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viking-raider · 3 years

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Hoist the Colours - Part I

Summary: Your father is given a governorship of a Caribbean island and you accompany him on the voyage, a new start, for the both of you. But, it doesn’t go as either of you planned, or well.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 8,841

Warning: Pirate!Henry, Fluff, Angst, Mention of death, Violence, Language, Kidnapping, Ransom

Inspiration: It’s Henry and Pirates! I got the idea after watching Pirates of the Caribbean one day!

Author’s Note: I wanted to post something new to treat the fandom. As always, thank you to the lovely @wondersofdreaming for helping me along with my stories.

The room creaked and groaned, swaying back and forth at a quick and nauseating pace, the booms and cracks coming from outside the door were muffled by the thick wood. He pushed you into the corner, panting, sweating and bleeding heavily.

“Henry.” You whimpered, trembling with fright and adrenaline.

“Sshh, it's all right.” He wheezed, breathing labored and sat down on the bed that was in the corner. “Here, look at me, my love.” He said, forcing a smile as he cupped your cheek in his shaking hand, leaving a bloody print with it. “We'll be all right, my sweet. The men are strong and capable, they'll rid the ship of these mongrels.”

“It doesn't seem like it.” You fretted, biting your lip and glancing at the barred door as something very heavy struck it.

Henry chuckled and kissed the corner of your mouth, you could taste the blood from the split on his bottom lip. “We've encountered worse on these seas, I assure you.” He groaned softly. “But, I must tell you, of all the treasures and gold I have plundered in my lifetime as a Pirate, you are the greatest of them all.”

3rd August 1686

It was a sunny morning in London, the sea air sweeping over the city, keeping it cool as Londoners and it's other residents went about their daily business. You stood on the balcony of your parents' home, taking deep breaths of the sea air and could hear your maid bustling about your room, packing your things for the voyage you and your father would be taking the next day. Your father, Thomas, had been appointed Governor of the newly colonized Lockemirth Island in the Caribbean, and you were to accompany him, with no other prospects for staying in London, and after the death of your mother the year before, he felt the both of you needed a fresh start in the world, and the governorship was that opportunity.

“Miss?” Your maid called, appearing in the balcony doorway.

You turned towards her, lifting a brow. “Yes, Jane?”

“Everything you've asked me to pack has been so.” She informed you, bundling the sides of her skirts and bowing softly to you.

“Thank you, Jane.” You smiled softly at her, saddened that you would be leaving the place that had been home all your life, away from your friends and all the seasonal events that kept London busy.

You doubted there would be such high society events like London's, on a teeny island in the Caribbean, expecting and loathing the boredom and loneliness that would no doubt fill your days there. Sighing and softly closing your eyes for a moment, you stepped back into the house as sweaty movers appeared in your room to collect the crates of the things you would be taking with you on the voyage, and taking them downstairs to the foyer, to later be moved to the storage haul of the HMS Kilmartin.

“Ma'am.” One of the movers tipped the brim of his sweat stained and worn flat hat, as he and the other mover muscled the heavy wooden crate out the double doors of your room.

“Sir.” You nodded your head politely to him, then they were gone, grunting and groaning down the spiral staircase. “I shall miss this place, Jane.” You sighed, sitting down on the edge of your bed and stared out the window. “I heard the island region is prone to hurricanes, that kick up tremendous winds and rain, capable of flattening everything in its wake.”

“Gracious.” Jane gasped, sweeping the dry packing straw that had fallen to the floor, while things were being packed into the crates. “Sounds frightening.”

“It does.” You agreed with her, a knot of fear in your stomach at the thought of being caught in such a storm.

What would you and your father do, if such a storm hit the island whilst you were there? Even worse, what if one happened, while you were still sailing to the island? It would undoubtedly cause the ship to sink, taking you, your father and everyone aboard down with it!

“And the pirates, Miss.” Jane added, after a moment of silence.

“No pirate is stupid enough to attack a ship of His Royal Highness, King James II.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at her. “It would be a grave mistake on their part, the King doesn't suffer pirates, nor does my father for that matter. It's part of the reason he was appointed Governor of the island, to prevent pirates from getting their greedy and filthy hands on it.”

“Like they did with Nassau.”

“Of course.” Jane nodded, shyly.

You sighed again, but deep down you were concerned about the pirates, your father had mentioned only the night before that one of the royal ships had been attacked and boarded by pirates on their way to Port Royal. They had taken most of the cargo and killed several of the crew members, before finally returning to their own ship and vanishing on the horizon. You tried to soothe your own fears by repeating the same you told Jane inside your mind, that no pirate would attack a royal ship. But, it barely eased that fear and anxiety.

If anything, it made it worse.

The next day, Jane woke you earlier than usual and helped you dress, before you went downstairs for one more breakfast in the house. Your father was already sitting at the table, a steaming cup in front of him and the daily newspaper in his hand. He set it down as you entered the room, standing to greet you with a smile and gently kiss your cheek, before you took your seat at the table and Jane laid out your breakfast before you.

“Thank you.” You smiled at her, picking up a fork.

“Are you ready for our voyage, my dear?” Your father asked, sipping his tea and regarding you over its rim.

“As I can be, father.” You replied, picking up your own cup of tea. “How long will it take?”

“With good weather and wind, hopefully no longer than seven weeks.” He informed you, setting his cup down on its little saucer. “With terrible weather, it could be as long as three months.”

“Let's hope it is the former, instead of the latter, then, shall we?” You smiled over at him, nervously.

“Don't worry about the journey, my sweet petal.” He said, smiling at you in a way parents did, when they were trying to be reassuring, while also hiding their own fears and worry.

“All will be well.”

You didn't argue with him.

Besides, your father had far more sailing experience than you did. He had once been a member of His Royal Majesty's, King Charles I's Royal Navy, reaching the rank of Captain, before meeting your mother, retiring and trying his hand in politics, quite successfully, at that. You on the other hand, had never been on a boat, unless you counted the little rowboat James Turner took you in to cross a small river to a picnic spot he had set up for you, during last year's social season, with Jane as chaperon. You had wondered then, as he half struggled to row the vessel, why you were doing so, when there was a small, and perfectly useful, foot bridge not ten meters away from the small dock he had pushed off from.

But, just like now, you didn't argue or question it, he wanted to be romantic, and your father was trying to be protective and reassuring.

Your father took his pocket watch out, the highly polished gold cover popping open, its soft ticks reached you as he frowned down at it, then snapped it shut again and tucked it back into his pocket. Heaving a sigh, he downed the rest of his cooled tea, neatly folded his half read newspaper and rested back against his chair, quietly regarding you across the table, while you finished your breakfast.

“Edward, have the carriage readied, we must leave in no more than twenty minutes.” He called out to his servant, before rising to his feet.

He bowed politely to you and left the room, you knew where he was going, to your mother's rooms. Your father had shut up her rooms the day of her funeral, not wanting a single item inside to be disturbed out of the places she had put them in. She had been sick for some time, but in the last month of her life, she had gotten far worse. Your father employed every respectable doctor London had, even the physician the King himself used. But, all of them had a different diagnosis and treatment for what supposedly ailed her, and none of them worked, most of them only made her worse. So, she wasted away until there was nothing left of her, but skin and bones, and she passed away. Your father was understandably distraught and brokenhearted by her death, only mechanically doing his obligations, always standing, motionless, in her dark and tomb-like rooms, as if he stood there long enough, time would rewind and bring her back to him.

There was no doubt in your mind, that's where he was going, to say one last good-bye to her, before you both set sail for Lockemirth, for what would likely be several years, if not forever. You had already sneaked into her room, during the night, taking a ruby necklace that she loved to wear, as a token to remember her by and to feel as if, in a way, she was accompanying you both on the journey.

“Are you ready, my dear?” His voice asked as he descended the staircase to join you in the foyer, lifting a graying brow at you.

“As I can be, Father.” You replied, stomach clenching inside your corset.

He smiled at you, fingertips gently brushing your cheek, while Edward opened the front doors. “Into a brave new world, my loving daughter.” He said, looping his arm with yours and escorted you out into the rising morning sun, the family carriage already waiting for you both, door open and horses patiently standing at attention.

Your father helped you inside the carriage, then followed after you, rapping his knuckles on the door to signal the driver to move forward. Both of you watched as the beloved house slowly disappeared from view, soon falling away to the wharves of London harbor. The sea air was even stronger on the wharves, mixed with the strong scents of seaweed, fish, the unwashed bodies of sailors long at sea and hot tar. The HMS Kilmartin was easy enough to spot on the wharves, its masts standing tall amongst the others, rocking in the gentle swell of the waves coming off the ocean, it glittered in the rays of the new day, showing off its blue, white and gold paint job, it was immaculate. It gave you a great measure of relief to see it, it seemed infinitely more steady and reliable than the other ships in the harbor.

“Shall we find out if you have sea legs like your dear father?” He teased you, as you approached the gangplank leading up onto the deck.

You tried to give him an amused smile, before following him up the swaying plank, but you weren't truly amused at the prospect of finding out if you were prone to seasickness or not. You dearly hoped you wouldn't be though, all you needed was this voyage to be even longer and more miserable then it already would be without you losing your stomach with every movement of the ship.

Stepping onto the deck, you clutched your father's arm tighter and planted your feet against the unaccustomed sway. Your father chuckled and helped you steady yourself, standing there for several long minutes to allow you to acclimate, then started forward again, slowly, baby step by baby step. A pair of doors swung open and a man appeared out of them, dressed completely in Royal Navy attire, giving away his station as the Captain of the ship.

“Sir Thomas.” The Captain smiled at your father, striding over to you both with the confidence of a man walking on land, instead of on the swaying deck of a ship. “This must be your lovely daughter.” He smiled at you next, sweeping off his hat and bowing to you.

“Indeed, sir.” Your father smiled, looking at you with all and more pride. “My dear, this is Captain Davis.”

“My lady.” Captain Davis greeted you, taking your offered hand and kissing it. “It is a pleasure to have you aboard my ship.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Captain Davis.” You replied, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks.

Captain Davis's smile broadened at your words, before letting your hand go and looking back to your father. “We have your cabins ready for you, sir. The things you've asked to be taken into them are already there, awaiting you both.” He explained to your father.

“So, shall I show you to your cabins?”

“Please, lead the way, Captain.” Your father nodded and gripped your hand tighter, following Davis into a dim passageway and down a small set of stairs, to the second level of the ship.

“Sir Thomas, your cabin is here.” Captain Davis said, leading the way down a narrow hallway and motioned to a door on the left. “My lady, your cabin is just through there.” He pointed to a door across from your father's. “I do hope the both of you find comfort in them. If you are in need of anything, please inform myself or my Chief Mate, Mr. Gray.” He instructed the both of you.

You and your father thanked him and entered your respective cabins. Your cabin was narrow in length and just wide enough that your fingertips, with your arms stretched out from your sides, barely touched the walls, it reminded you of your closet at home. Sighing, you approached the bed to one side, it was built into the side of the ship, for obvious reasons, with a feather mattress laid into that, and a lip, to keep the bed's occupant from being either rolled out or tossed out with the ship's movement, no matter its speed and the type of waves it was sailing through. There was a porthole across from the bed, where you could only see the side of a ship that was docked beside the Kilmartin.

At the other side of your room was a heavy and deep chest, a chest full of your things, clothing to change into, toiletries and some other home comforts to keep you company, like a book or two. Sighing, you sat down on the bed and stared out the porthole, to what teeny strip of blue and cloudy sky you could see at the top of it.

“I already miss home.” You frowned, chewing on your lip.

It was three weeks into the voyage to Lockemirth Island from London, and you had, more or less, gotten your sea legs; as your father put it. You had only spent the first day and a half hanging over the railing of the main deck, spilling any substance you put in your body, that wasn't already there to start with. All things considered though, you found yourself rather enjoying the life on board the ship, watching the crew go about their duties, pulling and tying ropes as thick as your arms, climbing the rigging like monkeys in trees; you marveled at their ease of doing it without falling or getting tangled up. You would join your father every evening or morning for a row around the main deck, keeping each other company and sane on the long journey.

But, on the second day of the fourth week, as you woke and dressed that morning, something felt different, off to the normal air and movement of the ship. Frowning, you made your way to the top side and heard all the noise and ruckus that was going on. You had grown used to all the noise that came with the ship, but there was more of it, frantically yelled orders and every crew member was in a manic rush to and fro, carrying this and dragging that, not even looking or uttering their usual greetings to you.

It frightened the wits out of you.

You quickly found your father in Captain Davis's quarters, both frantic as the crew, but also angry. Angry at each other, something else or both, you couldn't tell, but you knew the look of fear on your father's face, you had seen it only in times of great peril and strife.

“Papa, what's the matter?” You asked, moving forward to rest your hand on his arm, trying to give him some type of reassurance.

He started, feeling your warm touch on his arm, his billowing sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “My petal.” He gasped, blinking as if it was the first time he had ever set eyes on you. “You should go back down to your cabin, Petal. It's not quite safe for you, just now.”

You frowned at him, increasingly concerned. “Why?” You asked, blinking at him and glancing down at the map on the Captain's vast desk.

“My--” He paused and let out a harsh breath through his nose, a clear sign he's annoyed and at a stalemate for what to do and say. “It's nothing to be concerned with, my Petal. The dear Captain believes he saw an...unfriendly...ship on the horizon this morning.”

“Is it a pirate ship?” You let out in a rush, eyes wide with alarm.

“Of course not, Petal.” Your father chuckled, shaking his head at you. “It was flying the colors of a French flag.”

“It's easy enough for a pirate to fly a false flag in place of their own, until they get close enough to fly it, and at that point, it would be too late for us to escape their guns or their attempt to board us.” A man standing on the other side of the desk said, pessimistically.

“Mr. Gray!” Your father roared, slamming his fist down on the desk and causing several small, lead figurines to jump and fall over. “I would request you holding your tongue with such talk in front of my daughter.” He growled, dangerously.

“Bad luck to have a woman aboard, as is.” Mr. Gray continued, ignoring your father and glaring at you with unmasked distaste.

“It seems the only bad luck on this ship, Mr. Gray,” You hissed back, jaw stiff. “is your attitude.”

Your father repressed a snort of proud laughter into his fist, covering it up with a clearing of his throat. “Be it as it may, Mr. Gray. My daughter is on this ship, and if there were anything of luck to be had, it would be with her.” He told the First Mate, but smiled adoringly at you. “You have nothing to fret over, my Petal. All will be well. That French ship was most likely just sailing back to her home port with merchant goods.”

He took your hand from his forearm and escorted you to the open door of the Captain's quarters. “Didn't you start that lovely needle point work, just yesterday?” He inquired, stepping out of the quarters with you and closing the door behind him. “I simply can not wait for you to finish and show it to me, my dearest.” He told you, sounding most interested and desperate to see the finished product.

“I did.” You nodded, still uneasy about the information you received.

“Then, go back down to your cabin and work on finishing it.” He brought you to the doorway of the passage that led down to your cabins. “I'll be down shortly and we'll take our customary round about the deck. How does that sound?” He asked, grinning at you sweetly, too sweetly.

“Of course, Father.” You acquiesced with a soft sigh, you could tell he was overwhelmed with worry and frustration and didn't wish to add to it, so you conceded, bowing your head obediently to him.

“That's a dear girl.” He smiled at you, kissing your forehead, then returned to the Captain's quarters. “So, who do we think it was?” He asked, leaning against the desk and surveying the map, the knocked over figurines having been put back in their places.

“This time of the year?” Mr. Gray replied, stroking his smooth chin. “It could be anybody. Actual French, the Spanish, but more than likely, pirates.”

“Oh, come off it, Richard.” Captain Davis huffed, mopping his sweaty face with his handkerchief.

“I'm serious, Godfrey.” Gray huffed back at him, angered that his word wasn't being trusted. “It's hurricane season in the Caribbean, the Spanish and French, unless on official business wouldn't be sailing out here. We only are because we must get the new Governor and his daughter, to Lockemirth, or we too would be anchored in London Harbor. The only people crazy enough to sail in these waters are those and pirates, that know other ships will be anchored in harbors, or trying to reach harbor before a storm brews in, so they could take advantage of their desperation.”

“It was sailing clear in the other direction, Richard.” Davis answered, shaking his head at his First Mate's paranoia. “That was at first light this morning. If it was a pirate seeking advantage, we would have seen the change of course and reappear in our wake.”

“That was four hours ago.” Thomas replied, pressing his lips together. “They wouldn't have been able to stay in our wake and out of our sight for that long, in fear of losing us.” He explained, trying to be rational with the two of them.

“Sir Thomas is correct, Richard.” Davis agreed, dropping into the chair behind his desk. “They would have been re-spotted in some capacity. They have not been, so it can only be a French ship returning to her port, most likely a head of any storms that might form.” He said, pressing his fingertips to his thumping and sweaty temples. “I have Mr. Michaels on watch duty, he'll tell us if another, or the same ship, is spotted in our wake. So, until then, gentlemen, I recommend not wasting your energy and strength of fretting about it.”

Looking at each other, Sir Thomas and Mr. Gray nodded their heads at the Captain and excused themselves from his quarters, returning to their usual morning places. Your father came down to your cabin and after answering several of your worried questions, the pair of you went up onto the deck and started doing your rounds about it, the crew was in less of rush and panic, now that Mr. Gray had given them orders to ease their distress, greeting you and your father as you passed by them.

The two of you were having lunch together with Captain Davis, when Mr. Gray came barreling into the room, out of breath and only making the smallest apologies for barging in without knocking or ceremony. Captain Davis wiped his mouth and dropped his silk napkin beside his plate with a deep air of irritation, then pushed his chair back and stood.

“What is this about, Mr. Gray?” He demanded, rounding the table to stand face to face with him.

“The ship, sir.” Mr. Gray wheezed, gulping thickly and trying to regain himself. “The French ship has been spotted again, six leagues behind us, Sir.” He informed his Captain, taking a deep gulp of air into his burning lungs.

Captain Davis's head snapped over his shoulder to your father, who was instantly to his feet and going out the door with Davis and Gray. You looked out the large bay window behind the Captain's chair to the endless and sparkling track of ocean and sky, but saw nothing in it, but choppy waves. Jumping to your feet, you rushed out of the room, catching your father's coat tails as he ran up the staircase leading to the upper deck, where the helm was stationed. Captain Davis snatched a folded spy glass from the helmsman, extending it to full length and spied out over the ocean, where Gray was pointing his finger, supposedly where he had seen the ship in question, not moments before.

You watched Davis's stiff shoulders slowly melt, making your anxiety spike, knowing if there was nothing of alarm to be seen, his shoulders would have stayed stiff, but they relaxed, like he was in agreement that there was something trailing behind the ship, and it was nothing good. You looked up as your father looked back at you and saw the same language of Davis's body, in his face.

“There's still no evidence the ship is sailed by pirates.” Davis said, handing his spy glass to your father. “There could be any number of reasons for her to turn back.”

“Why are you acting as if nothing is possibly afoul?” Gray asked, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold his temper with his commanding officer.

Captain Davis did not reply, his unfocused eyes stared off in the direction of the quickly growing black spot, you could now see, on the bright horizon, chewing on his lip as he tried to come up with something to do, some action to take against not only the possibility of the ship being indeed French and either in need of their help or sought to harm them, or if it was a pirate ship sailing under a fake French flag for evil pretenses, such as boarding, plundering and scuttling them.

“Captain!” Gray roared in his face, patience lost. “Orders!”

Davis snapped out of it and his face turned into an expression of hardened steel. “Let out the sails, catch as much of the wind as we can, try to get ahead of them as much as possible, but run out the guns in case we can not!” He snapped, then pushed aside the helmsman manning the ship's wheel.

Gray rushed to the railing overlooking the main deck and shouted the orders down to the crew, who paused for a moment, looking at each other as alarm and the urgency of it set in, then started running around to fulfill the orders. You stood frozen in place, you weren't part of the crew, those orders meant nothing to you in the slightest. So, you knew not what to do with yourself, other than stand there and watch that black spot steadily take the shape of a ship, and a mighty looking ship it was, even at such a distance, you shuddered to think what it would look like even closer still.

Your father clapped shut the spyglass and turned towards you, he looked ashen as your eyes met, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped down his own anxiety and fears, getting a handle on his resolve like a hand snapping closed around something valuable. He blindly held the closed spyglass out to the helmsman, who took it, and strode over to you with deep purpose, catching your elbow in his hand and turning you down the stairs.

“Sir Thomas!” Captain Davis yelled out, catching your father's attention. “Take her into my quarters, she should be safe there!” He said and the two men nodded heads at each other and your father helped you down the stairs and into the Captain's quarters.

“Papa?” You huffed as he escorted you inside, then turned on his boot heels and started out again, without a word to you. “Father!” You snapped, annoyed with him, and truly frightened.

“My Petal, fret not! All will settle down.” He told you, stopping in the doorway. “Once we out run that ship.”

“And if we do not?” You asked, brows lifting at him.

“We will.” He replied, sounding as if he was trying to convince both of you of that fact, before going out, closing and locking the quarters behind him.

Huffing and shaking your head at the door, you paced the room, trying to calm your nerves. Your father never lied to you, so if he said the Kilmartin would outrun the ship, then that's what it would do, and when it did that, it would no longer matter if the ship had good or ill deeds as its intentions against your ship, they would be lost behind and likely give up the chase. Sighing, you sat down on a padded bench under the long window at the back of the ship, staring at the ship that grew closer still.

Within the hour, the ship was considerably closer to the Kilmartin, so close, you could see the little dots of crewmen scurrying about the rigging. It did nothing to ease your anxiety and fear, if anything it made it worse, and knew your father had to be feeling the same way. With another hour or two, the ship would no doubt be alongside yours, then the real trouble and anxiety would set in.

What would they do?

What did they want?

All questions that kept circling your mind as you watched the gap between the two ships narrow more and more as time passed.

You hadn't realized you had dozed off, lulled by the rock of the ship, until you heard a loud boom and a splash of water, making you jerk and gasp. Your eyes snapped out the window and a strong dizzy spell made the room spin a full three hundred and sixty degrees, before steadying on the sight of the ship that had been chasing the HMS Kilmartin for the last several hours, you could see the bow of the ship now, clear as day, as well as the ship's figurehead, a lion's head with a rose in its mouth.

The noise that you had heard was the ship firing one of its cannons as a warning shot, an aggressive suggestion to stop trying to run and yield to them. But, you could tell by the pull of the ship, it hadn't let up an ounce of its speed, still trying to outrun them. You watched two more sails drop into place on their masts and knew, in that instant, that the pursers hadn't been using their ship's full strength to overtake the Kilmartin, they had been toying with them, the whole time.

The ship gained considerable speed in only a few minutes, leaning slightly to the starboard as it was maneuvered to pull alongside the Kilmartin. You jumped up onto your feet and looked out the windows to the side of the ship, watching as the ship slid into place beside yours, you could see the open cannon ports and the guns in place, ready and waiting for the ship's captain to give the order to open fire.

The doors to the quarters burst open and you yelped, startled, but sighed, seeing it was just your father. He gave you a half sympathetic smile, but his expression was agitated and frantic, sweat pouring from his brow and his usually immaculate clothing disheveled. He strode over to you, pulling you bodily away from the windows, eyes darting between you and the ship outside them.

“Get away from there.” He snapped, hastily. “It isn't safe.”

“I thought we were to out run them.” You said, gripping his hands in yours.

“So, we thought we would, but it seems these people are not to be underestimated.” He replied, squeezing your trembling hands. “Stay away from the windows, and no matter what you hear and what happens, do not come out of this room, until I come for you. Do you understand me?”

“If you--”

“Do you understand!” He barked, hotly.

You drew away from him, surprised at his temper towards you. “I do.” You replied softly, brows creasing.

“Good.” He nodded, letting go of your hands and left you locked in the Captain's quarters, yet again.

It wasn't twenty minutes later another shot rang out, this time from a musket, instead of a cannon. You weren't sure what ship it had been issued from and weren't sure it even mattered, it wasn't a good sign by and by. Your heart was hammering against your corset strings, there was a battle coming, even you knew that much. You dared to peek out the window again and regretted it, as the guns from both ships opened fire. Yelping, you dropped to the floor and scurried over to the Captain's desk, taking cover underneath it.

There were reports from cannons, muskets and pistols, mixed in with shouts of orders and insults, the screams of the injured and dying, the shattering and splintering groans of wood as cannonballs ripped through both ships. It felt like forever since the battle started, soon joined with the resounding clang of metal as the men from the other ship managed to board the Kilmartin and a battle of swords broke out. This was all the worst case scenarios that your father and the Captain had been trying to avoid since first spotting of the ship that morning and all you could think of was the image of your father laying on the deck bleeding to death or already being dead.

You peeked at the door from over top the desk, not willing to come out of your hiding place, once you heard the sudden and unsettling silence that fell between the ships. Had the crew of the Kilmartin won at defending their ship, or had the other ship won? Maybe, neither ship won and they had all killed each other! What would that mean for you, being the only one still alive? You couldn't sail a ship on your own, even if you knew how to. Did that mean you would be left here to starve or feel the mercy of whatever the sea and weather threw at you. Maybe you would get lucky and another ship would pass by, investigate why two ships were motionless in the middle of the ocean and would save you. Or the ship would be pushed in the direction of some spot of civilization, saving you that way.

But, the more your mind came up with these possible scenarios and questions, the more and more outlandish and infinitely impossible they became.

Sir Thomas, your father, and Captain Davis watched as the ship not only dropped two more sails, but also lowered the French flag it had been flying since it had been spotted that morning.

“Please, not a red one.” Thomas muttered under his breath. “Please, not the red.”

“What's the matter with a red flag?” A deckhand, who had been standing behind him asked.

Thomas half turned to him, lifting a brow at him. “New to a ship, I'm supposing.”

“Aye, sir.” He nodded, looking even more nervous.

“Pirates flags are signals to those the pirates are pursuing.” Thomas replied, pushing his jaw forward. “A black pirate flag means that anyone who surrenders will be allowed to live. But, a red pirate flag means, 'no quarter given'.” He explained, but saw the naive look in the green deckhand's eyes.

“In layman's terms, no matter what, everyone on board will die, despite them surrendering peacefully or not.”

The deckhand's face drained of all color, as the true gravity of the situation struck him, before he bolted for the railing and vomited over the side. Thomas shook his head at the boy, turning back towards the gaining ship, just in time to see the pitch black flag unfurl at the top of the main mast, baring a white skull with a red rose in its mouth, letting out the teeniest amount of tension from Thomas's body. He and Davis exchanged looks with each other, the same thought going through their minds at seeing the black flag, instead of the red one.

A moment later, as the ship pulled alongside the Kilmartin, a musket shot went off, whizzing past Thomas and Davis, and struck the green deckhand between the shoulder blades, knocking him over the railing and into the ocean with a splash. Thomas looked across the small gap between the ships, his eye meeting the eye of the man standing beside its wheel, as he lowered the smoking musket from his shoulder, a smug and unapologetic expression on his face as the crew of the ship lined the railing closet to the Kilmartin, their own weapons loaded and ready for whatever was to come next.

“Surrender now!” the musket wielding man shouted across. “No harm will come to you or your crew!”

Captain Davis took a step forward, resting his hand on one of the handles of the ship's wheel, grasping it so tightly his knuckles turned bone white. “I haven't surrendered to a pirate's demand in the twenty years I've been a Captain.” He hissed, under his breath and between clenched teeth.

“I don't bloody intend to now.”

“Captain, we can not afford to fight these men.” Gray hissed back at him.

“This is His Majesty's Ship and it shall stay that way.” Davis snapped, turning his head to glare at his First Mate. “Pirates be damned!” He roared out loud, turning his venom back to the other ship.

“Fire!” He ordered aloud.

There was a momentary lull, before the firing started, blast after blast of cannon fire from blew the ships' decks and the firing of muskets on deck. Men taking cover between shots to reload their guns, then popping back up again to return fire. The splashes of missed shot and dead bodies falling into the raging sea between the ships, splinters of wood rained down on top of them as balls smashed through railings, masts and hauls. A scurry of men on the pirate ship climbed the rigging with ease, grabbing onto loose lines to swing across the no man's land between the ships and boarded the Kilmartin, pulling their swords and cutlasses, cutting down any poor fellow in their way, before they themselves could pull their metal, and swept through the deck.

The Kilmartin was soon overwhelmed after that, forcing Captain Davis to wave a white flag and surrender to the organized and clever pirates. A gangplank was laid between the bobbing ships, but no one crossed it, instead, a tall and bearded man stepped forward, his hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, he wore a dark brown jerkin over a billowing white shirt and tight leather pant; lifting a brow and tilting his head at the assembly of the remaining Kilmartin crew, before settling his piercing blue gaze on Davis.

“You are the Captain of this ship, I presume?” He asked in a deep voice.

“I am.” Davis replied, not hiding his disgust with the man, whose clothing was stained and spotted with the blood of his men. “Who might you be, then?”

“I'm the Captain of the Crimson Jersey.” He replied, jerking his head towards the other ship.

A low murmur went through the Kilmartin men, their fright became even more profound hearing the name of the ship that had attacked them, side eyeing each other and their captures. The Crimson Jersey was one of the most feared Pirate Ships on the high seas, there was only one other ship feared more than the Crimson Jersey and that was Black Beard's Queen Anne's Revenge, and even Black Beard had a measure of respect for the Captain of the Crimson Jersey. While the Captain of the Crimson Jersey, Henry the Red, rarely left people alive from his attacks on their ships, he was well known for attacking well off ships and taking either people or materials as captives, until a set ransom was met, if the ransom wasn't met, then he would kill the captive or keep the materials to sell to the highest bidder at one of the Pirate Ports.

“We have nothing of value on the ship.” Captain Davis said, narrowing his eyes at the other Captain.

“Then, what is the HMS Kilmartin doing out so far from her beloved port?” Henry the Red asked, lifting a suspicious brow at Davis.

“His Majesty the King has ordered us to sail to Port Royal to retrieve the Governor there and bring him back to London, for personal commendation.” Davis told him, lying easily to the Pirate Captain's face.

“It must be some commendation for him to order it this late in the year, the threat of hurricanes are quite common about this time.” Henry replied, sensing Davis's lie, but his eyes moved to Thomas, noticing his shifty behavior and the way he kept trying to subtly look towards the doors of the Captain's quarters.

“Is there something bothering you?” He asked, stepping closer to Thomas. “Like a secret you know.”

“I know nothing of what you speak.” Thomas replied, glaring back at the man.

“Is that so?” He replied, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Then, you'll have no quarrel with me going to have a look.” He said, striding over to the locked doors of the quarters.

“Don't!” Thomas suddenly shouted, his resolve breaking away to his fear of the pirate finding you inside.

Henry turned back to Thomas and laughed at him, more than sure now there was something of great value inside. Taking a step back, he kicked the doors open with a crash of his big boot and entered. At first, he didn't see anything of value inside the room, but he didn't get deterred easily, especially when there was the prospect of treasure involved. He searched the room and as he neared the desk, saw the hem of a dress underneath it and grinned, knowing now what that treasure really was.

“Well, well.” He cooed, stepping around the back of the desk. “Who do we have here?” He laughed, watching you draw yourself further underneath the desk.

Bending down, he reached underneath the desk and grabbed a hold of your arm, yanking you halfway out before you sank your teeth into his meaty forearm. He hissed as you broke his skin and the copper-y taste of his blood touched your tongue, but his vise-like grip didn't relent, he only gripped you tighter and finished dragging you out of your hiding place.

“Oh, feisty and pretty.” He chuckled, surveying you with an unguarded eye. “I like that.” He smiled, then grunted as you stomped on his foot. “Watch yourself, wench.” He hissed, knotting his hand in the back of your hair and painfully jerking your head back, making your vision swim. “Try such a thing again and you'll lose something precious to you.” He warned, then dragged you out of the quarters.

“Let her go!” Thomas roared, taking a step towards you both, only to be stopped with a punch to the gut.

“Father!” You shrieked, jerking against Henry, only to be yanked backwards against him and his free hand wrapped around your throat.

“Father?” Henry mocked, smiling between you and Thomas. “Is this your dear daughter?”

“Let her go.” Thomas wheezed, straightening himself up. “I'll give you anything you wish, just please let her go.” He begged.

“She's all I have left in this world.”

Henry grinned at your father and turned his face into your hair. “I'm sure you would give me anything in the world to have her back.” He whispered against the skin of your temple. “So, tell me, what is it you're willing to give me for her back?” He asked, looking at your father from the corner of his eye.

Thomas floundered, his heart racing as he held your terrified gaze. “I'm on my way to take my station as Governor of Lockemirth Island, in the Caribbean.” He gasped, trying to get a hold of himself. “That is the purpose of the HMS Kilmartin being at sea. Once there, I will be in command of a very large sum of money and goods, I will give you half of it, for her safety and return.”

Henry pursed his lips and clicked his tongue as he considered the offer, then shook his head. “Three fourths of it.” He demanded, twisting a lock of your loose hair around his finger. “No less, Governor.”

Your father floundered for another moment, before his shoulders dropped and he nodded his head. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” Henry grinned, gripping your arm again and pushing your forward, towards the gangplank bouncing up and down between the ships.

“Wait, no!” You shrieked, turning and trying to get back to your father. “Father!”

“It'll be all right, Petal!” He shouted back, blocked by three of Henry's men.

“You can't!” You protested, pushing back against Henry as he hustled you forward.

“I can and I am.” Henry laughed, grinning at you, then tossed you over his shoulder and stepped onto the gangplank.

“Papa!” You screamed, flailing on Henry's shoulder.

Your father shouted your name back, but it was lost in the wind. The pirates disembarked from the Kilmartin and back onto the Crimson Jersey, careful that the Kilmartin crew didn't try to storm them and try to return the attack, in an attempt to rescue you. Once everyone was onboard, the gangplank was drawn back and the ships were separated.

In no time, the HMS Kilmartin was starting to disappear in the dying light of the horizon.

Henry kicked open the door of his quarters, then kicked it closed again, before setting you down in front of his desk. He crossed to one side of the room, plucking a bottle of dark green glass from a table, uncorked it and poured a brown liquid from inside of it into a goblet, tossing it back and poured himself another.

“You monstrous swine!” You growled at him, sneering at his broad back.

He turned towards you, lifting his glass in salute. “Aye!” He laughed and downed his drink again, before pouring yet another drink. “You'll be kept here, in my quarters, with me.” He informed you, sipping this glass.

“I would rather rot on deck.” You barked at him, upper lip twitching with disgust.

“Oh, that can be arranged, if my lady wishes it.” He chuckled, swirling his drink. “But, I must inform you, pet.” He set his drink down and approached you, pinching your chin between his thumb and index finger and tipped your head back to look up at him. “It's been several months since my men have set a foot on land, so it's been many a month since they've had the pleasure of a woman's warm body.”

You gulped, your stubbornness starting to fail you.

“While I am far more educated and in command of myself, my men are not.” Henry continued, seeing the blooming realization and fear in your eyes. “So, you can take your chances with them, which you will have none, or you can stay in the relative safety of my quarters.” The register of his deep voice lowered. “Here, my men know better than to enter and anything inside is purely mine, under my protection.” He let go of your chin and strode to his door, yanking it open.

“Your choice.”

You stared at him, gulping and biting into your lip, but didn't move from the spot he had dropped you in, seeing the validity and safety of staying where you were at. A smile crept over his lips and he slammed the door shut again, seeing you had made your choice to stay in the safety only he could give you on board. He moved back to the table, pouring a drink into a second goblet and held it out to you, but you didn't move or say a word. He shrugged his shoulders at you and downed it instead, before taking up his first one around to his desk, settling himself in the high backed chair, to do the needed paperwork that came with piracy.

“Sit down.” He ordered you, motioning to a chair beside you. “Now!” He barked, when you didn't move.

Huffing at him, you pulled the chair sideways and dropped down into it, refusing to look at him or acknowledge his presence. None of which bothered him in the slightest, he was content in the quiet privacy of his mind and work, not paying you all much mind, other than making sure you stayed where he told you to be. After sundown, a soft knock sounded at his door and, at Henry's permission, opened to a crew member, who entered with a silver tray laden with food. He set the tray down on his Captain's desk, nodded his obedient head at him and left. Henry picked up one of the plates on the tray, then pushed the tray towards you.

“If you wish to starve, that's on you.” He commented, when you didn't move. “But, don't whine about it later.” He told you, tearing off a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth.

Rubbing at his eyes in the dim candle light, Henry stacked his papers together and put them in the bottom drawer of his desk, locking it up with a key that hung around his neck, then stood. He toed out of his boots and crossed the room, hanging his sword and pistol on a hook by the door, removed the brown leather jerkin he was wearing over his shirt and hung it up on the same hook, then locked the door with the same key that was around his neck. He turned and regarded you, still sitting, motionless and sulky, on the chair in front of his desk and rolled his eyes.

“The stubbornness of women.” He huffed to himself, going to a set of heavy curtains to one side of the room.

“The ilk of men.” You growled back at him, angry eyes burning holes into his back.

Henry laughed, jerking back the curtains to reveal a bed behind them, then turned around to grin at you. “Something we agree on, pet.” He chuckled, amused, then sighed and reached behind his head, tugging loose the tight leather string that tied his hair back and shook his head, setting free a mop of dark cinnamon curls, that softened his look considerably.

“Lay down.” He ordered, jerking his curly head to the large, curtained bed.

You snorted at him. “No.”

“That wasn't a question, pet.”

“Don't call me that.”

“I'll call you what I want, now lay down.” He barked at you, eyes hardening.

You turned your own hardened eyes towards him, but didn't budge.

Growling deep in his throat, Henry took several long strides towards you, yanked you out of the chair and back over his shoulder, unphased by you beating on his back to be put down, then dropped you, bodily, onto his bed. With you where he wanted you, Henry turned towards the large bay window behind his desk and made himself comfortable on the cushions there, stuffing one of them behind his head, before dozing off.

You laid there, surprised he hadn't tried to force himself on you or the very least crawl into bed beside you. You half expected him to wait until you fell asleep to try something, but his soft snores soon reached you. Biting your lip, you sat up at the edge of the bed and looked over at him, he was laying half propped up, the quarter moon illuminating one side of his face. He wasn't faking, he was actually asleep. Sighing, you laid back again, your mind spinning, trying to work up the nerve to steal that key around his neck and escape. But, where would you go, once you did have the key and the door open? You had a ship full of his men, on an open ocean, where the ship had already put countless miles between you and the Kilmartin.

Perhaps, you could buy your time, until and in hopes, they made port, to wait for your father's word he had the ransom, then steal away, finding safety somewhere in the port until your father and the Crown could rescue you.

“Pirates.” You huffed, then drew the bed curtains closed, not wanting that bloody pirate to be the last face you saw before you managed to fall asleep.

329 notes · View notes

teddy06writes · 4 years

Note

nonono I need more ANGST part 3 for out of his grasp/out of their grasp were reader comes back as a ghost like Ghostbur but remembers bad memories so she doesn’t remember Dream or George

Out of Their Grasp

{THIS IS THE NEW UPDATED VERSION BECAUSE APARENTLY THE FIRST VERSION WASN”T ANGSTY ENOUGH}

{real talk though I thought maybe I could change this to be more angsty cause I didn’t think the ghost thing would work}

requested by this anon: “hey hey I was wondering if you could do dream x George x reader fantasy/royal au (bc I just read "for his hand" and I love it so much!!) where reader and dream go to battle but only dream returns from it. and he has to tell George that reader died. the more angst the better😝💅”

and also this one: “will there be a part 2 of For His Hand? It’s so good, i loved it!”

{Technically you don’t have to read part one but I would recommend it because this one takes place in the same universe}

Dream x George x reader

trigger warnings: swearing, yelling, major character death, aGnSt

premise: war breaks out near the borders of the SMP, you and Dream are sent ahead of the royal party to the front lines in an attempt to stop any further battles until a peace can be reached when disaster strikes, leaving your partners to deal with the repercussions.

{dude I’m like manically laughing right now}

(y/n/n)- your nickname

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“It was just skirmishes, here and there for the last few weeks,” Sam gestured to a few spots near the northern boarder on the map spread out across the table, before pointing to another in the center of the rest, “But then, yesterday there was a huge attack on the villages, and our military bases in this valley.”

You glanced around the room, from person to person, gauging there reactions.

George had visibly stiffened in his seat, and behind him Dream seemed equal tense.

“Have we taken any measures to fight back?” Sapnap asked impatiently.

“How bad are the damages?” George asked, ignoring him.

Eret looked down at the report they’d been given, “There seems to have been more pillaging than raiding, they were breaking into peoples house, causing general destruction and looting, when our forces attempted to stop them they began to fight. All in all 30 of ours were killed and there was an estimated 10,000 in damages.”

George frowned, as Niki spoke up, “We should pay the people reparation's and help them with any reconstruction that needs to be done.”

Many people nodded, but next to you Sapnap was still unhappy, “Are we doing anything about the invaders? We cannot just sit here and allow them to attack the people!”

“Pushing, pushing.” You muttered.

The king looked at him for a long moment, before turning to Callahan, the scribe, “Attempt to negotiate a peace. I don’t want anymore bloodshed to curse this land.”

The man beside you groaned, and you were quick to elbow him in the side and Sam ended the meeting and everyone began to file out of the room, hissing, “I don’t know how they do things where you’re from but that is no way to behave in an advisory meeting. Next time you pull that shit you won’t be allowed back to one.”

-You had taken the new coming warrior on as a sort of apprentice after he’d first arrived at the palace, and it was clear the change of pace wasn’t something he was ready for-

“They can’t just stand by! The King is a fool if he thinks a peace can be reached like this!”

You glared at him. “The King is no fool.”

“You only say that out of obligation.” Sapnap fired back.

You recoiled, burned, before crossing your arms and starting out of the room, “You may be a trained mercenary but you haven’t the faintest idea as to how to hold yourself among this crowd. It will be the death of you.”

He followed you back toward your office, listening as you continued, “King George is a good and just man, to say that he is a fool is to say the sun is square. He has wiped this kingdom clean of many years of bloodshed.

“The Kings advisors, and cabinet are kind, respectable people, you must remember to hold your tongue unless spoken too, and never say anything brash as you have done now, lest you make a greater fool of yourself.”

He huffed, “If I must stay silent in those meetings than how can I get my point across? Sending a messege to the enemy through force may be the only way!”

“Now you sound like Tommy, just as foolhardy and headstrong as the child,” You pushed the door to your office open, “I’m sure that Technoblade agrees with you, though he knows better than to speak freely.”

“If he agrees with me than perhaps it’s the right move.”

You turned to look at him quizzically, finally saying, “A wise king does not seek out war, no matter what his knights advise.”

Sapnap turned, “Then the lot of them are fools.”

“I have told you once to never disrespect the king, I suggest you don’t do it again. This land has seen it’s share of unjust rulers, be thankful you have not come here under worse authority.”

~~ That night, when the palace grew quiet, and the sky dark, you found yourself back in Dream’s quarters, an overtired, overstressed George having wedged himself between you two and refusing to move.

You sighed as Dream ran a hand through your sleeping partners hair, “He’s anxious.”

“I mean, can you blame him? War may be on the horizon.” Dream murmured.

“I meant even now- in the time of sleep. I think Sapnap is just adding fuel to the fire.”

Dream sighed, “If he has another outburst like that-”

“He’ll be cast out,” You nodded, “I know. He just needs to be willing to learn the way things go around here. In time he will learn.”

Your boyfriend chuckled to himself, “Fucking hotshot.”

“I think you’d like him, if you were able to spend more time with him.” You smiled.

“Well someone had to go snatch him up as an apprentice!”

“Well it was him or Ranboo, and Ranboo is far too- forgetful, for this sort of thing. I’d’ve had Tubbo but he and Tommy are a package set an you took ‘em.”

“What about Purpled?”

You rolled your eyes, “He started an apprenticeship with Punz ages ago.”

“SHHhhhhhhh, ‘m tryin’ to sleep.” George muttered, burying his face in your shoulder.

In the darkness of the chamber you could barley make out Dream’s eyes sparkling as he took your hand, “Course love, course.”

As the weeks continued the damages on the northern boarder only seemed to grow, the new invaders claiming three of the villages there own.

There was yet another large attack on the town that had been damaged the first time, this time a direct threat left etched on the walls, ‘You have made my people suffer, and now yours shall feel the same’

“Militia, both local and our own soldiers have taken it upon themselves to fight back, almost a hundred lived lost to each side.” The silence in the room grew deafening as Sam finished reading his report, not even Sapnap daring to speak.

“Your Majesty?” Bad hazarded, “What is our next course of action?”

George frowned, glancing around the room, “Peace is still the priority. Maybe- maybe we call a ceasefire, I could meet with there ruler-”

“No,” Dream interrupted, drawing all eyes to him, “It would be too dangerous. How do we know they can be trusted to lay down there arms?”

George shot him a look, “How do we know that we haven’t done anything to provoke them? Whatever we have done wrong we need to fix it. If we can work something out then people will be spared on both sides.”

“Shall we arrange for a ceasefire?” Eret asked.

The King nodded as Wilbur spoke up, “We could set up a meeting place, on neutral ground, possibly similar to the holy lands, so there would be no worry of a security breech.”

Dream seemed to relax at this, and then eyes were turned to you and Sapnap, representing the royal guard, “We can, but even so we should stay vigilant, perhaps send a group ahead with the runners to see too it.” You said, noting the gratitude on Dream’s face, as well as the slight annoyance on George’s.

“Well I see no one better to attend to the King’s safety than you,” Bad said, “You shall go with the party, and Technoblade with you, Sapnap can remain here to take over your day to day duties.”

The man in question quietly shot you a pleading look, at which you sighed, “With all do respect I think Sapnap could be better severing to the crown if he joined the running party.”

Bad glanced around to the others, looking for any objections before shrugging, “We can find someone else to do the work. So that’ll be you, Technoblade, Sapnap, and we can send the usual scouting party, and Sam shall go with again.”

You sighed, tracing an absent pattern on George’s side, listening to Dream’s ramble about how dangerous the idea that had been decided on at the meeting was.

“Finding peace is the priority, you can’t can’t change that.” George mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous!” Dream protested.

“It’ll be fine, We’ll have a perimeter set up with guards and everything. I’ll make sure none of them can even get near him with such intent.” You yawned.

The blonde huffed, “That just makes me more worried.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your hand blindly sought his, “I’m going to do everything in my power to keep the ceasefire from being broken.”

“I know.” Was the only quiet response you received.

The next morning found you suiting up and heading out to the stables to tack up your horse. Techno was already down there, idly chatting with Phil as he readied Carl for the journey, and out in the courtyard you could see Sapnap talking to two men.

“Good morning, (y/n)!” Phil chirped, waving your direction.

“Morning Phil.” You moved down the row, reaching out and letting Beckerson nuzzle into your palm.

After getting your horse cared for and saddled, the rest of the party had headed out of the stables as your partners entered.

George took your hand, “Don’t start any more trouble.”

“Sounds like your talking to Dream not me.” You chuckled.

“Hey!” Dream protested.

“I’m not wrong!” You teased.

George rolled his eyes, quickly pulling you in for a kiss, “Make things good for me to be out there.”

“Stay out of trouble.” Dream advised, pulling you away from George to kiss you himself.

“You underestimate me.” You smirked, grabbing Bekerson’s reigns.

Dream rolled his eyes as you started to lead the horse out of the stable, calling, “And stay safe!”

“I’ll see you in five days!” You chuckled, heading out of the stables and quickly mounting your horse, kicking at his sides to catch up with the others.

~~ The last few days had been spent anxiously waiting, and now the journey to the norther board was coming to a close.

Dream rode alongside the carriage, eyes following the strange trail of smoke on the horizon; something was wrong, he could feel it.

The quiet, almost calm of the morning was slowly being cut through by a growing noise, and then finally shattered as one of the runners sent ahead to signal their arrival came crashing through the trees looking panicked.

“What’s going on?” Punz asked.

“They attacked! They broke the ceasefire!”

Dream’s brain surged with panic as he turned to where George and his advisors were starting to climb out of the carriage asking why they had stopped, “Turn around! It isn’t safe here! Go! Punz! Tommy! Ponk! Get them out of here!”

Before he could even stop to see if they were following his orders he was rushing forward down the road, urging Spirit to go faster as the road widened into the village.

Dream was met with nothing but chaos, the royal insignia’s on the tents set up in the field were aflame, and the clashing of swords filled his ears as the royal army and the few commoners who could fought back against the pillaging people.

“About time you showed up!” Sapnap yelled from halfway across the field, “We could use some fucking help!”

“No shit!” Dream yelled back, dismounting and unsheathing his sword.

Almost immediately another person came barley towards him, throwing him into combat.

He cut his way across the field, taking down people here and there, still searching the carnage for you.

Eventually he made it to where Sapnap had just disarmed and knocked out another opponent, “Where are they?”

His eyes danced around the wreckage, “Could be anywhere, saw ‘em trying to get the townspeople out of the way.”

Dream cursed, running off the direction of the village, calling you name.

The fighting continued, the addition of the extra royal guardsmen helping turn the tide of the battle, though Dream still couldn’t locate you on the battle field.

The invaders, or what was left of there battalion began to retreat, but still Dream could find no sign of you, the now all too quiet valley erupted into noise as another skirmish broke out.

Taking off at a sprint he made it up the hill to find you locked in combat with another warrior.

You panted, throwing up you shield to block another strike from his axe before shoving forward and swing your sword at his spear wielding hand.

He wasn’t excepting this, and the spear clatter out of his hand, the shock on his face giving you enough momentum to keep pushing forward, throwing attack after attack at the man as he edged backward.

You had just managed to shove him to the ground when a cry broke your attention.

“(Y/N)!!”

You turned to see Dream, smiling, words starting to form on your lips as a spear suddenly drove through your chest.

“NO!!!!!” Dream shrieked, charging forward and quickly slashing at the mans throat before turning to where you had fallen in the grass.

“T-that one was your fault.” You mumbled as he did his best to pull your shaking body into his arms, “You-ou had t-to go distract-ing me.”

“I know,” tears flooded his eyes, “It’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna get help.”

You did your best to smile through your fear, “What would G-George say if he saw you here cuddling m- m- me without him? Huh?”

“(Y/n)....”

“Bad time for a joke I guess,” you shaky voice was disrupted by a painful cough wracking your body, “Never real-really planned on being r-r-ran through with a spear this morning.”

“It’s gonna be okay! It’s- it’s gonna be okay!” Dream desperately pushed your hair out of your face, head whipping around to where the royal soldiers were beginning to regroup, “WE- I need a medic! Please! We need a medic!”

It was the first time you’d ever heard him sound so distraught, gently you reached up to his face, “Dream- Clay, leave it alone, they won’t be able to- to do anythi-ng.”

You coughed again as he turned back to you, “Don’t say that! Don’t say that!”

“It’s just my time d-d-darling,” You gasped at the pain brought by him trying to pull you closer, “You- you gotta let go.”

“NO! You’re not gonna die! You’re not gonna leave! I won’t let you!”

“I d- don’t have your permission to d-die?” The spots floating in your vision began to grow larger, blocking out spot of his face, and the sky.

“No! You don’t! You’re not leaving! I’m not letting you!” He said desperately.

“You’ve- g-got too...”

He glared down through the valley, barking out, “I said I need a medic! Someone! Please! They need help!”

There were people hurrying up the hill now, not that you could see, as Dream continued to yell.

The spots began to grow even bigger, merging together until darkness fully overtook you and you slipped from there grasp, “I’m sorry...”

Dream tore his gaze from the approaching medical team, looking down at your now limp body, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-”

“You can’t leave! You- your not allowed to leave us! You- you can’t- I- I didn’t give you permission to die!”

He blubbered, still trying to pull you closer to him, as if he held you tighter you wouldn’t have slipped away.

“You can’t go! I didn’t say you could go! You can’t leave! You can’t.....”

Then people were pulling you away from him, and Sapnap was pulling him up, and leading him away.

“Your highness, news of the attack on the boarder has returned.”

George stopped his anxious pacing a Wilbur led in a scarily calm Technoblade and a visibly shaking Dream into the room, Sapnap still with a firm grip on his shoulder.

“What happened? Where’s (y/n)?”

Dream started to shake more at the mention of your name, and Techno stepped forward, “(y/n)- died in combat two days ago.”

George stayed silent, so he continued, “They died a hero’s death defending our kingdom.”

The king waved them away, “Out, please.”

Wilbur nodded, and quickly Sapnap and Technoblade followed him out of the room, leaving Dream to slowly move toward George, pulling him into his arms, tears coming from both men.

“It was my fault. They were fighting- an- and I distracted them.”

“You- you what?” George croaked.

“I wasn’t thinking,” He said quietly, ducking his head as George pulled away, “Th- they died in my arms George!”

“Wh- what have you done?”

Dream looked at him in shock, “What do you mean?”

“Tell me what happened.” It was a command, said in a way Dream had never heard directed at him.

“I got there- there was fighting, when the fighting died down I still couldn’t find them- then I heard another fight- on the ridge, I got up there, and It seemed like they had won, I yelled there name- and-” He broke off, barley muffling a sob.

“You all but killed them yourself.” George muttered.

“I didn’t- th- I- George.” Dream grappled for words.

“You killed them.”

“I didn’t! George I know it’s my fault, but-”

The King just shook his head, turning and silently stalking out of the room.

The castle seemed to stay in mourning for weeks, the kings council having to take over as the king stayed shut up in his chambers, refusing to talk to anyone.

The King’s Knight became more and more vocal during meetings, providing insight on how to get back at the enemy, amplifying Sapnap’s voice.

Then, as plans were being finalized, Dream was met by another figure as he sat in front of your grave.

“You think this will make up for what you’ve done?” Georges voice was horse, rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in days, though still laced with the same venom as when he’d found out.

Dream nodded, remaining quiet as he traced the hilt of his blade.

“Tomorrow then?”

Again Dream nodded, looking down at the copy of the note that had been sent to the enemy:

‘Holy water cannot stop me now, a thousand armies couldn’t keep me out. I don’t want your money, I don’t want your crown, see I’ve come to burn your kingdom down’

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #dreamwastaken x reader #georgenotfound x reader #dream x george x reader #teddy06 writes

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fanmoose12 · 4 years

Text

on the coastline of memories

a second part to this!

“You shouldn’t do it,” Armin says gently, his eyes an endless sea of sorrow.

“The commander is gone, Captain,” Jean tells him, his voice quiet and bitter. “There is nothing left of her.”

“It would only make the pain so much worse,” Mikasa adds, weary and heartbroken.

“Hange-san wouldn't have wanted you to suffer,” Connie agrees with a faraway look. “None of them would.”

And, maybe, they’re right, Levi thinks, looking at their worn-out faces. Maybe, it’s better this way. Maybe, he should just let go.

He can’t.

So he packs a few changes of clothes, takes a few things from the office, from her office, and boards the first ship, headed towards Odiha.

A journey by plane would take a lot less time, but after all he has been through, after her sacrifice — Levi doesn’t trust planes that much.

***

He gets off the ship and someone immediately approaches him. He turns his head to the side – damn his lost eye – and sees a Cart Titan, Pieck, standing beside him.

“Captain,” she greets. “May we have a talk?”

Levi doesn’t understand the reason for it, what could they possibly talk about it? But he nods and follows after Pieck, as she leads him to a more secluded area.

“I’m not sure if that’s true,” she fidgets, wriggling her fingers and looking slightly above his shoulder, refusing to meet his gaze. Watching her behave so awkwardly around him, Levi is hit with a realization – she is still so young. How old is she? Twenty? A bit more? She’s not much older than the brats from his own squad. So young and already she’s seen so much, lost too much, but— Levi muses, he was all the same. All of them – Erwin, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit - they were young. Too young for this war. Too young to die.

Hange— Hange was too young to die too.

Levi shakes his head, chases those thoughts away. They’re pointless, they bring nothing but pain. Instead he focuses on Pieck.

“There are reports about… someone living in the abandoned cabin near the port. I went to check, albeit from afar, but it seems…” she pauses then, and looks at Levi, tilting her head. “Maybe, you should sit down?”

“I’m not an old man,” Levi grunts, despite feeling very much like one. “What were you saying?”

Truthfully, Levi doesn’t pay much attention to what Pieck is saying. Something about an abandoned cabin, about someone occupying it… what relation does it have to him?

“I was saying,” Pieck looks straight into his eyes, her gaze unwavering. “I think Commander Hange is alive.”

Levi blinks – once, twice, thrice, but he doesn’t understand. What Pieck is saying… it can’t possibly be true. And if that’s not the truth, then it can only be—

“Is this a joke?” he says in a low voice, an almost forgotten feeling of cold fury washing over him. He clenches his hands into fists and they tremble from barely restrained anger, as he glowers at Pieck. “Do you think that’s funny?”

“No!” Pieck cries out, and the distress on her face looks fairly genuine. It chases some of his anger away. “I couldn’t believe it myself, and I’m not one hundred percent sure yet, Commander’s face isn’t the same as it was, but—”

“Show me then,” Levi demands, cutting off her ramblings with a surprising desperation. He can’t believe Pieck, won’t believe her until he sees a living, breathing proof. But he gives her words the benefit of a doubt. It’s not hope, he persuades himself, he can’t afford to hope. He doesn’t think he’d be able to recover when it inevitably gets shattered.

“Of course,” Pieck easily agrees. “But before we go, I have to warn you – Commander isn’t the same as she was.”

“So you’ve told me.”

It’s natural, he thinks. If Hange was able to survive – which he still doesn’t believe in – of course, she wouldn’t be left unscarred. His face isn’t the same as it was too, after all.

“No,” Pieck shakes her head. “You don’t understand. I think she lost her memories. I’ve tried approaching her once, when she was visiting a nearby town, but— Commander didn’t even recognize me.”

Levi reflects on her words. He knows Pieck is sure that she had seen Hange, she wouldn’t have approached him or gone through all the trouble of finding him if she wasn’t. He doesn’t know her that well, but former Cart Titan doesn’t strike him as a cruel or imprudent person.

Pieck is sure that Hange is alive.

Levi doesn’t know how to feel about it. On the battlefield, he trusted Pieck with his life. But it’s not his life that is at stake right now, it’s his heart. And if it breaks one more time, Levi is sure – he will break too.

“Lead the way,” he asks in a quiet, faint murmur.

He doesn’t dare to hope. But as he follows after Pieck, he’s filled with nervous anticipation.

***

“Here,” Pieck raises a hand, pointing her finger at a small cabin at the coastline, hidden between two large trees. “Commander lives here.”

Levi looks at it, waits for something to happen. And then— something happens.

A person walks out of the cabin, oblivious to the company that watches them.

Levi squints his one remaining eye, gets a better look at that person— and feels his knees buckle.

It’s her, it’s Hange, there is no doubt about it. She’s standing far away from him, and Pieck was right, she doesn’t look like she used to – with burns adorning her face and half of her hair missing, but Levi recognizes her right away. It’s the way she holds herself, the way her shoulders are slightly slumped and her head is held high, as she stares at the horizon.

It’s Hange, she’s alive, Levi realizes, and sinks down to his knees.

“Hey, hey!” Pieck looks down at him, alarmed. “Are you alright?”

Levi glances at Hange once again, and he almost smiles. “I’m good.”

***

Once the initial shock washes over him, leaving him only slightly dazed and breathless, Levi gets back to his feet. He wants to go to Hange. He needs to go to Hange, needs to look into her eyes and hold her in his arms. Needs to tell her everything he kept unspoken.

He takes the first step with the intent to do exactly that. Nothing is going to stop him, them, this time, but then— then he remembers.

I think she lost her memories

He remembers Pieck’s words. He remembers Hange’s last years too - the weary look in her eyes, the absence of that loud laughter and bright smile. Remembers how easy it was for her to sacrifice her own life.

Maybe, Hange truly forgot about everything. It’s a blessing then and should be treated as such.

He doesn’t take another step forward. Instead, he turns around and leaves.

It’s better this way, he thinks.

The distance between him and Hange grows bigger and bigger. His heart grows heavier with every step.

***

In the end, despite his best efforts, he just can’t stay away. He knows he should, knows he has to let Hange go, but he can’t.

He’s just an old, broken man, who is too weak to resist.

He never shows his face, afraid that it could trigger Hange’s memories, afraid of what it would do to her, but he visits her cabin frequently.

Hange is isolated from the others, but there are things that she needs. He’s just helping her, Levi persuades himself, as he leaves small packages at Hange’s doorstep again and again.

And if sometimes, he stands in the distance, watching her - on the isolated coastline, no one is a witness to it.

***

Hange gets curious about him, of course. Levi isn’t surprised, she is the definition of that word, after all. She tries to catch him, runs out of the house every time he visits. Luckily, even old and beaten, Levi remains faster than her.

It is tempting, though. It is so tempting to just let Hange see him, to slow his step, to turn around and face her.

But then Levi remembers a quiet, broken whisper.

So just let me go, will you?

And he hurries to walk away, to leave Hange behind, persuading himself that it’s better this way.

***

One morning, he visits Hange at the very break of dawn. The sun is barely up in the sky, the world painted in a gentle pink light. The air is chilly and the cold wind ruffles his hair. The spring has just began, and so Levi wraps the coat tighter, shielding himself from the cold.

He approaches the cabin, his eyes trained at the sea. At the mornings like this, it looks particularly splendid.

Levi tears his gaze away from the mesmerizing view and turns to the cabin. He freezes, as he sees Hange sitting on a porch. He panics and means to flee that instant, but then he looks closer - Hange doesn’t react to him at all.

She’s asleep, he realizes with immense relief.

He realizes another thing then – it’s the first time he’s so close to Hange.

Slowly, he takes another step. She looks a bit ridiculous, with blanket wrapped all over her and only head sticking out, but she’s just like the sea, the sight of her so splendid, it’s hard for Levi to look away.

He climbs up to a porch and softly puts the package down. The sharp, familiar aroma fills his nostrils and the permanent scowl on his face softens, as he notices two cups of tea, standing on the table.

He takes one in his hands, inhales the scent deeper and takes the first sip. The tea is bitter and strong – just as he likes it.

“Thank you,” he whispers, as he puts the empty cup down.

Hange can wake up at any moment, he knows that. He should leave soon, he knows that too. But he stays behind, just for a couple of minutes. He watches Hange snore quietly, marvels at the way her chest moves up and down, at the small puffs of air that escape her mouth. The sight is warming him more than the hot tea. He leans in then, unable to resist. He leaves a soft kiss on forehead.

He gazes at her for another short moment, his chest filling with so much love and longing, it feels like it’s going to explode.

He doesn’t want to leave her, more than anything he just wants to stay with Hange. He wants to start a life with her, a life she promised to him, a life that became impossible when she decided that humanity is more important than their happiness.

But Hange is still alive, she can still find some happiness. In the meantime, he’ll be keeping watch over her.

It’s better this way, he remembers and forces himself to walk away.

***

Hange gets more vigilant after that, and Levi’s annoyance grows stronger. Is that so hard to simply accept his kindness? Why must she always stick her long nose where it doesn’t belong?

It takes him four days of almost constantly watching the damn cabin to catch the time where Hange isn’t waiting on a porch for him. He traveled to another town to get her those damn journals, and that’s how she repays him?

What an insufferable, irritating douche.

What a pair they make.

***

Same as the amount of steps that led to the lab and the amount of turns he took to get to the Commander’s office, the trail to the cabin becomes so familiar that Levi can get to it with his eye closed. He knows every tree that stands along the way, every stone and bump on the road.

And as he walks it one day, Levi notices a new, strange smell. He follows it and finds a plate with pie on it and a cup of tea. A note lies next to it all, and Levi snatches it in his hands.

Since you don't let me thank you any other way, it reads. Levi rolls his eyes. Someone is a little passive aggressive, he muses, taking a bite of the pie.

It’s a little too sweet for his taste, but not awful. He likes it actually. Of course, there is no way in hell he’ll tell Hange about it. Teasing her became a second nature, and so, as he grabs a second piece of pie, he takes out a quill and sits down to write a reply.

A smirk pulls at his lips as he finishes his note. It’s a little rude, he knows, but it’s meant for Hange, the only person who was always able to see through the stern façade. He wonders if she still possesses this ability, or it was lost among with her memories. He hopes it was not.

He puts the note down, takes another piece of pie and leaves.

Work on your cooking skills, four-eyes. The pie was awful. Try adding less sugar next time. I think just a piece of this shitty pie could give someone cavities. Tea was good, though.

***

With the taste of pie still lingering in his mouth, Levi returns to a room he’s renting at a small motel not far from the ruined port.

Someone is standing next to his room, obviously waiting for him. Levi curses softly, recognizing Jean’s long face.

“Captain!” he raises his hand in greeting. “I was waiting for you.”

Dressed in a long coat, three-piece suit and with black hat on his head, Jean is the epitome of a charming young man.

“The kids have surely grown,” the voice in his head murmurs. It sounds suspiciously like Hange.

Jean looks at him, staring Levi in the eye, unflinching. A man in front of him is a far cry from the unruly teenager Levi was so used to.

He’s not much of a brat anymore, he thinks with a mixture of annoyance and pride. Jean grew into a good, noble man.

The beard is still ridiculous in Levi’s opinion.

“Come in,” he sighs, unlocking the door to his room and letting Jean go in first. “What brings you here?”

How were you able to find me, he wants to ask, but he can guess the answer himself. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one Pieck was watching over. Levi wonders how much she told to Jean and the others.

“I came here because of you,” Jean says, taking off his hat.

“Me?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “What do you need me for? Is there some trouble on the island?”

“No,” Jean shakes his head. “But… we’re worried about you. What are you still doing here, Captain? Why don’t you go home?”

Because it’s not my home anymore, Levi wants to say. The home is where the heart is, or so his mother used to say. His heart is living in the abandoned cabin on the coastline. And he won’t leave her this time.

He can’t say all of it to Jean, though. Obviously, he doesn’t know about Hange, he wouldn’t be asking the obvious question otherwise. And Levi can’t tell about her survival to the kids. He wants, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to compromise the safety of that secret. He doesn’t want to sabotage Hange’s chance at finding peace and happiness. Not again.

“It’s not any of your business, Kirstein,” he retorts, his voice harsher than Jean deserves.

Jean sighs, fiddling with his hat. “I saw you coming back from the beach this morning. Are you… still visiting that place?”

The way Jean looks at him – sad and weary – tugs at Levi’s heart. He can’t hold this gaze, and so he turns away, squeezing his hands into fists. He knows how he must look to the others, knows that they probably think that he’s an old, broken man who is going mad with grief.

He’s not mad, though. He is not. Pieck had seen her too.

“Thanks for the concern, Jean,” he says, and he means it. The kids’ worry and care warms his heart. “But I’m fine.”

“You won’t be going home with me then?”

“No,” Levi softly refuses. “I’ll stay here.”

Jean looks like he wants to argue, but Levi sends him a look, silencing him. Jean sighs again. Levi raises his hand to pat Jean on a shoulder, but then he realizes – Jean is too damn tall for him to do that. He tsks in annoyance, awkwardly lowering his hand.

“We’ve all grown so damn big, eh?” Jean teases with a small grin.

Levi scowls at him. Jean’s grin grows bigger.

“C’mon,” Levi says, leading Jean further into the room. “You didn’t just come here to persuade me to go back, right?”

“Well, actually…”

“So tall and still so stupid,” Levi remarks, making Jean chuckle. “Sit down, let me make you some tea. You can tell me how the others are you doing.”

“Thank you,” Jean nods, as Levi puts a cup with steaming tea in front of him. “The others are good, they’ve asked to pass on their best wishes to you. Connie wanted to visit you with me, but he broke his arm just a few days ago.”

“Broke his arm?” Levi asks, sipping his tea. “How did that happen?”

“Ah,” Jean chuckles. “The Marleyans showed us a new mean of transportation, called bicycle,” he frowns slightly, making sure to pronounce all the syllables correctly. “It’s like a horse, but a bit faster. Long story short, Connie tried to master that bicycle. He failed spectacularly, though.”

Levi hums, hiding a smile. “What about the others?”

“Armin is getting used to his new role bit by bit. Mikasa and Annie help him a lot. Historia’s baby is getting even more adorable, if you can believe it.”

Historia showed him her kid, while Levi was still on the island. She even let him carry him around, and Levi still remembers a knot in his stomach that appeared, when he took the kid from Historia’s hands. Jean is right, though, the baby is adorable. Just like his mother.

Jean continues talking after that, telling him a story of how Connie fell asleep during the government’s meeting and how Annie tried to bake a birthday cake for Armin, but Levi doesn’t listen to him anymore. Instead, he imagines a person, who would be sitting at his right. A person who would get worried after hearing about Connie’s broken arm and who would coo over Historia’s baby.

Hange would have loved to hear the news about kids. She would have loved to be a part of their lives.

As he absentmindedly listens to Jean, Levi has to remind himself of the truth that is bitterer than tea:

It’s better this way.

***

Jean returns to the island after spending a few days with Levi, and his life goes back to the already familiar routine. He visits Hange, brings a small gift or essentials, gets annoyed at the seemingly endless stream of questions she writes down in the small notes, curses her curiosity and answers her with sarcastic comments and crude jokes.

The life goes on, and Levi feels at peace.

***

He strolls through a town one day, passing by a flower stall. It’s amazing how quickly the world has recovered. Despite all these deaths, despite ruin and tragedy, people are trying to heal, desperate to get things back to the way they were. This kind of perseverance is admiring, Levi can’t help but think, as he watches an old woman selling a bouquet of daffodils to a shy-looking man.

Suddenly a splash of vivid purple color attracts his attention, and Levi subconsciously takes a step closer.

Hange told him once – when she was pissed drunk after a celebration of Mike’s birthday – that her favorite color is purple. Apparently, it reminded her of lavenders that grew on a field behind her childhood house.

“It always makes me think of warm, sunny days,” Hange said then, a big, happy grin on her face. “Those are my favorite kind. Just remembering them makes me feel so good.”

Before he can stop himself, Levi approaches an old woman and buys a pot of hyacinths. It’s not lavender from the fields behind her house, but hyacinths are very pretty too.

Hange always loved flowers, whenever they walked through town, she always stopped by a flower stall, admiring the bright, beautiful colors. As he takes a pot in his hands, Levi wonders if she would like those flowers too. Would they be enough to make her smile?

She isn't at home when he brings the flowers. It's the first time it happens, and Levi guesses that she probably went to explore what lies beyond her little cabin. Her absence does make him a tiny bit worried, but Levi isn't all that surprised by it. Hange is curiosity personified, after all, and he is glad that this side of hers has returned.

He leaves the flowers on the porch and walks away, wondering when Hange will come back.

***

He checks on her the next day, and finds that his flowers are now standing at the windowsill inside the cabin. There is also a note she left for him. He picks it up, his expression softening when he reads the beginning of the note.

His face changes, though, turning into a frown, when Levi sees a name Onyakopon written at the end. He crumbles the note in his fist and hurriedly leaves, his shoulders slumped.

He comes back to the motel and the sight of Onyakopon waiting for him in the foyer doesn’t surprise him at all.

"Captain!" the man quickly catches up with Levi, falling into step with him.

"I'm not Captain anymore," Levi grumbles, thrusting hands into the pockets of his pants. "I'm retired, if you didn't know."

Onyankopon nods, absentmindedly, and before he even opens his mouth, Levi knows what question he is going to ask him.

“Commander Hange? You knew that she’s alive?”

"None of your business," Levi quickens his step, and Onyakopon grabs the sleeve of his jacket, turning him around.

Levi wants to snap at him, to tell him to fuck off and leave him and Hange alone, but words die in his throat, as he sees the distress and concern etched on Onyakopon's face.

"I don't know why are you keeping all of this away from her, sir, but... She's suffering. She's hurting and she doesn't even know why."

"Did you tell her anything?" Levi asks, turning his face to the side, uncomfortable with the weight of Onyakopon's gaze.

"No," he shakes head, his voice defeated. "I didn't."

"Good," Levi nods. "It's better this way, believe me," he adds and walks away, leaving Onyakopon behind.

***

Despite his best attempts to ignore them, Onyakopon's words strike a cord inside him. They make Levi think, they make him question if—

She's suffering. She's hurting and she doesn't even know why.

If his course of action really is the best one.

It all crashes down on him when he finds a letter from Hange. In it, she asks him to reveal the truth. She begs him to tell her about her old life. He reads the letter again and again, doubt and uncertainty clouding his mind.

Does he have any right? Does he have any right to decide what's best for Hange? Shouldn't it be her own decision?

Maybe, Levi thinks, but then he remembers - a quiet, defeated voice, the dull, lifeless look and he thinks no, Hange deserves a second chance, she deserves a chance to live, to lead a life without pain and regrets.

Forgive me, he writes in response to her letter. But it's better this way.

***

Hange doesn't write another note or letter for him after that. It looks like she's ready to let go of her old life. It's a good thing, Levi knows that. But a part of him is disappointed. A part of him hasn't let go of Hange yet. A part of him hasn't stopped wanting to get her back at his side, right where she belongs.

A part of him regrets leaving that forest.

***

He still visits her, of course. Hange doesn't speak - or, well, write to him - but he continues to help her in what little ways he can.

He finds her journal during one of his visits. He shouldn't pry, he knows, but he takes it in his hands, opening it at a random page. A rough sketch of a bird - seagull, his mind supplies after a moment - is staring at him. The drawing is surrounded by short notes that detail various observations.

Levi flips over a page and sees another drawing - this one of a hyacinth's flower, leaf and root. Underneath Hange wrote more comments and remarks about the flower's characteristics - how it responds to sun deprivation and how many days it can survive without water before it starts wilting.

Levi smiles as he traces Hange's scribbles with his fingertips. Her passion and curiosity has returned, or so it seems. It warms his heart, makes him remember the good old days, when Hange was allowed to be Hange, when she was just a weird, eccentric scientist with an insatiable hunger for knowledge.

It brings back a particular memory, before the world has gone completely to shit, before it wasn't just them against the world, when the others - Erwin, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit - were still alive. When everything was so much easier.

He tears out a page out of the journal and writes down a short message.

Are your hobbies so boring that watching the birds is somehow fun for you?

***

Last time he said that, he didn't receive an answer, not really. This time, he does.

***

They start talking again, and their conversations – however short they are – never fail in brightening his day. Every word, every doodle Hange makes for him bring a smile to his face. They make him feel like Hange always made him feel during all those years they knew each other.

They make him feel alive.

Of course, Hange is still annoyingly noisy, she still asks him tons of questions, but this time Levi doesn’t ignore them. He doubts that his favorite color or a fact that he prefers to sleep on his left side would trigger some kind of painful memories.

So he continues talking to Hange, and Hange— Hange continues making him happy.

***

He doesn't believe in fate, destiny, providence or some other shit. He never did. He used to scoff at the madmen and drunkards from Underground who cursed God and fate for their misfortunes and he rolled his eyes every time he heard the cultists preaching about tragedies and sorrows that were destined to befall on people who dared to doubt their teachings.

But he does not know how else to call it, how else to explain the universe's apparent disinclination to keep Hange and him apart.

Is it fate, a miracle, or a mere coincidence? Levi isn’t a poet or philosopher, he’s a retired soldier. He doesn’t understand what force constantly brings them together.

But he’s thankful for it.

***

He is descending from the cabin's porch. Hange is bird watching and he knows from experience that it could take hours, if not more. That's why he allows his steps to be slower and more careful than usual. His wounds have healed but they don't let him forget, inconveniencing him at the most unfortunate of times.

He watches his step, grunting softly as he lowers one leg and then the other. It is only when he gets from under the roof, Levi notices that it's raining. The first droplet falls down on his head and he looks up.

And the time stops, because Hange is standing just a few steps away and she stares right at him and the look in her eyes, the one that was always reserved only for him, it tells Levi - she remembers.

"Levi," she calls him, again and again, and Levi realizes - no one had called him by his name for a long, long time. Ever since that fateful day when he thought that he had lost his heart forever.

But his heart is still with him, his heart is still alive. His heart is standing right in front of him and calls out his name.

His hands tremble with the desire to touch her, to feel her, and he clenches them into fists, stopping himself.

He has to make sure first. He has to be certain, so, taking a deep breath, he asks.

"So your memories returned?”

"They did," Hange answers, and, oh god, the sound of her voice. He missed it so much.

"And you..." his knees feel weak, and he shifts his weight from one foot to another. "And you aren't freaked by this?"

Aren't you angry with me, he wants to ask. What do you feel, he needs to know. He doesn't ask any of it, though.

He's afraid to hear the answer.

"I'm still processing," a tentative smile curls at her lips, as if answering Levi's unasked question. "Would you like to… help me with it?”

Would he like to? There is nothing more he ever wished for.

“I know I’ve talked about living in the forest," Hange adds. "but… will the coastline be good enough for you?”

The forest, coastline, city, what difference does it hold?

Home is where the heart is. And he's tired of contradicting that statement.

“You’re more than enough," he replies.

They start walking at the same time, as always perfectly in sync. And as they hold each other tightly, ignoring the rain, forgetting the pain, Levi thinks—

We are together - and it's so much better this way.

#it's basically the same thing but from levi's pov this time!#hope you guys enjoy #levihan #levihan fanfiction

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coexiising · 4 years

Text

Fade Into You - Chapter Three

SUMMARY ✦ You learn the truth about Lord Vader & disobey the Council's orders.

WARNING(S) ✦ choking (in a non sexual way)

MASTERLIST ✦ Here.

The cup of tea placed in your hands had long run cold as you still sat in the middle of the ring of Jedi Masters. The Corscuanti sun was starting to peek just along the horizon, illuminating the room more and more with each passing second. It was easy to feel the tension in the room, thick enough to cut with a knife while every single Master kept their eyes on you, the only stop in their gaze was when they blinked.

You weren’t sure how long you’ve been sitting here for under their watchful gaze, like they thought you were going to spontaneously combust or crack under the pressure. You thought that this was supposed to be the moment they told you everything. It wasn’t hard to notice that they were obviously keeping something big from you. Whoever this person was . . . Vader, he was something (or much rather, a Sith) that they knew about. But why were they keeping it a secret from the rest of the Order? Why would they keep something so dangerous like a new Sith a secret, when it was clear that there was something going on deep within the shadows of the Force.

You almost wanted to say something. Being in this silence was deafening in the worst way imaginable. Luckily, it seemed as though Obi-Wan had taken pity on you, and opened his mouth to say, “Well, should we get on with it?” The man looked tired, obviously having been woken up by your screams not even an hour ago. “She’s shaking.” Which you were, for the record, though you weren’t sure if it was because of their stares or the fact that you haven’t been getting much sleep in the past couple of days that you felt as though you were on the verge of collapse.

The droid who gave you the cup earlier came around again and refilled it. You attempted to settle your nerves by taking a sip of the warm drink.

“Keeping secrets, we have,” Master Yoda stated, his small green hand gesturing towards you. He sat within eyesight, so you could see the curiosity in his face. “But this connection . . . See, we did not.”

You looked at him quizzically. “What kind of connection are you talking about?”

“It is certain that the Force has drawn you and this Sith together, for what reason, we do not know,” Master Windu said. “Force wielders always have heightened dreams, but the fact that you are being connected to someone with such a dark power, it is troubling. We have to ask, have you been using the dark side of the Force, Knight Y/N?”

What, were you on trial now? Was this all just an elaborate game to try and get you to confess to something you weren’t even guilty of? You were a Jedi, bound to the light side of the Force and sworn to the Order, why would you ever even think about leaning towards the dark side of the Force? You were almost offended that he was asking, and that all the other Masters were listening intently, as though they were waiting for some kind of confession of guilt. You wished that this would all be over, you wanted things to go back to normal, before Vader, before everything.

“No, I haven’t been using the dark side of the Force, Master,” Your last word digging in rather harshly as your attention moved to the spot Windu sat. “Like I said before, I don’t know why these things are happening to me. I don’t know how I could’ve formed this connection with this ‘Vader.’ I haven’t even met him!” You tried not to scowl, because as much as you wished you could, Master Windu was still your superior.

“What does he say to you in these dreams. Does he ever mention a place?” Master Plo-Koon asks.

Your thoughts take you back to what Vader said about meeting him on Mustafar. If you told them that, then maybe they would send a team there and this would all be over with. Then everything would go back to the way things used to be. And you wanted that, though, you could feel yourself beginning to pull back from the idea. For some reason, it felt wrong for you to tell them what Vader had said, like you would be betraying him in some way. It astonished you, how you were thinking of reasons not to give away the location of a Sith. It was so unlike you, but everything about this was crazy. Which is why you looked down at your cup, your eyes watching a tiny tea leaf dance around in the water as you said, “No. He never said anything like that.”

You were waiting for one of them to catch you in the lie, though when you looked back up at the gazes of the Masters, they all seemed quite relaxed, like they didn’t even notice the quivering in your voice. Lying for a Sith . . . Perhaps it was the dark side after all.

“It took some strength to talk to him. But when I did, he said that he wasn’t influencing anything,” You said.

You heard Master Windu chuckle. “Well, he was certainly lying. How else could it have been formed? That doesn’t even make sense. If it wasn’t you, it had to be him.”

“Master, I don’t think that he was lying,” You told. “He never even tried to harm me-”

“A Sith is not to be trusted, Y/N,” He said. And maybe he was right. You probably sounded crazy trying to defend Vader.

Master Mundi sighed. “Still, we owe you an explanation. We knew that there was a presence of a new Sith for some time now. And with some of our sources in the Outer Rim, we’ve heard whispers of the name Vader. Only, we didn’t want to tell anyone until we were certain that there was something to tell. Now, with the presence of your dreams, it seems like it is now certain that we are dealing with another Sith.”

Another moment of silence fell upon you and the group of Jedi, not knowing what to say. You didn’t know if you were to be angry or to simply let it slide. Instead, you simply said, “Well, what do you think I should do about the dreams?” You would need to sleep at some point, and you didn’t feel like waking up a screaming mess every time that you attempted to get at least a few hours.

And the Masters all started talking, though not to you, amongst themselves. You could scream at the sheer annoyance of all of it, how they always did that. They always talked like you weren’t in the room with them, like you didn’t get a say on whatever they thought was right. Of course you understood that there was a hierarchy here, but it didn’t stop you from getting angry that these people had authority over you sometimes. It felt like an eternity of them talking, you silent and attention drifting off to other points in the room, then suddenly they all seemed to come to some type of conclusion.

You raised your eyebrow to say ‘well, what is it, then?’

“We want you to stay as far away from this Sith as possible. Obviously we cannot have control over your dreams, but do not engage him. And you will be staying at the Temple where you are safe. We do not know if this Sith will try and get you with him,” Master Obi-Wan told you. You looked at the ground, realizing that this meant you wouldn’t be allowed to go on any missions. It wasn’t ideal, especially with the Clone Wars raging on. You wanted to be where you were best: Bringing peace to the Galaxy. Though there was no arguing with the Council. They had made their decision and you had to live with it.

A few other words were passed until you were being ushered out of the room towards the elevator that led you back down to the center of the Temple. It was still early in the morning, there was no one in the hall when you stepped out into it and you could still feel the Force Signatures of several sleeping Jedi. You stopped in the middle of the hallway. To your left was your room, where you had been instructed to go to meditate before you started your day like usual. But to your right was the way to the hangar, where you could easily get onto a ship and get to the bottom of things on your own terms, knowing the exact location where the Sith was.

No. You had been specifically told to not engage the Sith at all. And that had been just in your dreams . . . It would be far worse if you were actually in the same place as him. But as much as you wanted to turn and go towards your room, it was as though the Force was pushing you the other way. It wanted you to go see him, as though you were both magnets trying to connect. You should be more scared at the fact that the Force, something unknown and completely under researched by even the most powerful of Jedi, was trying to get you to meet such a mysterious powerful man. Still, you felt a sense of calm wash over you thinking about going to Mustafar to see him. Maybe that was what you needed to do, maybe the second you met with him all of this could get figured out.

At least, you hoped.

So you started towards the right, making your way down the large hallways still huddled over in your large brown blanket. You made inventory in your head, knowing that there would be supplies of food rations and anything else needed for basic survival, and you already had your lightsaber clipped to your utility belt that you carried everywhere. In no time you were walking into the hangar, lines of different models of ships awaited you, and there were only a few clone workers that you knew wouldn’t even question as to why you were here.

You settled for a smaller ship, one you had worked with before that was fairly easy to pilot. After all, Coruscant was situated near the Deep Core of the Galaxy, where Mustafar was in the Outer Rim. The quality of your ship's hyperdrive engine was in good condition, so hopefully you would get far enough away before any suspicions of where you had gone arose. Though, thinking back to what information you gave away to the Council, they didn’t even know where you were headed.

You hopped on the ship and started the engine. No one even batted an eye.

It was a long journey before you were in the atmosphere of Mustafar, looking for a place to land your ship where it wouldn’t be enveloped in the lava. It was all too familiar of your dreamworld, meaning that this had to be the place that Vader and you had met, only, you didn’t see the building built of obsidian. Your bottom lip was situated between your teeth, eyes scanning the area for any sign of life or structures of some kind. You knew that there had to be something, Mustafar used to be an old mining colony of the Republic before the lava got too dangerous. It was considered abandoned, which seemed like the perfect place for a Sith to take residence in.

Just as you were about to call it quits, go on your way back to Coruscant and make up some excuse to the Council on where you have been all this time, you saw a black building in the distance. It was not much a building and more of a castle, standing tall on the top of a mountain, smoldering lava pooling at the bottom like a moat. There. That’s where he had to be. You could feel it.

It was a swift landing and soon enough you were on your feet again, making your way towards the large stairs that went up from the landing platform. Your heel touched the first one and you heard footsteps behind you. Unsheathing your lightsaber and igniting it, you turned swinging, your blade clashing with a dark red beam that could only belong to one person.

“Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

His voice was smooth like molasses but dark, making your heartrate pick up when you were certain that it was Vader standing before you, real this time. You weren’t protected by parsecs between you two anymore. He walked backwards, lightsaber still pointed at you just as you were doing to him. Now that you could see the Sith with your own two eyes, you realized that he was even more breathtaking in person. Vader’s honeyed locks were something to marvel at in itself, curling on his forehead and at the nape of his neck, if you didn’t know any better you would’ve liked to run your fingers through it. His golden Sith eyes were intimating in person, but you almost felt a sense of comfort in them. Overall, you felt calm despite being at the end of a red lightsaber.

“You’re not a friend, Sith,” You spoke, keeping your guard up. “I’m only here to know why we’re connected. The Council seems to think that you’re lying to me.”

Vader laughed. “Your Council is useless. Why would I feel the need to connect myself with a Jedi. I have more important things to attend to.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you do. What could you possibly be doing on a planet like this?” You rolled your eyes, not falling for that for a second. “It could be valuable to be connected to someone who is in the Order. Then you could gain the upper hand in anything the Republic does.”

“Enough with the bravado, why do you think that you’re that important?” Vader asked, eyebrow raising up. You stood there dumbfounded, not knowing how to answer such a question. “They let you come here, didn’t they? Into the hands of a Sith? Maybe they don’t care about you at all, they’re too wrapped up in their silly little war.”

“I came on my own accord,” You said.

His eyes widened, a smirk coming on his face. “So you went against the wishes of your precious Council? How strange . . .” You watched his gaze go from your face to your body, as if he was sizing you up. You stiffened, not knowing how to act under his watchful eyes, shivering at the way he licked his lips. “That means they don’t know where you are, am I correct?”

You nodded, knowing that there was no reason to lie. “I seem to remember you saying that I could trust you, Sith-”

“Vader.” He interjected.

“Sith.” You pressed on.

“Lord Vader.”

You laughed at his insistence, wondering how he thought that you would ever call him such a thing. He took a step forward and you took one back, continuing this until you could feel hard rock press into your back. You were cornered by him, the only thing separating the two of you was your lightsaber which you didn’t dare move. “You said that I could trust you,” You told him. “Put down your weapon so we can get to the bottom of this and I’ll be on my way.”

A tiny chuckle fell past his lips. “What makes you think that you have the upper hand in this?”

You didn’t respond, your eyes darting from his golden ones to his saber, waiting for him to do as you asked. Tentatively, he set his lightsaber on the ground, and you watched as the red hue of it went back into the hilt. You did the same, unlighting it and dropping it to the ground near his. Neither of you made a move and you didn’t dare say anything, knowing that the smallest thing may set him off.

For a moment you almost thought that this could work, that you two could work together in peace. That was until you felt a Force pull you towards him, one of Vader’s gloved hands finding its way to your neck, keeping you in his grasp. His fingers pressed against the side of your throat, restricting some of the air you attempted to suck in. You kicked and punched, trying to get him to let you go, but he didn’t. Instead he walked forward and backed you into the wall again, this time his hand still around your throat and the other was placed firmly on the wall near your face.

The world around you almost disappeared, stars appearing in your eyes as you tried to grasp onto any air that would come into your airway. Vader’s face came to the crook of your neck and you could feel his hair brush against your cheek as his lips came to the shell of your ear. His hot breath sent shivers down your spine as he whispered:

“Never trust a Sith.”

Your vision went black.

#Anakin Skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #sith anakin

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shoutaaizawas · 4 years

Text

↳ fantasy!au tamaki amajiki x reader → ❝just come home❞ part I

a sequel to my ❝my lady❞

summary: you fell in love with prince tamaki quickly but with war on the horizon what will happen next? word count: 1,845 tags/warnings: drama, feelings, mentions of war a/n: this was going to be one piece but i broke it up

It was all too easy to fall in love with the prince. He was soft-spoken, kind, and all-around a good person. He had a sense of humor that was unexpected. When he would quietly whisper something sarcastic to you as you made your way through the market square it would always get a laugh from you.

You spent a lot of time together. Any time you would go into the forest to collect herbs for your apothecary he would accompany you. At first, it was under the guise of making sure you didn’t get hurt like you did when you met him but eventually you both understood it was because you enjoyed time together.

Sometimes you would bring lunch with you and put a blanket down in your favorite meadow and have a picnic with him. During your time together you learned a lot about each other which only served to deepen your feelings for him.

Standing at your worktable you sighed as you mashed together a poultice. You just had to go and fall for a prince. Even if he did return your feelings there was no way you could be together. You were not of royalty, you were just a store owner in the kingdom. It was hopeless.

It didn’t help that there was a war on the horizon. The neighboring kingdom was making moves towards the one you lived in and it would only be so long before soldiers were sent out. You knew that Tamaki would lead those soldiers.

It was hard to imagine such a gentle and soft-spoken man as a war general but you knew that he had plenty of training and experience in it. The king was too old to fight in battles so it was left to Tamaki. It made you respect him more, that he insisted it was wrong to send soldiers in without fighting by their side but it didn’t stop that sick feeling in your stomach at the thought of something happening to him.

Tamaki was supposed to meet you today for your usual trip to the forest. The bell on the door rang and you put away what you were working on. You smiled as you saw Tamaki standing there in his usual white cloak and a shy look on his face.

“Ready?” You asked and he nodded.

Riding on the back of his horse you made your way to the usual place you went to. Tamaki followed behind you as you looked through the different plants, taking what you needed. You talked about different things, most of the time it was you telling him different stories and him quietly paying attention.

After you gathered enough you made your way to the meadow you usually had lunch in. The grass was a lush green, wildflowers accenting the area. Laying down a blanket you set down the basket with lunch in it. Tamaki sat down with you and the two of you started eating. You had brought along different meats and cheeses along with bread and some fruit to snack on.

Tamaki seemed nervous, well more nervous than usual. He had become quite relaxed in your presence and you loved that but right now he seemed so tense.

“Is everything okay?” You asked looking at him with concern.

“Yes, well uh. No. Well,” He stuttered out before he stopped to gather his thoughts. “I need to tell you something but I don’t want to.”

“You know you can tell me anything.” You said. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t anxious about what he had to say.

“I have to leave.” He said softly, looking down at the blanket you both sat on. “The war began and I need to leave with the soldiers.”

It wasn’t shocking, you knew that this might happen but it didn’t make it any less painful. The thought of Tamaki being gone for an amount of time for any reason made you sad but this was worse. He could be hurt, or worse killed. That wasn’t even the worst outcome if the other kingdom won it could have horrible repercussions.

You would like to blame the pollen from the flowers around for your watery eyes but you both knew better.

“Tamaki,” You sighed, looking at the raven-haired man in front of you. “I already know the answer but I have to ask. Can’t you stay?”

Tamaki looked up giving you a sad smile. He reached for your hand taking it in his.

“I wish I could stay.” He said. “But I promise I will make sure that I keep this kingdom safe.”

“I just want you to return home safe.”

“I’ll do everything in my power.” He said.

“When do you leave?” You asked.

“Tomorrow, at dawn.” He said.

The sadness that weighed on you was unexplainable. You tried to enjoy the rest of the day but how could you know it it was the last time you would see him for a long time. You tried to pretend like you were okay but you weren’t.

You invited Tamaki in for dinner at the small living place you stayed in above your store, trying to grasp onto whatever time you could with him. He accepted and you made him the best meal you could. You knew he would have a long journey ahead of him, who knew when he would get a home-cooked meal again.

It got later and you knew you couldn’t be selfish, he would need a good night's sleep if he could sleep.

“As much as I’d love for you to stay here forever, you should try and get some sleep. It’ll be the last time you sleep somewhere so comfortable.” You said with a sad smile.

“You’re right.” He said, hesitantly standing up.

You followed him to the door, trying to think of how to say goodbye. Was a hug too much? A handshake felt like too little. What would you say? What could you say?

“My trips to the forest will be lonely without you.” You said.

“Please be careful, I won’t be here to give you a ride home.” He said, concern in his tone. He was the one going to war and yet he was worried about you getting hurt.

“You the one who needs to be careful.” You said. “You have to come home.”

Tamaki’s cheeks turned red and you could tell he was fighting off the urge to pull his hood down.

“I’ll try my best.” He said with a small smile to reassure you. You wanted nothing more than to hug him, hold onto him for what might be the last time but you were too nervous to make the move.

“Safe travels, and good night.” You said, reaching out you took his hand on your own before squeezing it.

“Good night.” He said squeezing your hand in return.

After the door shut you were left alone in silence. Standing in your store you stared at the door. He was gone and you wouldn’t see him again for a long time. Tears you had held back earlier welled in your eyes.

As you got ready for bed all you could think about was everything that could go wrong. How many different ways he could get hurt or worse. What if he died? What if you never got to tell him how you felt? Suddenly the feelings you were content withholding close to your heartfelt overwhelming. The need to tell him held on to you and refused to let go.

You tossed and turned all through the night, sleep escaping you. All that you could think of was Tamaki, the danger he would face, and the feelings you had for him.

At some point in the night or rather the morning, you decided that you had to tell him before he left. He said they were leaving at dawn, you could meet him at the gate and say goodbye one last time and tell him how you felt.

It was still dark when you left your store, moving through the chilly morning towards the city gates. Even before you could see anything you heard all of the soldiers. Turning the corner you saw all of the men that were heading to war. Some of them had their loved ones there to say goodbye.

Amongst them all, you saw Tamaki’s white horse and him sat upon it. You made your way through everyone towards him. As you approached the men near him moved towards you, hands out in a warning.

“No one can approach the prince.” One man said in a firm voice.

Tamaki turned, eyes wide at the sight of you. He looked so different wearing black armor with gold accents. He wore a cloak that looked similar to the white and gold one he normally wore but this one had a more intimidating look to it along with purple lining on the inside. He looked like a leader, like a general.

“It’s okay, let her through.” He said as he got down from his mount. “Is everything okay?” He asked concern showing on his face as his eyebrows lowered.

This was it. Tell him or else you may regret it for the rest of your life. You felt so nervous, like the air around you was closing in and you couldn’t breathe. You had to say it, just say it!

“I just came to say goodbye again.” You said. Internally you were yelling at yourself. You coward, what if he died? How would you live with yourself knowing that you never told him?

“I’m glad I get to see your face one more time.” He said giving you a rare smile. The sight nearly made your heart explode. You rushed forward before you could think, wrapping your arms around him. The metal of his armor was firm and cold under your embrace.

“Please be careful.” You mumbled against his neck.

Tamaki stood their stiff for a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“I will.” He said in a breathy tone next to your ear. “I’ll write to you as much as I can.”

“That would make me so happy.” You said pulling back with a smile. The thought of getting letters made your chest warm even with the frustration you felt towards yourself at the moment.

It was hard to let go but you did know that he had to leave soon.

“I’ll be waiting for your return.” You smiled at him.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you.” He said, a look of longing in his eyes that you didn’t meet.

Standing there you watched as he mounted his horse and moved out with his troop. As he reached the gate he looked back at you one last time, giving you a soft smile. He looked perfect in the soft light of the morning sun in the dewy air, his dark hair framing his face. You loved prince Tamaki Amajiki and you wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to him.

Please let him return safely.

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#tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #amajiki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #tamaki #tamaki amajiki #my writing #fantasy!au

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thefallendivine · 3 years

Text

Ulvre IX: Survival

NOTE: This is the introductory short for the last Guardian. Like the other two, skip this post if you don’t want to be spoiled about this companion.

---

Jakkan turns away from the rocky chamber, adopting a grim look on top of the smile that was used to project a sense comfort and reassurance. His steps are heavy as he makes his way out of the mountainside cavern. An alpine lake greets Jakkan as soon he is out, the sunlight reflected on each ripple of the clear water. But the Half-Orc does not notice the beauty that lies right in front of him, for he is seeing much further ahead.

In his trek down the mountain, Jakkan’s familiarity with every incline, every stone embedded on the craggy terrain works with him as his mind remains on the duty that is waiting to be fulfilled. His eyes are never on his feet every time he lifts them and all the time he settles his footing, but they are sure, even with the lake water spilling down the mountain face, making the descent slick and treacherous. Jakkan’s pace is quick, navigating the mountainside readily and with grace, just like the trickling water that serves as the source of the great river in the Negurra Taiga.

The sun has set by the time Jakkan makes it deep into the forest, his feet stopping as soon as he catches the scent that marks his destination. Looking around, several trees around are gashed deep by jagged claws, a few practically sunk halfway through the trunk. Fallen branches have been scattered, and tracks muddle the forest floor, lit by the silver moon now high up in the night sky.

A distinct howl causes Jakkan to shift on the spot. He looks towards its direction, even if beyond the trees in his immediate vicinity, he can see nothing but more mangled trunks. Jakkan grits his teeth, feeling the pain behind the eerie cry.

Wanderers may mistake the sound to belong to just any other wolf that calls the forest their home. But Jakkan knows better.

He moves, cutting through the forest with the speed refined by many years of keeping away from any form of non-bestial society. Every breath that comes out in a puff of cloud from his fanged-mouth brings him closer to what he is looking for. And when he finally finds it— finds him, Jakkan’s breathing stills. And with it, his heart starts to ache.

His master— the Wolf Beast, Omega of the Wolves and of the Lupus Beastmen— digging through the dirt like a lowly animal. His green eyes have lost its gracious ardor, now overcome with nothing but the irrational hunger of a savage predator. And when those eyes find Jakkan, he is not embraced with warmth, but with fear.

That is when Jakkan knew for certain that his master is gone.

The great white wolf lopes towards Jakkan with drool spittling from bared fangs. The Half-Orc rolls to the side, taking out the knife entrusted to him as the Druid of the Wolf, and he has never felt more laden wielding the singular blade.

As a prophet of a Beast, his responsibility has been mostly about keeping his master safe and hidden from modern society while locating and assuring his creations of his continued existence. But at the end of it all, prophets are also the ones who hold the responsibility of killing their masters when the time comes that they are corrupted by their own powers of Birth, to prevent them from becoming an aberration of nature. Jakkan is well-aware of all of his duties, said or unsaid, but he never thought he would be the one to end his master’s life; that he would live long enough for him to be saddled with such a burden.

Every passing moment his chest feels as if it is being drowned from the inside as he watches his master bound towards him once more. The Beast’s regression from someone wary of ruining an already fragmented world, to a modern iteration of a mindless beast— it cuts at Jakkan deeper than any blade could; rending worse than any claw could.

So he must end it, before the pain tears him apart. Before the legend of the “Terrible Wolf” is renewed in the minds of the unworldly, he must take his master’s life.

Jakkan lets the beast come to him, he lets it pin him down on the dirt, before thrusting his knife straight into the wolf’s heart.

There are no last words, not even a final breath. Just a snarl— a vicious, thankless growl.

Jakkan knows all too well that his master was not at all ungrateful. It is just the cruel circumstances and existences, which made everything as is, that makes Jakkan see all that is in front of him at the moment in a light of bitterness. It is as if the world itself is telling him that he failed.

He merely followed a path that was paved beforehand. Jakkan did not add to it, nor did he create a new one. He failed not in his duty as a Druid, but in taking the chance to make a difference.

Jakkan knows that, he does not need anyone telling him how he let it all come once more to this definite end. He understands it now, after thinking it over and over since the signs of the corruption showed. Numbed by the thought of it, and by the cold of the night, Jakkan makes his way back to the mountain.

The journey is long, and the sun once more begins to blaze through the violet horizon of dawn when Jakkan finally makes it back.

He plants a smile on his somber facade as the wolf cub crawls out of the recession on the cave wall

“There’s blood on you, Jakkan!” The cub exclaims, already able to speak through his mind. “Is it— is it over?”

Jakkan fights the urge to pet the cub, kneeling instead, offering the new Omega’s due reverence. “It is. You are Ulvre now, the Wolf Beast.”

Jakkan peeks at his new master, intending to gauge his reaction, but rather he finds the glow of the power of Birth through the gray fur on Ulvre’s head— the power already passed on. Jakkan immediately bows his head once more, jaw clenching in anger at the Incarnates who would defile the Laws of the world, and in consequence, the Beasts.

“But, Jakkan. I don’t know what to do.” Ulvre nudges his snout against Jakkan, but the Half-Orc withdraws from the usual show of amity, knowing that a boundary must now be set between the two of them. Ulvre retreats as well, showing respect for himself and for his prophet. With lingering uncertainty, he says, “Tell me what to do, Jakkan.”

Jakkan does not need more time to think, as he already knows the answer to the Beasts’ dilemma. They do not need prophets, nor do they need servants. What they need are saviors. Jakkan cannot save the current Ulvre, but he will find someone who can.

#main companions #guardians

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misteria247 · 4 years

Text

Forgotten

Chapter Two

He didn't go back to sleep that night. After the world shaking realization that his dreams weren't dreams but possibly memories had shaken him to his core. So there he laid in his bed staring at his ceiling, his mind replaying what little he could remember from the dream turned memory. It was hard recalling his dreams, to try and puzzle them out and try to understand them and their meanings. He glared a bit, blue eyes narrowed and his mouth in a firm line of frustration and anxiety. He could only make out bits and pieces of his dream, the sounds of water, the tunnels he'd ran through, the voices though hazy and murky like he was hearing them through a thick layer of glass instead of clearly like in his dream. The only clear thing that stuck out to him was the figure.

That horrifying figure with its two deadly claws and fast movements. He could still feel the dead eyed gaze filled with hatred boring into him. The turtle shivered and shook his head to try and stop the fear that crept up his spine. He didn't have time to let fear sink in, he had to figure this out. Hours slowly passed by as his mind filled with questions.

'Who was that figure?'

'Were they responsible for the scars that now showed on his chest plate?'

'Who were the voices?'

'Why did they affect him so much?'

'Was everything he knew.....was it all a lie....?'

Questions upon questions continued to pile up, demanding answers only to receive none. He was so confused and shook that he barely noticed the sun coming up on the horizon until the light began to paint the room in its pale sunlight. Blinking slowly he began to retreat from his muddled thoughts and began to join the real world. Sitting up in his bed he slid out from it in a somewhat daze and began his day as he usually did. He stepped out of his home and began to make his way towards the nearby stream to bathe and hunt. The turtle teen walked down the familiar path, the sounds of the leaves and sticks crunching under his feet along with the sounds of nature slowly waking up began to fill his ears. He began to relax a bit as his forest home greeted him, a quirk of a smile coming onto his face.

All too soon he finally got to his stream, the clear blue waters slightly rushing with their current as he drew towards its riverbank. With little hesitation he stepped into the waves and sank belong the waters swimming with the current and letting his mind drift. It felt cool against his scaley skin and shell, making him almost sigh under water before remembering that it probably wasn't a good idea. After a few minutes of his mindless swimming and bathing he finally surfaced, being sure to not be knocked over by the water. Standing up in the stream he wiped his eyes of water and basked in the sunlight that touched his skin. After his eyesight was cleared he began to hunt for his breakfast, managing to catch a few fish to cook over his little fire back at his shack.

Once breakfast was caught he walked out of the stream and back onto shore and began his journey home, carrying his food over his shoulder. The walk home was peaceful other than his thoughts which continued to run rampant. He began to think of his past dreams and what he could remember of them as well as his earliest memories. When he'd first found himself in his forest he'd been injured, his chest plate bleeding and cracked and his head split in the back. Various other injuries had covered his body and he'd been surrounded by water and trees. He'd been out for a series of days after he'd forced himself to find shelter despite his injuries. That was when he'd stumbled upon his shack. The rest was history after that. He recovered surprisingly and began his life in the forest. He learned to avoid humans as much as possible and he stayed hidden.

'But there was something before my life here.....somehow I ended up here.....injured and alone......'

The thought pondered, making him feel even more uneasy than he usually felt. He sighed and continued his way, no longer at peace as he had been before. He got home and cooked his breakfast and ate. He then went back outside and sharpened his small knife he'd picked up awhile back from an abandoned campsite. He continued his daily routine as he usually did, lost and confused and anxious and full of questions.

~~~~~

It was nearly two weeks later when he was once again thrust from his world into chaos. Only this time it was worse than any dream he could have ever experienced. He'd gone out of his usual areas in his forest to go and collect more herbs and supplies from some abandoned campsites left by campers a few days ago. He collected all sorts of things and put them in the bag he had with him then he began to look for the herbs that would help him with future injuries or illnesses. Once he'd completed these tasks he made his way back towards his familiar area when he noticed something that didn't belong. Something that didn't belong in the forest.

Cars.

Black sleek cars were parked near the trail.

He felt his heart stop and his breathing freeze in his lungs as he quietly made his way back towards his shack. Keeping to the shadows and keeping out of view he cautiously looked around. To his horror he saw his shack was being searched, strange men in black clothes and masks were tearing apart his beloved shack. Keeping silent he slowly climbed into a tree and hid in its branches and leaves, watching the strange humans destroy his home. He took in their appearances and noticed that they were carrying weapons and their clothes had a large red footprint on the shoulder.

'Dangerous. Need to get away now. It's no longer safe here.'

The thought whispered like a red herring. He didn't need to be told twice. Staying in the tree he jumped on to another branch keeping as silent as a grave. As he passed over them he caught snippets of their conversation.

".....can't let him escape again. If we do Master Shredder will be most displeased."

A voice said in a hushed tone.

"We can not lose him again. It's of uttermost importance that we capture the turtle and bring it to our Master."

Another voice said in agreement. He felt his blood freeze in his veins. They were looking for him, they wanted to capture him and take him to this Master Shredder whoever he was. The turtle teen swallowed softly and quickly jumped into another tree, refusing to make any noise to alert them of his presence. As he slowly made his way further away he managed to catch one last snippet of conversation.

"We will not fail this time. We will not fail in destroying the leader of the Hamato clan, Leonardo."

He nearly fell out of his tree at the name before regaining his balance and continuing on. As soon as he was far enough away he picked up the pace and flew from tree to tree, desperate to leave his forest home. He didn't know why but somehow he knew that even if he moved to a different part of the woods they'd find him again. So he ran, scrambling for another place that he could hide from humans dressed in black with red footprints and weapons.

'Gotta find someplace big, someplace where I can get food and shelter and remain hidden. But where....?'

A sudden vision popped into his mind. A hazy scene from his dreams filled with water falling from pipes in the sky and stone walls.

'Sewers, I can hide in the sewers. I just have to find a city right?'

He thought as he finally got to the forest edge and jumped down from the trees. As soon as his legs hit the ground he took off running, making sure to remain quiet. He ran towards the gravel trail known as a road and waited in a nearby ditch. It wasn't long before the sounds of a car could be heard. Grabbing a rather large rock he waited to see what kind of vehicle it was. A large truck came over the small hill of the road, a large tarp covering the back of it.

'Perfect.'

Aiming the rock he threw it as hard as he could hitting the truck's side. The loud bang caused the driver to swerve a bit, the human's eyes wide with shock. Turning its parking lights on it pulled over and parked, quickly jumping out of the truck.

"What the fuck was that??"

The human shouted spooked. The human began to check out their truck and then the surrounding area for whatever had hit its vehicle. The turtle didn't hesitate, quickly and quietly sneaking into the back of the truck and hiding under the tarp from view as the human was distracted. The human seeing nothing scratched their head and with a somewhat cautious aura around them they climbed back into their truck and started it up again taking the hidden turtle with them. As the truck drove further away from the forest he watched through the holes in the tarp, his heart heavy with sorrow. He would never see his beloved home again, he'd never swim in his stream or hear the sounds of nature in the mornings and evenings. All because of some strangers who had somehow found his shack he was forced to leave everything that he knew behind to find a new home. He couldn't help but curse himself as he remembered where he was planning to go.

The sewers, located in a city that he'd never been in. All because his mind decided that it was the perfect time to recall the one part of his dream/memory when he was desperately trying to get away. As the forest disappeared from view leaving the last attachments to his old life behind him with the dangerous humans he began to think back on everything he'd managed to hear. Those humans were obviously searching for him or rather the leader of the Hamato clan and bring him back to their master.

Master Shredder.....

The name made his skin break out into goosebumps. He didn't know why but the name gave him a terrified feeling in his chest all the way down to his soul. However the feeling didn't last long as he remembered the other name he'd heard.

Leonardo Hamato.

That name.....it seemed so familiar. Like he'd heard it thousands of times before. He couldn't help but pull himself into a tight ball, the feelings of confusion, sorrow and frustration building up in him. Ever since he had that dream his life has been nothing but chaotic. It was irritating and frightening having everything he knew just turned upside down.

"Hopefully.....my new home will be a lot more peaceful....."

He muttered to himself before relaxing in the corner of the truck bed. He had no idea where his destination was but he didn't really care at the moment. As long as he was away from the dangers back at his old home then he wouldn't complain. As he settled into a restless sleep he had no idea of what the future held for him nor how that wish of a peaceful life would never be reached.

*.......I've got no excuse for this sorry not sorry sgdgdgfh. I've just had Leo on the brain and it's gotten to the point of no return. Honestly it's fun writing for him lowkey. Anyways you know the drill if you can guess who's who then you get a cookie lol. Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!*

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thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Enchanted For a Moment (revamped)

Pairings: Reds, Blues, Greens

Fandoms: The Powerpuff Girls

Rating: T (might change with chapters)

Word count: 7755

Summary: A royal au that showcases three different types of relationships. As Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup work for Princess Eliza Morbucks, they have a secret they want to keep but when a trial of suitors comes for the princess, everyone is going to discover something they never intended too.

Note: This is a rewrite of my story "Enchanted for a Moment". Its much longer and in depth and I hope you all enjoy. Huge thank you to my wonderful and stunning beta, Miss Cilla @creativecilla for helping me bring this to life. Another thank you to my other betas Aves @avesthetea and Lisa @lisathefan for coming along on the journey.

Chapter 1

---

The sun rose gently on the horizon as a new day started in Townsville. It was a simple kingdom filled with simple people who lived simple lives. The town was small yet full of life. There was the bakery that filled the air with an aroma of vanilla and sugar. The library and school house where little minds grew big. Not to mention the busy harbor that had an excellent array of fish, meats, and vegetables.

Everything and everyone within the kingdom had their place. They had a job and a status to uphold and the princess was no exception.

The daughter of King Morbucks, Princess Eliza, was the fairest lady in all the land. At least, that is what they said in order to keep her peace. In all honesty, Eliza, who demanded to be referred solely as Princess, was a menace.

She was anything but a graceful girl. Demands came from her mouth the second she was born and no one had ever told her no. She could manipulate anyone with a blink of an eye or a bribe. She wasn’t one for genuine smiles or doing charitable work, no. She cared about her crown more than anything else in the kingdom, why bother with anything else?

Yes, Townsville was a peaceful kingdom for the most part, yet hidden within the walls of the castle was a secret that few had known.

♛♛♛

“Princess. Please hold still!” Bubbles winced as she tried to measure Princess for a new gown. The blonde stepped back, avoiding the elbow coming towards her face and blew out her bangs. “Your majesty.” She groaned but Princess was in the mirror staring at herself as if she was the most beautiful creature on the planet.

“Quit your whining, maid.” She spat at Bubbles, who only tightened her lip and grabbed the basket full of fabrics and sewing needles.

“I’ll return tomorrow then.” She said defeatley as she saw the sun setting through the glass windows. Another few hours wasted and she had gotten practically nothing done.

“Whatever.” Princess said without taking her eyes off her mirror.

Bubbles finished packing, feeling her own temper rise out of anger and irritation. She shoved her hand into the basket to hide the small blue glow coming from her palm and quickly walked towards the door.

“Excuse you.” The princess snapped and gave her a scowl.

Bubbles’ shoulders tightened and she pressed her hand further into her basket. She sighed before giving a small bow towards her. “Until tomorrow.” She bit her lip. “Your majesty.”

Bubbles closed the door to the room and roamed down the private wing that belonged to the maids and servant quarters.

She made a right at one of the hallways towards her own room, the one she shared with her two sisters, Blossom and Buttercup Utonium. Ever since she was a little girl, Bubbles dreamed of the life of royalty.

Her father would read her stories of princes kissing their princess in an act of true love. They would live happily ever after in a castle just as grand as this one and all was well. How she dreamed it would be like that.

However, it was far from it. The only reason her sisters lived within the palace walls was due to something she would rather forget.

She was fifteen when it had happened. Her eldest sister, Blossom, came through the door, a soft look on her face that she had never worn before. Tears lay on her water line as she hugged Bubbles to her chest telling her of their fathers passing. Buttercup returned from the docks as the news swarmed the town and the three of them stood before their father's grave dressed in the ink black fabric as their sobs rang like the church bells.

Bubbles could remember the way Blossom stood. Her shoulders pulled tight as her fists clenched together and she tried to be strong, she hardly smiled after that. The next thing she knew, they were being set up in the castle. A private room that the three would share and all they had to do was work there.

Buttercup worked as a private guard and occasionally helped with supply income from the docks. Bubbles’ ability to make a dress out of pure scraps lead her towards the seamstress route. As for Blossom, she was appointed as Princess’s tutor and main maid. Bubbles never knew how she had managed to replace the woman with that role as Blossom would constantly bicker with the princess, yet when she asked, her question was brushed aside.

Bubbles made her way into the servants wing. It wasn't as luscious as the rest of the castle but still held some elegance to keep up with the look. She pushed the door open and placed her basket on the nearest chair in the room as she rubbed her palm making the blue glow die down.

“Blossom, she is killing me.” Bubbles complained before flopping on her bed. “I pricked my finger five times because she wouldn’t stay still!” Bubbles held her index finger that was much redder than the others.

The red head looked up from her book. She gave her little sister an innocent look, one that knew exactly how she felt as she also had to deal with the spoiled brat on the daily.

“I'm sorry. Then again, I am not surprised.” Blossom turned the next page. She was sitting on the window sill, a place Bubbles found her on the daily.

“How hard is it to stay still?! I swear, I’ve made dresses for babies that don’t squirm as much.” She blew out some air before reaching up and undoing the two pigtails wrapped in blue ribbons. Her soft blonde hair fell just past her shoulders, much shorter than her older sister. “Oh Blossom, you should have seen the way my hand glowed. Do you know how hard it was to keep a smile?” She pointed towards her cheeks. “Extremely difficult.”

“And yet, you have one of the most stunning smiles in the land.” Blossom responded as another page turned in her book.

Bubbles stared at her, slightly entranced by how peaceful she looked. Although, she didn’t miss the slight darkness under her eyes and the subtle crease in her brow. Even with the clear toll of taking care of her sisters, Bubbles thought that under the soft glow of the light, her sister was the essence of beauty.

Ever since they were little girls, Blossom had always caught the eyes of everyone around her, but never on purpose. She was the most quiet of the three, with Buttercup being brash and Bubbles’ loud personality shining through. Yet she could captivate anyone she walked past.

She had taught herself to read and then her sisters, something not many could do. Bubbles always believed she would be married first, she was the oldest afterall and there was no shortage of suitors looking for her hand.

In fact it was one of the reasons why Princess wasn’t a fan of her, among other things as well.

A sad smile came onto her lips as the blonde laid on her back and looked up at the tall ceiling. She had always loved the painted flowers displayed there. She could spend hours tracing her finger in the air among the patterns and wondering what they’d smell like if they were to bloom in the gardens, unfortunately magnolias never grew in the kingdom, but she could dream.

“Do you remember when father would read us the stories?” Bubbles said out loud. It wasn’t rare to speak of their late father, but there were times that were easier than others. Even after two years of not having him here, Bubbles missed him as if the wound were fresh.

She could hear the page turning stop and looked towards Blossom, who was now looking out the window.

“Every single one.” The red head responded, her own lips turning up into a smile that Bubbles wished she could see more.

“Would you tell me one?” Bubbles asked as she toyed with the hem of her dress.

Blossom marked her page and closed the book, setting it on the small table and walked towards her sister's bed. “You should get ready for bed and perhaps when you’re done, Buttercup will be back to join us.” She brushed a light blonde lock out of her sister's face and watched as Bubbles left to the small bathroom attached to their room.

She heard the water begin to run and returned to her seat at the window. Her eyebrows drew together as she looked up towards the sky. The moon had begun to rise as stars speckled the sky.

“Where is Buttercup?” She asked, as her younger sister was usually back by now.

♛♛ Earlier that Afternoon ♛♛

“Captain, the shipment crew spotted something along the far shoreline, hidden beyond the trees. They suspect that it’s an undocumented ship from another kingdom or worse, pirates.”

Captain Lumpkins, an older man who had seen more passing moons than most, was one of the most trusted men in the kingdom’s service. He was short and stout with a thick beard and with a loose temper like his, and his face always seemed to be a nice shade of pink.

Lumpkins faced in the direction that his crew member told him of, a squint in his eyes as he tried to look for a sign of the ship but it was blocked by the rocky formations of the cliff side. The wooden pipe that constantly hung from his lips let out a thick puff of smoke that the crew had gotten used to. He scoured his crew, looking through the few faces to pick from until he settled on the girl with the jet black hair.

He snapped his fingers before pointing towards Buttercup. “Little Lady, take the lead and go find out what all the fuss is about.” he grumbled, before turning his back, giving her no time to protest.

“Alone?” Buttercup questioned. She was more than capable of handling her own but it was better to travel in pairs, especially if the threat of pirates was around.

The Captain looked back before blowing on his pipe again. “Problem?” He grinned and showed his more than yellow teeth that were probably better to be made of wood at this point.

Her eyes narrowed and she bit her lip. She knew he was only doing this because the first time they had met, she had accidentally hit him with a door and sent him flying towards the ground, not to mention she almost broke his banjo.

“No sir.” She spat and felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Be careful.” Mitch said, before giving her a nod and following the captain.

Mitch was a simple guy. Dark brown eyes and messy brown hair, he was nothing special but was extremely skilled with a bow and arrow. They had lived in the same part of the village before she moved to the castle and he had been drafted into the captain guard by the time he was fifteen. She considered him to be one of her only friends, even if he was slightly annoying. However, he never once doubted her skills.

Buttercup sighed before stalking off, boots hitting the dock with a little more anger than she intended. She threw her hands in her pockets so the small spark of green they emitted went unnoticed by the people in the area. In all honesty, she didn’t care that she went by herself. If anything, she was as good with a sword as she was sassy, and hardly anyone tried to mess with her.

It took more than half an hour to reach the hidden beach. She didn’t mind the stroll since it gave her an excuse to not be around the annoying stare of her captain. It blew her mind that some old fat man was the captain. Some of the other crew mates had told her that he once owned a farm and even a cabin in the deeper parts of the woods. After an accident with flooding of the crops, he had been put into the guard service and moved his way to the top.

Buttercup stood on the small cliff. She could see the ship below and it took her breath away at how massive and stunning the beast was. The ship was made of dark wood that looked like squid ink against the blue sea. The masts held thick, white cloth and a smaller flag that was decorated with a skull and crossbones. It was a typical sign for pirates to have, but this one had a dark green trim.

It looked like a classic ship. She had seen many sailing on the sea when she had accompanied the navy team for a few deliveries, but what had intrigued her most was the statue on the forepeak. Most of the time, a mermaid or maiden was craved and crafted onto the front; something about the ladies of the sea or the fact that the only people on board were horny men who could barely please their wives.

Instead, this ship had something different. She slipped down from the cliff and jumped the shore. She noticed the ship was much larger than she had thought as she approached the front. She looked up at the statute. A beautiful craving of a fairy was displayed. Her face was round and looked soft with large wings curving around the ship, each wing held an intricate design.

Buttercup had never seen something so expertly crafted, and the words below it were just as fascinating.

“The Empress.” She whispered to herself. She had a keen knowledge on the many famous pirates that roamed the sea. Each of them in search for their own thing, be it treasure or the destruction of anything in their way.

A gasp left her lips as she realized that docked on this beach was one of the most viscous groups of pirates around. Legends had told that a fearless captain commanded the ship and the water around him. Wherever he went, danger and death followed. Her father once told her that if you ever became a prisoner among his deck, your life would drip out slowly and painfully and there was no mercy in his eyes. It was said that his gaze alone could strike fear even into the bravest of hearts.

She should have turned back to warn Lumpkins of what was here. She should have left with a shiver down her spine, but she had gotten closer to the ship, her fingers gliding along the wood and she felt little to no fear.

The ram to the deck was down and when she looked around, she found no crew members in sight, an odd occurrence, really. Her foot was on the ram and she had begun walking up without realizing.

If Blossom were here, she would have lost her mind. She could hear her voice now.

“Buttercup Utonium, what were you doing near a pirate ship? I don’t care that it was an order, you are only eighteen!” She said in a tone, mimicking her older sister.

The deck was spotless as she stepped onto it, still no one in sight and she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or even more suspicious. As she walked, there was nothing around her that screamed ‘pirate’. Sure there were some cannons and weapons lying around, but nothing that had shown any sort of activity for a few weeks.

She had decided to head back, hardly anything to report, and wondered if this ship had been overthrown and abandoned. As she went to leave, her eyes went towards a door that was no doubt made for a captain. She got closer, there was a plaque inscribed with a single word, or rather name on it.

“Butch.” She muttered.

One hand went onto the door knob while the other rested on her dagger, with a swift push, the door opened. She took one step inside before her eyes widened. Leaning against a large oak desk was, no doubt in her mind, the captain of the very ship she now realized she was trespassing on.

The man looked up from where he was sharpening a knife before flashing her a wicked smile that revealed slightly sharper teeth than a normal person should have and piercing green eyes that challenged her own lighter ones.

“Well, what do we have here?” He questioned, before throwing the knife towards a wall behind him.

Buttercup froze in place, unsure of what to do. She hadn’t expected anyone to be here and now she felt like she had walked into a lion’s den. She hadn’t even noticed that he walked towards her and when she snapped back to reality, one arm had snaked around her waist and the other held her wrist above her head, keeping her dagger out of reach.

“Quiet now, are we?” He smirked. They were mere inches apart with their chest flushed together, but she noticed that his grip wasn’t rough enough to hurt.

“Not quite.” She responded. “I would be careful holding a lady hostage like this.”

He laughed. “You’re the one who came onto my ship, sweetheart.” He reminded her. “I’m just making sure my property is safe. What are you doing?”

“Scouting out dirty pirates.” She sneered before glaring at him. “And I think I found one.”

“I'm rather clean, doll. But I can get dirty, if that’s what you want.” He whispered in her ear.

There was something within her that shuttered and she couldn’t quite place what was happening, but the more she stayed in his hold, the more she didn’t mind. She fell silent and studied him. He was slightly taller than her, just enough to have an edge, and a mop of black hair that looked to have a natural spike, if that was even possible. In her lifetime she had encountered many men but she was certain that he was by the far the hottest man she had faced, and she hated it.

“Dirty pirate and a disgusting pig, what’s new?” She looked away and tried to search the room, but instead she was now being dipped by the so-called dirty pirate.

“Eyes on me only, doll.” He said and her gaze hooked to his again. She felt a sudden fire in her stomach as he brought her closer to him. “Can’t have you running to your little captain and telling on me.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “How did you know that I worked for the royal crew?” She demanded.

“Lucky guess.” Her glare narrowed. “Your dagger is engraved with the symbol, dummy.” He said as he took her dagger and threw it across the room. “Oops.”

A feeling of fear sparked through her body as she watched her weapon slide against the wooden floor.

“So now what?” She asked. “Gonna kill me?”

He chuckled before pulling up from the dipped position but still holding her to him. “Nope. You have this spunk, I like it. I also have no need to kill you, too messy and honestly, kinda lame.”

“So what, you’re just gonna hold me?”

“Ehh, I was thinking we could get to know each other, doll.”

She gave an eye roll that he thought was amusing, before she lifted the heel of her foot and locked it with his, twisted his arm to send him flying towards the ground. He landed on his back with a thud before she placed her boot on his very tone chest and the sound of metal sliced through the air as her sword pointed towards his flushed face.

“You have a lot of nerve flirting with a royal guard member, ya’ know that? I should have broken your hand the moment you laid a finger on me.” She spat.

Butch chuckled and she felt the virbation from beneath her foot. “Can’t blame a man when you look like that.” He said, as he looked at her with no shame.

She felt her cheeks heat but she held her ground. “What are you doing here?” She questioned him.

“Can’t a man sail on his own?” He responded, but was met with a harder push of her heel.

She scoffed. “You’re no ordinary man.”

“And you’re not a fair lady, guess we all have our own issues, babe.”

She ignored what he said and initiated her search, foot still on his chest. She sent her sword piercing into the collar on his leather coat. “Stay still.” She sneered before stepping over him.

“Yes Ma’am.” He purred.

Behind his desk was a giant map of the main spread of kingdoms. Thick black lines connected some routes but she decided not to ask. Towards her right was a bed with fine silk sheets and a wardrobe. To the left, were cabinets filled with all sorts of stuff. Glass bottles and sea shells. Sea glass and parchment scattered around. It looked similar to Lumpkins’ private quarters, but with more skulls and less reek of tobacco and hay.

Placed on a random shelf was a photo of two other men. The ink was black and white yet she could tell that their eyes and hair were much different from each other. The taller one had a scowl and a cold gaze while the shorter one was smiling brightly and looked as innocent as a puppy. She said nothing about it and moved on, looking at the items and weapons that hung on the wall.

She turned to look at the man on the floor and he hadn’t moved an inch from where she left him. Instead, he began whistling as she looked through his desk and found more scrolls and random objects. There was nothing out of the ordinary that screamed ‘danger’ and perhaps he was telling the truth, just sailing because he can.

“Where’s your crew?” She asked.

“Back home. Like I said before, I just was sailing and stopped on by.”

“Where’s back home?”

“Not too sure, left there a long time ago. This is my home.” He said, gesturing his ship. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“I’m asking the questions here.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “This is my ship, so I’d watch the attitude and answer the question.” He poked at the sword.

She turned towards him and then back at the map. “Buttercup.”

“Seems a little soft for you.”

“Well, ‘Butch’ seems to fit you fine.”

Buttercup looked around more until she came back to him and grabbed the handle of the sword. With a swift pull, the sword released its grasp on the fabric and was put back into the holder hidden in her boot. She leaned down before placing her knee on his chest and placed her fingers along the leather collar and yanked hard causing his head to snap towards her.

“I’ll believe you for now, but if I catch you doing anything suspicious, I won’t hesitate to put my sword through you.” She threatened.

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll behave, doll. Promise.” He batted his eyelashes. “You should know that offering to stab me is a real turn on, too.” He gushed, and before he could see the reaction to the statement, she was off of him and moving to grab her dagger.

He got up and dusted his coat off, not caring that there was a small tear. “I’ll cut you a deal Buttercup. If you don’t go running your mouth that a pirate ship is here, granted I’m, let's say off duty, I’ll answer any question you want. Maybe even let you take this beauty for a spin.”

“You’d let me sail your ship?” She asked with caution.

“I was talking about the bed but the ship will do.”

Her face morphed into what most would say, unamused. But she contemplated his offer. If she stayed quiet then she would gain information on other pirates and other useful things.

“Alright, you have a deal.” She held out her hand. “I’ll keep quiet for now.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Can’t wait for your return, Buttercup.”

She pushed past him and tucked the dagger into her pocket and walked out the door. Something within her wanted to go back to the castle and bury her head in her pillow and scream. Her boots hit the sand as she began to walk but before she got any further, the statute of the fairy somehow made her stop and ponder things.

The boot twisted in the sand and soon she was back at the door with her hand gripping the handle. As she opened it, Butch directed his attention to her and she noticed the bottle of amber liquid on the desk and two glasses already full as if he had expected her not to leave.

“Back so soon?” He raised a brow and offered her a filled glass.

With caution to the wind, she came towards him and sat on the desk.

“I’d like that tour now.” She said before taking the glass and downing the liquid. “Captain.”

There was a spark in his eyes as he finished his own drink and gestured to the vast room. “And here I thought you came back because you missed me.”

She laughed and accepted another pour of the drink. “You’re going to have to do a lot more than yapping and drinking to get me to miss you.” She winked, and he felt a tingle roll down his spine.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to work hard to impress you then?”

She bit her lip. “Guess so.”

They shared another drink, glasses clinking as they tilted their heads back and drank it all in one go.

“Shall we?” Butch prompted, and she responded with a firm nod and matching grin.

♛♛♛

Bubbles stepped out from the bathroom, her cotton nightgown hugging her body as she walked towards her bed and began to brush her hair. Blossom had also changed into her night time attire as the door to their room opened.

“Buttercup, there you are.” Blossom said. She looked over her sister whose uniform was slightly wrinkled and a few buttons missing. “Where have you been? You were off duty hours ago.”

The green eye girl shrugged as she made her way to the bathroom. “I was taking care of other orders, relax.” She reassured her older sister but something didn’t sit well with Blossom as the bathroom door closed.

“Well hurry up, Blossom is gonna tell a story!” Bubbles whined, as she picked up her stuffed octopus her mother had made her when she was little.

Buttercup came out of the bathroom and sat on Bubbles’ bed. “Ooh, which one?” She asked and Blossom set her books aside and came over to sit in front of the girls on a chair.

“Bubbles requested the one of the princess and-”

“You always tell that one!” Buttercup complained.

“It's cute!” Bubbles defended her beloved tale.

The middle sister pushed her shoulder lightly. “It’s boring. Choose a different one. Like the pirate king.”

“Pirates are scary!”

“Not all of them.” Buttercup whispered under her breath.

Blossom narrowed her eyes. “What was that Buttercup?”

“N-nothing, just tell the stupid princess one.” She grumbled with flushed cheeks.

Blossom only blew up her bangs and rolled her eyes. “Alright, but first I need to tell you something. Tomorrow begins the process for the Princess to meet her future husband. That means that a vast amount of suitors, from all over the land, will be here.”

A small gasp came from Bubbles. The red head shot her a glare. “Which means: no interfering. We are here to serve whether you like it or not, so don’t go poking around for some attractive man.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Buttercup groaned. “I’m so thankful I’m not a maid.”

“I’m not worried about you Buttercup. But you.” She looked at her little sister. “Be good. I know you are a beautiful maiden and kind hearted but I would rather not have your head on a platter because you made Princess jealous.” Blossom frowned.

Bubbles nodded and toyed with the hem of her dress. “I understand Blossy. But what if he falls in love with me?” She pouted out her lips and gave her big puppy dog eyes. “It wouldn’t be very nice of me to deny a lovely man his heart.”

“Be good.” Blossom restated and flicked her sister’s head. “Now, listen closely.”

Buttercup and Bubbles squished together as their sister started the story.

“Once upon a time…”

♛♛♛

The morning sun came shining through the windows. Over in the mirror, Blossom was finishing getting ready and fencing her long copper hair into a bun, finishing with her red ribbon tied. She had stopped wearing her childhood bow for many years. She was approaching her twentieth birthday this year and had thought it had been a little silly. That was until her mother passed when she was eleven, around the time she had stopped.

Blossom started in the mirror at the bow, deep with a rich red color and her mother's words played in her mind.

“Everytime I see your bow, it takes me back to the first time I held you in my arms.”

The next time she had placed the bow in her hair, her mother was being buried before her.

Blossom came back to her thoughts as Bubbles exited the bathroom dressed in her blue outfit and ready for another day.

“Good morning Blossy.” Bubbles smiled brightly. Her giggles were infectious to say the least and it was almost a miracle that she hadn’t lost that laughter after so much tragedy.

“Good morning Bubbles.” Blossom offered a small smile and she could see the hope in her sister’s eyes. “Buttercup just left, she’s on duty to welcome the suitors.”

The blonde nodded before spinning around in her dress. It was a simple blue bodice with a fluffy skirt. Even though Princess could be a royal brat, she did demand that her maids and suitors looked better and not shoved into black clothing like other castles.

“I’m so excited! This means that I can start designing dresses for the gala.” Bubbles gushed and she held her cheeks as she continued mumbling about the patterns and fabrics.

“Bubbles?” Blossom called.

“Oh, maybe she’ll want something red or purple!”

“Bubbles?”

“Or maybe gold, made of silk? No, that's tacky.”

“BUBBLES!”

The blonde's eyes snapped to her sister who was tapping her foot.

“Yes?”

Blossom pointed above her. “Your bag is floating.”

Bubbles tilted her head up and surrounded in a soft blue glow was her sewing basket with the contents floating around it. She looked towards her hands which were still emitting the light before blushing embarrassingly and making a motion with her finger. The basket came back to the ground softly.

“Oops.” Bubbles whispered.

The smallest laugh came from Blossom as she came towards her and kissed the top of her head. “I know you are excited but please, remember that your magic can not be seen. Ever.” She said cautiously.

“I know Blossy, it was an accident.”

Blossom grabbed her own small bag before opening the door and letting Bubbles walk out first. “I’ll see you for supper, and remember…”

Bubbles turned on her heels. “I know. I know. No falling in love with handsome men.” She giggled. “That goes for you too.”

The red head only shook her head before parting ways at the hallway. “Don’t prick your finger too much.”

Bubbles stuck out her tongue playfully. “Don’t make Princess mad.”

♛♛♛

Buttercup hated ushering duty more than anything else. Carriage after carriage came, each one to a different family or prince. Apparently royal status didn’t matter as long as you could pay the entrance fee, then, you were in.

“Damn, how many men are here?” Buttercup blurted. She had been standing next to Mitch for the past hour waving and guiding in the horses.

“I lost count after fifty.” He frowned. “Turns out this thing is a contest, so they should be sent home left and right.”

“Eh, that means the place is going to be filled with snotty assholes.”

Another wave of men came in, each carriage fancier than the rest.

“They all look the same at this point.” She laughed and Mitch joined in.

Just as she said that, a carriage pulled up. Unlike the other golden and bronze ones, this one was made of black steel. She caught a glimpse of the men inside. A blond man with blue eyes and another with ginger locks and eyes the shade of crimson.

They passed by just as quickly as they arrived and she couldn’t place the feeling, but they seemed vaguely familiar.

“I can’t wait for this day to be over.” Mitch groaned and she hummed before looking back at the black carriage that had just past the gate.

♛♛♛

“Boomer, pay attention.” Brick spat at his younger brother. “We aren’t here to fool around.”

Boomer, who was currently jumping on the plush bed, stopped and rolled his eyes before grinning. “Come on bro, look at this place!” He gestured to the room they were staying in while the competition took place. “I mean, I know we live in our own castle but this place is almost twice the size!”

Brick frowned and went back to unpacking their things and making sure everything was in place. “Just settle down. Keep jumping like that and you’re going to damage something.” As soon as he said that, he heard a tearing sound come from behind him.

“Boomer!” He shouted, as his little brother stood there with a ripped sleeve in his nicest dark blue jacket.

“Oops?” He shrugged and watched his older brother’s face morph into anger.

“Eighteen years old and you still act like a child. Go see if the seamstress can fix your jacket before I punch you in the face.” He pointed towards the door.

“Fine.” The blond huffed. “But seriously, lighten up. No girl is gonna wanna marry a dude with the personality of a wet sock.” He said before shutting the door.

He heard Brick shout something on the other side of the door but he couldn’t make out the words through the thick walls. With his jacket under his arm, he walked through the hallways trying to find the seamstress’ room.

“Excuse me?” He asked a passing maid. “Where is the royal seamstress room?”

She stopped in her tracks, the small cart she was pushing was filled with an array of sweets and treats. She pointed towards the direction without a word and he smiled.

“Thank you!” He looked over at her and noticed the swirl of pink in her iris. “Woah, has anyone told you that your eyes look like rose petals?”

“No.” She hummed before walking past him with her cart.

“Oh… Well, thank you anyways.” He called after her before carrying on his way.

Blossom rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

Boomer finally found the door at the end of the hallway with a picture of a sewing needle engraved on the door. “Must be the one.” He said, before giving a swift knock.

He heard a voice call for him to come in and did just that.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to be a bother but I ripped my jacket and needed it to be mended.”

A woman with long brown hair came over. She took the jacket and examined it, noting that the rip was quite large.

“Hmm.” She looked on the inside.

“Can you fix it?” He asked, now worried.

“I can’t but I know someone who can. Bubbles!” She shouted and he watched as a girl looked up from her station and their eyes locked.

Bubbles stood and made her way over. The moment her eyes locked to the man, she felt a blush instantly rise on her face. She was almost taken back by his charming smile and deep blue eyes. She had become lost in his eyes and almost forgotten what she was called over for.

“Bubbles?” Robin whispered and handed her the jacket.

She shook her head and returned to her senses as she looked at the rip.

“I can fix this, no worries.” She smiled and turned quickly to avoid his gaze. She suddenly felt very hot and light headed.

Boomer stood in his spot before realizing he was meant to follow her. Quickly, he caught up to her and watched in awe as she was almost done.

“So, how did you do this?” She asked.

“Oh uhh-I fell off a horse?” He lied.

“Fell off a horse?” She giggled. “Interesting.” She lifted the jacket before handing it to him.

He took the jacket and saw how the new seam was practically invisible, as if it had never ripped before. “Woah, you did that fast.”

“She's the best seamstress in the kingdom!” Robin shouted from across the room. “She also made the dress she's wearing.”

Boomer looked towards her and marveled at her dress. “It's pretty.”

“T-thank you.” She blushed.

They stood looking at each other with soft smiles before he looked at his feet then back to her. “I have to get going, but thank you so much, Miss Bubbles.”

“Oh, it was no trouble, just glad I could help.”

“I’m Boomer, by the way.” He took her hand and placed a kiss on it. “Your work is impeccable M’lady.” He said, before his cheeks turned red and he turned on his heel and hastily walked out the door.

A hush fell over the room as he left. A low whistle came from Robin’s lips as she looked at Bubbles with a smug look.

“I thought Blossom said not to fall in love?” She teased but Bubbles stood in place as if she was frozen and kept her eyes locked on the top of her hand where his lips had been moments before.

“Bubbles?” Robin asked her.

The blonde said nothing but grabbed her basket and headed towards the garden entrance. “I’ll be back.” She said quickly and left before Robin could protest.

“Oh, maybe she did fall in love.” Robin whispered to herself then shook her head. “No, that’s not it, right?” She said to the empty room.

♛♛♛

The cart filled with trays was placed out front of Princess’ private room, tucked far from the rest of the castle. Blossom took a deep breath before knocking a few times and entering with the cart.

“Princess Morebucks, your afternoon tea and treats.” Blossom said, as she started to place the many items onto the small table.

Princess sat at her mirror looking at her crown and placed it on the top of her head. The wild curls of copper puffed just at her shoulders.

“It's about time.” She complained and Blossom held in her scoff as she was used to the behavior of her, she had been here for a few years now.

Princess grabbed a tea cup and drank with as much poise as a badger, at least, that’s what Blossom thought.

“You know what’s funny, Blossom?” Princess said as she took a cookie from a silver platter.

“What?”

“Isn’t it just grand that all these men are traveling far and wide just for little old me?” She snickered.

“Oh, very grand.” Blossom said with no enthusiasm at all.

Another cookie was eaten. “It’s a shame Blossom, you really should be married by now. But instead, you flaunt around knowing how to read and write, it’s kinda annoying.”

“Well those are very useful skills to have, you should be grateful you possess them.”

“Could you fetch me those earrings?” Princess said, pointing towards her vanity.

Before Blossom could take a step, a finger snapped drawing her attention back to the princess.

“With your powers.”

Anger fested within Blossom as she held out her hand as commanded for the pink glow to rise. The ruby earrings became surrounded with the faint glow and soon floated up and over into Princess’s palms.

“There.” Blossom said with a bitter tone. She hated using her powers in general, a sad reminder of what she had lost and yet, Princess didn’t care. “Anything else, your majesty? Or may I take my leave?”

A dark chuckled came from her lips and Princess set her tea down. “Just one thing. You may not be seen during this time, nor Bubbles.”

“Excuse me?” Blossom challenged. “She’s a seamstress-”

“And there are others to take her place for now.” Princess cut her off.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you or your sisters encountering any of the men. Could you imagine the horrors if one of you lost your temper and they found out?”

Blossoms fists tightened at her side. “I can assure you that would never happen.”

“Your mother thought the same thing and yet…” Her voice trailed off as she looked innocently at her.

Blossom prided herself on keeping her temper at bay, but when it came to her family, that was much harder to control. “You know very well that bringing up my late parents isn’t very kind of you.”

A scoff came from Princess. “As if I care about being nice.”

“For the record Eliza.” Princess bristled at the use of her first name. “I am not jealous at the fact that men are paying to fight for your hand. I hope that one day you realize that love conquers the cost of affection.”

Princess didn’t bat an eye but instead yawned. “How enlightening, but that's where you lose Blossom. You’re foolish to think that in this world love can be more valuable than riches. Even with your beauty and brains, those powers are going to scare everyone off.”

“I-” Blossom tried to fight back, red in the face and her hands sparking bright pink.

“That’s why no one would ever love a poor orphan like you. Once people find out you and your sisters’ powers, you’re history. A true abomination, just like your mother.” Princess said before opening her door. “Now you may take your leave.”

The heavy door embellished with gold and jewels was slammed behind Blossom. She brought her hands to her face and wiped the start of her tears, trying not to let what she said get to her.

She took a deep breath and felt the tension in her palms from her magic. It was almost criminal that the princess would hold her magic against her, but nonetheless, she smoothed her skirt out before straightening her shoulders and walking away.

Her fists clenched at her side, diminishing the faint pink glow and she couldn’t stop from hearing Princess shrill voice over and over again.

“That’s why no one would ever love a poor orphan like you. Once people find out you and your sisters powers, you’re history. A true abomination, just like your mother.”

“And she calls herself a princess. Nothing short of a spoiled toddler.” She sneered to herself as she continued to walk aimlessly through the vast hallways. She found herself walking towards the library, one of the few places in the castle that didn’t feel foregin or made her feel like she had to walk on eggshells.

The grand doors opened and the smell of books filled her nose, providing her a sense of comfort she desperately craved. Thankful she was one of the only people who cared enough to enter this place, it was like a secret oasis that only she knew.

The vast library held rows upon rows of books, each one a different world for her to explore and she was only a small percentage of the way through. Her fingers laid on a shelf as she let them fall along the spines and feel the various textures. She mindlessly grabbed one and went towards the plush velvet chairs that sat beneath a set of tall windows letting herself get lost within the passage of words.

♛♛♛

Brick walked through the hallway set up for the suitors. He thought, with extreme confidence, that he was by far the best of the lot. He rolled his eyes towards a group of men who probably had money but nothing on his level. He didn’t have time for the foolish and meaningless chatter. He wasn’t here to make friends, maybe business partners, but his goal was clear.

The crown.

Of course he already had a kingdom of his own, but he wanted more. If he got the princess’s hand now, Boomer could take over their land and that just meant that the Jojo name would spread further and further, just like their late father wanted.

He never truly cared about who the princess was. This was about business, that was clear. When the invitations for the suitor competition came out, the only thing he’d learned about her was that she was beautiful with dark brown eyes and ginger hair. That was more than enough for him.

He took himself away from the other men and headed aimlessly about, just trying to find a quiet place to be alone. A large set of oak doors caught his attention and the scribe on the wall showed that this was indeed the library.

He doubted anyone else would be inside so he went in and closed the doors behind him. Without thinking, he grabbed a random book before seeing that there were many chairs placed around. As he came up towards the windows that went from the ceiling to the floor, he spotted a figure already in one of the chairs.

He approached the chair and noticed that it was a girl. His eyebrows furrowed as she was reading. There were not many women who knew how to read. She wore a soft pink dress and had a red ribbon tied up into her hair. Ginger hair. His eyes widened as he realized just who was sitting before him.

With a smirk, he stood in front of her and bowed.

“My apologies for interrupting, but it's an honor to meet you, your majesty.” Brick said.

The woman looked up at him. Her lips slightly parted and she had a look of confusion. He thought he was prepared to see the brown eyes from the description but instead he was met with a sensational and breathtaking view of pink.

“Your majesty?” Blossom said with shock.

♛♛♛

This was a monster to write and I hope you all enjoyed!!! this might be the only wipe's that I finish lol

#blossick #boomubbles #butchercup #reds #blues #greens #royal au #ppg x rrb #rrb x ppg #brick x blossom #boomer x bubbles #butch x buttercup #thewritingstar

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bonesofapoet · 4 years

Text

Blood of the Holy

[matt murdock x you]

author’s note: hey hi hello, if some of you recognize this format + writing style but not the blog, i used to share my work on my main @ladyofstardvst and caved on making a writing blog. yall dont need to sift through my non-writing shit just to find my work. i’ve never written for this nerd before but here we are with a study of a sort! be kind! i take requests now! tw for blood, implied violence, swearing

word count: 1894

ao3: here

Most people couldn’t stand the neon in the dark.

It was garishly bright, it was harsh, it was annoying at best. The sign would blink and linger behind your eyelids, stain the shadows in the dark like sunspots, make an impression that washed out the relaxing calm, the blanket of the night.

It keeps most people awake, Matt Murdock explained on that very first night. It doesn’t bother me, obviously. Take the bed. It’s not as noticeable in the bedroom.

But it didn’t bother you either. The contrast caught your eye on the second night; the colors would paint the monochromatic neutral tones of the apartment, how they would mix and melt into the chipped brick walls, the trim, the beams of the ceiling. How if you were in the right place – the right cushion on the couch, far enough back into the kitchen – it looked like a painting come alive right before your eyes. Something that would go on to live in a local indie gallery, something inspired by vaporwave, or whatever they were calling neon nostalgia these days.

Still. Silent. Chiaroscuro. Art in the wild.

It was like clockwork, the blinking. The colors coming and going at the first peek of evening shadow, only to blink right off at the first knock of the sun’s rays on the horizon.

After the third, fourth, tenth, twentieth nights it had become a comfort of sorts, namely for the days Matt Murdock wasn’t there to press you into the wall and kiss you senseless, or weave each other stories under the moonlight with a nest of blankets and concrete beneath you. When he wasn’t there to ghost his fingertips over your skin as you drifted off to sleep, so painfully content that you always wondered if this beautiful man with a devastating secret would be the end of you.

You never knew, but he often asked himself the same thing.

Then there were days that damned neon was the only constant about Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

Moments of lovesick peace would only last so long.

Your skin would crawl on the nights sleep wouldn’t come. Mug of tea, coffee, something stronger cradled in your hands while your mind wandered, your feet wandered, your eyes drifted around this space of his, this little hideaway of yours. You would always hear him before you saw him, adrenaline spiked and oh so weary. Some nights he was covered in so much blood you didn’t know where it ended and his own crimson suit began.

“You’re still awake,” he would say, scowl tugging his mouth down, always sounding surprised. As if it was unusual, for you to be restless on the nights he donned devil horns to go hunting.

And you’re still alive, would be your reply.

He would stay close until dawn. You would gravitate toward him just the same, moths to flame, flowers to the sun. Conversations were hazy and hushed in the early morning-late night blur. They walked that fine fragile line between this is not okay, Matt, and you know you can’t shove me away as easily as everyone else, you stubborn ass.

Unspoken vs spoken. Horror vs love.

Clockwork, nonetheless.

Until one day, the clock shattered.

Matt Murdock doesn’t come home.

Then it’s days. Weeks slipped into months. Months slipped into a blend of minutes, moments, denial casually catching hold within as you found yourself still in his apartment – your little hideaway - watching the steady blink blink blink of the neon sign through the dirty, frosted window panes of the kitchen. Then the living room, then the kitchen counter. Cold tea, day old bitter coffee, something stronger untouched and unloved in the mug that hung loosely in your hands.

Those feelings of heartache and unease and an angry I fucking told you so lingered at the back of your mind, the tip of your tongue. The last time you saw him had been reenacted so many times, it began to feel like a dream. A nightmare. The flesh made into ghosts. Phantom lips brushed yours in such a gentle, such an urgent way that your pulse began to spike at the memory. The loss. The longing.

You thought about how you had gotten here, of all places, here – this apartment, this man’s life, both of you entwined with secrets and lies that could end both of you forever-

Everything was safer in the dark. What Matt Murdock hadn’t known – well. That wasn’t how he had met his end, after all.

It was almost too much to think about, on some occasions.

Until one day, when the clock began to tick once more.

You heard him before you saw him, the familiar cadence of his footsteps descended from above. The quiet slide of the roof access door snicked open and closed in the unholy hours of the night, the unholy hours of the morning.

The silence was new, however, and your eyes drifted up to see a shadow at the top of the staircase, frozen and tense and so very familiar.

“You’re still awake,” he said, and the tears were suddenly there; the ones that could never come, the ones that never seemed to leave. They were present, and the noise that left your throat wasn’t coherent, wasn’t normal, but a strangled laugh escaped your lips anyway.

“You’re still alive,” you replied. If not for the routine, your answer wouldn’t have been so intelligible. “You’re alive.” came the raspy whisper.

His silhouette nodded, began to limp down the stairs into the apartment proper. Began to finish his long journey back to you, back to everything, really. The mug in your hands was no more – placed safely, if not hastily – on the table, and you met him halfway.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet and so very hesitant as he clawed off the scarf covering his eyes. “I’m alive.”

There’s the hint of a smile that catches in the neon blink, one that you dreamt of sometimes, on the long nights. Shared breaths, lovesick grins, stray tears being gently brushed away followed in a fog, in a rush, in slow motion that threatened to dismantle so many things about his time away.

And then -

“Where the fuck have you been?”

He’s holding your waist, fingertips splayed, grip firm if only to convince himself that finally – finally, he’s here, you’re here, you're together. Your own hands slid to his shoulders, but you stepped back to keep him a few inches away.

Your gaze was hot and strong and analytical – Matt could feel your eyes as they saw bruised skin, torn clothes, battered, bloody knuckles. He’s been in worse shape, both you and he knew that, but he also knew he was no drawing, no painting, nothing close to a work of art worthy of a museum either. There were bloody, violent masterpieces under guard at the Louvre more worthy than he.

Had he asked you, you would have disagreed.

He can’t see the sorrow drowning the color of your eyes or the way softness carved a home on your expression, carefully melting away the tension, the anger, the fear. He can’t see you, but he does and even after all this time he still knew how to read the air around your mood shifts and the lilt of your voice. Still knew that after all he’s put you through – he felt a weight lift off his shoulders, Atlas freed at last.

He may have lost touch with many things, many people, but not once had he ever lost you.

“I’m sorry,” he began, emotion becoming thicker in his voice with every breath, every word that tumbled past his lips. It had always unsettled him, how you could unearth what he tried to hide, tried to bury.

Moths to flame, flowers to the sun.

He condensed the happenings since the building collapse after his stint with the Defenders, his words spilling out quick and quiet, rushed and worried.

But if he hadn’t finished what he started, what was he doing here? What was he doing with you? Why now?

“Let me – let me get this straight. Were you going to let us think you died, until – when? You got your shit together? Killed Fisk?” his fingers tightened where they held you, unseeing eyes wandered anywhere and everywhere except right in front of him, right on you. You knew that look. Your voice softened. “Or were you just going to disappear? Like this meant nothing – like this means nothing? And as grateful as I am that you are – why are you here, Matt?”

He shook his head, ignored the cracks that broke open his heart like dropped glass. Your name spilled from his lips like a holy hymn that golden haloed angels could never hope to sing. No one could recreate the most divine sound in all of creation. Matt Murdock would always swear you were a goddess incarnate, no matter how sinfully blasphemous it was. “You mean everything.” he pulled you into him, moved so his face was close to yours.

“It’s not that simple,” he said after, and you deflated in an instant. The amount of times a variation of this conversation had been voiced between you – you would never know. It was like a renegade wildfire: possible to lessen, impossible to tame.

It was as quick as the changing of the seasons, how he took on the urgency you’ve only witnessed a handful of times - when he allowed you in the presence of Daredevil himself. You remembered what he asked of you lifetimes ago, between hushed words and bloody gauze, hands slick with red and a needle poised between your fingertips. How if danger ever came to your door, you would listen and you would trust, and you would let him do whatever it took to keep you safe.

To keep you both safe, you tried to correct. He would nod, and you would ignore that he never agreed to such a thing.

“We need to go,” was all he said, but you knew. You remembered.

The strongest jolt of fear slammed into you, bleeding a black and white, us and them mentality. It threatened to smother the blinking neon, the bright washes of blue and white felt muted, felt so very distant when you realized that someone was coming here, someone figured it out, figured it all out.

Oh.

That wasn’t the answer you hoped for.

Us vs them.

“So it’s finally happening.”

Matt’s hands fell away from you, one slid to twine your hands together and squeezed. He was solid, he was grounding. You looked into his eyes. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you,” he took his free hand, lifted it to brush your cheek with tattered knuckles, bruises blossomed like night blooming flowers. He left a trail of soft burning flames when he traced a path down to your jaw where he stopped and cupped your face ever so gently. “That’s the one promise I knew I’d never break.”

Fear melted away when you closed the distance to kiss him, felt that heavy soul twine with yours; all was suddenly right with the world for the first time in a long time, even if the anguish of this city was about to come crashing down on your shoulders all over again. It tore at your heart, this kiss, because it was so very reminiscent of the first time he ever kissed you. Bright eyes, flushed faces, the thrill of something new ignited all around you. The future painted with vivid neon instead of muted pastels. It felt bittersweet, and you knew down in the marrow of your bones that this could very well be the last thing you would ever share with Matt Murdock, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil.

“I know,” you whispered against his lips. “I trust you.”

Once those words were in the open, there was no going back.

Your secret could wait.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #matt murdock oneshot #daredevil oneshot #matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #kas writes #marvel imagine #marvel one shot

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jackdawyt · 4 years

Video

youtube

Well, punch me in the teeth and call me the Dread Wolf! BioWare have already revealed another trailer for the next Dragon Age this year! The Game Awards 2020 premiered a beautiful-cinematic trailer that showcased many locations, factions, characters and foes we’ll witness in the next instalment. As per usual, we have many thoughts, theories and tinfoils on everything this trailer revealed!

However, before we break down the trailer, we have two descriptions of the next Dragon Age game shared separately on YouTube and Twitter.

On YouTube, the trailer’s description said:

“The world of Dragon Age needs a new hero – someone who can take on the evil forces threatening Thedas. Get a first look at some of the new locations you’ll discover and the factions fighting by your side in the next chapter of Dragon Age.”

And shared on Twitter, the post said:

“The world of Thedas needs you, a new hero. The next #DragonAge will see the return of Solas… and an old friend.”

https://twitter.com/dragonage/status/1337198092957839365

Of course, the old friend no doubt refers to Varric who narrated this brand-new cinematic trailer. That’s right, the one, the only, our storytelling-chest-haired dwarf is coming back in the next Dragon Age, so we’re already going to have some familiarity in the next adventure.

With that said, let’s breakdown the entire contents of this new trailer and what it means for the next Dragon Age!

Meredith & Corypheus

The trailer started by revealing the first piece of a brand-new stone-etched mural.

Knight-Commander Meredith was shown, infused with red lyrium, holding her sword “Certainty”.

Followed up with Corypheus holding Solas’s orb towards the heavens. During this point, Varric said: “I’ve faced tyrants and would-be gods.”

These two shots clearly showcase the previous events of Dragon Age that have somehow circulated towards Solas’s scheme to destroy the Veil and deal with the Evanuris.

Meredith took the Red Lyrium Idol and forged it into a sword, the idol itself apparently belongs to Solas, and he cares for it and recognises its depiction. Meredith was turned into a thawed red lyrium statue, and the red lyrium idol was found and retrieved inside her statued body. The idol’s current whereabouts are unknown.

"The Dread Wolf wants that idol, and he’s not afraid to get his hands bloody to get it." (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 490). “He intends something for the Fade, and if he wants the idol, then whatever he intends will be terrible.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 498).

Whereas Corypheus intended on using Solas’s orb to usurp the throne of the gods for himself. Solas, banking on the magister’s failure, sought out to regain his orb after Corypheus unlocked it, and died doing so. In this ideal situation, Solas would then use his orb and destroy the veil.

However, that didn’t happen. Instead Solas’s orb was destroyed by crumbling rocks with Corypheus’s defeat. The elven god strives to find alternative ways to destroy the veil.

Both these foes at the start of Solas’s new mural show that what’s coming next will be much worse than any catastrophe in Thedas and that these events have always been set in stone for the Dread Wolf. It’s like he’s drawn Corypheus and said, you thought he was tough, wait till you see what I can do.

Two Evil Gods

The trailer continued with the next pieces in this mural, two carvings of very enigmatic figures. The first engraving has an arched headpiece, red eyes, a spiky torso, and wavy lines coming from their head, with a haloed sun or moon behind them.

Immediately, this spooky figure reminds us of the evil god shown in BioWare’s Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development. However, we believe the figure shown in this book resembles the elven goddess “Ghilan'nain, the Mother of the Halla” who created giants, monsters, and beasts that spanned across the sky, water, and earth.

While this depiction of an evil god is concept art, there is one key difference between the two figures - the evil god in the concept art has four arms, whereas the mural figure has two arms. So, are they depicting the same god? We’ll certainly come back to this figure later on.

The next figure has a very curved headpiece, elven ears, and clawed-looking shoulder pieces. With another haloed sun behind their head, this leads us to believe this is yet another evil god.

Personally, this figure reminds us of Dirthamen’s statue we saw in Inquisition, but this could honestly be anyone... And we’ll touch on that when we get to the finished mural.

While these two figures are shown, Varric said: “Seen friends lose life and limb, but there’s always someone bent on breaking the world.”

Obviously referring to allies previously lost, like potentially Hawke, and even the Inquisitor’s anchor. However, the enemies bent on breaking the world paint the figures shown as evil and malevolent. Of course, it’s not Dragon Age without someone trying to destroy the world.

BioWare Logo

In the next sequence, a golden BioWare logo appears with a sun behind it, perhaps this relates the previous figure to Elgar’nan considering Elgar’nan was said to be born of the sun?

Anderfels/Grey Warden

Taking our minds away from the mural for a moment, the trailer began to explore iconic locations and factions that are going to feature heavily in the next Dragon Age.

The first location is a blazing desert with rough sands, cobblestone, and huge puddles. We think this is the Anderfels, Thedas’s blighted western lands. Over the horizon are multiple, huge reptile creatures. They look like turtle monsters similar to the Ankylosaurs, which is a kind of armoured dinosaur with a clubtail.

During this sequence, Varric said: “It’s time for a new hero.” As grey boots entered the shot. No doubt, referring to the next protagonist. The boots are instantly recognisable as a Grey Warden’s. You can see a dark blue tint on their leggings, as grey and blue are the Warden’s colours.

Not to mention, the biggest indicator that this character is a Warden, is the location. A Grey Warden being in The Anderfels makes complete sense considering Weisshaupt, the Warden’s headquarters are located there.

More importantly, the fact that Varric said: “it’s time for a new hero” while showing this Grey Warden, and the trailer continued to show different factions, while still talking about the idea of a new hero. We think this indicates to the overall message of this trailer, being that perhaps this time around we can choose the faction our new hero belongs to. Like origin stories, our hero can choose between at least 4 or more different factions within Thedas.

While the Grey Wardens and many other factions will join our fight as key roles in the story like “Davrin” who was hinted at in the Gamescom trailer, having the choice to choose where your hero is from would make for an epic RPG, and a great callback to the series' roots.

Antiva/Antivan Crow

The next location revealed the most elegant nation of Antiva, looking absolutely stunning with its gold accents, and regal aesthetic. When compared to the Behind-the-Scenes concepts, we can certainly see the similarities between the early concepts and the CGI reveal. Most notably, the Disney-like palace that encompasses every shot.

Still sharing about our new hero, Varic said: “No magic hand, no ancient prophecy.” As a zoom-in shot of Antiva City revealed an Antivan Crow stirring a goblet of wine. The palace behind the goblet had magical energy emerging into the skies.

The shot pulled back, and revealed an Antivan Crow sat on the rooftops of Antiva, looking over the city. With Varric talking about the next hero being a nobody, with no magical anchor, and no ancient prophecy, can we choose to play as an Antivan Crow?

If this Crow is not showcasing the option of a new hero, then perhaps this is a Crow who will join our journey, like one of the Antivan Crow Talons. I see a lot of similarities with this cinematic shot and the recent short story - “The Wake,” which was all about the Talons mourning their lost friend.

Antiva as a whole, looks astonishing, from the rivers flowing through the city, to the picturesque sky, the city looks like a delightful place to take a love interest. However, we’re most curious about the magical energy emerging from the palace. Perhaps Antiva City prepares for the imminent Qunari Antaam invasion?

Tevinter Imperium/Siccari

The next location revealed the most prideful, gothic nation known as the Tevinter Imperium. This beautifully macabre shot is most likely showcasing Tevinter’s capital city, Minrathous.

Once the motherland of the ancient elves before the veil’s creation, Tevinter was founded on the ruins of the elven kingdom, we can see many magical marvels and wonders in this cinematic shot. For instance, we have magical neon lighting guiding you through the city and the floating structure that stands in the centre.

Perhaps this haunting structure is the Magisterium, or Minrathous’s Circle Tower? Regardless, the ferocious architecture and dark themes truly define Tevinter as a remarkable, and otherworldly nation. A lot of these undertones look similar to one of the concept art pieces shown at Gamescom.

Followed with this shot, Varric said: “The kind of person they will never see coming.” As a new hooded-character was revealed pulling out a winged-dagger ready to attack a blurred figure in a Tevinter alleyway. Not to sound like a broken record, but again, Varric is mentioning the new hero, so is this character one of the potential factions we can choose, and if so, what faction?

Well, because it seems like we’re in the streets of Tevinter, we think this character represents the Tevinter Siccari. This faction was recently introduced in Tevinter Nights, they are the Imperium’s best shadow network, made of highly skilled and secretive agents who each come from slave families, they are formidable and honourable warriors.

“I have heard many things of the Tevinter Siccari,” the Mortalitasi added, “but I have never heard them called cowards or traitors. Most of them come from slave families, and those families are kept safe as both promise and threat, ensuring the Siccari never flinch from their duties. (The Dread Wolf Take You, page 503). ““Tevinter’s intelligence network declined to answer our request.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, page 485).

This hooded-figure has what-looks like keys on their chest, along with a very golden logo on their shoulder, which looks like an owl? The dagger also looks to have a winged bird on its helm.

If this figure doesn’t represent a faction the player can choose between, then perhaps they’re a shadowy Tevinter character from an unknown faction, or they could be someone like Neve, who was introduced in Tevinter Nights as a private investigator working out of Minrathous. However, we feel like Tevinter Siccari is the best bet, because they’re literally the Imperium’s spies.

Executor/Ancient Elf?

Followed by that, a most intriguing character appeared walking through a snowy forest. The figure has a three-horned headpiece, with trims of red on their outfit, holding a bow made of floating triangles.

The location of this area is the exact same as the sexy tree we witnessed at EA Play, the gloomy, midnight snow graveyard, with infected red lyrium and Ferelden architecture. The tree appeared on the right, as this mysterious character shot their enigmatic bow. With the location being the same as the tree, it can be anywhere close to the equator where it can snow, like southern Tevinter, northern Nevarra, or it could literally be anywhere in the mountains. The Ferelden architecture really throws us off though.

This new character is also a mystery, who exactly are they, and what faction do they represent? Well, we've never seen anyone like this before, so they could totally be something brand-new.

However, we can piece a few things together, like the magical, triangle bow. We saw this exact design in a concept piece at Gamescom, with many thinking that this design was ancient elven. On top of that, in the “Ruins of Reality” short story art piece that featured the Starkhaven elf known as Strife, he wore a red cloak with floating triangles on it.

However, even more intriguing, his cloak had the Executor’s logo on it - “a downward-pointed triangle with two wavy lines drawn through it.”

So, does this new character represent either The Executors, or an ancient elven clan? The Executors are mysterious beings who come from beyond the sea, they’ve been described to wear “dark robes of Vyrantium samite, with a thin mesh dropping down to cover the hood.”

I see a gold trim covering their face, but I don’t know if that headpiece constitutes as a hood? Even so, we don’t know what Executors look like.

If this character represents an ancient elven clan faction, that would explain why they have this magical bow that fires as if projected with Fade magic, also illustrating the more alien look to this character.

Regardless, we think this character is quite the enigma, they could just as easily represent a Tal-Vashoth clan, a new Nevarran faction, or something brand-new that hasn’t been explored in the games yet.

Varric Tethras

During this entire sequence, Varric said: “We’ve got your back, I’ve got your back.” By, “we’ve got your back” we assume he’s speaking on behalf of the Inquisition’s remnants like the Divine, Scout Harding, Charter and company, who’re pursuing after the Dread Wolf. However, even more than that, Varric said, he’s got our back. So, Varric is coming back in the next game as a pivotal role it seems, hopefully, this time around we can romance our chest-haired friend, please?

Fen’Harel

Varric followed that up and said: “Demons, dragons, darkspawn, even the Dread Wolf.” As the next sequence revealed a very familiar Fen’Harel...

Solas is pressing one of his hands on this fresco that depicts him as the Dread Wolf rising. He’s touching the mouth of the Dread Wolf, as the beast’s teeth appear red, most likely to resemble red lyrium? Does Solas’s plan involve ingesting red lyrium? The substance does weaken the veil after all, so is Solas going to become blighted in order to fulfill his scheme?

As Solas approached, we can see he has clothed himself in ancient elven robe-like armour with varying tints of green. He looks very stoic, but also a little bit sad.

New Mural

The cinematic mural that featured behind Solas was posted as a painting on the Dragon Age website, so we can take a greater look at it, and decipher its meaning.

https://twitter.com/Nthornborrow/status/1337521623084093440

Straight up, we can see the Dread Wolf with six blazing blue eyes, previously the Dread Wolf was depicted with red blazing eyes, however, this time around, his eyes are blue? This clearly has something to do with lyrium Maybe the Dread Wolf’s eyes will turn red once he has become tainted? Or Perhaps there’s a chance we could stop him from becoming tainted before it’s too late?

As stated, the Dread Wolf has six eyes, exactly like his description in Tevinter Nights. A Mortalitasi mage witnessing the Dread Wolf explained the description of a lupine, monstrous six-eyed Wolf the size of a High Dragon.

“Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon.” (The Dread Wolf Take You, Page 496).

With the proportion of his eyes, there could be some significance to them, or it could honestly just be an art style. However, I wouldn’t deny anything relating to Old God souls or the amount of Evanuris left. But we feel the size of each eye shows us that the Dread Wolf is dealing with some sort of distortion with his appearance, like absorbing Mythal’s power metamorphosing him to become more draconic.

The Dread Wolf is bursting through the Black City which is imbued in red lyrium.

We can see the Dread Wolf has destroyed the Veil by the representation of the spheres that have exploded with a roaring fire. With its destruction, the Fade and the waking world of Thedas have become one. With the world burning in the raw chaos, Solas could then restore the time of the elves.

Two Evil Gods Identity

These statues are old. Better shape than anything I've seen on the surface. Many of them are for Mythal, though. And Fen'Harel. Not in a spot of honor, but guarding, attending.

Protector and All-Mother, why are you honored here, so far from the light of the sun? And why was the Dread Wolf at your side? — Torn Notebook in the Deep Roads

The two evil figures on the left and right side look like the eluvians and statues from the Vir Dirthara, the ancient elvhen Library. And according to Tevinter Nights, there are many elvhen libraries throughout the land of Thedas like the one near the Imperial Highway. These ‘headpieces’ the figures have are slightly different and differentiate each member of the Pantheon from one another.

it’s honestly hard to tell who these figures could be Pantheon-wise, but here are some of our tinfoil bits that can correlate to their appearance:

When we reacted to this trailer live, we stated that these two figures could resemble the elvhen twins Falon’Din and Dirthamen. Their statues look very similar to these figures, but now that we have studied it, the figure on the left looks more feminine with long hair so this could be Ghilan’nain who has been mentioned a lot recently in the Dragon Age’s short stories and Tevinter Nights. If that figure on the left is Ghilan’nan, then the right still has to be Dirthamen who we know has a closer relationship with Ghilan’nain through Dalish and ancient elvhen legends.

"His crime is high treason. He took on a form reserved for the gods and their chosen, and dared to fly in the shape of the divine. The sinner belongs to Dirthamen; he claims he took wings at the urging of Ghilan'nain, and begs protection from Mythal. She does not show him favor, and will let Elgar'nan judge him." — Old Elvhen Writing

On the other hand, these figures could represent Elgar’nan and Mythal, who are closely related to Fen’Harel’s redemption to break the Veil.

“Long ago, when time itself was young, the only things in existence were the sun and the land. The sun, curious about the land, bowed his head close to her body, and Elgar'nan was born in the place where they touched.” — Codex entry: Elgar'nan: God of Vengeance.

“And that night, when the sun had gone to sleep, Mythal gathered the glowing earth around his bed, and formed it into a sphere to be placed in the sky, a pale reflection of the sun's true glory.” — Codex entry: Mythal: the Great Protector.

We could say that the masculine figure represents Elgar’nan who is represented as a sun. And Mythal, who represents the moon. If these two gods are side by side with Fen’Harel, then the Emergent Compendium’s reference could come true:

‘Two shadowed spheres among stars, an eclipse as Fen’Harel stirred’

However, this could be a stretch knowing that Solas already has the remaining power of Flemeth, and Elgar’nan also has barely been mentioned, it is worth knowing that these figures have a similar reference to these gods either way...

Another connection these figures could resemble are the remaining old gods that bring forth the blights.

In our Dread Wolf Rises mural breakdown back in 2018, we talked about the centrepiece of the artwork, with the massive moon that had two golden circles still lit, while 5 of them were greyed out. Most certainly referring to the past and future blights.

In our new mural, behind these two figures there are the same golden circles. If we are comparing these two murals together these figures could be the two remaining Old Gods left who aren’t blighted, Razikale and Lusacan.

According to Solas, if there is any chaotic event in Thedas, spirits will pull against the Veil, weakening its forces. So, if Razikale and Lusacan were to become Archdemons at the same time, that could potentially tear the Veil hence the Dread Wolf rising in the moment to change the world once again.

Razikale is the only Old God to be confirmed female, so according to the mural, this theory might not be far off from this depiction. These Gods have not been tainted and have been left somewhere sleeping for centuries, to awaken them will require most of Thedas to become blighted in order to escalate the timing of two Blights happening at once.

However, that’s just a theory, as we know, evil gods have Thedas in their sights, it really just depends which gods we’re talking about. We lean more to the Evanuris in this mural, however, the old gods are not out of the picture yet, as shown in The Dread Wolf Rises mural. We feel a double blight is in store for the future of Thedas.

Dragon Age New Font

Anyhow, the trailer ends with a new Dragon Age font and colour, I wonder if gold is going to be the main tone of the next game.

Varric ended the trailer, and said: “This is your story.” No doubt referring to the fact that the narrative will be shaped by your choices and consequences.

Regardless, this trailer was amazing, and we’re so happy we actually had another look at the next Dragon Age game! We want to know all of your thoughts and speculation down below, how excited are you knowing that Varric is coming back?

#dragon age 4 #next dragon age game #next dragon age #dragon age game awards 2020 #dragon age next #The next Dragon Age #antiva #tevinter #anderfels #grey warden #tevinter siccari #Darkspawn #dragon age spy #dread wolf #mural #solas #solas next game #solas cgi

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aoifeanamadan · 4 years

Text

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 3888

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

The sky is blue, the sun is hot and Dream hates George.

He really hated him, all smug and sarcastic and closed off. Where Dream was friendly, loud and outgoing, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was above everyone else.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter One: Spanish?

Dream was an early riser, he always had been. It was nice to wake up to quiet suburbia, to see the world jostle into life. He witnessed the cellophane peace stretch and tear. The house was quiet before sunrise. It felt delicate, holy. It felt like it was all his. Dream could wander, tiptoe around the soft quiet. It was like he was the only person left on the planet.

Lie-ins felt wrong on a cellular level. They made him feel a dirty kind of guilt, the missed opportunity. Every day since he was a child, he was up before the sun. And every day he watched the sunrise while eating breakfast. It was gorgeous. Watching the sweet pinks and dusted oranges floating up from the horizon assured him he was there, he was human.

It felt right, millions of years of evolution proving him right. Once the sun was up, the house got moving.

He loved the mornings, seeing his family bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed. It was a different kind of vulnerability, one coated in familiarity. It made him certain that they were all there. Real and familiar and the same as always.

On the first morning of his senior year, Dream missed the sunrise. I was nothing ominous or scary, he just overslept. His alarm clock’s batteries had run out the night before and Dream couldn’t wake up without the siren blare. His sister had to knock on his hardwood door as she passed on her way downstairs.

Dream wasn’t superstitious. Witches didn’t scare him, he thought spells were bullshit. But missing the sunrise on the first morning of his last year of school, it scared him a little bit. He didn’t realise it at the time, head stuffed with shitfuckshitshit I’m going to be late , that end of the world feeling that comes with waking up late on a Monday. But the thing that scared him was the uncertainty, the proof that things were changing soon.

Normally, once the house was moving enough, he could take a shower without feeling guilty for shattering the peace of the sunrise. It was always the same, hair first then his body, his teeth.

No matter how many times he washed and changed his bedsheets, the night always made him feel dirty. Seeing the water go down the drain felt like seeing the air rushing into his lungs, his blood pumping. It was certain, it worked. Always the same soap, the same shampoo.

That morning, he had to run to the shower. Dream liked routine, a plan, but he liked efficiency more. Even his shower routine was streamlined to be as time-effective as possible. He’d had the same shower gel since he was 11, fresh and clear.

It was just his luck that his Bubble Cucumber & Aloe Vera Hair & Body Wash would run out the first morning in 7 years that he was running late.

But, he adapted. The family soap felt gritty against his skin. It felt like there was a snail leaving a trail of lime behind it. Dream felt dirty, the night was ground into his skin. But, ‘a positive attitude was his most important accessory’ according to his mother, so he got on with it. He showered, he got dressed and he rushed his way downstairs.

His socks thudded softly against the carpeted stairs as he jogged into the kitchen, wearing shoes in the morning wasn’t right in his brain. He was pulling his jumper on over his head as he walked in, really it was inevitable that he’d walk into the door frame. There was a red mark on his forehead under his hairline. Fuck. His sister’s laughter only added to the heat building in the back of his brain.

Dream was a creature of habit, he knew what worked. And why fix what’s not broken? Two slices of white bread toast (with the dial at setting 2) with blackcurrant jam, butter on both sides and no crusts. A glass of orange juice without bits. It was an easy breakfast, it worked. He never felt hungry before lunch.

The bits in orange juice were gross, the way they congealed on the side of the glass. Just the sight of gravity dragging them down the inside of the glass, leaving a trail of orange guts and gore, it was enough to make him squirm.

So, naturally, when Dream reached to pour the orange juice that morning, he was met with a stream of obnoxiously bit filled orange juice. Dream took his deep breaths, but the rise and fall of his chest made his skin rub against his t-shirt. The feeling of the shirt sticking to his wet, slimy skin was the final straw. He punched his hand twice, squeezed his eyes shut and stood up.

In hindsight, taking the carton and pouring it down the sink was an overreaction. But at the time, despite the protests from his sisters, it seemed like the only option. There would have been no issue other than a new shortage of orange juice, but Murphy’s Law was at play.

Just as Dream was going to throw the emptied carton in the bin, his mother walked in.

“Oh Clay, for God’s sake. I had just bought that!”

Dream got into Sapnap’s car five minutes late with toast in his mouth, ‘thoroughly sorry for wasting perfectly good orange juice’ but more sorry for being seen throwing it away.

“What took so long dude?” Sapnap was smiling from the driver’s seat. The second Dream got in, he put his head on the dashboard. Sapnap only got an exaggerated groan as a response. Dream didn't lift his head.

“Okay!” Sapnap, still grinning, started them on the journey towards school. His predictions about how their senior year would go were a welcome distraction from Dream’s building stress headache.

It was easy, it always was. Dream and Sapnap, Sapnap and Dream. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. Dream didn’t need to pretend to be excited or upbeat. He just had to be there. And he was. And so was Sapnap. And that morning, that was enough for both of them. To know they had each other, each in the other’s corner.

Sapnap talked the whole journey and Dream loved him for it. They understood each other, knew what the other needed. That morning, Dream needed a distraction while Sapnap needed to get the nerves of a first day back at school out of his system.

By the time they were parked, they were running behind.

Dream was late to his first class, physics. He got into school just as first the bell rang but the receptionist wouldn’t let him past. He tried to protest but was only met with a lecture about time management. They didn’t want to hear about his excuse, his mother’s lecture about food waste.

“Well, how could I ‘manage my time’ if my mother was the one keeping me back? What am I meant to say to my mother? I’m not about to tell my mom to shut up.” Dream was almost pleading by that point. His day had gone from bad to worse, to worse, to worse.

“I’d be careful before taking that tone with a staff member if I were you, Dream.” Dream wanted to hit back, stand up for himself, but he swallowed his words. The receptionist didn’t care what he had to say, they were just happy to get him in trouble. Drunk on power and projecting their highschool experience onto Dream. This wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause.

Dream just nodded, bit back his ‘Fuck you’, apologised and headed to the other office for a late note, appeased only with a muttered whisper of ‘total bullshit’ as he walked away.

Such was the tyranny of high school.

When he finally got into the class, equipped with his note, the teacher barely paid him any attention. He didn’t even want the note. He just told him to sit down in any empty seat, then he went back to his diagram of magnetic fields.

Dream surveyed the classroom and was met with a packed grid of chairs. He could see his friends, all the way at the back of the class. It felt like light-years away. They were all frowning at him in sympathy. Dream didn’t like it at all, he didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. Bad was the only one who wasn’t looking at him like he just told them his puppy died. He was tapping his watch and mouthing ‘Don’t be late’. Dream smiled back sadly and shook his head.

The only empty seat was in the front row next to Weird Sarah. Dream bit the inside of his mouth to keep from getting mad, and sat down next to her.

He turned to her, hoping to make some kind of friendship using the ‘positive attitude’ that his mother so valued, but was only met with the sight of her picking her nose at age 18. She turned to him and glared.

Dream thought that might be the final straw, after everything that had gone wrong. His head felt like a tea kettle, he was surprised other people couldn’t see steam coming out of his ears.

But, he counted his deep breaths and clenched his fists until he could refocus on electromagnetism, or whatever the teacher was talking about.

Dream had been so focused on not letting everything from the morning get to him then and there, and culminate into a public rage, he had forgotten to pay attention. He was completely lost.

The teacher must’ve noticed the look on Dream’s face, because it was then he chose to engage Dream in the lesson.

“Dream, can you tell me how to label exhibit 6.3?”

The words felt like a death sentence. Dream just stared blankly back at him, turning red. Everyone was quiet, all witnesses to Dream’s public execution by way of embarrassment. He wanted to yell, to tell them all he wasn’t stupid he was just panicking. Instead, he sat there in the silence. Any other day he would have had some cocky, charismatic answer but that Monday he had nothing.

He could feel his classmates’ eyes burning into the back of his head, looking at him expectantly. Dream couldn’t have remembered the answer right then if he had a masters degree in electromagnetism. The silence was starting to become painful. He had to say something.

“No?” It came out as more of a question than an answer. The teacher looked at Dream, disappointed. It was too early for this.

“No Dream, you cannot, because you were too focused on staring at your blank notebook. Pay attention please.”

The teacher, Mr McCarthy, was a nice man. He was old - maybe fifty or sixty - with grey hair and frail shoulders. He had three grandchildren and two kids of his own. His youngest grandchild, Lucy, was the apple of his eye. He liked golf, reading and the Netflix programme ‘Too Hot to Handle’. He was a good teacher.

None of that mattered to Dream, who at that moment felt like his teacher might have actually been the devil.

The embarrassment was burning in his chest, in his hands. And he hated it. He didn’t get embarrassed. Dream did not get embarrassed. He got mad and angry and mean, but not embarrassed. So, he flicked the switch. The blood that was flowing to his cheeks changed course to his ears.

He felt it building up inside him again, the same anger from earlier was rushing back in to suffocate the embarrassment. This whole class was fucking bull, what did Mr McCarthy even know about jackshit?

Dream didn’t even hear him open the question up to the rest of the class. He only heard George’s response.

“It’s particle radiation.”

George said it easily, nearly muttering. He didn’t even have to think about it. The class went silent. Dream heard Bad mutter an “Oh no.”

One thing everyone knew about Dream was that he did not like to lose. Ever since he was a kid, everything was a competition. Who could brush their teeth fastest? Who could finish the storybook first? He once stayed up for 27 hours just to make sure he was better than Sapnap at Call Of Duty. He was competitive to the core. It’s easy to be like that when you’re used to winning. Every time he was the best at something, it fueled him to be the best at something else. It was an easy cycle, the blueprint never failed him.

Dream didn’t lose, but somehow George always found a way to put him in second place. Ever since they were kids. When they were doing races, George was faster. When they were doing rock, paper, scissors George was luckier. When they were doing spelling bees, George was smarter.

Dream still didn’t lose, how could he, but he also didn’t win. And that wasn’t acceptable.

George knowing the answer to Mr McCarthy’s question was his final straw that morning.

“Yeah, of course he would need to answer.” It was a mutter to Sarah, under his breath. Sarah didn’t even glance towards him. But, in the silence of the classroom, it was 1000 decibels. Everyone froze, thankful to have front seats to their own personal soap opera.

“What’d you just say?” George’s head snapped towards Dream, all aggression and thought out anger. He was giving Dream a chance to retreat. Everyone knew he wasn’t going to take it. Dream wasn’t the type to retreat.

“I said of course you would need to prove how smart you are to the whole class.” Dream was looking back at him, matching his anger. Nobody was talking.

“Boys,” Mr McCarthy, bless his soul, tried to intervene. It was a lost cause. No one even noticed him. “Just because you’re mad that you didn’t know the answer. Stop acting like a little bitch.” George was talking as if he was speaking to a younger brother, scowling at Dream. He sounded like he barely cared about what was happening. It looked like he would be cold to the touch, like a statue. It made it look like Dream was throwing a tantrum

“George!” Mr McCarthy had never heard George swear before. Dream had. Everyone in the class had. George had been swearing like a sailor since he was eight.

“I’m a bitch? Coming from you? You fucking weirdo-” Dream’s anger was only building. Seeing George look cool and collected while he felt his face heating up made it worse. He stood up, the clatter of the stool bouncing off the walls.

“Boys!” That was the final straw for Mr McCarthy. He slammed his book down on the desk as he yelled. No one moved. Dream was left standing, breathing heavily. It was like they’d been snapped back to reality, remembering that there was actually a teacher in the room. Even if it was only Mr McCarthy.

He pointed his bony finger at Dream and then at George.

“You two. Outside. Now.”

In life, there were some simple truths. The sky was blue, the sun was hot. And, Dream and George hated each other.

But, in the same was the sky had been red in the beginning and the sun would be nothing in the end, it hadn’t always been that way.

When they were younger, much younger, everything had been different. When they were kids, five years old, maybe six, Dream, George and Sapnap had been real friends, or as real a friendship could be at age nine. Sapnap had been the glue holding them all together. He was a mediator, no matter how hard he tried to start the joking fights he was always the one to end the serious ones.

Sometimes Dream thought that without Sapnap, he and George wouldn’t have made it past the age of 10 without killing each other. They were always fighting, over catch, snap, tip the can, even tic tac toe.

Things changed as they got older though. Where Dream and Sapnap got more confident, bigger, taller, stronger, George went quiet. He wasn’t shy, he just seemed mad. He was all snark and edge and frost. He retreated into himself totally, Dream never had any idea what he was thinking. By the age of ten, Dream was sure George hated him, so he decided to hate George back even harder.

The more time that passed, the more he believed his story. That George had shut him out, and Dream was only acting in self-defence.

After all, George was weird. Where Dream was loud, the life of every party, the centre of the school community, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was better than everyone else because he didn’t engage with the school.

Everyone wanted to be Dream’s friends, everyone except George.

Bad came into the picture in high school, all kindness and unconditional friendship. He was just what Dream and Sapnap had needed, he kept them human. Bad stopped him from being a bully. Sapnap had always said to be nice because it was the right thing to do. Bad said to be nice because empathy was a virtue, he explained his experience growing up, how just one person being nice to him could’ve changed everything. He made Sapnap and Dream kinder.

Where Dream hated George, all sarcasm and snark, George seemed to have a vague dislike of Dream. It was as if he didn’t even care enough to dislike him. Even if Dream didn’t want to admit it, on some level he knew that he hated George more than George hated him. This only spurred him on to hate George even more.

Sapnap tried to stop him. Him and George were still good friends. He didn’t let them talk about each other and never told them anything about the other. That was Sapnap to a T, as loyal as they come. No matter how many times he started fake fights, Dream knew he’d always be there if he really needed him.

But, standing out in the hall in the middle of what should've been a normal physics class, Sapnap was not there. Mr McCarthy and George, however, were right in front of him, and they were on route to the principal’s office.

A solid telling off later, his third of the day, George and Dream had received their punishment. For swearing and publically fighting during physics, they were sentenced to two months worth of weekend classes together.

It was that or four months of after school detention. Dream didn’t want to admit it, but he had George to thank for negotiating it down to what it was. Dream would never tell a soul, but it was a tiny bit badass to see George debating the principal while she was mid-rant.

Dream was a lot more grateful than he was letting off.

If he wanted to stay on as the first striker on the soccer team, he needed to be at every practice. And practices were after school, exactly when their detention was first scheduled. He couldn’t have Sapnap out on the soccer field without him to pass to, how would he cope with the loneliness?

George had after school commitments as well apparently, considering how hard he fought to get the mandatory attendance to the weekend classes the school ran instead. He argued that him and Dream could improve their schooling and learn to co-exist, instead of sitting in silence and letting their hatred simmer.

They were even allowed to pick the class, as a way to start them on their journey of cooperation.

Once they left the office, miraculously still alive, Dream turned to George. He tried to push down the automatic response of ‘Fuck this guy’ in order to choose the class they would take. Before he could even open his mouth, George was talking.

“We’re doing English.” Before Dream could reply, he was walking away. Asshole.

Dream chased after him down the hall.

“Hey, hey!” George didn’t even turn around until Dream was tapping his shoulder. Asshole.

“Huh?” George had the audacity to look confused. “What do you want now?”

Dream just looked at him in disbelief, shaking his head. He was so fucking obnoxious.

“Why would we do English? I wanted to do-” Dream hesitated. He hadn’t actually thought about what he wanted to do, too distracted by what an idiot George was for speaking for the both of them without consulting him. Dream realised his pause for too long. “-Spanish.”

Dream did not want to do Spanish.

“Spanish?” George was looking at him like he was an idiot. It made Dream want to double down even harder.

“Yeah. Spanish.” It didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

“You don’t do Spanish.” George was getting annoyed. Dream was proving everything that he thought about him right.

“I do!” Dream didn’t know why he was committing so hard to his lie. He didn’t want George to know he was right, God knows how smug it would make him.

“Speak some Spanish right now then.” George was challenging him. It caught Dream off guard. He hadn’t expected the exchange to go further than him saying he wanted to do Spanish, which he did not.

He would’ve spoken some, but never having learned a word of Spanish made that a bit difficult. He hesitated too long for it to be believable.

“No.” Dream’s brain was stuttering. He was trapped in his own lie. This was exactly what his mother always said would happen if you lied, you’d get trapped in it. “No?” George looked at him, smirking like an idiot. Asshole. Of course he would like watching Dream in misery, Sapnap was wrong about him.

“No.” They both stood there in the hall, Dream prayed for the bell to ring and give him an excuse to leave. The bell did not ring.

“Okay then. We’re doing English. For one, we both actually do it. And you need the help.” Before Dream could protest, George walked away. Dream wanted to punch him.

His mother didn’t take the news well. Most parents wouldn’t be over the moon hearing that their child was going to be in weekend detention for two months. Dream tried to spin it as a fun afternoon class but that plan was derailed when his dad came in holding the phone, with the principal on the other end of the line.

In school the next day, after spending twenty minutes complaining to his friends, Dream found George during lunch.

“Hey, I’m going to need your number.” Dream didn’t bother with manners. They were well past that point. He was just following the orders of his mother, who wanted them to co-operate completely. She figured Dream would need George’s number.

George looked up from his friends, eyebrows raised. When he saw Dream, he got up. They walked just a few steps away from the table.

“George, your number?” Dream just wanted to get it over with so he could go back to his friends and complain about the whole situation

“Oh yeah, it’s 08 fuck you 69.” George rolled his eyes, taking the phone from Dream’s hand.

He saved his contact under Gogy <3 and walked away. Dream was left scowling at George’s back.

#dream #dreamnotfound #dream smp #dreamxgeorge #dream/george #georgenotfound #enemies to friends to lovers #mcyt #minecraft #minecraft youtube

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sinsbymanka · 4 years

Photo

Thank you so much @zuendwinkel for donating! I am SO GLAD to add this lovely Hawke x Fenris to the collection, writing them was a joy! I’m also SO EXCITED to share the artwork you created that goes along with it! Thank you so much for blessing us with something so soft, beautiful, and detailed!!

I’m not longer accepting RAINN Commissions but you can see the ones that are already finished in this series on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Title: A Flock of Trouble Pairing: Male Hawke x Fenris Rating: T Content Warnings: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Post-Dragon Age II, Fluff and Angst, Reunions

Read on AO3

Broody,

Listen. We got into a bit of a situation in the Western Approach. Fell tits over ass right into the Fade. I wish I was shitting you. Do you remember those giant spiders outside Kirkwall? They’ve got nothing on fade demon spiders. I have had enough of the whole thing for the rest of my life. Hawke took off with the Wardens to tell Weisshaupt that their whole fighting force is at risk of being controlled like finger puppets by an ancient magister. I got the worse job of telling you where the fuck he was going (Remember, don’t murder the messenger. Who else would get you that wine you like from Tevinter?)

He said not to follow him. Doesn’t want your Broody arse that close to Tevinter, I expect. I’m fully aware you’ll be going anyway. Take the note attached to my solicitor and get some coin to tide you over. Don’t get captured by slavers. Try to lie low.

When you see Hawke - ask him what happened in the Fade. Somebody needs to kick some sense into his ass. You’re the best person for it.

Sincerely, Varric Tethras

P.S. I’m adding the money Hawke lost to me to your gambling debts. Wicked Grace soon?

Weisshaupt appeared as foreboding and desolate as Fenris had expected.

Sun-bleached stone soared into a clear, burning sky. Walls meant for defense rather than appeal ringed a fortress that looked as if it could withstand an archdemon itself. If Fenris remembered correctly, it had survived at least two. Perhaps three.

Of course, if Garrett Hawke were there currently, it may soon fall into the blighted land surrounding it. That did seem to be the man’s luck. And if Garrett Hawke wasn’t there, Fenris would hunt him down, if only to give the man the tongue lashing he richly deserved.

In truth, Fenris felt uneasy. The Tevinter border at his back reminded him of the last time he’d been so far north. He’d been running then, as fast as he could go, a desperate chase that led to Kirkwall, an empty box, an abandoned mansion and…

And Garrett Hawke.

Fenris remembered clearly everything that happened after he met Garrett. He had spent hours examining the path he took with a cynic’s wary gaze, looking for the moment it had all changed, the second he stopped running and made a choice.

A choice that led him here, to the edge of the world, chasing instead of being chased.

“What business do you have here?” A rough voice barked. It belonged to a woman, old for a Warden, her long brown hair braided neatly down her back. Her hand rested easily on the hilt of the sword on her hip with a warrior’s preparedness. But her stance was casual. Eyes alert and pleasant. There was no whiff of danger here, not for him at any rate. It did not quite reassure him, but there was no reason to reach for the blade on his back. Yet.

“I am here for the Champion of Kirkwall.” He informed the guard politely, wrapping the reins around his fist while he smoothly dismounted.

The woman rocked back on her heels, a started, humorless laugh slipping from her lips. “The Champion of Kirkwall?”

Fenris’s heart sunk, but he kept his face impassive. He could not help the way his gauntlets tightened on the leather bridle. “He is not here.”

“Oh no! The blighted fool is still here. Are you here to take him back to wherever he came from? Cause I’d be grateful, Serah. May even slip some coin in your pocket.”

Something broke inside him, a fever finally easing. Fenris had been traveling for longer than he wished to recount, and had not allowed himself to consider the end of the journey or who he wished to find there.

“Where may I find him?”

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but whatever response she meant to give was cut off by an unholy clatter and what sounded like a small explosion. Her expression darkened and she jerked her thumb to a thin trail of smoke rising above the walls.

“Wherever there’s trouble, typically.” She sighed.

Fenris knew Garrett far too well to disagree with that statement.

The smoke smelled of herbs Fenris recognized, elfroot chief among them, and it was billowing from within a stable of all things. Soldiers, Fenris assumed they were Grey Wardens, stood with various expressions of shock, dismay, and annoyance.

The nobles in Kirkwall wore the same looks the day Garrett knocked over six of the merchant’s stalls in Hightown. He’d been chasing a dog, who was chasing a street urchin, who was trying to catch a nug with a kitten in it’s mouth.

Maker only knew how Garrett had gotten roped into the whole thing.

Fenris simply remembered the chaos unspooling below him from his perch on the steps and that bubble of emotion that rose up in his chest while he chuckled ruefully and Isabela cheered. He hadn’t known what to call that feeling, not then, not watching Garrett retrieve the kitten and present it to the street urchin while the rich nobility stared in bewilderment.

But when he saw Garrett in the stable doors, waving his arms like a windmill to disperse the smoke, Fenris felt it again. This time he knew its name.

Joy.

Knots loosened in his chest. Only to be replaced by a sharp spike of annoyance more than a match for the cloud of irritation hovering around Garrett.

Except, of course, Garrett was impervious to the mood. He cast his dark eyes around the courtyard, flitting right over Fenris in his search for something. Then, a half second later, sliding back to where he stood.

“Fen!” Garrett shouted, a joyful grin splitting his face. “You’re here!”

Garrett bounded away from the smoking door, arms swinging. He wasn’t in armor, wasn’t armed, and a part of that struck a chord that made Fenris both wary and wistful. When was the last time Garrett had abandoned his armor around strangers?

Garrett stumbled to a stop in front of him, arms out, waiting while his eyes dragged themselves over every inch of Fenris’s lyrium lined face.

“You’re really here.” Garrett whispered.

Almost as if he thought he’d never see him again.

“Yes.” Fenris snapped instead, jerking his chin at the ancient fortress. “I have, once again, followed you to the edge of civilization.”

At least Garrett had the good grace to look contrite. “I mean. They do have that wine here you like.”

“It is more easily obtainable this close to Tevinter.”

Garrett winced. “I told Varric to tell you-”

“It was too much trouble to write to me with your own hand?”

That made his lover recoil. Garrett did not grab for him, although he lifted his arm, fingers outstretched in silent plea. “Fen that… that wasn’t it at all. There was an army of demons. Giant spider. Marching across the blighted desert. Griffon eggs…”

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris repeated, incredulous.

Garrett’s whole face brightened. “Griffon eggs! I swear on the Maker’s hairy asscheeks, Fen, you won’t believe-”

Fenris swallowed his anger and shook his head. In one movement, he turned on his heel and stomped away from the human with his beaming smile, warm eyes, and new wrinkles from sorrow on his forehead.

It was always safest to walk away when he did not know whether to slap Garrett or kiss him, after all.

Garrett found Fenris on the battlements while the sun was dipping below the western horizon. He stood, awkward and yet endearing, cradling a large white object gently in his arms. On second look, it was indeed the largest egg Fenris had ever seen.

“I should have written.” Garrett murmured. “I… wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Fenris did not pull his eyes from the pink and orange sky. “That is hardly unusual.”

Garrett chuckled to himself, shifting his weight from side to side. “Fair. But… it was bad, Fen.”

He knew it must have been. Varric would not have mentioned it otherwise. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”

“Yes.” Garrett sighed, placing the egg tenderly on top of a crate. He rested one large hand over it before casting a baleful look at Fenris. “But not tonight. Tonight I’m just… I’m just fucking thrilled to see you. Even if you’re fuming.”

“I am not fuming.” Fenris stated on instinct.

Garrett grinned. “Ah. Is this brooding then?”

Fenris’s lips twitched. “I do not brood.”

“Not even a little bit.” Garrett stepped closer, holding his arms out with a shy, uncertain tip of his lips. “I missed you.”

Fenris pushed himself away from the warm stone. For a breathless second, the two men looked at each other. Garrett’s eyes shimmered with emotion, an expression torn between longing and hope.

Fenris stepped into the man’s embrace and allowed himself to be tugged towards his broad chest. His sword rough fingers yanked on Hawke’s hair immediately, scowling into the grinning face.

“You are a fool, and I am a worse one for loving you.”

Garrett laughed, ducking down to press an eager kiss to Fenris’s lips. Fenris closed his eyes, drifting on the sparking heat between them, the way the world settled back into place. Garrett smelled of home, of warm hay, leather, salt and sun.

They broke the kiss, but clung to each other as Garrett pressed his forehead to Fenris’s.

“Griffon eggs?” Fenris finally asked.

Garrett smiled. “My newest adventure, Fenris. Much better than the last one, I assure you.”

Fenris simply sighed and melted into his lover’s embrace under the burning sun. As with most of Garrett’s adventures, it would be nothing but trouble.

Fenris found he did not mind much at all.

#manka's friend fiction #charity fundraiser #fenris #hawke/fenris #dragon age hawke #dragonage #dragon age #male hawke #fenhawke

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter six)

Seems I can’t write a penultimate chapter in any widomauk fic were Caleb doesn’t end the chapter passed out

Huge thanks to my wonderful beta readers @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian!

I got out to bed to go post this guys, please reblog and leave a comment on Ao3

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Mollymauk realises he might get the love of his life back and lose him in the same day

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There had never been much of the king in the crown prince.

The two of them could not have appeared more different, in the obvious places like race and age, personality and attitude, the decisions they made and the way they talked, moved and dressed. And then there were the myriad subtle differences that only someone with a close vantage point would see, the way their minds worked behind their eyes, the things that drove them, what they wanted and what they were willing to do to get it. The two men could not have been more different.

But right now, facing his anger, Caleb could see Babenon Dosal behind his friend’s red eyes. He saw a king.

He wasn’t surprised Mollymauk had chosen anger, it was the easier emotion to grapple with after reading the letter and realising what Caleb had done. When he’d commanded their friends to leave, his voice quiet and clipped and full of rage about to slip it’s leash, Caleb had been impassive, accepting, simply giving their dismayed, stunned glances a gentle nod of acknowledgement. He simply folded his hands behind his back and faced the fury of a man who had been brought up being told he was the rightful ruler of everything he could see past the horizon.

The letter from Lorenzo was crushed in his grip as he growled, “How dare you. How fucking dare you, Caleb. Are you aware of what you’ve just done?”

“Forging the prince’s signature on the letter I wrote to Lorenzo proposing single combat,” Caleb intoned, expressionlessly, listing his crimes like they were a shopping list he was being sent to market with, “Deliberately circumventing the prince’s wishes. Negotiating with a hostile party without the crown’s leave. Risking everything, our land and our people. High treason, all in all. Execution would be the penalty in any court.”

“And for what?” Molly spat, shaking, his tear streaked cheeks dark purple with anger, “What, Caleb?”

“To keep you safe,” emotion slipped into Caleb’s voice, as much as he tried to keep it at bay, “To save your life.”

He watched Molly choke on that, the letter slipping through his grasp as it slackened. Caleb made a mental note with the part of his brain not consumed by grief to pick it up later. It was all they had of Lorenzo’s oath not to take the city if Caleb should fail.

“I couldn’t watch you die, Mollymauk,” he continued, swallowing hard, “I couldn’t. It wasn’t fair of you to ask that of me. Go with me or go after me but gods, please don’t make me live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.”

“So now I have to watch you die instead?” his voice broke on that word, as if his throat couldn’t bear to say it and smashed it to splintered pieces.

“Well,” Caleb gave a bleak, brittle smile, “You won’t be far behind me if I do.”

“Fuck you,” Molly spat but it was more of a sob now, “Fuck you, Caleb Widogast.”

“He spoke to me,” Caleb sighed, knowing it would be best to get this out of the way too, “He...he entered my mind and spoke to me. Ikithon.” The urge to call him master was easy to shake off when he had his heart aching towards Molly.

“What?” Molly looked up from where he’d gripped his hair in anguish, face slack in horror, “Gods, that's the worst kind of banned magic. He could be executed for using that.”

“I don’t think he plans on being beholden to your father’s judgement for much longer,” Caleb shrugged, “He told me to defect. To betray you and go over to Lorenzo. I don’t know if he actually thought it would work, Lorenzo would have just run me through as soon as he saw me or hanged me for a traitor. Ikithon likely wouldn’t have cared either way.”

“He…” Molly stared at Caleb, “He gave you a direct order. He broke into your mind and told you to do this thing and you just...didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t. I did the exact opposite actually.” Again, a bleak, crooked smile, he couldn’t help it.

Pride edged into Molly’s expression for a moment before anguish flooded his expression again, “But this is just it, isn’t it? Don’t you see, Caleb, this is why I wanted to do this, this is why I’m so fucking mad at you. That vile creature has already hurt you so much, he’s already tortured you and took everything from you and all because of me! I just wanted one godsdamned time where I could help you instead of cause you more hurt, where I could actually save you like I’ve wanted to since I first met you. But every time, every fucking time, I just make it worse and I cause you more pain. How can I ask you to love me after all of this, after he hurt you for doing exactly that, after he took it away from you.”

“No. He didn’t,” Caleb whispered, “He didn’t take that away from me. I thought he had but...no.”

Molly froze and the whole world seemed to hold its breath, this awful, terrible night finally stopped and allowed them a moment.

“Caleb…” Molly breathed, his anger gone, his face soft and hopeful and so, so scared.

“So ask me again,” tears were thick in his throat but he got the words out clear and true, “Please, Mollymauk. Ask me one more time.”

He didn’t hesitate, “Love me? Love me the way I love you?”

“Yes,” Caleb didn’t lower his voice, he didn’t pull back from it, he didn’t care who heard, “I love you, Mollymauk. Whether we die tomorrow or we live for another hundred years, I will love you for every single second we have.”

He waited. A heartbeat passed. Two. Three.

And his mind stayed silent, clear and completely his own.

They surged together, meeting in the middle, the years and the distance shrinking down to nothing between them as their bodies collided and moulded to each other the way they always had done. Caleb had grown taller, so much so that Molly had to tilt his head up to kiss him, his jaw was rough with stubble that hadn’t been there before, his prince’s hands were rough and calloused when they wound around his shoulders. They were not the teenagers they had been, loving recklessly and wildly, fates throwing them together and saying here, here is the person you were meant for.

They were not the same. Now they were older, they’d both suffered and struggled and been broken many times. Instead they were choosing to love each other, in defiance of everything that said they couldn’t, accepting it along with all of its risks and all of the pain it would cause them.

And it was just as sweet.

Each man meant to pull away at some point but somehow, they kept finding themselves pulled under, a world where their lips weren’t pressed together just seeming completely unacceptable. And when Caleb’s felt Molly’s split tongue stroke against his own, he shivered and leaned into that as well, pressing on deeper and deeper until they both realised in the same moment that soon, there wouldn’t be any turning back.

“Do you…” Molly drew back first, panting raggedly and having to make a few attempts at actually speaking, “Do you want to? I mean...I’d be perfectly content with this, this is bliss but…”

“I want to,” Caleb said firmly, sure of the words as he said them though never doubting that Molly would let him pull back from that ledge if he chose to, “I can’t think of a better way to spend the last night I might have on this plane.”

“Don’t,” Molly breathed, leaning in until their lips were almost touching again, “None of that. This night is everything. And I’m not letting anyone take it away from us this time.”

Finding that more than agreeable, Caleb sank willingly into kissing Mollymauk, though this time there was more purpose to it, it felt like climbing towards some end, swimming towards some shore. After a while, he felt his dear prince’s hands slip from where they held the back of his head, moving to push Caleb’s heavy black overcoat off his shoulders. In between kisses, he let himself be undressed, the uniform of those people he’d never wanted to be and hadn’t ever been able to truly claim him, pulled away by his lover’s hands until he stood there as nothing but himself.

When he stood bare before him, every inch of his scarred body open to the cold night and Mollymauk’s gaze, a mean, cold part of Caleb looked for disappointment in his expression. Of course there was none, just the face a man might wear when he saw home at the end of a long, bitter journey. The cruel teeth of the whip, the scars on his arms where the crystals had been embedded, the pale white bands around his arms where manacles had chafed him, Molly saw every inch of it and did not pity him or look away in shame. He understood him.

Caleb was granted the same privilege to Mollymauk, pulling away his dust stained tunic and leggings, hard worn from the road and so different from what he would choose to wear. What was underneath was less surprising, he’d seen more of Molly’s skin than Molly ever had of his, but knowing it was his to kiss and touch and love made all the difference. He was scarred too, the thin, feathery nicks from his swords and the neat, surgical scars on his chest where his body had been brought in line with his heart. And all of the ink too, in it’s startling colour, the fantastical forests that carpeted one arm, the serpent that wound around the other, the eyes and the glorious peacock that sheltered his heart the way Molly’s own brightness and frippery had kept him safe.

It was familiar but no less beautiful for that.

Caleb could have gazed at him until the sun came up, never laid a finger on his skin and been content, but they didn’t have long.

Molly drew him over to the camp bed he’d been tossing and turning on since they started out, letting Caleb press him back against it with more kisses, ones that spread across his chest and neck and jawline, falling faster and more hurried like rain moving from drizzle to showers. Molly made the sweetest noises, chest rising and falling more rapidly under his lips, prompting him to suck some marks into his soft purple skin. He gave very little thought to his own body, lost on the midst of it all, until Molly’s hand reached down between his legs and brushed his growing erection lightly, making him jump like he’d been given an electric shock.

“Sorry,” Molly giggled breathlessly, grinning like the man he was rather than the prince he’d been playing, “Um...I want you in me.”

“Yes?” Caleb murmured, coming close again. He crouched over Molly, knees bracketing his hips, hands bracing himself against the edge of the cot, quickly getting drunk on the tousled view it gave him of his lover.

Mollymauk nodded, hand still down between Caleb’s thighs, stroking lightly, “It’s what I want. Please.”

“I am ever yours to command,” Caleb grinned crookedly, making sure Molly was laughing when he moved to kiss him again and parted his legs with his own.

Their last time had been fumbling, uncertain, hurried. The two of them had both had a flagon of wine between them and felt invincible, Molly’s birthday party coming to them muffled through the floor beneath them, the strings singing like the desire in their blood.

It wasn’t too different this time, they were still uncertain and groping at each other, Caleb dropping the vial of oil Molly handed him from his pack, Molly jerking so hard when Caleb thumbed his sweet spot that he accidentally kicked him in the stomach, letting need drive their bodies. It was strange how feeling young and invincible invoked the exact same feelings as knowing you had so little time left.

Moving into Mollymauk knocked the breath from Caleb, he had to take a moment and rest his forehead on his lover’s and inhale deeply, steadying and centring before he could move on. But Molly’s hands were on his shoulders, his groans and soft cries filled the space between them, his legs locked around his hips as they rocked in time with the creaking of the bed beneath them. All of it was an anchor, a map, showing him where to go, certainty finally when he’d been lost for so long.

Caleb couldn’t last long, not with ten years of waiting and wanting, he tried to stammer it out to Mollymauk who only reached up and cupped his face with a gentle hand, nodding softly. There wasn’t a wrong way to do this. When he came, it was a white hot flash behind his eyes, every muscle tight and tense and shaking. He heard his name fall from Molly’s lips as he followed close behind, his nails digging into his shoulder.

Afterwards it was the same delicate, tenuous silence that came after a deep sigh, one that seemed to ring out longer than it should. Neither of them wanted to move away, like the perfect moment of happiness they’d found would tear off into nothing if they looked at it too closely. It was impossible to not think of this point the first time they’d made love, here where everything had fallen apart, when they’d believed in what they felt for each other and had been proven so bitterly wrong. When the door had thrown open and the real world had come pouring in.

Eventually, it was Caleb who had the bravery to speak first, surprising even himself.

“I won’t lose, Molly,” he murmured, voice ragged around the edges, “I won’t. Not for you.”

He nodded, tears sparking in the corners of his eyes, “Of course. I know you won’t, Caleb.”

He could see it in his prince’s eyes, he was thinking of the moment when Lorenzo’s arm had slipped that extra inch, the one he hadn’t wanted to allow him. He was thinking of the power that had sizzled off that grey skin, ready to rage up and match his own. But he said nothing and Caleb loved him for that. That and many reasons.

But that would come in the morning. Here and now, Caleb was happy for the first time in so long and he was going to enjoy every single moment.

Mollymauk was loath to let Caleb sleep but the reality of what was going to happen in the morning was a bitter taste in his mouth growing by the minute. He couldn’t let him face that battlefield without a wink of sleep, no matter how much Caleb had insisted in the past that Volstruker didn’t need it.

But his love wasn’t Volstruker any more. And so Molly would let him sleep a few hours, however much it ached.

He lay there in the quiet, the forest sounds muffled through the canvas of the tent, ignoring the rustling of the leaves and far off calls of the birds so Caleb’s heartbeat under his ear would be the only sound in the world. Strong and sure and constant, like it would go on and on forever. As vital and necessary as the motion of the tides or the thrum of magic through the threads of the universe.

If he thought of it like that, it was easier to believe that today would not be the last day it beat.

Mollymauk found the fear for himself evaporated entirely, what burned in the back of his mind and brought tears to his eyes so easily was only the thought of losing Caleb, the minutes and hours he might have to spend on this planet without him. From this side of the glass, he did hate himself a little for putting Caleb in this position, for doing the same to his friends, for being so quick to sacrifice himself, however right it had seemed at the time.

Pain and fear for your own self was nothing compared to the idea of losing someone you loved.

And he did love Caleb. And Caleb loved him. They’d said it so many times during the night, like they were trying to make up for a decade of separation, trying to fill the holes left by so many times they’d wanted to say it but couldn’t. And each time, it grew no less sweet to hear those words, to love and be loved by the man he’d wanted his whole life.

Molly turned and pressed a soft kiss to his lover’s skin, just over his heartbeat, gentle enough that it wouldn’t wake him. All the years he’d feigned confidence, now he actually felt it in all it’s iron hard certainty as he told any gods that might be listening you will not take him from me. Not now.

It was rather kingly of him, actually, to think he could command the gods.

But it gave Molly what he needed to rise from their little bed and face the greying light in the tent, the dawn approaching faster than he wanted it to. He moved around in the milky darkness, fumbling without any servant or attendant to guide him, opening chests and pulling out clothes, rescuing his boots from a far corner of the tent. Molly knew he had to dress while he still had the strength, not knowing what the fear and grief would do moment to moment.

He chose no chainmail, no padded gambeson. He wouldn’t need to armour himself today and he had no desire to play any role. He would face this day as himself, dressed in simple leggings and a purple surcoat he favoured, rich with embroidery.

“Would you like me to sneak out now? Or are we going to face the smug grins of our friends?”

Molly jumped just as he was doing the last button, turning and seeing Caleb stretched out contentedly under the thin blanket they’d pulled over themselves when they’d both been too exhausted to continue. He was smiling, resting up on one elbow, looking so wonderfully tousled and ruffled, hair in disarray and mouth shaped bruises blooming on his shoulders, that Molly would have given anything for just another half hour alone with him.

“You’re going nowhere,” he whispered back, closing the distance between them and going to his knees so he could kiss those lips and feel all the nicks and swells in them from everything they’d done together.

“How long do we have?” Caleb eventually murmured, when they paused for air.

“An hour, I’d say,” Molly sighed and suddenly, saying it out loud and realising what a small amount of time that was, such a cruel and meagre slice to be given, his throat closed up and tears flooded his eyes.

Caleb groaned softly and kissed his forehead, bringing one hand to stroke back his purple curls and wind through the hairs at the nape of his neck, fixing in them and saying firmly, “It will be alright, Mollymauk. I promise.”

“That’s not something you can promise,” he gasped, breath coming in a shudder, wanting to be brave for him, wanting to believe for him, but unable.

“No,” Caleb admitted, his other hand moving to gently wipe away the tears that had spilled down Molly’s cheek, “But I have been trained for this. And for the first time, I actually believe in my own strength.”

“Yes?” Molly whispered, wanting to cling to every scrap of hope, not caring how much it hurt.

“Yes,” Caleb smiled crookedly and, for as much as he hated the gathering light, Mollymauk was glad he could see it, “Because this time I have something to fight for.”

No one had called for any trumpet blast or signal to raise the camp but he found most of the company were already up and moving, apparently having as much appetite for sleep as Molly had. Fires were going, heating up rations no one felt like eating and the usual coarse conversation of soldiers on campaign, the teasing and calling out to each other across the tents, had found no purchase that morning. Even though they weren’t facing battle today, even with just two lives hanging in the balance, everyone seemed to be grieving already.

Until Molly and Caleb spilled out of the command tent, hand in hand, an unmistakable rumpled quality to Caleb’s uniform and the obvious bruises from fingers and teeth peering out from under shirt cuffs and collars, blundering right into the circle of their friends around the cookfire.

There was a moment of silence as four sets of eyes regarded them without much surprise.

“Well,” Beau shrugged, “Better late that fucking never, I guess.”

And with that the lot of them were laughing helplessly, the wild, reckless laughter of teenagers with a slightly manic edge to it, drawing confused and alarmed eyes from all around the camp. It made little sense but Molly did feel like he could breathe a little easier once it had passed.

He pressed food on Caleb who tried to refuse it but quickly realised his lover wasn’t going to be put off and gave in. Molly watched him closely, sitting on the ground right beside him and never letting their fingers untangle, but there was no fear or worry in his face. He seemed to be his usual self, almost the Caleb he remembered from his childhood and teenage years, dryly funny and contentedly quiet.

Mollymauk couldn’t tell if it was just Caleb was that confident or he was enjoying himself while he could.

The moment couldn’t be put off forever. Again, Molly had to appear strong and sure, for his friends and for his soldiers, swinging up confidently onto his horse to lead them back to yesterday’s clearing as if nothing was wrong. It felt less like lying, as he saw the younger ones in the company visibly relax after he joked with them and chatted amicably with them, making his usual rides up and down the column until they arrived. It felt more like just being a leader.

Like protecting the people who looked to him for guidance and would call him king.

It wasn’t a long ride and they heard the commotion before they got there, the sound of raised voices and clamour of the enormous Jagenoth army, already there and raising enough of a racket to make the ground shake under the hooves of Molly’s horse as he rode back to the head of the column, just in time to see them unfurl out over the rise of the hill. Just like yesterday, they boiled down below them like a mass of black insects, the sharp teeth of their weapons edged in fire as the sun broke the horizon just to the side of them and flooded the bowl of the valley with gold.

The lone figure standing ahead of them, the hulking mass armoured all in black iron but for the horns that thrust up from it’s brow, a glaive taller than Mollymauk plunged into the ground beside him, must have looked up at just the right moment. It raised a fist high as if in salute and, behind it, the soldiers fell silent in a moment and snapped to attention with a reverberating clash of metal.

Molly’s fingers grew tight around his reins but, beside him, Caleb simply smiled.

“Real strength doesn’t need to announce itself,” he intoned, clearly quoting something before chucking, “A lot of what they taught me at the academy was bullshit but that certainly rings true at least. He couldn’t look more like he’s trying to compensate for something. Rather funny, actually.”

“If you say so,” Molly muttered, unable to take his eyes from the blade.

He saw very little to find amusing.

“Good morning,” Lorenzo hailed them cheerily, his voice deeper and rougher in his true form and through the enormous helm obscuring his face.

Molly gave him no reply but a cold, hard stare, walking his entire troupe up this time, this would require as many witnesses as possible to ensure Lorenzo kept faith and, more than that, he wanted Caleb to see just how many people were behind him.

Already a ground had been cleared for combat, ringed in stones by some of the Jagenoths. Clearly wanting to be prepared, a headsman’s block had also been erected on their side of the ground, freshly cut from some felled tree, green wood ready to drink Molly’s life blood in front of his own people. Beau spat on it as they reared up, her eyes glaring acid across the field at Lorenzo.

“Dressed to die,” Lorenzo said, satisfied, obsidian eyes glinting out at Molly from within his helm, “Mighty considerate of you, boy.”

“I could say the same of you,” Molly answered, dropping any hint of courtly manners, “I can see the joint gaps in that armour from here.”

“Don’t matter when you’ve got a reach like this,” he snarled, gripping the handle of his enormous blade and yanking it from the earth, leaving a deep gash in the ground, “Shall we begin? It’s a long road back to Shady Creek Run and your pretty head won’t keep forever. Let me put this mouthy little pup down and do what I came here to do.”

Caleb simply nodded, moving his coat to the side to draw his blade. The same nicked, worn blade he’d been fighting with all his life. That, his magic and the poniards in his boots against all of the strength and brutality on display before them.

Perhaps irritated by Caleb’s refusal to rise to his taunts, Lorenzo continued hollering across the circle, “I was expecting you last night, pup, by what your master told me. I was looking forward to snicking the smile off your face when you slunk up looking for a place in my army. Just that, mind. The rest of you I’d leave to your black booted brothers and sisters.”

Caleb didn’t so much as glance at him, accepting his fingerless leather gloves from Beau and calmly slipping them on as if he had all the time in the world. Molly remembered the day Caleb had finally admitted at fifteen years old that Beau was right and wearing them did make his grip better. He even took the time to clasp his friend’s shoulder and smile reassuringly, then moving to give Fjord the same then Caduceus then Yasha, every one of them embracing him tightly.

“Clearly you were otherwise occupied!” Lorenzo called, though the anger was bubbling more clearly under his voice now, his composure slipping, “I’d heard you were acting the whore for the boy prince over there. I knew they trained you well at the Soltryce but not in those particular arts. Ever dutiful when commanded, eh?”

Molly was a muscle jump in Caleb’s jaw at that but he smoothed it out within a second. Now they were nose to nose and everything fell away that wasn’t Caleb’s face, his steady hands, his gentle, comforting smile. He had the privilege of tying back his rust red hair in a leather band, making sure every strand was clear of his face.

Once it was done, Caleb turned and sank down on one knee, holding his blade up. Trapped by convention and appearances, Molly was left to press a kiss to the cold metal rather than his lover’s lips, trying to say everything he felt with his eyes.

“Please come back to me,” he whispered when their faces were at their closest, “Or wait for me at hell’s gate.”

Caleb smiled up at him, eyes like still pools, “As you command.”

Seeing the two of them at opposite ends of the killing field, it was like a bad joke. Lorenzo, in his full, unrestrained oni form, wrapped in thick iron and the barbed chains of his profession as torturer and slaver, hulking so large the shadow he cast stretched off him like a giant beast, climbing up the hills around them to impossible heights. And Caleb, wearing no armour but the leather bands on his arms, thin sword in his hand, face perfectly still. Half Lorenzo’s height, a quarter of his weight, a bare fraction of his reach, dwarfed by his strength. It was like watching a child face down a dragon in some fairytale.

And Molly had learned long ago that life was no storybook. If it was, Caleb would never have been taken from him, they would have lived happily ever after. And he wouldn’t be about to watch him die.

It was his task to begin the fight, they were waiting for his command. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth, the urge to desperately beg for Caleb to come back, to stop all of this, to take it all back, was overwhelming but he managed to rasp out the right words instead, the words that would end his lover’s life.

“At arms...and begin.”

Lorenzo lurched forward with a roar, all the momentum of a charging bull barrelling towards Caleb and hefting the glaive forward.

And Caleb did not move.

Everything seemed to slow, seconds dripped by like a dying rainstorm, the scream to move, bloody move caught in Molly’s throat as the blade completed its easy, unstoppable arc through the air…

And whistled through nothing.

Lorenzo had to stagger to stop himself, overtopping with the speed he’d built up and falling to one knee. Caleb, the real Caleb, not the shadow of himself he’d left standing in his enemy’s path, lanced a quick but deep cut along the back of Lorenzo’s neck, through the joint where his helmet met the shoulder plates. It might have been enough, it should have been enough, but some dark magic reared up from the armour itself, some misshapen haze in the air that lashed out at Caleb and forced him to dance back so it only just caught him lightly across the chest and left a burn mark on the front of his coat. The smell of singed leather and shield spells filled the dawn air.

“You think you’re the only one with magic, pup?” Lorenzo snarled, furious, “Try this then.”

An ozone smell popped and crackled and where Lorenzo had stood one instant, the next was nothing but thin air. Molly moaned softly in despair as he saw Caleb’s brow crease in a frown. With a flick of his wrist, the blade of the sword he carried alighted with dark flame and he held it out warily, staying on the balls of his feet as he waited for a strike he couldn’t see coming.

There were a few agonising moments of silence, tension building like a budding blister, until it was finally broken when a guttural laugh echoed out from nowhere and everywhere all at once and some force knocked Caleb backwards, sweeping his feet out from under him. Mercifully he managed to keep hold of his blade and had something to throw up to meet the invisible thing that clashed against his sword. Almost immediately, Caleb was sweating, trembling with the effort of keeping back what could only be the wicked edge of the glaive, now slightly, eerily, visible as fire leapt from the sword to flicker across it. How his thin arms were matching Lorezo’s whole weight, Molly couldn’t say, until he saw the veins on Caleb’s only just visible wrist and neck turning black with magic.

Volstrucker magic.

A fresh fear bit into Molly’s already battered chest. How much of his old training could Caleb rely on without slipping back into the darkness that had claimed so much of his mind?

The tension snapped when Caleb’s flame finally edged down the handle of the invisible glaive enough to highlight the shape of the fingers that held it. Even lobstered gauntlets would greedily drink the heat of any fire and after a few seconds of contact, Lorenzo wrenched away with a roar of pain and anger, the invisibility spell flickering out. Caleb didn’t waste a second of his freedom, leaping to his feet and driving a hard flurry of attacks at any fissure in the armour, the ones he’d been carefully mapping out and memorising since he laid eyes on Lorenzo.

But he could only attack as long as the glaive was down, once it was wrenched back up, it’s reach and thickness covered Lorenzo too well. Then all Caleb could do was put as much distance between him and his opponent as possible, his speed the only weapon he had that could possibly contest Lorenzo’s. He led him in a chase around the ring, dodging his swings and ducking the clumsy grabs he made, clearly hoping to see him tire.

But Lorenzo only seemed to grow more furious. He lunged with more anger, he pelted Caleb with taunts and curses when he couldn’t reach him with his blade, foam began to build in the slats of his helm. He began using spells, forcing Caleb to counter with magic of his own, summoning beams of light to cut through spheres of darkness that shrouded him, blasting fire from his palms to meet a cone of icy blizzard that lanced at him.

There was a terrifying moment when the pungent lavender smell of a sleep spell wrapped around Caleb and his eyelids began to droop, costing him the speed he relied on, bringing him to his knees and finally holding him in one place. Lorenzo rushed to press the advantage, swinging his blade with sickening abandon. It was only at the very last moment that Caleb managed to throw off the compulsion, eyes snapping wide and a powerful burst of fire throwing Lorenzo off of him, sending him flying back a good few feet.

A cheer of relief went up from Molly’s troupe, one he tried to echo but all he could see was the blood washing down Caleb’s arm from his shoulder where the edge of the blade had managed to make a savage cut and leave it hanging limp, the stark blackness of his veins against his chalky skin, the way his chest was heaving and the edges of his hair were smoking softly.

“His spells,” he moaned faintly, stomach churning, “If he can’t use his arms, he can’t summon his spells.”

Beside him, Yasha put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Molly knew it was half to comfort him and half to hold him back.

Now that both men had drawn blood, the battle turned savage, both actively trying to take the life of the other. Cuts came harder and heavier, the magic burned with a ferocity that scorched the faces of those around the outside. Time seemed to lose all meaning, marked only by the wounds both fighters gained in quicker and quicker succession. Every time Caleb was struck, Molly felt it ache on his own flesh.

By the time the sun had reached a fair height in the sky, blood was oozing steadily from every gap Lorenzo had in his armour. The vast plates of his chest rose and fell with more force and his rough breathing could be heard echoing inside the helm. He was finally beginning to tire.

But it came far too late for Caleb. He was wounded in far more places, gashes on his arms, bruises covering his skin from where he’d been thrown or charged, the entire bottom half of his coat burned away in one of his own fire spells, frost burns on one side of his face. And his arm, that very first cut, hanging limp and useless, not enough energy in it to even rise. Even as he stood there, he visibly swayed, his eyes dulled with pain.

Lorenzo gave a deep, satisfied laugh, “You look ready to end this, my boy. Learned a harsh lesson, eh, about how well a wretch like you can stand against someone like me.”

Caleb growled something indistinct, something that came out as a choking rasp and came up with a spatter of blood from his mouth. He grit his teeth, sword still crackling with fire in his hand and struck out at Lorenzo with what had to be the last of his strength. Without so much as breaking a sweat, the enormous oni reached out and simply caught the wizard’s hand, holding it in a grip like iron and wrenching him up off the ground by it.

Caleb cried out in pain and Molly screamed but it only made Lorenzo’s grin wider. Moving as easily as if he were swatting a fly, he seized Caleb’s waist in his other gigantic hand and pulled. The snap of Caleb’s arm breaking echoed through the valley.

Cackling as if it was the funniest thing he’d seen in some time, Lorenzo simply let him drop to the ground, bloodied and beaten and now with two useless arms, one sliced and one broken. He lay limply in the dirt, chest barely moving, blood and tears and soil streaked on his face.

“A pretty trick, that,” Lorenzo was now admiring the flaming sword with vague amusement, “Might have turned the tide, if you had any clue how to use it.”

He broke the blade over one ironclad knee with ease, letting the two pieces gutter out before dropping them to the grass beside their equally burned out owner.

“No!” Molly was still screaming, now he’d started and shattered his composure he couldn’t stop, writhing in Yasha’s grip as he fought to reach Caleb, “No, no, please don’t!”

Lorenzo spared him a smug, satisfied grin, “Oh your turn will come, boy. But don’t think you’ll die easy as your little pup did.”

On the glass by his feet, Caleb struggled to rise. His eyes looked out at Molly through his matted hair, come loose from the tie he’d so carefully and lovingly put there for him. His lips were moving but it was impossible to tell what he was saying.

“You can have me, you can have anything, just please, please don’t hurt him!” Molly sobbed wildly.

“Ah now,” Lorenzo tilted his head in mockingly gentle admonishment, “That wasn’t our deal, was it, boy? Old Lorenzo’s good as his words these days. But don’t worry now, I’ll make sure you get a real good view…”

He reached down and plucked Caleb up by the scruff of his coat, dangling him there like a helpless kitten before setting him down on his knees, facing Mollymauk. In the other hand, the glaive swung up to press it’s cruel point to Caleb’s back, ready to be driven forwards, knowing exactly where to place it so when he pushed, it would pierce right through his heart.

“Oh I’ve been waiting for this,” he crooned, flexing the muscles of his arm ready to put all of his weight behind it.

“Caleb!” Molly screamed, tears burning his eyes and making the battlefield swim before him.

“All that training,” Lorenzo laughed, “All that magic and you still couldn’t best me, Volstruker!”

Molly’s eyes burned but he still caught it. The brief movement, the flexing of an arm that was cut, yes, but not as badly as Caleb had pretended. He saw it slip down, turned away from Lorenzo so he would be none the wiser, moving quick and clean with precise motions to take the dagger out of his boot.

Molly looked into Caleb’s eyes and saw them clear and bright.

Lorenzo’s surprise was so complete that the glaive’s blade turned easily, Caleb needed only to bat it to the side. With all of the strength left in his body, he sprang and neatly drove the dagger’s point right through the eye slot of the slaver’s helm. Eye, blood and brain parted almost politely for it.

There was a beat of silence as the Jagenoth’s about to erupt in cheers, as Molly’s forces gripped by horror tried to understand what they’d just seen. As Lorenzo himself stood frozen in shock at his own death until his body’s knees folded in on themselves and he slumped, lifeless, with a rather anticlimactic thud.

And in the middle of it all, as blood ran down his wrist, Caleb grinned.

“I am not Volstruker.”

Everything was swimming and the ground wouldn’t stay still underneath him. Something was roaring around him though perhaps it was the wind.

Every other part of his mind blurred and smudged, Caleb stared at the sky and distractedly calculated how long a person could survive losing blood at the rate it was pulsing out of his shoulder, taking into account the weakness from magical usage, the adrenaline, his height and weight, adding it all up with a blissful kind of detachment and realising the price was growing too high to pay.

I did it, he thought, without really understanding who or what he was talking about, he’s safe.

Knowing that, letting go right now wouldn’t be so bad.

The world suddenly found one direction to go in and it was downwards, his knees buckling and eyes rolling back in his head, darkness swallowing him whole.

Though Caleb could have sworn, before he ceased to think anything at all, that at the very last moment, someone caught him.

#widomauk #critical role #mollymauk tealeaf #trans mollymauk #caleb widogast #smut #tw violence #tw death #please reblog and comment!

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strifescloud · 3 years

Text

the winds will lead us somewhere

6.4k words, kuwana gou/koryuu kagemitsu, G rating

getting together, fluff

If Kuwana listens, he can hear the joy of the soil at being tilled by Koryuu’s gentle hand, the way the things he cultivates yearn to grow under his practiced care, a joyous chime of things that thrive because they are beloved.

He hums along, because he likes Koryuu too.

read on ao3

There are many things that make up the earth, Kuwana thinks.

There is that which grows on the surface and within it, and that is what most people see, the waving blades of grass in a summer’s breeze and the vegetables of the harvest, the worms that are washed up by the rain and the thick roots of the trees you trip over in the dark. Life flourishes across its surface, gorgeous and fleeting, a cycle born from the rich soil.

But there is also that which lies deeper, the things people dig for - things that are lost and buried by calamity, the bones of the dead that are left behind after their flesh decays and nourishes the life around them, and even the beginnings of metal, the ore from which swords like them were forged.

When Kuwana digs his fingers into the dirt, soil damp and fresh against his skin, he feels like he can sense it - that this is where he came from, the beginnings of his body as a sword, and this is where he will end, his flesh offered to the earth.

The earth also sings, but Kuwana isn’t sure anyone can hear that except him.

“Do you ever listen to the earth, Koryuu-san?”

It can’t hurt to ask.

Koryuu pauses where he is bent over their flourishing crop of carrots, his hair shifting and spilling over his shoulders as he turns to pin Kuwana with a confused stare.

“I can’t hear anything out here except us.” Koryuu rolls his shoulders, confusion melting off his face as easily as it had formed, and he turns back to his task, “Do you hear something, Kuwana-san?”

Kuwana hums, shrugs, turns his mind back to the feeling of soil beneath his hands as he keeps harvesting for their dinner. It’s a shame, he thinks, that Koryuu can’t hear it, because the soil beneath them sings brightly of his praises, in high, soft tones that echo the end of spring, the sprouting of the sunflowers in summer. If Kuwana listens, he can hear the joy of the soil at being tilled by Koryuu’s gentle hand, the way the things he cultivates yearn to grow under his practiced care, a joyous chime of things that thrive because they are beloved.

He hums along, because he likes Koryuu too.

It’s not something he thinks about too hard, because to Kuwana it is simple. He likes when they are assigned to work the fields together, sometimes in silence and sometimes spending their hours in gentle, slow conversation. He likes Koryuu’s hair, long and beautiful like a field of wheat under the sunrise, even though it always gets in his way. He likes Koryuu’s eyes, always kind and ever-wistful, sometimes staring off into the distance like he wanted the horizon to come take him away. He likes when they sit on the engawa after a long day’s work, their hands no longer in the soil but the dirt still under their fingernails, and they sit and talk about everything and nothing at all until the ache in their muscles begins to subside.

“You know, I always hear you humming to yourself over there. What, are you practicing for Kotegiri-kun’s lessons?”

Kuwana shakes his head, smiling, and the potatoes he’s harvesting go into his basket. It kind of feels like a secret between him and the soil, but he wants to give an answer nonetheless.

“Things grow better if they know they’re loved.”

This is true of both plants and people - and if swords could be people now, they would learn to grow as well. So it would be nice if Koryuu was a little closer to the earth, could hear the way it hums beneath them, but Kuwana understands.

I’ve been all over the place, you know, Koryuu had told him once, both of them watching the sun’s slow descent past the horizon, went from person to person, place to place, family to family. Feels like everybody else here has got their thing - lots of talk of former masters, or places they’ve been, the things that were important to them. Things that made them manifest the way they are, y’know?

He hadn’t turned to face Kuwana, but something about the way he stared out into the wide fields had seemed so melancholy as he spoke.

I’ve been so many places as a sword, and Koryuu had smiled then, but it was neither happy nor sad, and I was wielded by so many people, but I don’t know if there’s somebody I would call “my former master”.

Kuwana had laughed, then, at the voice Koryuu had put on, a dry imitation of so many of their fellow sword warriors.

Even now I guess I’m still looking, huh? Koryuu had shrugged, an odd vulnerability in the way his shoulders curled in, I like it here and all, but I feel like I’m missing something - that thing that tells you that you’re home. Guess they’ve all found it before, so they can see it again here.

Kuwana had hummed at him, considering, but Koryuu had barrelled on, almost as if he needed to get the words out while he could.

I know I’m meant to be here, he’d said as he stared down at his knees, legs swinging childishly over the side of the engawa, and I know they’re my master now, for better or worse. But I keep feeling like, I dunno, I just gotta get up and walk and keep walking and see whatever it is I find beyond that horizon.

Kuwana doesn’t really share the feeling, but he sees it in Koryuu’s face all the time. So he does get it - that Koryuu hadn’t learnt how to put down roots yet, still blowing this way and that like dandelion seeds in the wind, and maybe that airy heart of his wasn’t meant to be so attuned to the depths of the soil.

So if he can’t hear it, then Kuwana will sing along, both in hopes that it might reach Koryuu - might help him understand that the gentle affection he shows to the life he cultivates in the fields is returned, that this place already loves him even if he’s not ready for it - and because Kuwana thinks he is something that grows better with Koryuu, too.

He wants to reach out, try and capture that fleeting, wandering presence for as long as he can before it flits out of reach.

“Hope the potatoes can hear you, then.” Koryuu replies, his laugh echoing across the fields, “You really do love fieldwork, don’t you?”

Kuwana smiles, because it’s true, and the greatest joy he’s found since becoming alive is the feeling of soil beneath his hands.

“I was treasured by a farming family.” He says, adding more potatoes to his basket, “We fight our enemies on the battlefield, sure, but agriculture is about facing nature in its entirety. Besides, a healthy body is as great a weapon as your sword, don’t you think? It all starts from here.” He pats the freshly disturbed soil back into place, smiling down at it still like a proud parent, “Healthy soil, carefully cultivated, for a healthy diet and a healthy body.”

Koryuu’s looking at him now with a face Kuwana hasn’t learnt how to read yet, but it isn’t upset, so he doesn’t worry.

“I was with a farming family for a while too, but I guess I didn’t get all of that out of it.” Koryuu replies, but his hands are still gentle as he tends to the carrots, and Kuwana wonders if that is entirely true.

“What did they teach you?” Kuwana asks, because for all Koryuu talks of his journeys he rarely speaks of the particulars. Koryuu shrugs in response, tossing his long hair back over his shoulders from where it had fallen into his face as he leaned over.

“A lot of things,” He says vaguely, “but mostly that humans are full of mysteries, I guess. Can’t say I really get them, even after all this time - getting hung up on the weirdest things, like money and social status and who you or your parents or your parents’ parents were related to.” He shrugs again, pulls a face that makes Kuwana laugh, “It’s all kinda silly, right?”

“Yeah, I don’t get it either.” Kuwana agrees, and they both turn back to their task, silence falling between them again broken only by Kuwana’s quiet humming.

Kuwana finishes first, his basket full for the day’s harvest, so he wanders over to help Koryuu with the last of his own.

“Oh, thanks!” Koryuu says brightly, shuffling his own basket to sit between the two of them. It’s nice, Kuwana thinks as they work side-by-side, silent aside from the sounds of the harvest. Being with Koryuu was always nice, never complicated, always making the work days barely feel like work at all (not that it ever was, really, because Kuwana loved agriculture and he loved these fields). Koryuu’s presence was just warm, as if the sunset on the horizon that he chased had settled into his bones, and Kuwana thought he could spend endless days just like this one.

Koryuu sprawls in the dirt once he’s done, groaning with exhaustion and staring up at the sky.

“Now, Koryuu-san, don’t sit down after a long day’s work.” Kuwana leans down, stretching his hand out, “You’ll never get up again.”

Koryuu grins back, his hair stuck to his neck with sweat and dirt smudges across his cheeks, and Kuwana’s heart sings in harmony with the earth. Koryuu grabs his outstretched hand, letting himself be hauled off the ground and slinging an arm around Kuwana’s shoulder once he’s standing again.

“Fine work today again, Kuwana-san!” Koryuu pats him on the shoulder once and then lets him go, bending over to pick up the baskets that hold their harvest, and though he steps away the breeze blows his cape back towards Kuwana, the hem brushing against his ankles, as if to stop them from being truly separated. Koryuu straightens, baskets tucked under his arms, and then immediately laughs in frustration as the wind blows his long hair right into his eyes.

“Ahh, why’d I manifest with all this, huh?” He tosses his head, but the wind blows his hair right back across his face, “I should cut it all off, honestly.”

Kuwana tugs off his glove, somehow afraid of getting the dirt on Koryuu even though it’s already streaked across his skin and hair, and reaches out with his bare hand, brushing the hair out of Koryuu’s face and tucking it gently behind his ear. Koryuu lets out a breath as Kuwana’s hand continues on its path, following the cascade of hair down his throat, knuckles brushing the dragon that peeks out from his collar before it retreats back to Kuwana’s pocket.

“Don’t cut it off.” He says lightly, Koryuu’s cape still brushing his ankles and the setting sun casting their twin shadows across the fields, “It’s nice. Let it grow.”

Koryuu stares back at him, his fingers flexing on the baskets he carries under his arms.

“Okay,” he says finally, after the silence has stretched far beyond comfortable, “I will.”

Kuwana laughs, tapping Koryuu on the arm as he passes, leading him back towards the citadel.

“Kuwana-san?”

The breeze is nice through their little room, a cool balm for the sweat that trickles down his throat and soaks into his shirt, and Kuwana finds himself turning into it, trying to catch more of it on his skin.

“Kuwana-san?”

“Oh, sorry, Kotegiri.” Kuwana replies absently, turning away from the window again, “I got a bit distracted.”

Koryuu is working the fields again - Kuwana can hear the distant, joyous chime of the leaves, the sound of freshly turned soil. Kotegiri frowns at him, peering out the same window into the still horizon.

“Is there something out there?” He asks, turning his confused gaze back to Kuwana, and Kuwana just shrugs.

“I was listening to the earth.” He wishes they would understand sometimes, the ever-present hum beneath their feet that no one else seemed to hear, how his mind would run with its harmonies and leave him behind.

“What’s up, Kuwa? The earth?” Buzen interrupts, clapping him on the shoulder excitedly, “What’s it saying?” Kuwana opens his mouth, but Buzen barrels onwards, “Huh? What’s it say? Anything good?”

“It says you’re nosy, Buzen.” Kuwana replies, exasperated but smiling as Buzen nods enthusiastically.

“I don’t really get it, but cool! The earth talks about me!” He says with a bright smile as Matsui laughs quietly on the other side of the room. He can hear Murakumo whisper something into Samidare’s ear, and Kuwana thinks that’ll be the end of it until the earth rumbles beneath his feet, discontented and amused all at once.

“Ah, Koryuu-san.” He blurts out in response, and he only realises he’s said it aloud when everyone else in the room stares at him again.

“Koryuu...san?” Kotegiri repeats, fixing him with a confused stare. Kuwana feels an odd burning sensation begin to rush across his cheekbones, and he swears the room feels suddenly warmer.

“Ah, it’s - he’s working on the fields today, and-” Kuwana tries to explain, tripping over his words awkwardly, but a loud gasp from Kotegiri cuts him off.

“Is that what you were looking at?” Kotegiri rushes forward, grabbing Kuwana’s arm and shaking him slightly, “Kuwana-san! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Tell you?” Kuwana repeats, because he had only just heard through the soil that Koryuu had tripped over a sleeping Akashi in the fields, hiding from his own duty, the earth resonating with concern and amusement.

“Do you like Koryuu-san?” Kotegiri’s voice is insistent, shaking him again, and Kuwana smiles at the spark of light in his eyes.

“Of course I do.” That seems obvious - Koryuu is his friend, after all.

“No, no.” Kotegiri leans further into Kuwana’s space, trying to stare past the thick veil of hair into his eyes, “Do you like like him?”

“He’s my friend.” Kuwana says, tone rising almost like a question. Kotegiri sighs, releasing Kuwana from his vice grip and gesturing animatedly as he steps back.

“Not like friends! I read about it in those magazines that Master likes.” Kotegiri’s hands are on his hips now, his presence much grander than his small frame as he stares Kuwana down, “It’s about love.”

Kuwana blinks, and he hears Matsui sigh behind him.

“Ah, it makes the heart race, pumping the blood faster and faster.” Kuwana turns to look at him and Matsui sighs again, staring dreamily out of the window that Kuwana had previously claimed.

“Come on, sit down.” Kotegiri tugs at Kuwana’s hand until they’re both sitting on the floor, Buzen joining them right at Kuwana’s side, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly, “What do you like about Koryuu-san?”

“This is a little embarrassing.” Kuwana says awkwardly, but Kotegiri frowns at him.

“Kuwana-san, this is important!” Kotegiri keeps frowning, looking a little disappointed, and Kuwana sighs.

“I like spending time with Koryuu-san.” He drags one hand across the flooring, wishing it was the familiar feeling of soil beneath his fingers, and continues with a laugh, “The earth likes him too. He’s gentle. I like it when we talk, no matter what it’s about.” He stops, feeling awkward again.

“And?” Kotegiri prompts, and Kuwana tries to continue.

“I like it when he smiles. He’s sadder than he looks, so it doesn’t happen as often as you think.”

He’s treading into territory he doesn’t really want to say aloud, like how he hopes Koryuu finds that feeling of home here at last, that he stops being adrift and lost - that Kuwana wants to reach out and take his hand and hold him here, but he can’t cage him if he wants to be free.

Kotegiri’s eyes seem to sparkle, and Kuwana thinks he might be tearing up.

“Oh.” Kotegiri says, taking Kuwana’s hand again, “I’m so happy for you!”

Kuwana blinks at him again.

“Why?”

“Because it’s love!” Kotegiri leaps to his feet, clapping his hands, “And that’s something very special.”

Love, Kuwana repeats in his mind.

He thinks he knows love already. He’s been human long enough, been among humans even longer, to know how love sits in the air. It’s comfortable - humans feel love every day. It sits in all the dusty corners of their lives, a foundation as solid as the earth to walk on.

Kuwana knows love. He loves so many things, after all - the earth, the fields, the other Gou swords, Tonbokiri-sama, all the parts of his everyday life. It’s ever-present, a constant warmth in his bones, and he never has to question it.

But does he love…

“Kotegiri,” Buzen interrupts, “why do you know so much about love?”

“When you sing and dance on stage, you have to make your audience feel loved!” Kotegiri responds enthusiastically, clapping his hands, “So I had to learn more about how to make that kind of atmosphere, right?”

“Sounds good!” Buzen stands, leaving Kuwana sitting alone on the floor.

“Let’s continue, everyone!” Kotegiri calls, and the others begin to re-assemble into their formation, “Now, repeat after me!”

“Two halves of a melon…” Samidare murmurs, and Kuwana stands to take his position.

“Five, six, seven, eight-”

There is always a comfort to be found with soil beneath his hands.

Another long day in the fields had passed, the sun beginning to set once again, and Kuwana feels that warmth in his bones.

“Kuwana-san, are you done?” Koryuu calls, and Kuwana nods slowly.

Love, Kotegiri had said.

“Kuwana-san?”

“Koryuu-san,” Kuwana says, rolling an onion between his palms, “what do you know about love?”

He hears a long sigh above him, the sound of boots crunching the soil as they walk over to him. Koryuu sits across from him, taking the onion gently out of his hands and putting it in his basket.

“You always ask hard questions.” He says with another sigh, reaching out and tugging at where Kuwana’s collar was slightly askew, patting it into place, and Kuwana smiles a little as the hand withdraws, “Love’s a pretty crazy thing, isn’t it?” Koryuu shrugs, pulling his now-tangled hair out from where it was stuck under his own collar, “Humans do all kinds of weird, extravagant things for love - leaving their whole lives behind, spending all their money, killing people, waging wars.”

“You think so?” Kuwana frowns at the ground again, avoiding Koryuu’s gaze. Kotegiri’s words feel like they’re ringing in his ears, rising above the ever-present song of the earth, but he doesn’t know what to do with them yet, “Were you ever loved by your master?”

Koryuu shrugs again, laughing, the sound carefree but with a note of something Kuwana doesn’t know how to handle.

“That’s different, isn’t it?” Koryuu replies, still with that same note in his voice, “A human will love a tool because it’s useful. It makes you rich, it kills your enemies. When it’s no longer useful, that love will wane,” Koryuu traces his fingers through the dirt beneath him, “like the moon. Maybe it’ll come back one day - or maybe you’ll be sold, traded, forgotten, left to gather dust somewhere. Humans are fickle like that, you know?”

“I was treasured.” Kuwana says firmly, because this is a thing that he knows, as certain as the sun setting in the west, “My former masters cherished me.”

Koryuu laughs again, clapping one hand on Kuwana’s shoulder as he rises, then extending it down to pull Kuwana up with him.

“They loved a sword they could wield.” Kuwana takes the hand and Koryuu hauls him to his feet, “It’s different when a person loves a person.”

Koryuu’s hand is still in his.

Kuwana wonders, absently, if the reason Koryuu can’t hear how loudly the earth sings of him is because he isn’t ready to accept that it loves him yet.

“Koryuu-san,” Kuwana says firmly, “you’re a person now, too. And the other people here love you.”

Plant your roots here, a part of him wants to say, but it’s selfish to keep a wanderer from the road. Koryuu’s smile is unreadable, tilting his head and staring as if he’s trying to see past Kuwana’s hair and into his obscured eyes, fingers shifting in Kuwana’s grasp.

“Our master loves a sword they can wield.” Koryuu repeats the words, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in them, a shakiness as he takes back his hand.

“There’s other people here, too.” Kuwana says, but that’s all he’s willing to say. He picks up his basket and Koryuu follows suit, leading him back to the citadel in silence.

Maybe that desire, selfish and selfless at once, is what Kotegiri had seen in him - wanting to spend every day just like this, the two of them wrapped in the endless song of the fields, Koryuu smiling at Kuwana’s gentle humming as the sun passes overhead. But more than that, just wanting Koryuu to know what it means to have somewhere to wander home to, for him to feel the same warmth that Kuwana feels whenever there’s soil beneath his fingers, knowing he belongs right here.

Perhaps you would call that love.

Kuwana’s walking past the kitchen when he hears a long, familiar groan.

“I don’t know what to do, Daihannya-saaaaan.” Koryuu whines, and Kuwana quickly flattens himself against the wall. He’s not eavesdropping, exactly, but the look on Koryuu’s face the other day was still bothering him a little.

“Now, now, Koryuu-kun.” Daihannya’s smooth voice is a little softer, and Kuwana tries to breathe as silently as he can, “Whatever is the matter?” There’s a scrape of cups over the table, Daihannya offering a drink to the other sword, “I’ve never seen you so despondent.”

Koryuu sighs loudly, and Kuwana hears fingers tapping on the table nervously.

“It’s about... you know.” Koryuu sighs again, “We had farm duty again.”

“Lucky you.” Daihannya replies, a note of amusement in his voice, and there’s a faint sound like skin on skin, “Come, now, I’m trying to help.”

“I’m glad this is funny for you.” Koryuu grumbles, but he continues more hesitantly, “He was asking me about...love.”

Oh, Kuwana thinks as a sinking feeling begins in his stomach, oh, no, I’ve upset him.

“Love? Well, there you go.” There’s a stronger hint of laughter behind the silky words, and Koryuu groans again.

“No.” There’s a thump, and then Koryuu’s voice sounds a little muffled, “I didn’t say it.”

“You didn’t?”

“Noooo…”

“Koryuu-kun.”

“I know."

Kuwana’s breath feels shallow, his skin alight with nerves. What was it Koryuu couldn’t say to him? Had he upset him? Did Koryuu know?

He steps away from the kitchen, feeling like an intruder. He walks through the halls of the citadel, smiling faintly at those he passes, and finds a quiet spot on the engawa to sit and watch the sunset.

It’s not quite the same without Koryuu at his side, cheerful voice in his ears, but the quiet can be nice too. The earth resonates with dusk in time with the gentle breeze and there is comfort in the harmonies, so Kuwana hums along as softly as he can, laying his worries bare.

“Mind if I join you?”

The sudden, smooth voice makes him jump, and when he looks up Daihannya is standing above him, two cups in one hand and a bottle in the other. There’s a faint smile on his face but Kuwana feels his heart beat loudly in his ears, that prickling sensation creeping up his skin again.

“Sure!” He says brightly still, because he likes Daihannya, and he feels like this might be important.

Daihannya sits beside him and Kuwana stares back out at the sunset, listening to the sound of liquid pouring into the cups until Daihannya taps him on the arm, pressing one into his hand. Kuwana takes a sip and it’s a sweet, gentle sake, and he lets it roll around his tongue before he swallows it, savouring the flavour.

“You and Koryuu-kun have been doing more than your fair share of fieldwork lately.” Daihannya says, taking a sip from his own drink, and Kuwana tries not to react, “Thanks for your hard work.”

“Not at all,” Kuwana replies immediately, feeling like his mouth is moving on its own, “I like working in the fields a lot.” Daihannya laughs, nodding slightly as he takes another sip.

“I’ve noticed, actually.” Kuwana feels a heat rise in his cheeks as he ducks his head, but Daihannya pats him on the shoulder, “No, no, don’t be ashamed. It’s lovely, seeing how much you enjoy it.” There’s a wistfulness to his tone as the hand falls away, returning to twine fingers around the cup in his other hand, “There’s so much to discover about ourselves - what we like or don’t like, what to name these feelings we weren’t forged with, how to navigate the world on our own two feet instead of in our master’s hand. I envy how much you Gou swords seem to know yourselves.”

Kuwana blinks, confused, and the words bring back a question that had once floated distantly in his mind.

“Are the Osafune swords close?” He knows some of the others aren’t as close as the Gou swords, the bonds of their smith strengthened by the determined efforts of Kotegiri, but Koryuu spoke of such things in fleeting bursts that it was hard to tell how he felt.

“Yes and no.” Daihannya said slowly, a pensive look growing on his face, “We’re independent by nature, but not so much that we keep a distance from one another. Mitsutada would never let that happen.” He laughs, a more genuine smile taking over, “I think if Koryuu-kun really tried to wander off, Mitsutada would just go out there and drag him back for dinner.” He puts his cup down, shifting slightly so his eyes pierce right into Kuwana’s, “But you can understand that, can’t you?”

Kuwana stills, his breath shallow, and he thinks ah, caught.

“Daihannya-san-”

“I’m not as wrapped up in my own world as he is.” Daihannya interrupts, but his tone is gentle, “but I hope you didn’t take his whining badly. He can be a bit dense sometimes.” Kuwana winces slightly, and Daihannya nods in response, “I see. Well, I’m not here to spill all his secrets, but I won’t reveal yours.”

“...Thank you.” Kuwana offers hesitantly, and Daihannya pats him again, this time gently on the knee.

“Don’t be so nervous, Kuwana-kun. I don’t bite.” He turns back to pick up his drink again, “But I do wish you would be honest with him.”

Kuwana lets silence stretch between them, unsure what to say. There’s a weight to the words he can’t quite lift yet, and it seems Koryuu hasn’t revealed everything either. He takes a long sip of his drink, hoping the alcohol will steady his frayed nerves.

“We may have long years ahead of us,” Daihannya said, voice almost reverently quiet, “but our joys are still fleeting, and our sorrows deep, as if our lives were as short and brilliant as a human’s.” His long hair spills over his shoulder as he leans forward, conviction threading steel into his words, “Don’t let moments slip by.”

Kuwana blinks once, twice, trying to gather his thoughts, but Daihannya is already standing, taking his drink with him.

“Oh, and Kuwana-kun?” He adds as he turns away, his last words thrown over his shoulder, “It’s not a coincidence it’s always you two on duty together.”

And with that he left, leaving Kuwana alone with the darkened sky and his racing thoughts, sake cup clutched in his fingers.

“What do you think happens to us when we die?”

The question breaks the quiet of their morning, Kuwana’s hands stilling and his hum catching in his throat. Koryuu’s leaning on his hoe, using one boot to worm it further into the soil, and Kuwana frowns at the furrow in his brow.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, do we leave a body like humans do? We are basically human now, so it’d make sense.” Koryuu shrugs, gesturing with one hand, “Or do we just, poof, the same way we manifested?”

It’s an odd question, but Koryuu wasn’t one to let a thought sit in his head for too long.

“I hope we leave a body.” Kuwana replies slowly, hands kneading the soil beneath him, “I want to be buried.” Koryuu laughs, flashing him a grin.

“Of course you do! You know, when I was with a sword-testing family, they used to try their swords out on dead people - well, dead criminals, but they were still people, right?”

“Yeah.” Kuwana says, his focus sharpening. He treasures every anecdote Koryuu shares, like precious jewels for how rare they were, little glimpses into a vast history.

“Well, eventually they had more swords than bodies, of course. So what did they do? Sewed the people back up and used them again!” Koryuu keeps laughing, shaking his head as he swings the hoe back up onto his shoulder, “It’s crazy, right? Looking back at it now, with my own body, it feels kinda wrong to me. They’d take all the bits out of them too, turn the organs into some kind of miracle medicine.” Kuwana pulls a face, and Koryuu gestures at him, “Right? Maybe you’re rubbing off on me, Kuwana-san, but I’d rather eat some good, hearty vegetables,” Koryuu picks a carrot out of his basket, waggling it in his direction, “than bits of dead people.” He tosses the carrot back in, shrugging.

“Well,” Kuwana says, “if we do leave a body, I hope I end up in a field just like this one.” The sun’s touch is gentle on his skin, the breeze making grass sway in the distance, and the peace that he feels at the sight runs as deep as his bones, “My body will be food for the earth, to make food for people. Would that be any different?”

“Nah,” Koryuu’s voice sounds a little wistful, a little distant, and Kuwana wonders where his mind has wandered to, “I guess it’s not so different.”

Kuwana hums in agreement, but then lets the sound stretch out as he turns back to his work, weaving in quietly beneath the harmonies of the soil. The earth sings out in joy as Koryuu’s attentions return to it, and Kuwana can’t help but mimic the soft melody, his own heart filled with warmth.

“You’re singing to yourself again.” Kuwana wonders if he imagines the fondness in Koryuu’s tone, the gentle hint of laughter that rolls beneath the words,

“Not to myself.” He says insistently, but then he hesitates, “I’m just...singing with the earth.”

“With the earth?” Koryuu repeats, and Kuwana feels a familiar burn in his cheeks. He knows no one else hears it, knows it’s strange and sometimes he’s still more spirit than human, but he hopes Koryuu doesn’t think it’s too weird.

“Yeah.” And to you, he thinks, because he still wishes more than anything that Koryuu could hear how much this land treasured him, “The earth is always singing.”

“Well,” Koryuu stops his work again, dusting off his soil-stained hands, “I always wondered what it would say when you asked it something.” Kuwana laughs, delighted, and Koryuu continues, “What’s it singing about?”

Kuwana pauses again, unsure what to say, and Koryuu looks over at him when the silence stretches a little too long.

“You don’t have to-”

“Everything, all the time.” Kuwana lets himself sink into the sound a little bit, focusing on it, trying to find the words even though he knows he can’t describe it, “The sun, the rain, the things that are growing or dying, the insects that crawl between the grass. It sings about me, about you.” He shrugs, gesturing at the field that surrounds them, the line of the horizon in the distance.

“About me?” Koryuu repeats, finally putting his tools down and coming to sit next to Kuwana, brow drawing together, “What’s it saying about me?”

The question makes Kuwana’s heart thump loudly in his ears, almost drowning out the ever-present hum beneath his feet. Koryuu’s eyes sparkle in the morning light, his hair tousled by the breeze and stuck to his face with sweat, and he looks so beautiful Kuwana fumbles for his words, feeling them trip and tangle on their way out of his mouth.

“Everything here wants to grow for you,” he starts awkwardly, “You’re good in the fields. You care for this land.” Kuwana pauses, swallowing, aware suddenly of the sweat down the back of his neck and how thirsty he is, “Whenever you’re out here it sings endlessly for you, even though you can’t hear it, because the earth loves you. It just wants you to be here, and even if you don’t feel like it’s home it always wants you to come back.”

Koryuu is staring at him with a face Kuwana can’t read, eyes wide but intent, and Kuwana has to look away before he speaks again. He’s so nervous he thinks his hands are shaking but the words are suddenly clear in his mind, Daihannya’s voice ringing in his ears, don’t let moments slip by.

He wonders if this is the secret Koryuu was keeping, the same fears in their mirrored hearts, both of them too afraid to speak it aloud.

“That’s why I sing with it.” His smile feels fragile even though it spreads wide across his face, a secret freed from his heart at last, “Because I feel the same way.”

Koryuu had been leaning forward, but at Kuwana’s words he sits back, hands grasping at the fabric of his pants tightly. He looks dazed, a little frightened, and Kuwana feels a spike of fear in his stomach, I hope I haven’t ruined it. The wind has died down and the field is still, so still, and Kuwana abruptly feels like he’s breathing far too loud in the sudden silence. Koryuu shifts, the sound of his boots scraping against the earth grating across Kuwana’s ears.

His hand reaches out, gently working the hat off Kuwana’s head and placing it to the side, but then returning to Kuwana’s face. The knuckles brush against Kuwana’s cheek and he holds as still as he can, almost afraid to breathe as long fingers push the hair in front of his left eye to the side. He feels exposed, goggles still hanging around his neck and trying not to shy away, letting Koryuu find whatever he’s searching for.

Koryuu’s eyes are fixed on his exposed one and he holds the gaze, feeling like the moment is stretching into eternity.

The hand on his cheek trails further down, letting his hair fall back into place, breaking the raw gaze between them as Koryuu’s hand fits gently around his jaw. The other hand comes up to mirror it, cradling Kuwana’s face, the touch impossibly gentle as if Koryuu was afraid he’d break him.

“Sometimes I really don’t know what to do with you.” Koryuu says, the words almost like a sigh as he leans forward to kiss him.

Their lips meet hesitantly, chaste and nervous and Kuwana is almost thankful for it because the feeling of slightly chapped skin against his mouth is so odd and unfamiliar. But when Koryuu leans back Kuwana chases the feeling, not wanting to let him go, pressing their lips together again with more force. There’s something so sweet it makes his heart ache about the nervous way Koryuu’s hands shift on his skin and Kuwana kisses him harder, his heart racing, trying to tell him don’t worry, me too.

They break apart as slowly as they came together, Koryuu’s hands leaving Kuwana’s face to take his hands.

“Well,” Koryuu said, a veil of false bravado not quite hiding the shakiness in his voice, “okay. That was, uh, nice.”

“It was nice.” Kuwana agrees, because he liked it and if Koryuu liked it, they could do it again. Koryuu pulls a face, fiddling with Kuwana’s hand, a nervous energy taking over.

“I don’t know what we do now.” Koryuu continues with a nervous laugh, and Kuwana squeezes his hand reassuringly.

It was hard, piecing together how to be human from fragments of centuries, an ever-changing puzzle with thousands of pieces.

“Does anything have to change right now?” The sun had shifted now, their twin shadows harsh against the field, side by side, “I am Kuwana Gou, and you’re Koryuu Kagemitsu. Today we have farm duty, and afterwards we’ll watch the sun set, like we always do.”

Koryuu’s gentle smile could outshine the sun, his eyes soft and fond, and he nods slightly at Kuwana’s words.

“Like we always do, yeah. You’re right.”

Kuwana takes a moment just to hold Koryuu’s hand a little tighter, commit the feeling to his memory, that fickle presence no longer just out of reach. But he lets go as Koryuu stands, following suit, both of them returning to their patch of field as if nothing had happened.

And at the end of the day Kuwana carries his harvest back to the citadel, following the bright stream of Koryuu’s hair in the afternoon breeze. They sit side by side on the engawa, the sun just beginning to set, and the earth sings of the same happiness that Kuwana feels in every corner of his heart.

“Daihannya-san said something to me I was wondering about.” Kuwana says once their silence had stretched on long enough, watching the grass sway in the breeze as Koryuu’s legs swing idly off the edge.

“Oh, geez, what did he say?” Koryuu sighs, and Kuwana shakes his head.

“Nothing bad. It was just about we’re on field duty together.” Kuwana shrugs loosely, “I like working the fields, so I don’t mind, but we do it a lot more than the others.”

Koryuu’s silence is a little longer than usual, and when Kuwana turns there’s a light dusting of pink forming across his cheeks.

“I...may have asked the Master to give us more farm duty. You and me, I mean. Together.” Kuwana’s face almost hurts from how widely he grins, unable to stop the smile from blooming, even as Koryuu continues, “But I can talk to them if you don’t want to, it’s-”

“Koryuu-san,” Kuwana says firmly, taking Koryuu’s hand that rests between them and tangling the fingers together, “I want to.”

Koryuu’s answering grin is almost blinding in its radiance, a mixture of joy and nerves, and as they turn back to watch the sunset Kuwana keeps a tight hold on his hand. They’d figure the rest out tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day after, unending years ahead of them to learn more about living.

But right now, Kuwana wants to hold onto this one, perfect moment for as long as he can, until the sun sets.

#koryuu kagemitsu #kuwana gou #tkrb #touken ranbu #strife writes

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