorry.” He puts them back down. “I was just really hoping that you’d be here more. I know, I’m surprised too; you’re insensitive and kind of the worst.”

“You’re a funny man, Zuko.” She responds dryly. “I’m not going to abandon you, not when you’re this pathetic. I just think that you should have more support than just me.”

“Do you have any other support?”

“Seicho, hopefully.” She pauses and pushes her final plate aside. “I’d also like to speak with Mai and TyLee again.” She stands up and pushes her chair in.

“I’ll try to talk to them.”

“Make sure to mention that you’re in rehab and that you know you’re an asshole. The asshole bit is especially necessary with Mai.”

“I’ll call you and let you know how it goes?”

“It better go well.” She wishes herself the same luck.

.oOo.

Azula looks much better now, happier, healthier, stronger. There is a radiance about her, something subtle but still present. And it is no wonder; she is back in the press again and much of the headlines predict a groundbreaking and unexpected comeback. The boast of a fallen vocalist whose flame is rising again despite it all. Seicho wonders if the girl is even aware.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Seicho, it is nice to see you again.”

Seicho nods. “Sure, Azula.”

Her gait is rather awkward as she walks alongside her. It prompts Seicho to inquire, “are things going well with the baby?”

“Mostly, yes. Hama has a few concerns.”

“You look a lot better.” Seicho remarks.

“Ugg, if only I felt that way.”

It comes to Seicho then, that the girl is breathing quite heavily, “do you need me to slow down.”

Azula nods, “a little bit yes.”

Seicho chuckles and slings her arm over Azula’s shoulders. She wishes that the girl weren’t so endearing, maybe then she could have drawn her resentment out longer. As things are, Azula is quite precious with her semi-clumsy gait and that genteler twinkle in her eyes. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I would like you to consider not being angry with me anymore.”

Seicho bursts out laughing. “Azula, that is the worst peacemaking opener I have ever heard.”

“How am I supposed to do it?”

“‘I’m sorry that I went off on you for no reason’, would be a good way.”

Azula’s cheeks flush. Seicho thinks that hers might be growing pink as well. She’s adorable, unquestionably so. “I...don’t usually...apologize to people.”

“I can tell.”

Her entire face is red now.

“You’re doing pretty alright.

“Does that mean you are considering my proposal? To not be mad at me?”

Seicho rolls her eyes. “Yes, that’s what it means.” That hopeful little smile seals the deal. “You wanna tell me about your new song ideas? This new concept is...different.”

“Do you like it?”

“I think that it suits you well.” Seicho replies. “You have a pretty voice. I didn’t realize that you had that kind of range. The breathing techniques are really bizarre but they sound neat.”

“Oh, those aren’t techniques. That is me suffering while I try to sing with this baby crushing my lungs.” Her eyes go wide for a flicker. “You’ve been listening to my new music?”

“N-no, well, it’s been on the radio so I couldn’t avoid it!”

She shakes her head, “you listened enough to be able to give me a review.”

“Fine, I’ve been listening to your new material. But I was still mad the whole time, okay? I was listening with resentment.”

Chapter 24

With a new digital album release and a highly anticipated music video in the works, Azula is growing confident again though Audio Of Agni still seems to be far out of her reach. If she makes the right moves and if her pregnancy doesn’t spring up any surprises, she might just be able to make it without the competition. It isn’t ideal and it is terribly frustrating, but at least she doesn’t feel so helpless anymore.

Mostly she feels drained and achy. Her sides stitch from time to time and her entire lower body is growing sore from carrying so much extra weight around. She exhales, she isn’t sure how much more of this she can take. Hama had warned her about the small contractions but they still take her by surprise every time.

They happen now, and when she could really use a break from them. She is just thankful that she is through with recording. From the looks of it, she will have to find a way to shoot the music video mostly sitting or laying. She has passed several ideas onto Zhao, her favorite being a trip to the local theater where she can perch herself on a stool and sing to an empty venue. They can make use of dramatic lighting and add glitter or glow effects electronically. It is simple and will rely on old time Noh theater aesthetics and a stunning costume. She anticipates that the mask will be the most expensive piece. The simpler, one location video will leave plenty of room in the budget for that.

She casts a look at the door. “They’ll be here soon.” Seicho assures her.

“But what if they decide not to come? Mai, TyLee, and I haven’t parted on good terms.” She rubs her hand over her belly.

“You’ve been helping Zuko out so much, you practically saved their band, how mad can they be?”

She isn’t sure that she wants to find out. Not that she has the chance to retract her invitation she hears a knock and climbs to her feet. Her bump lightly knocks against the table as she does so and she curses to herself. “I can get it, you know?”

Azula waves her hand dismissively. “I’m pregnant, not useless.”

.oOo.

Zuko hadn’t realized just how much a few weeks could change a person. Her cheeks are rosier and the bump is bigger still. In spite of it all, her look of prowess and determination has returned. She wears her pride as though it had never slipped from her grasp at all. Frankly, he hadn’t realized that it was truly missing until having seen it returned.

“Oh wow, you’re so big!” TyLee comments,clasps her hands, and holds them to her lips.

Azula’s face, already flushed lightly, grows redder still.

“How far along are you?” TyLee asks.

“Month six.” Azula huffs as she gestures them inside.

“Congratulations?” Mai quirks a brow.

She clears her throat, “thank you.”

He watches her make her way to her seat. She backtracks to fetch her water bottle and semi-clumsily saunters her way back to her seat.

“Still adjusting?” Mai asks.

“Constantly adjusting.” Azula grumbles before taking a drink. She rests her free hand on the bump. “You’re mostly done going through withdrawals, yes, Zuzu?”

He nods. “Sometimes I still really want to use again. Badly. It’s unbearable...it would be if I didn’t…”

“Take my advise and get back into the music industry? Yes, I am aware. You are welcome.” He has to laugh at her audacity, at least these days it is somewhat endearing. “You look a lot better Zuzu. Your eyes don’t have bags that reach to the floor anymore.”

“I don’t know if you’re trying to compliment me or insult me.”

“It’s a compliment, I’m saying that you don’t look like a walking corpse anymore.”

Somehow, he does feel a sense of pride in that. It is progress. Progress that he has made. Progress that he is still making. And she isn’t the only one who has noted these changes. Azula has certainly changed radically in the past few weeks, but he can’t deny that the changes in him have been just as dramatic even if they are less outwardly perceived. He does feel better about himself; he feels more inspired than ever, more creative and, for a change, it isn’t synthetic. It is all him, his mind, his...brilliance. He thinks that he can consider himself smart, at the very least he can consider himself not dumb.

She pulls out a pen and a sheet of paper. “So let’s start talking about music. I read over some of your new lyrics, they are rather solid they can just use some fine tuning and better penmanship, I don’t know what this is supposed to say.” She gestures to the worst of his chicken scratch.

He finds himself beaming regardless. She had given him a real compliment. He has written something worth singing. He could cry...

“Azula, can we just...be friends again first?” TyLee asks.

Her brows furrow, “you want to be friends again.”

TyLee smiles and nods. “To be honest, I don’t really even remember why we were fighting.”

“Because she kept picking on my boyfriend and working us to exhaustion.” Mai shrugs.

Azula’s expression darkens again.

“To be fair, she’s been working herself to exhaustion.” Zuko steps in.

She shrugs again, “I suppose that I don’t know many other people who work this hard six months in.”

“I have a lot that needs to be accomplished.”

“And you only have until battle of the bands to do it?”

“Solo artists can’t join.” She frowns, only to perk up again when adding, “but I’ve already written a setlist and a few ideas just in case.”

Zuko laughs, “of course you did.”

“Who is this?” TyLee points to Seicho.

She looks up from her phone, “I’m Azula’s girlfriend.”

“You are?” TyLee and Azula ask at once.

Seicho looks at Azula, “I thought that you knew that.”

“Azula is clueless.” Mai rolls her eyes. “You can take her on as many dates as you’d like, you can kiss her several times--”

“I have! Mostly in the recording booth between songs.” She declares.

“--And she still won’t put two and two together until you tell her that you’re dating.”

Seicho drapes her arm over Azula’s shoulder and pulls her closer. Her other hand reaches for Azula’s. “I go with her to her appointments too. I figured that she can pretend like I’m the baby’s father since Chan is an ass.”

“It’s Chan’s?” TyLee gasps. “He said that--”

“He lied. It is easier to make me out to be...dangerously promiscuous.”

“Oh Azula, I’m sorry.”

Azula offers only a dismissive wave. “Enough baby and drama talk. We need to start discussing music before the studio closes for the night. They lock up on Mondays for cleaning.”

.oOo.

All in all the night has been a success on a musical level and on a social level. The departure of Mai and TyLee is such a stark contrast to their last one. They part with an offer to team up with and do vocals for From Ashes To Phoenix should they make it to Audio Of Agni as well as an offer to invite her to game night at Iroh’s.

“I don’t know, card games, potato chips, and a super campy horror movie sound great!” Seicho declares. “Do you think that they’ll be down for basement tattoos?”

“Probably.” Azula answers nonchalantly. “Exactly how do you plan to get this past your parents? The last time I checked, they said that they didn’t want you hanging around some tramp.”

“They’re never home.” She shrugs. “And when they are, they don’t really pay much attention to me. They didn’t even know that I was a tattoo artist until I came home with a sleeve.”

“I see.” She replies. “Am I dropping you off at home or are you coming with me to Zhao’s place?”

“Zhao’s place! He makes a bitchin’ yakitori!”

Chapter 25 A Phone Call

If Iroh has an issue with the blearing music, he keeps it to himself. Azula reaches for another chip. “Hmmm...truth or dare, Azula?” She puts down the chip.

“Dare.”

“You’ve been picking dare all night!” She frowns, putting her hands on her hips.

“What can I say, I’m a daring person.”

“You just don’t want to tell the truth.” Seicho nudges her.

“I dare you to pick truth next time someone asks you to.”

“That’s cheating.”

“Mm mm, it’s not.” TyLee shakes her head, “we didn’t establish that rule when we were establishing the other rules.

“Truth or dare, Mai?”

“Dare.”

TyLee puffs out her cheeks. “You guys never pick truth!”

“I dare you to be the first one to get a tattoo tonight.”

“I’ll get one right now.” Mai shrugs. “I’ve had one on my mind for a while now.”

“Kickass! What can I get for you?” Seicho asks. “You can sketch it out while I get set up.” She leans in to kiss Azula on the forehead before getting up.

“Truth or dare, Zuko?”

He glances at TyLee before choosing dare.

“I dare you to…”

Azula leans over and whispers in her ear.

“I dare you to prank call Zhao.”

He punches Zhao’s number into the landline pinpad. “Hello, is this Zhao?”

Azula, Mai, and TyLee lean over his shoulder.

“Yes, this is Sokka. I am interested in getting a record deal.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, I’m nervous, I’ve never asked for a record deal before. But I have this great concept its...uh…” He looks at Azula. “It’s uh...okay, picture this, seven minutes of dog barks with occasional bursts of that noise you hear when you’ve lost TV signal.” He listens. “No, no! This is a totally serious pitch! I’ve even named the track it’s called, ‘Bark At The Static’ and I think that I’d be great touring with that guy who dresses up as a cabbage and Yodels.”

TyLee snickers.

The line goes dead and Azula sits down to finally have her chip. She dips it into the salsa.

“Okay, truth or truth, Azula?”

She rolls her eyes. “Truth number two.”

“Hmmm, do you miss being in Blue Talon.”

“A little, I suppose. I don’t think that I’d like to go back to them though. They lack integrity.” She scoffs. “They’re using my story to sell the band.”

“Your story?” Mai asks.

“I wrote about father before I was kicked out of the band.”

“I write about him too.”

“Yes, Zuzu, I’ve been helping you write those songs.”

“Right.”

“Everything’s all set up. You didn’t sketch, did you?”

Mai fishes through her bag, “I did a while ago.” Azula looks it over. It’s a darkly alluring sketch of a hand holding a punctured heart, weeping roses and thorns. “I want it on my left shoulder blade and a simple throwing star on the right one.”

While Mai gets herself comfortable in Seicho’s makeshift chair, Azula reclains and reads through the newsfeed. Blue Talon is still soaring high as ever, but From Ashes To Phoenix is already garnering heavy attention with their new single announcement. The whole thing was rather sappy story about Zuko’s recent rehab struggles and an apology for acting out on stage. And for herself, Dragon Tongue is finally being praised for her stunning vocals and her soft, divine sound.

Azula is still rather conflicted about how quickly they were to turn from accusing her of pregnancy being obscene and raunchy to them gushing about how a baby on the way is the finishing touch on her new, soothing sound. She supposes that she should be thankful that they are speaking well of her again, regardless of hypocrisy. She wonders if her father is reading these headlines; wonders if her is proud or if he is seething--fuming because she is still rising despite his efforts to snuff her flame.

“What sort of tattoos were the rest of you thinking of getting?”

“I just want a cute little cherry blossom on my pinky!” TyLee answers.

“A broken chain.” Zuko replies. “On my bicep.”

Azula thinks for a moment. “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out. I have to wait until after the baby is born.”

“Oh, right!” Seicho replies. “Maybe I can help you design one.”

Her phone vibrates in her hand, the number on the screen is unfamiliar. “Hello?”

“Azula?”

“Yes.”

“This is Raava.”

“Raava!?”

She hears the tattoo gun flick off and four heads turn in her direction.

“You have a gift and it will be heard at Audio Of Agni. I’d like to talk with you about a loophole that I found.”

“What sort of loophole?”

“You have done work with From Ashes To Phoenix, yes?”

“I will be recording with them soon.”

“I am going to extend a formal invitation to From Ashes To Phoenix. Given their cooperation, you will perform two of three songs with them and one solo.”

She hadn’t expected to cry that night, but she does. She feels like a fool crying in front of all of them, but she is so relieved. Relieved and hopeful. She hasn’t lost her dream.

It will be an absolute treat to see the shock and horror radiate off of Blue Talon when she makes her appearance. And a larger treat to show her father that her worth is beyond what he can give her.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Azula/Cupholder girl #Zuko #Mai #Maiko #TyLee #Fanfiction #Very Long Text

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emy-loves-you · 4 years

Text

Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 20: Single Parent

Logan needs a nanny to watch his 3 sons. Patton wants to take care of kids. Sparks fly and chaos ensues. Patton POV, logicality with creativitwins, familial Intruprinxiety and dad!Logan Ages: Logan(37), Patton(35), Remus and Roman(7), Virgil(10)

Day 19 | Masterlist | Day 21

Patton smiled at the cheery tune the chimes played as he stepped into the cafe. He checked his phone again to reread the email he had been given just a few minutes ago. He said he was sitting at one of the tables wearing a black polo, blue tie, and glasses. Patton fought back a giggle as he scanned the tables. This reminds me more of a blind date than a job interview- there he is! Patton quickly made his way over to the small table in the back of the cafe. His potential employer was hunched over his phone, reading an article of some sort. Patton stopped when he was a foot away from the table and spoke up. “Mr. Sanders?” The man’s head shot up, and Patton fought down a blush. He had assumed that Mr. Sanders would be an older man, in his late 40s or early 50s. He didn’t look a day over 30. No time for gay panicking! Patton fiddled with the sleeves of his cardigan. “I’m Patton Hart. The one applying for the nanny position?”

Mr. Sanders nodded. “Of course. Take a seat.” He gestured to the seat across from him and Patton sat down eagerly, trying not to let his nervousness show. As far as Patton was aware, he basically already had the job, and this was just a customary interview to make sure that Patton didn’t lie about anything in his application. Still, Patton couldn’t help but fear nervous. Patton tried to ignore his anxiety and focus on what Mr. Sanders was saying. “So, Mr. Hart-”

“Please, Mr. Hart’s my father. Call me Patton, please.” If Mr. Sanders noticed the was that Patton nervously tugged on his cardigan sleeves, he didn’t say anything.

“Patton, then.” Patton smiled appreciatively. “Would you like to order a beverage before we begin?” Mr. Sanders used his coffee cup to gesture towards the front of the cafe.

Patton blushed. “No thank you. I tend to talk more with my hands when I’m excited or nervous. I’ve learned from past experience to not have hot drinks around when that happens” Patton used his head to gesture towards his hands as he spoke, which were gesturing as he spoke.

Mr. Sanders gave him a look before continuing. “Alright. I will go over your application and ask a series of questions. If you feel as if a question is too invasive, please let me know.” Patton nodded, and with that, the interview began. “Patton Sanders, 35 years old. Raised in North Carolina. According to your previous employers, you’ve done extremely well with children in the past. You’ve dealt with kids at almost every age. You’ve been shown to successfully perform both the Heimlich Maneuver and CPR. You have also been employed as a tutor and have multiple years of volunteer work at shelters and public schools. It says here that you recently moved here a few weeks ago. Are you intending on pursuing any other job while employed as a caretaker?”

Patton shook his head. “The original offer you gave should be enough for me to afford my apartment.”

Mr. Sanders blinked, and Patton suddenly felt like he’d done something wrong. “I’m afraid there was a communication error somewhere. Allow me to clarify: you would be staying in my house while working for me.”

Now it was Patton’s turn to blink. “What?”

Mr. Sanders frowned, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. “I am very dedicated to my job, Patton. Sadly, my job requires me to have extremely flexible hours. It would be incredibly redundant to have you stay from 8 AM to 5 PM, then have to hire a sitter from 5 PM to 11 PM. There would also be several benefits on your end. Unless you started using an excessive amount of food or utilities, you would not have to pay for food or housing. You would be staying in the guest bedroom, and you would have every Sunday off, which is my day off as well.”

Patton rubbed the back of the neck sheepishly. “I think I remember reading that in the advertisement, but I assumed it was less of a requirement and more of an option.”

Mr. Sanders steepled his fingers as he stared at Patton. “I apologize, but it would be necessary for you to stay in the guest bedroom in order to ensure that my children have constant adult supervision. If you do not wish to be employed, I completely understand-”

“No!” Both men were surprised by Patton’s shouting. Patton blushed as he continued. “I still want the job, I just didn’t want to waste your living space if it was optional. If it’s mandatory then I’ll take the room. I’ll just have to wait for my lease to end in a few weeks.”

Mr. Sanders nodded. “Alright. Next question: why do you wear your cardigan around your neck?”

Patton smiled. “I don’t get cold very easily, but I always have my cardigan on me just in case. Besides, it makes me look more friendly and fun. Kids like to call it my superhero cape!” He struck a dramatic pose, and he felt a surge of triumph when Mr. Sanders' mouth quirked up slightly.

They went through several more questions before Mr. Sanders smiled, holding out his hand. “I believe you would get along well with my children. I understand that you would like to wait until your lease ends to move in, but I would appreciate it if you start a daily shift on Sunday. I will be there to make sure that you interact well with them. Does that sound satisfactory?”

Patton nodded, shaking Mr. Sanders' hand. “Sound’s like a plan, Mr. Sanders!”

“Please, call me Logan.” Patton smiled as he heard the name. Logan. It’s fitting.

“Well, Logan, what are your kids like? I was given general ages and names, but nothing else. What are their favorite colors and activities? Any allergies or disliked food? Any mental illnesses, disorders, or sensitive topics that I should know about?”

Logan took out his phone and showed Patton the lock screen. It was a photo of Logan with three children. Two identical twins posed in red and green respectively, while the third child looked slightly older with a baggy purple hoodie. “The twins are Roman and Remus, 7 years old. Roman always dresses in red, while Remus dresses in green. They both have extremely vivid imaginations, and they get upset when you don’t participate. Roman has some confidence issues, while Remus suffers from intrusive thoughts from time-to-time. Virgil is 10. He’s almost always wearing that hoodie. He says that his favorite color is black, but it’s actually dark purple. He has been known to suffer through anxiety attacks, and he tends to have trust issues towards strangers. Virgil prefers to be left to his own devices, and music tends to help when he’s stressed. The twins tend to find amusement in pulling pranks on Virgil, though he does not appreciate the sentiment. They all enjoy watching Disney movies and all have artistic talent. There are no food allergies to speak of. All of them were closed adoptions, so I would appreciate it if you don’t bring up their birth parents. That is all you should need to know before you meet them.”

Patton smiled as he listened to Logan describing his kids. It was clear from the tone of his voice that he deeply cared about his kids. “I’m sure they’re lovely. I can’t wait to meet them!”

Logan nodded, moving to stand up. “I assure you they’re just as excited to meet you. I’ll email you my address.”

“Oh, wait!” Patton reached into his pocket and pulled out an ink pen. He then grabbed a clean napkin from the table and scribbled his number onto it. He handed the napkin to Logan. “Here’s my phone number. It would be best if we have each other’s numbers in case of an emergency.”

Logan took the napkin, and Patton suppressed the shiver he felt from where their fingers met. “I’ll be sure to contact you with my address as soon as I get home.”

Patton blushed, moving to leave. “Alrighty then. See you on Sunday!”

Logan nodded. “Farewell.”

Patton smiled before hurrying out of the cafe. He quickly drove to his apartment, not stopping until he was inside of his (soon to not be) home. He gently caressed his own fingers, blushing as he remembered the electricity he’d felt from their fingers touching.

Patton shook his head, but the grin and blush he had never faded. “Logan Sanders.” He whispered to himself. Patton then tilted his head curiously. Logan Sanders…where have I heard of that name before?

Patton went over to his bed and pulled out his laptop. Search: Logan Sanders. Patton flipped through several websites until he saw Logan’s face. He quickly clicked on the article and gasped.

Logan Sanders, 37 years old, was just appointed as the CEO of Logic Tech two months ago. That’s where I recognize his name! I can’t believe he works for Logic Tech. Isn’t that the same company that he used to work for?

Bzzz.

Patton slammed his laptop shut, suddenly feeling like he’d done something wrong. Was this technically invading Logan’s privacy? It was an article that Patton could easily access at any time (he was pretty sure he’d read it before), but did that mean it was okay? Was Patton in the wrong for searching for Logan’s name?

Patton’s phone buzzed again and he nearly threw his laptop. He tried to calm his racing heartbeat as he checked his phone.

?- (4:13 PM) Salutations. This is Logan Sanders.

?- (4:14 PM) Is this the correct number?

P- (4:14 PM) Patton Hart here! You have the right number

L- (4:14 PM) That is good

Patton was then sent an address.

P- (4:15 PM) You want me to start on Sunday, right? What time?

L- (4:15 PM) 3:00 sounds amenable. Since it is my day off, you won’t need to be there in the morning.

P- (4:16 PM) Alrighty then! I’ll see you on Sunday!

Patton smiled as he turned off his phone. He was going to meet the children on Sunday! And seeing Logan again would be a nice bonus.

#sanders sides #AU_gust_2020 #single parents #logicality #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders

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strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years

Text

‹ 𝔞 𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔤𝔬 ›

𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒. 𝖱𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖡𝖾𝗋𝗄. 𝖠𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖲𝗍𝗈𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖵𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖭𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖠𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖡𝖾𝗋𝗄, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖭𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖥𝗎𝗋𝗒.

𝗐𝖼. 𝗍𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝟦𝟢𝟤𝟫𝟪; 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟥𝟧𝟨𝟫

𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌. 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗉/𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖽, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉, 𝖻𝖺𝗆𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗉, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖽, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗉, 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽/𝗋𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍/𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗂𝖼𝗄’𝗌 𝖺+ 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗂𝖼𝗄’𝗌 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖼𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉

𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋’𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖫𝖾'𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖺'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗎𝗅𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝖭𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂'𝗆 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇, 𝗂'𝗆 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈. (𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗌 𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁)

𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖭𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, ��𝗇𝖽 𝖫𝖾'𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖺, 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌’𝗌 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼.

𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 | 𝖺𝗈𝟥 | 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 »

There are rumors of a ghost on Berk.

No one pays attention to the boy running through the night, surrounded by flames and beating wings and fierce roars. No one notices the contraption he pushes in front of him, up to the highest point he can find, right in front of where the stars wink out as a shape flies across them.

He swings the weapon towards the sky, pulls back all the triggers and levers, and waits. Green eyes track the stars, track the black velvet of the night, and the roles are switched suddenly - hunter becomes the hunted, by a boy of barely eight who’s smarter than anyone gives him credit for, almost too smart for his own good. His father certainly seems to think so.

Violet fire flashes, accompanied by a high-pitched shrieking whistle, and a watchtower explodes in a shower of wood and sparks to Hiccup’s left. For the briefest blink of a second, the flames illuminate a black shape blotting out the stars, melting against the night, and Hiccup shoots blindly at the half-visible shadow, the dragon that haunts nightmares and the night sky.

It all happens very quickly after that. He’s thrown back by the force of his victory, wood slamming into his shoulders and back hitting the hard dirt, and doesn’t have time to celebrate before he stands up and turns. A Nightmare flares in front of him, teeth bared in a growl and wings spread menacingly, the heat of the flames warming Hiccup’s skin almost dangerously.

Then there is a flash of red and a massive form, Stoick’s withering glare shot at him and clearly visible even in the dark night as he slams his axe into the side of the dragon’s face, and Hiccup takes that opportunity to slip into the shadows - the same as the Night Fury, he thinks briefly, and isn’t that odd - back to his house, thoughts racing with the images of the flash of purple fire and the dark shape falling down from the sky, like a meteor.

Raven’s Point. He fell just off Raven’s Point, Hiccup repeats in his head, like a mantra.

The door slamming is a louder noise than Hiccup remembers, and he tenses from his spot laying on his bed. The flash of black against the flames, the way the stars were extinguished for half a second like they were simple candles, flees from his mind as he sits up, his father stomping into the room.

“Dad-“

Stoick glares up at Hiccup from where he slides to perch on the side of his loft, legs hanging down, and his voice cuts off whatever pleas Hiccup tries to make. “What were you doing out there, Hiccup? You could’ve been seen!” he growls.

Hiccup rolls his eyes, not threatened in the least by his father. He’ll learn, he knows, when he comes back with the head of a Night Fury. They’ll all learn. “No concern for whether I could’ve gotten killed, I see,” he says instead, tone flat and injected with all the sarcasm his eight-year-old body holds - which is quite a lot.

Stoick barrels on, heedless as ever of his son’s remarks. “You were out there. If you got killed, it would be your own fault. I tried to protect you, but you won’t listen to me!”

“And why should I?” Hiccup asks sharply, turning his own fierce glare on his father. “In case you haven’t noticed, you don’t listen to me either, Dad!” he almost hisses, green eyes incensed. “I’m barely even a person, here. The disgraced son, who was supposed to be sent off to sea as a child, but instead, was kept by his father and made to live as a ghost in the village! Honestly, I don’t know what’s worse. Actually being dead, or being seen as dead.”

Stoick goes quiet at the same time Hiccup does, his eyes widening at the words that had come out. His tone drops instantly, voice turning pleading again, trying to make up for the sheer magnitude of this mistake he’s made. “Dad, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“

“I think it’s time, son,” Stoick says quietly.

Hiccup freezes. No. No. “What?”

Stoick turns and sets his weapons down, movements calm as he picks up wood from the stack by the door and sets it on the stack of burned wood in the fire. “You’re old enough,” he continues, voice still that horrifying, very un-Stoick-like quiet calm. “I can’t keep this up forever. Eventually, the village is going to find out that you’re alive, and all of my efforts will be for naught. It’s time.”

Hiccup’s breath comes shallow in his chest, his heart pounding wildly. Stoick can’t do this to him, he’s not an adult yet, he can’t-

“You have to go,” Stoick continues, something like grief in his voice - but that can’t be real, not with what he’s doing now, not with the bleak future that he’s forcing on Hiccup. “There will be a ship on the other side of the island in three days’ time. You have one hour to pack up everything you need, and then you must leave.” Finally, his gaze turns up to Hiccup, half-draped in shadow from his place on the edge of his loft, and sitting perfectly still, frozen in fear and shock. “You were exiled years ago, Hiccup, as a child. I’m only doing you a favor by following through. The village won’t be kind to you if they find out you’re here.”

Something goes cold inside Hiccup, then. Some light, some hope that his father would accept him someday. Even as the ghost of Berk, even as the disgraced, runt son who is supposed to have either been dead or raised on another island. He had always thought, maybe, if he tries hard enough, well...

Hiccup’s green eyes go flinty, the way he’d learned years ago when he first discovered power and who held it and who didn’t - and he didn’t hold it, he figured out very quickly - and he feels a different sort of fire rising in him. “Okay, Dad,” he says quietly, and his boots barely whisper against the wood of the loft as he silently packs up what little things he has. His notebooks, some charcoal, food and his waterskin, his dagger. The loudest noise is that of Hiccup’s chair scraping over the wood as he pulls it to the window and climbs up, sliding out of the opening and down to the ground. He doesn’t look back.

Instead, he looks up at the dark forest in front of him, feels the new fire inside him burning bright and harsh and determined. Hiccup starts running, fast and quiet, slipping into the shadows as he’s done all his life, as he’s been doing since he first knew what he was and that he had to hide, from everyone and everything.

Just like a ghost.

A boy of eight comes upon a trapped Night Fury, bound in rope. He takes his knife and cuts through the ropes, and follows the dragon to the cove it escapes to.

Astrid hasn't been near the cove for years, but her axe thuds just as satisfyingly into the trees around it and the bark makes just as good of a canvas for her to imagine Snotlout's face, broken by the steel of her blade as she hurls it at the wood. She fumes, yelling her frustration into the sky and channeling it into the power and precision behind her throws.

She’s going to be married to him. Sold off like livestock, because the Jorgensen family is inheriting the chiefdom and the Hofferson family needs money and power and respect. It undermines everything that Astrid has worked for, her own respect in the village as a warrior before a woman and more likely to throw an axe in your face than to do your laundry or cook for you. It undermines her as a person, not a docile wife to be ordered about by an arrogant man.

She stalks off through the forest, slashing the plants in her way and growling hate at the trees as she embeds her axe in them before yanking it back out again and repeating the process. It’s not as satisfying as it would be if she could actually sink the steel into Snotlout’s smug face, but it’ll have to do, and she has a vivid imagination. Especially when it comes to hurting Snotlout.

She looks up, seeing the crash trail that’s been there for years. The trees were nearly razed when the Vikings first found it ten years ago, like something massive had landed and skidded down the hill, leaving a deep trench in the dirt and smashing every plant and animal in its way, including several unfortunate trees. They’d searched up and down the trail, finding only the cove with its lake and waterfall at one end and a crater of disrupted dirt at the other end. No dragon, like they’d originally thought, and no other animal was massive enough to make that kind of track.

Since then, most of the foliage has grown back, some adolescent trees growing back in the other’s place after they were cleared out for wood, but there’s still a clear line between the old forest and the new one, curving down towards the cove. Astrid follows it, spinning her axe in her hands, thinking of increasingly non-lethal painful places to shove her axe and various other weapons into Snotlout.

There may be no avoiding the marriage, she thinks bitterly, and nearly throws her axe into another tree at that thought, but she’s not going to make it easy for Snotlout. If there’s one thing Astrid can’t, and won’t be, it’s a docile house-wife. She’s going to make him regret it, if it’s the last thing she ever does.

Astrid ducks automatically underneath the tunnel that leads into the cove, slipping easily down the familiar path to the ground. The rock she usually sits on is there as always, but her anger doesn’t let her sit. She paces, walks around the lake and splashes water on her face, and slowly her anger drains away to a simmer.

Oh, it’s not gone. Not at all. She’s just not wasting her energy on throwing her axe anymore, and is waiting to use her energy on making Snotlout regret all his life choices.

She walks towards the waterfall, silently seething, and lets herself calm down slightly by admiring the crystal-clear water as it tumbles down, like glass shards, or diamonds. Behind it, the shadows of the water play on the wet stone, reflecting the fall.

Except, the shadows are deeper and darker, and Astrid tilts her head, walking closer around the side of the waterfall and studying the stone behind it.

The shadow of the waterfall isn’t there. Instead, there’s a deep black void, with a few scattered rays of sunlight shining like bars on the stone across from the opening - a cave, she realizes suddenly. There’s a cave behind the waterfall.

Well, she never was one to leave things alone, and imagine if there’s a dragon in there. It would be a good way to expel her anger at Snotlout, she thinks, and raises her axe as she walks into the shadows.

It’s a small opening, barely enough for a Nadder to get through, so she rules out some of the bigger dragon species - Monstrous Nightmare, for one, and perhaps a Zippleback if they didn’t squeeze. She thinks a Zippleback would only pick this as a resting space if it was desperate, because it’s definitely not big enough for their entire body to fit easily into.

Axe over her shoulder, she creeps forward, and then pauses when she hears the sound of light breathing.

There’s no dragon, however. The cave is dark, and the sunlight doesn’t add much light to see by, so Astrid is going in practically blind. Not a huge comfort, when her enemies are hundreds of pounds heavier than her and can breathe fire.

Wait. The cave is dark.

She studies the shadows again, specifically the dark spot by the far wall, and sees it rise slightly before deflating again. Rise and deflate. Rise and deflate.

Her eyes make out the sinuous curve of a scaled spine, a tail curled around, a wing half-extended. On the other end, the dark, vague shape of a head, paws, and some slightly oval shape on those paws, a silhouette too dark to make out.

Astrid gasps as she realizes what she’s looking at, and backs away in shock.

It’s a Night Fury. She stumbled upon a Night Fury, sleeping.

The sound of breathing stutters for just a moment, and she finds green eyes locked on her suddenly, nearly glowing in the dark. The sun shifts just right at that moment, illuminating a face with freckles, cheek pressed against the Fury’s folded paws, the rest of the body covered by the protective (or possessive?) wing and tail curled around him, and finally a messy tangle of auburn hair at the head.

A human head. And a human face, and a (supposedly) human body. Curled up with a Night Fury, face peaceful, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She glances back at the dragon, whose green eyes are still tracking her, and realizes that the only reason she isn’t dead right now is that the Fury doesn’t want to disturb the sleeping boy. Maybe he’s its friend, she thinks, or maybe he’s prey.

She’s going with the latter.

She can feel her breath coming short, heart pounding, but her grip doesn’t slip on her axe. She hasn’t trained for her entire life to miss out on the one and only opportunity she might ever have to kill a Night Fury.

She does stand frozen, though, for much longer than she’d ever admit, her blue eyes locked on the Fury’s green ones.

It takes her several moments to hear the low rumble vibrating through the cavern, coming from the dragon, apparently, in very obvious threat. She takes a breath, briefly running through just how much of a bad idea this is, an image of the Book of Dragons page on Night Furies flashing through her mind.

Hide, and pray it does not find you.

She raises her axe, fingers tightening, and gives a cry before charging forward.

Astrid gets three steps and through processing the lightning-quick movement and high shriek of the Fury before she feels her skin heat as a bright flash of purple fire singes her arm and hair. She yells in surprise and at the shadow of pain, turning briefly to see the scorch mark on the stone behind her, feeling the last traces of the scalding heat that had skimmed her skin.

And then she realizes she can see the scorch mark.

She turns back around and sees the Night Fury crouched around the boy, who’s now half-standing and half-crouching, one hand on the Fury’s scales, which vibrate with a low, steady growl, and the other hand holds a-

Flaming sword?

Astrid glances between the three, first at the flaming sword - she really has to get one of those, she thinks first, once she figures out how he did it - and then the Fury, whose tail is still curled around the boy, wings folded against its side and its body curving around him as he stands, and then she looks at the boy.

He has the same green eyes as the Fury, and they’re fixed on her just like the dragon, the firelight from the sword playing across his tangle of auburn hair and freckled face. The bright green shades with something almost like recognition, obvious intelligence flashing through his eyes as he glances at her axe, then back at her face, still in that tense half-crouched position. Astrid has the absurd thought that it’s part dragon and part human, the way he’s standing with his knees bent slightly, in the curve of the dragon’s body like it’s as natural as sleeping with his head resting against the creature’s paws.

Still, Astrid can’t think of this man as human. Nothing about this is human. “What are you?” she asks instead, adrenaline still making her body shake with the thought that she’d almost died. Not that she hadn’t expected to, charging at a Night Fury, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

The boy doesn’t respond, but he does step forward, the sword held in his hand with far too much familiarity for Astrid’s liking. Facing a Night Fury is hard enough, but a boy with a flaming sword? Her odds are significantly lowered, even from the sliver-thin they had been before.

He gives a low growl of his own, slicing the sword in front of him, and Astrid instinctively takes a step back at the warm threat against her skin. She glances between the Fury, who’s still vibrating with that low, steady growl, and the boy, whose green eyes are flinty and who takes another step forward.

She nods, the weight of just how far she’s in over her head dropping on her suddenly, and then turns and runs, heart pounding wildly and adrenaline shooting through her. She hears a strange hiss from behind her, and then the Night Fury breathes down her neck.

Its claws graze her back as she rolls away, a growl coming from behind her as she screams and keeps running, sprinting out of the cave and climbing up the cove wall faster than she’s ever done before. Black streaks past her peripheral view, and Astrid gasps in sheer terror as she sprints out the tunnel and through the forest, up the crash trail and towards Berk as fast as humanly possible.

She doesn’t hear the dragon, exactly, but she feels its paw land against her back and she turns, wildly swinging her axe with all her strength and feeling the flat of it connect against something hard. She doesn’t pay attention to the hurt yelp behind her, or the frustrated growl, because she’s already turned around again and started running.

Her breath comes in short pants, every nerve alive with the threat and the chase, feeling the soft thuds of the dragon’s paws as it hunts her. She doesn’t have time to wonder why it won’t just take off and catch her that way, because she sees the houses of Berk in the distance and puts on a desperate burst of speed.

Within seconds, she hears the Night Fury’s growls grow more distant, and turns around just for a glance of the dragon pacing at the treeline, wings half-spread and the boy coming up behind it, placing one hand on the dragon’s nose and watching her sprint into the village.

She keeps going all the way through town, up to Stoick’s house, before slowing, out of breath, and knocking on the door. She’s still panting, but what she just saw can’t wait. The dragon and the boy can’t escape before Berk finds them, especially not when she almost died running from them.

The door opens and Astrid looks up, and up, and up, until she finally meets the confused, slightly irritated eyes of Stoick the Vast, who looks down at her, a frown set into his face. “Astrid?”

She gasps, doubling over for a moment with her hands on her knees, and finally looks up again and pants out, “Night Fury. There’s a Night Fury.”

Stoick’s frown gets deeper, and heavier, and a harsh light enters his eyes. “Where is this coming from?”

She shakes her head, waving one hand. “I almost died!” she bursts out, looking up at Stoick with all the honesty she can muster. Bluffing about something like this is not tolerated in Berk, and if they don’t believe her…

“I was- in the cove, and I went-“ she pants, but keeps going, “-went behind the waterfall, and found a cave, and there was- there was a Night Fury, I swear to Thor, Chief, it shot at me and started chasing me-“

“Shh, Astrid. Calm down,” Stoick rumbles, and she trails off into breathless silence, watching him as he looks up and out at the village. He glances to his right, and Astrid notices Gobber standing there - when did he get here? - before Stoick speaks, voice hard. “Gather a team to go after the Night Fury.” He looks back at Astrid, whose eyes are wide and who still hasn’t completely caught her breath. “It won’t survive until nightfall if I have anything to say about it.”

Gobber nods. “Righty then,” he says, and turns away, lumbering down the hill and towards the village, starting to call out orders to the few villagers who’d gathered to watch Astrid’s wild sprint.

Astrid gives a half-smile, feeling a familiar fire spark in her at the thought of getting vengeance on the creature who nearly killed her. She doesn’t tell him about the boy, but she doesn’t need to. She wants him to herself, and besides, maybe he can still be saved, if only she can separate him and his dragon.

“Thank you, Chief,” she says, and her smile grows a bit wider at the same fire reflected in Stoick’s eyes as he looks down at her.

“That Night Fury won’t be allowed on my island roaming free,” he replies, a dark note in his voice.

𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 »

#how to train your dragon #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #httyd #httyd fic #hiccstrid #stoick the vast #toothless

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