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haitanisbug · 2 years

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Chase the Shadows

Pairing: Gojo x Fem Reader

CW: light smut(-ish. Kind of..) Minors DNI, explicit and suggestive language

Note: Reader and Gojo are in an established relationship. This is part of my JJK Street Racer AU.

“You can’t compete with him, Gojo. Do you have any idea how much shit he has under that hood? Paid it all with daddy’s money and he’ll smoke you with it too.” It’s rare for Sukuna to sound this concerned about his friend. Usually apathetic to all of Gojo’s chaotic antics, but tonight is different. The two men are standing near Gojo’s car and waiting for the official call that the roads have been cleared to start the race. Gojo had pissed off Naoya earlier that week (some ill-timed insult about Naoya’s small dick or something like that) and instead of Naoya’s men shooting Gojo’s brains out, they decided to settle their squabble with a race.

Sukuna continues to chastise him “It also doesn’t help that you’ve only done cosmetic mods to this car.”

“Eh, it’s not about the engine. It’s about who’s driving the engine. And that happens to be Gojo Satoru. No need for performance updates. I’ll smoke his ass in a slow car, and I’ll look fucking cool doing it too.” arrogance is practically dripping from Gojo’s voice.

“This isn’t Fast and Furious, man. A slow car is still a slow car. Your driving skills aren’t suddenly going to make it go faster.”

Gojo lowers his blacked-out shades and peers at his friend through the tops of them, crystal eyes glinting with mirth. “You say that like I haven’t smoked you in a slow ass car before.” Sukuna scoffs at that, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You only won that race because my clutch slipped.”

“Excuses, excuses” Gojo teases, “Besides, who says cosmetic mods can’t make a car go faster? I swear Geto’s art gives me a speed boost.”

“You are so going to lose this race and I almost pity anybody stupid enough to bet on you tonight.” The streets around them are filled with people, more than the usual street race. It definitely can be attributed to the reputations of the two men racing. Gojo has been at the top of almost every race for the past year. His fame amongst the Tokyo street circuit spread quickly, and whenever he races, people always come to gawk. Naoya’s immoral rep, and the Zenin name itself attract a fair share of spectators too. Not to mention the streets tonight are crawling with his men. Scantily clad women crowd the streets and occasionally pass by Gojo and Sukuna; loud music and the revving of cars fill the gaps in their conversation.

“Speaking of betting, where the hell is Toji? I can’t believe he actually agreed to let you race Naoya.” Sukuna looks over his shoulder, eyes sweeping his surroundings to find the older man. When he can’t spot him, Sukuna lets out a few curses. “Don’t fuckin tell me… you didn’t tell Toji about this?!”

Gojo has the nerve to look slightly sheepish “...uhh well I didn’t thi-”

“Shut up, man. You’re racing the heir to one of the biggest Yakuza groups in the fuckin country and you didn’t tell your fucking manager?!” AND You’re driving it in a ride that’s basically a glorified Hot Wheel. How stupid are you?”

Gojo’s lack of response spurns Sukuna on, “Please tell me you didn’t bet any money, or at least any of Toji’s money.”

“No! I am offended you think that I’m that thoughtless. Of course I didn’t bet any of Toji’s money. That would have been asking for a death sentence... money-hungry old man” Gojo mutters the last bit under his breath.

“Fine. Whatever. Since you didn’t bet any of his money, and I know you're flat out of cash right now, what did you bet?”

If Gojo looked sheepish before, now he looks downright guilty. His eyes flicker over to where you’re standing talking to a group of girls and then they shoot away nervously.

Sukuna catches all of this, his gaze narrowing. “You bastard.” Sukuna almost whispers. “You’re betting your girl?”

“Well… she’s the only thing Naoya was interested in. He refused cash and my car so it was the only option.”

“Does she know about this?”

Gojo’s silence is deafening.

“You’re fucking slimy. Absolute bastard, asshole, and a dickhead. Can't believe I’m friends with you.”

“Oh please don’t act like you’re any better, Sukuna.” Gojo lets out a mocking laugh. “You’d do the same thing if you were in my place and we both know it. You’re a glutton for adrenaline too.”

“No, I wouldn’t. If Naoya ever laid eyes on my girl, there wouldn’t even need to be a race. I’d send him driving back in a fucking ambulance.”

“Well, none of this even matters! Because I told you, I’m going to win.” There’s shouting from the race moderators, letting the crowd and drivers know that the race will begin in five minutes.

“I’ll see you on the other side” Gojo winks at Sukuna. “With my girl and Naoya’s McLaren.”

You suddenly run up to Gojo, oblivious to the tension between the two men. “Good luck Satoru!” You sling your arms around his neck.

“No need for it, princess! But I’ll take your kisses anyway” Gojo greedily slots his lips over yours, hand running down your back to the base of your ass. You giggle as Gojo gives it a slight squeeze, and he smiles against your lips. He gives you one last peck and straightens up.

“Please be a little bit careful, Satoru. I know Naoya races dirty.” You warn, hands coming to rest on his forearms.

As Gojo starts to respond, the revving of a car interrupts him and loud cheers fill the air. Naoya parks his car at the starting line and gets out. The street lights illuminate his bare back and the unnerving tattoo that snakes around his torso. He lifts up his arms, stirring up shouts from the crowd again. You shiver at the sight of him. “Satoru, I’m not joking. He’s dangerous.”

“I know that better than anyone.” Gojo‘s look seems serious, but there’s a hint of pride laying underneath. “He likes to think he’s good. Unfortunately, no amount of daddy’s money can substitute for pure talent.” He swings his car door open and plops into the driver’s seat. He rolls down both windows and levels you with a sultry gaze. “I’m expecting a congratulatory prize after this.” he winks at you and you roll your eyes knowing exactly what he's insinuating.

“Ok hotshot, win the damn race first and then we’ll talk.” With that, Gojo whips his car around to the starting line and pulls up next to Naoya’s McLaren F1. Naoya is back in his car and sneers at Gojo through his open window.

“I hope y/n is prepared to be warming my bed tonight. Or maybe I should say my hood. She’s so irresistible, I’ll fuck her over my car as soon as I win the race. I’ll make you watch, and give you a few pointers on how to please your next woman.” Naoya takes glee in the way Gojo’s hands tighten around his wheel.

Gojo’s shades are perched low on his nose, and he glances at Naoya across his car. “All I’m thinking about is how nice she’ll look when I’m fucking her in the McLaren I’m about to win.” With that, Gojo rolls up his windows effectively shutting out any reply from Naoya. He revs his car, heating the engine and provoking Naoya at the same time.

After parting with Gojo, you had joined Sukuna and Geto where the other spectators stood on the side of the road. The roar of both engines filled your ears and your eyebrows scrunched in worry. It wasn’t that you doubted Gojo- you’d never seen him lose a race to anyone other than Sukuna- but something felt different this time. The drop in your heart must have been evident in your expression because Geto reached over and squeezed your hand. It was impossible to say anything with the combined noise of the crowd and the engines. You looked up and gave him a strained smile and then locked eyes onto Gojo’s car.

‘Please let Satoru be okay’ you think. You have no idea what was on the line, but knowing Naoya’s involvement in the yakuza you knew it had to be something valuable.

A flag girl walks between the two cars for the countdown of the race. As she waves the flag to indicate the start, the drivers accelerate causing the tires to screech against the asphalt. They both have a smooth start and tear across the road to begin the 16-kilometer circuit that’ll wind throughout Tokyo and loop back to where they started.

The dust settles and the ringing in your ears fade. “Well”, Sukuna mumbles with a cigarette stuck in between his lips “that’s as strong of a start as any. Too bad you didn’t slice one of Naoya’s tires earlier, Geto.” He pulls the cigarette away from his lips and lets out a cloud of smoke.

“Oh yeah, like that would have helped Gojo’s situation out. Pulling something like that before a race like this is asking for a bullet in the head. He’ll be fine. He always is.” Geto gives your hand another squeeze and this time you return it.

“I wish they had markers set up throughout the circuit. I don’t wanna wait till the last kilometer to see their positions.” You’re squinting, attempting to see the two cars in the distance although their silhouettes have already been swallowed by the Tokyo skyline.

“Here, I’ll narrate for you princess.” Sukuna’s gruff voice is directly in your ear as he bends down a little. “The shitty daddy’s boy is going to pull some illegal move….. hmmm probably try to crash Satoru a few times.” Your eyes widen as Sukuna continues talking, the smell of nicotine invading your nose, “Gojo’ll probably bang-up his own car in the process trying to dish it back to Naoya...maybe get himself killed and then-”

You cut Sukuna off, pushing his chest away from your body. You scowl at him. “You’re an asshole, Sukuna.”

He throws back his head and laughs with his whole body “I get that from your boyfriend y’know.”

After a while, the familiar roar of engines sounds in the distance and you feel your stomach drop as the two cars drift through the last turn. They’re pushing through the last kilometer when the crowd of people start yelling.

“He’s ahead!” You’re shouting and leaning as far into the road as you dare. Geto’s got a firm grip on your shoulder preventing you from falling into the street. You take a quick look at Geto, and his dark eyes are filled with delight.

“Not by much, but looks like he’s still gaining speed.”

“Slick bastard.” Sukuna flings his cigarette onto the street, a smirk is stretching the corner of his lips. They speed through the finish line, Gojo one car length ahead of Naoya. The crowd is going absolutely wild and rushing onto the road, hoping to get a glimpse of the action that’ll inevitably occur between the two men. You make to run to Gojo’s car when Geto’s hand suddenly pulls you back.

“Wait a bit, angel.” His tone is protective, and his grip tightens on you. “You don’t want to get into the middle of that fight. And you don’t want to be around Naoya. Ever.” He’s looking at you, deathly serious now. And as you’re scanning his features, there seems to be an ounce of fear buried underneath.

Gojo drifts his car in a half-circle and drives back near the finish line. His door flies open and he emerges from the car, one long leg stretched out after the other. His hair is running wild, and he’s got a maniacal grin set on his face. He looks back at Naoya who’s stumbling out of his car and stalking towards Gojo.

“You piece of shit, Satoru.” The words tear through Naoya’s throat, eyes set in ablaze. “What the hell did you put under that hood. There’s no way you gained that much on me in the last kilometer.”

Gojo laughs in his face, looking down at Naoya. “Like I’d ever tell you my secrets, Zenin. Now hand over my keys.” Naoya tosses them straight at Gojo’s face, but he snatches them with quick reflexes. Gojo lets out a whistle, body turned towards his new car “Mannn I’m going to enjoy the sex in this one.”

There’s pure, unadulterated malice in the look Naoya gives him. “Watch your back Satoru. Your luck will run out one of these days, and when it does I’ll personally send you to hell.”

Gojo places the new keys in the pocket of his jacket. “I’m sure you will, and if that happens I’ll drag you down with me.” Naoya sends him one last dirty look before joining his men and disappearing from the track.

“Toru!!” You’re running full speed at your boyfriend and he just manages to turn in time, before you fling yourself into his chest. “Oh my god” you’re laughing and when you look up into Gojo’s face, the lights from the street frame your features. “You totally smoked his ass. And by a whole car length too!”

Gojo chuckles alongside you “Did you forget who you’re dating? The king of fucking street racing, princess.” And with that, he grabs your wrist and tugs you to the McLaren he just won with a slight skip in his step. His boyish enthusiasm excites a round of giggles from you as you trail behind him.

You vaguely catch Geto utter “here they go again.'' Before Gojo swings you around and pushes his hips against yours. “Time to commemorate my... no our new baby” and you laugh against Satoru’s lips as he backs you up onto the hood. He slides your butt up with one firm hand on your hips and braces his other next to your face. You’re laying back fully now, Gojo’s stature is blocking out the moon and your attention is on the restless energy emanating from his body.

Gojo leans his face in closer and steals a kiss from you. It's sloppy; all the adrenaline from the race coursing through his lips. You immediately allow him access, and he greedily accepts. There’s an urgency in the way he sucks and nips at your tongue.

“Toruuu” you pull back with a whine.

“Fuck it.” He murmurs. There is a fire ablaze in his face and he roughly pulls you off the hood. “Get in the car. Time to get outta here.”

He tosses the keys of his old car to Geto. “Take it back to the shop for me, Suguru. I might’ve scraped up the paint a bit too.”

“Of course you did.” Geto gives his friend an annoyed look, but there’s no real anger in his voice.

Gojo puts the keys into the ignition, and the engine turns on with a purr. “Fuuuck, it sounds almost as sexy as you babe.”

“Gojo if you compare me to a car ever again, I’m dumping your ass and you can get yourself off with a steering wheel.” Your side-eye is sharp enough to cut, but Gojo just cackles.

“Hmmm, I’ve never tried that before. Think ya could give me a lesson before you leave though?”

“Can't believe I ever agreed to date you.” You murmur under your breath looking out the window in irritation. Despite his joking words, Gojo links your fingers and rubs soft circles against the top of your hand. He’s speeding through Tokyo now, one hand on the wheel. He seems at ease but you can tell he’s on edge still- probably antsy to get back to his apartment and fuck you into tomorrow.

He’s weaving in and out of traffic, downtown Tokyo getting closer and closer. It’s a familiar setting, Gojo in the driver’s seat, the city lights casting blues and reds across the dashboard. It’s almost enough to put you at ease, but this time the air is filled with something else. A tension that clings to Gojo’s shoulders and lays plainly across his face. It’s unlike him but you don’t comment on it, opting for caressing his hand instead.

You quickly make it to his apartment building, and Gojo swerves the car into the closest parking spot. He runs over to your side, rips open the door, and pulls you out with both hands. He’s almost pushing you to the doors of the elevator at this point.

“Slow down Satoru, we have all night.”

“That’s not enough time, it’ll never be enough.” You would’ve laughed at his childish statement if it weren’t for the last bit he mutters and your ears barely catch it. You ride up the elevator and stumble into his apartment, Gojo’s hands running all over your body. “Bedroom.” He mumbles against your neck, trailing sloppy kisses all up your jaw. “Wanna fuck you right.”

He leads you into his bedroom and tears at your shirt, ripping it over your head. He reattatches his lips to your neck and begins to suck. You’re pushing at Gojo’s shoulders trying desperately to rid him of his jacket, but the taller man is leaning his weight on you, and it’s impossible to even move. Gojo’s lips move over yours as he pushes you onto the bed. He’s hovering over you and you take the opportunity to grab at his crotch, giving it a slight squeeze. Gojo growls into your mouth, his hands tightening on the bed sheets above your head. You use the distraction to stick your tongue in his mouth, trying desperately to gain some sort of dominance. He tastes lightly of cotton candy, probably from the lollipop he was sucking on earlier.

Gojo’s breaks away, hands trail down your body. Once they reach the top of your skirt, he rids you of them and your underwear in one go. “Fucking beautiful” he whispers against the skin of your thigh. You buck your hips slightly trying to encourage him to speed up his pace.

“Please, Satoru- need you.” Your eyes slide shut as he trails his lips back up your thigh and to your stomach.

“Patience, princess.” his warm breath, makes you shiver and your hands come up to tug at his hair. Gojo obliges and brings his head back up to yours, hovering for just a second. All of a sudden he lowers his hips and simultaneously grinds once into your cunt as he kisses you.

You pull at his pants. “Satoru, I need to feel you, please.'' He leans back from your body and strips off his shirt and jeans. Your eyes are racking up the plains of his pale skin, and you reach out to his shoulders to bring him down closer. His kisses are getting sloppier and sloppier and his grinding is getting more intense. Gojo starts mumbling and lost in your pleasure you can’t make out what he’s saying. Until he lets out a particularly loud curse, and in your haze you catch one sentence.

“Fucking Naoya, I’d never let him have you.” Your entire body shivers and it’s not because of Gojo’s increased pace. You look up at him and his eyes are unfocused.

“Satoru..what.” You can barely speak, body stiffening. “What’d you mean ‘let him have me’?” Gojo stills and his eyes focus on an area above your head, a guilty expression present on his face.

At his remorseful look, it suddenly all clicks in your brain. Gojo’s antsy attitude this morning- How he never gets like that before a race. You just brushed it off as nerves from never racing Naoya before. The way he was still nervous even after the race was over, as if he was relieved. All of the tell-tale signs begin to make more sense.

“You bet me.” Your whisper grazes across Gojo’s lips and his eyes slide shut, his head hanging a little. “You told Naoya he could have me if you lost? Gojo are you kidd-“ tears start to prick at your eyes and Gojo suddenly opens his eyes as he interrupts you.

“Never.” He staring at you with a sincerity you’ve never seen him display before. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb catching a stray tear. “I’d never let him touch you. And if I had lost, I would’ve shot everyone in the Zenin yakuza starting with Naoya and his cheap dye-job.”

Something about Satoru threatening to kill one of the most powerful men in Tokyo turns you on even more. You wrap an arm around his neck and buck your hips, encouraging him to start moving again. “He’d have to chase us into the shadows before I’d ever let him lay a hand on you.” Gojo’s head is right up against your ear.

Despite his rash decision and asshole attitude that got him in the situation in the first place, you know in your heart that Satoru would never bargain you off like a piece of property. Your boyfriend is more distraught than you’ve ever seen him. Probably thinking that you’ll dump him for not telling you about the bet. You’ve been through too much together to do that though. Your heart beats wildly as you think might even love him too much. A sigh escapes your lips, forgiving him instantly and carding your fingers through his hair for reassurance “Im here Toru. You won. I’m not going anywhere.” You pull at his white locks, dragging his head to your lips. He captures them in a seething kiss.

“I’m sorry” he whispers, pulling back. “I should have told you.”

“Yea... But it doesn’t matter anymore Toru. You kicked his ass. And you looked fucking hot doing it too. ” The tension suddenly dissipates and Gojo lets out a sincere laugh.

“God, I fucking love you.” You’re shocked for a second before you push at his shoulders to switch your positions.

“What’re you doing, princess?” Gojo is admiring this new view of you above him, straddling his hips.

You lean down and with a nip at his ear lobe you whisper, “Giving you your congratulatory prize, hotshot.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou x reader #gojo fic #gojo x you #tj.fics #woo

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rennivere · 8 days

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"You never told them?" He asked incredulously, practically gawking at the mage, taking a moment to look over the group before sparing a soft laugh of disbelief. "Oh. Oh, I'm impressed. That you managed to keep your upbringing as an Ascian a secret this long is truly something to be commended. Elidibus would be proud. Brava."

It was as if time had stopped.

At first, she wasn't sure she wasn't trapped in a dream. She'd pictured herself in this scenario at least a hundred times over the years, imagining how the Scions would react when she told them the truth about herself.

She was an Ascian - born and raised. The rift between shards was no place for a child, and yet it was there that she grew, her mind shaped and molded to believe unquestioningly in the Ardor.

Promises of greatness, of power, strength, and knowledge were spoken into her ear, filling her mind. She grew to worship Zodiark, just as she grew to loathe the people of the Source and its shards.

Then again, those people were hardly people at all - or so she was lead to believe. Even she was imperfect, just a fragment of what she could be if they succeeded in rejoining the star.

Naturally, like the rest of her kin, she sought that perfection. She never thought she would ever question her beliefs, until she met them.

The Scions were not weak, poor excuses for mankind. They were strong, intelligent, personable, loyal to a fault, and they extended a hand of invitation towards her based on a lie - that she was just a normal adventurer, and not an Ascian sent to infiltrate the Scions on behalf of the Emissary. Then again, why would they have any reason to distrust her, when she had so willingly killed one of her own in Thanalan?

He would not be the last, either. She would stand opposed to the Ascians again and again, and what began as a ruse to gain the trust of the Scions soon became Aletheia's reality. Hydaelyn certainly had more than just a simple hand in that matter, her words - whispered into Theia's mind in every dream - causing the mage to question everything she had ever known and been made to believe.

These people around her who were supposed to be frail, fragmented excuses for what they once were and could be were not sacrificial lambs for the greater 'good'. They were people, with their own lives, loves, and stories to tell.

They deserved to live and love.

They deserved the truth.

And yet, for years, Aletheia kept her deepest secret close to her chest, for fear that her closest companions would turn on her in an instant if they knew the truth of her deception. She tried to imagine every possible scenario, and always, something would deter her from disclosing the truth.

And now, with that truth exposed, every instance where she could have - should have - told the truth to her companions flashed through her mind.

Emet-Selch's words echoed in her head until her ears began to ring from the silence that followed.

"You know, ever since I first had the pleasure of seeing the famed Eikon-slayer, Warrior of Light-turned-Warrior of Darkness in person, I thought there was something a bit strange about you. A bit… familiar. At first I thought it might just be a side effect of immortality: Being cursed to see the same dull face reappear every century or so… but that's not it, is it?" "No, no. You're a bit older now, grown and matured… but you still have the same hopeful gaze that used to stare oh so longingly after Elidibus, praying he would give you the light of day. It wasn't often we allowed ones so young in on the truth, but you were a bit of a special case, weren't you? Oh, yes, I remember you now. Aletheia, was it? It has been oh-so long."

He had the gall to look surprised when the Scions turned to her in various degrees of confusion and shock. Urianger was the least outwardly affected - though Theia had long theorized that during the man's own stint as a double-agent, he had somehow learned of her truth, but kept it to himself. Still, his eyes shut, brows furrowing as he lifted a hand to stroke lightly at his chin in thought.

Beside him, Thancred reeled back, staring at Theia with wide, questioning eyes that desperately sought answers, silently begging the mage to dismiss Emet-Selch's claims.

Minfilia remained at his side, concern and uncertainty causing her to step forward, hands pressed to her chest as she peered around past her guardian, towards the Warrior.

"What is he talking about, Theia? Do you actually know each other?"

"Yes, pray tell, what is he talking about?" Alisaie pressed, turning her full body towards the mage, finally prompting Aletheia to break the unblinking, piercing glare she had on Emet-Selch.

"Are you implying that Aletheia is... an Ascian? That's absurd," Alphinaud tried to reason, giving a dismissive scoff - though there was a swirl of fear and uncertainty in his eyes as he looked towards the aforementioned mage, then back again, "You truly expect us to believe that?"

Emet-Selch's expression was infuriating.

He looked genuinely dumbfounded.

The thick fabric of his gloves resulted in a dull, muted pat as he clapped slowly in response. His expression began to shift from one of genuine surprise to something far more sardonic, a slightly quirked brow, one corner of his lips upturned in a smirk as he lowered his hands back to his side, causing his weight to droop forward again into his usual slouch.

Theia said nothing, every word dying on her tongue as her hands balled into fists at her sides, digging the sharp points of her metal claws into her skin nearly hard enough to pierce both palms. She had half a mind to do just that - surely she deserved a bit of physical pain to pair with the emotional devastation.

Emet-Selch meanwhile must have taken her silence as an invitation to continue gloating.

"Well, I originally came here with a proposition for you and your little band of heroes - a possible alliance, in fact - but it appears I've made a bit of a mess for you to sort out, haven't I? My sincerest apologies, Hero. Would that I had the ability to take it all back so you could go about your merry way, keeping secrets, killing Lightwardens, and all that..."

"Alas, it seems I may have to choose another day to extend an olive branch to you and yours. I suppose I will give you a bit of privacy while you figure out how to justify the past few years of deception to your friends. Do try not to turn on each other: You'll need all the help you can get if you hope to defeat the remaining Lightwardens."

Theia thought she might scream. She thought she might conjure a blaze in her palm and lob it at the Ascian out of pure rage, but she was frozen, left only to watch as the man gave a flick of his wrist, a dismissive wave as he stepped towards the conjured portal of swirling darkness had had appeared only moments before. He stopped just shy of it however, his hand turning as he gave a gentle snap.

"Ah! But before I go: If your friends do happen to turn on you, or you decide you wish to hear my proposal in full, don't hesitate to seek me out. Difficult decisions lie ahead of you: Decisions best made with the benefit of knowledge to which only the eternal are privy."

A slight smirk curled onto his lips once more as his gaze locked on Aletheia's.

"Until then, hero."

The sound of the man's twisted, corrupt magic warping and twisting echoed off the crystalline walls of the Ocular as Emet-Selch passed through the shadowy portal, which rippled before shrinking around him, swallowing him.

Time seemed to halt as he disappeared, the room deathly silent aside from the natural hum of magic from the tower around them. No one seemed keen to speak first, though Theia could feel six sets of eyes peering through her.

In the end it was the Exarch who broke the silence with a somewhat uneasy clear of his throat.

"Perhaps it best to focus now on the matter at hand, and address some recent revelations at a later time," he suggested calmly, unaware of the short fuse he had just lit by speaking up.

"A later time?" Alisaie balked, her boots giving a squeak against the crystalline floor as she twisted towards Theia. "No, I think we address this now!" Steps far heavier than the girl's stature would imply echoed off the walls as she turned to place herself in front of Theia, staring up at the Hyur with eyes that swirled with everything from confusion, to fear, to rage.

"Is it true? Is what Emet-Selch said true, Theia?"

"I'd wager that her silence should more than suffice as an answer to that question," Thancred chimed in, his tone bitter. Aletheia swore she heard the leather of his gloves creak as his hands balled into fists at his sides. "An Ascian," he verbally spit, as if the word alone left a sour taste on his tongue.

"While 'tis true that this deception is great, I would implore thou all to remember that our friend hath been steadfast in her resolve. She hath never once strayed from the path of good, and hath proven through her actions alone to be a loyal companion. I suggest we do not let these revelations taint our opinions of our friend too hastily, and instead grant her a chance to explain herself,"

Urianger. Of course he would have a level head. Aletheia might have thanked him with a look, had Alisaie not scoffed, drawing her silver gaze.

"Oh yes, please do explain why you deemed it acceptable to keep a rather important detail about your life a secret from us this entire time! An Ascian? Really?"

"I have not answered to the Ascians since before the turn of the era," Theia finally spoke, though she wasn't able to get much further before Alphinaud was chiming in with a dry snort.

"So you admit it, then. While we have been fighting against the greatest threat our world has ever known, little did we know that one of their own was in our midst the entire time. Did you truly never deem it necessary or relevant to share this little fact with us? Has it truly just slipped your mind all this time?"

The boy sounded more hurt than angry, bewildered. He moved to stand beside his sister, perhaps to help anchor her lest her anger turn into something more - or perhaps ready to join her. Theia wasn't entirely sure, though she was certain that nothing pained her quite as much as seeing those near identical sets of eyes staring up at her in dismay.

While all of the Scions were undeniably dear to her, the twins had become especially important to the mage. She viewed them both as her own siblings - and if she was right, the feeling was mutual. Despite their capabilities as fighters and their shared fierce independence, Aletheia often found herself quietly and gently doting on the pair, always the first to remind the rest of their party that the Leveilleur twins were still, by all accounts, kids.

They did as teenagers often would of course - scoffing and defending their own faculty, insisting they didn't need any extra care than the rest. It only endeared the mage more to her two young companions.

That made the looks of disdain they gave her now hurt far, far worse.

"Clearly she did not think it necessary to be honest with us. It certainly puts into question what other secrets she has kept since the start," Thancred muttered dryly, contempt dripping from his words.

Alisaie was certainly passionate, but Thancred looked at her as if he were a lover scorned. Thancred was the one who recruited her into the Scions at the start after all, the one who put his trust in her and shared their secrets. Not to mention, he was also the one with a rather personal reason to despise the Ascians, beyond simply the threat they posed to the world.

She couldn't blame him for being upset. She couldn't blame any of them, frankly. She couldn't even blame Emet-Selch for exposing her truth - though she would, she realized consciously.

That was simply far easier than accepting all of the blame outright.

"Had I been honest upfront, would you truly have believed me if I said I was no longer loyal to the Ascians?" Aletheia asked, annoyance slipping into her tone as she turned to properly face the group, putting her back to the Exarch, who used that as an opportunity to approach the group, stopping not far from her left.

"Well we'll certainly never know now, given how you lied to us all this time," Alisaie spat bitterly, "Thancred makes a valid point. What else have you kept from us?"

"Nothing," Aletheia responded firmly, "I have been honest in every other regard. What would I gain from weaving a web of lies? Nothing," she repeated, her brows knitting above her bridge as her gaze flicked over the group. "Tis true: I am - was - an Ascian. I was born on the Source, but I was raised in the rift between shards, brought up to worship Zodiark and to believe only in the Ardor. I answered to the Emissary, and it was he who tasked me with seeking out the Scions and to report back with what I learned."

"But in seeking out the Scions, I encountered Hydaelyn. She spoke to me, and I began to see the truth. In meeting you all, I began to learn that everything I had been led to believe about mankind was a lie."

"And how long did that take, exactly?" Thancred scoffed, his arms rising to cross over his chest as he sneered at the mage. "Exactly how long was it before you stopped reporting back to your betters? How long were you sharing our secrets before you switched sides?"

Stubborn, stubborn man.

"Less time than it took for you to fall victim to Lahabrea's plotting," she said flatly, though her words were not pointed or accusatory. Thancred seemed to still take them as such though, given how his nose flared, arms unfolding as he moved to take a step forward, only for a small arm to outstretch across his midsection, giving him just enough pause to stop and look down at the pair of solid cerulean orbs staring up at him.

"Stop, stop," Minfilia insisted, her voice pleading. "I... I can't imagine how you all must be feeling right now... but it is as Urianger said: Theia has more than proven herself to be on our side. If she wasn't, why would she be helping with the Lightwardens? Not to mention all the stories you all have told me about what you've done together on the Source... if she were secretly still working with the Ascians... why would she do so much to thwart their plans...?"

Her words were enough to have Thancred stop fully in his tracks, his head tilting as his gaze downcast, though his posture gave away his continued frustration. He would not be so easily convinced.

"Agreed," the Exarch now chimed, "Which is again why I propose we turn our attention to the matter of the sin eaters. In striking down the Lightwardens of Lakeland and Il Mheg, together, you have accomplished more in your short time here than all of our forces managed in the last century,"

He emphasized together, Aletheia realized, stressing the word to help further his point. On either side of her, Theia heard both Thancred and Alisaie scoff, both equal parts unconvinced. Alphinaud on the other hand sighed, his head nodding.

"Perhaps you are right. For now at least, let us focus on dealing with the sineaters. We can address certain... revelations once the greater threat has been addressed," the young Elezen suggested, his tone slipping into that of the young diplomat Alphinaud often portrayed himself as, for better or worse.

"Agreed. To that end, it is imperative that we address the remaining Lightwardens of Kholusia, Amh Araeng, and the Rak'tika Greatwood. Alas, their precise whereabouts are as of yet unknown to us," the Exarch agreed, "Which is why I propose we divide our forces and conduct a systematic survey of each region. Once we have found our quarry, we may then determine how best to proceed. I imagine this will also allow us all the time needed to gather our thoughts and decide how to best address the various matters at hand,"

"Fine," Alisaie muttered bitterly, "I'll take Amh Araeng by myself," she said firmly, leaving little room for argument from anyone else.

"Then I will make for Kholusia," Alphinaud followed, his body turning. Neither twin seemed inclined to meet the gaze Aletheia spared them both. "I have connections there both in and around Eulmore that may prove useful."

"Wonderful," the Exarch approved with a nod partially hidden beneath his cowl, the slightest smile tugging across his lips - the man clearly relieved that the party had not deigned to continue their verbal assault on their companion. "Then I would recommend the rest of you venture to Rak'tika, where you will find Y'shtola. We will need her aid in finding the Warden hiding there."

"I doubt all of us will be needed to find Y'shtola. Urianger, Minfilia, and I will venture there in search of her. It shouldn't take long to track her down,"

Ah. Thancred's words were a firm message on their own: Aletheia was not invited on their venture into the wood, it seemed. The mage felt her teeth grit as she turned to peer at the man, her gaze flicking towards Urianger, who met her eyes before giving a quiet sigh, clearly disinclined to argue.

"Very well then. I have my own matters to which to attend as well."

The Exarch brandished an envelope from within the folds of his robe, further drawing attention away from Aletheia's exposed past. He spoke of the invitation he received from Lord Vauthry, and his intent to take the man's offer, despite the thinly veiled trap it tried to conceal.

Aletheia had a mind to offer to accompany the Exarch, but she wasn't given the chance before the Exarch turned towards Alphinaud, personally requesting his escort instead, leaving little room for Aletheia to insert herself.

Thus, plans were set in motion, prompting her companions to turn and take their leave. Aletheia hesitated, her lips parting as she tried to find the words to say - something, anything, be it a desperate plea of her case or something else that might help rebuild their confidence in her... but her tongue went dry, any words she tried to utter never making it to her lips. She was left to watch as the five Scions departed the Ocular, leaving her to watch as the door began to swing shut behind them.

The silence that followed was so deafening, Aletheia nearly forgot that she wasn't alone.

"For what it is worth," the Exarch spoke, his words smooth, carrying a warmth to them that had Theia finally taking a breath, a modicum of hope fluttering in her gut as she turned to look at the man, who greeted her with a gentle smile beneath his hood, "I do not view you differently. As Urianger said, and Minfilia after him, you have more than proven yourself time and again to be a hero, just and true. It may take time for the others to see it that way... but I have faith that time will heal these fresh wounds."

Theia's brows furrowed in thought as her head dipped, lips pursing in a tight line as she bit gently at the inside of her bottom lip in thought. Perhaps he was right... but did she deserve their forgiveness?

"Thank you, Exarch," she finally said, her attempts at a steady tone somewhat failing, unease slipping into her words. The Exarch's response was only to smile a bit wider, nodding as he lifted a hand, his crystalline palm solid and cold as it moved to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly - a fleeting gesture of comfort before he let his arm fall back to his side.

"If but I could do more to help convince them. Alas..." he trailed off then, seeming to mull over his thoughts as Theia peered down at him with a pinched brow. "Might I suggest you also venture East to the Greatwood? Be it alone or with the others. Despite Thancred's words, I believe it would be beneficial to have more eyes and ears on the ground. And... perhaps you'll manage to stumble across Y'shtola yourself, and be able to share certain matters with her in your own words."

She couldn't argue with that.

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misguidedasgardian · 2 months

Text

The Lifeaters (I.3)

III. Teacher's Pet

MASTERLIST

Summary: getting to know your professors and friends is tricky, specially when you start doubting yourself

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Cursing, magical objects, Mugglephobia, magic! might miss some warnings

Wordcount: 3 k

Notes: I really have BIG plans for this and I understand that is not getting enough traction, but these chapters are to set a tone, not only for the reader but her relationships, anyways, I will keep writing! I need this to write the really darkish stuff that is happening in the last years and during/after the war! muahaha you won’t regret it!

You looked like… well… a child

You looked at every place, every detail of the castle with wonder, as your prefect led you to your first class… potions

“They say professor Snape is the meanest of all teachers”, you heard someone whisper, and you believed it to be true, even when you met him in the Malfoy Manor, he looked severe and mean

You had this class with the Gryffindors

You took seat between Draco and a boy you recognized as Theodore Nott, you felt your cheeks heated when you realized… he was very cute, dark brown curls, big green eyes, you giggled

“I’m Theodore Nott”, he greeted, “I’m a friend of Draco”

“(y/n) Basilik”, you said back, “me too”, you giggled, and Draco nudged you, a tall, dark haired man burst into the room walking rapidly, using his wand to close all windows and the door behind him, his eyes found you in a second. He was Professor Severus Snape

“There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to enjoy the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few…”, he looked at both of you, with a less severe look, “who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death…”, he kept looking on to find Potter writing without paying attention to him, “then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not...pay...attention”, he stopped in front of him, only after his friend nudge him is that he looked up

“Mr. Potter. Our...new...celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”, he mumbled, but didn’t answer, “You don't know? Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

“I don't know, Sir”, he answered shyly, and you were thankful that you weren't him because you couldn’t have answered either

“And what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

“I don't know, Sir”, Draco looked at you smugly, you smiled back

“Pity. Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it, Mr. Potter?”

“Why don’t you ask Hermione?”, the curly haired girl had her hand in the air desperately to answer the questions.

You exchanged looks with Draco

“With powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood you get a very powerful sleeping potion, you can find a bezoar in a goat’s belly, and also… those are the same plant, also known as aconite”, You almost saw Snape smile, “Why are you not copying this?”, he asked everyone, you shared concerned looks with Draco and then started writing frantically in your parchment

. . .

“Did you see that girl Granger raising her hand desperately?”, he continued his rambles as you walked to your next class, “pathetic really”

Then you went to McGonagall's class, Transfiguration, where she was going to teach you how to turn things from one thing to another, very impressive really. You were excited about all classes that require your wand and enchantments

That Granger girl, again, sat in front of you, first line to the class, and was as cooperative as in Potions. You wondered why she didn’t end up in Ravenclaw if he was that smart, but you paid more attention to Gryffindor's head teacher.

But then… came the really exciting class

Flying lessons. Draco and you were completely going to dominate the class, as the both of you had broomsticks since you could remember

And Professor Hooch that had the most extraordinary eyes

You had this class with the Gryffindors, which you didn’t particularly liked, Harry was standing right in front of you, and even though he had said nothing to you, you were a bit angry at him for rejecting Draco’s invitation, as grassy as it was.

You looked down at the broom, the training broom that had been provided by the school for the first years, you couldn’t wait to get the nimbus 200 as soon as this school year ended

“Good afternoon, class”, Professor Hooch greeted

“Good afternoon, Madam Hooch”, you all answered in a chorus

“Welcome to your first flying lesson. Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone step up to the left side of their broomstick. Come on now, hurry up. Stick your right hand over the broom and say, Up!”,s trite to business, you liked that, you raised your hand over the broom and commanded it, and immediately, she flew to your hand, the very first try. You cheered excitedly as the chorus of voices repeated the word

“Up!”, Draco demanded and his broomstick also obliged, your friend smiled smugly

“With feeling!”, demand the teacher, as many haven’t been able to succeed on the first lesson, you looked up to the exact moment the broom went up and hit Neville Longbottom in the face, you hissed, sympathizing with his pain but Draco deadass laughed

“Now, once you've got hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. And grip it tight, you don't want to be sliding off the end”, you did as she told you to, this was a very exciting moment for you, you had never been able to do this before

“When I blow my whistle, I want each of you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, hover for a moment, and then lean forward slightly and touch back down. On my whistle...3...2…”, you shared excited looks with Draco before doing exactly what Professor Hooch instructed, which you did perfectly

But your classmate, Longbottom took off from the ground

“Mr. Longbottom”, called the teacher, clearly scared

“Neville!, what are you doing?”, called one of his classmates

“Neville...Neville… we're not supposed to take off, yet”, But he was raising to the skies in a incredible speed, he screamed bloody murder, scared for his life

“Mr. Longbottom! Down! Down!”, demanded Hooch

“Ahhhh!”, he only managed to scream. Even Potter screamed for his friend but he couldn’t command his broom, flying randomly over your heads

“Help!”, he cried and you felt scared for him

“Come back down this instant!”, but to no avail, he soars through the sky and hits a wall, conking along it and then swooping off. All the while, he is screaming

He flied until he crashed into a statue in the top of the building adjacent to the field, luckily his cloak got trapped in the sword, which prevented him from flying, but then he fell to the ground in a grunt of pain

You all ran to him to make sure he was alright, of course the professor got to him first. He was whining and whimpering, that was a tall fall

“Is he alright?”

“Oh, oh, oh, oh dear. It's a broken wrist! Tch, tch, tch. Good boy, come on now, up you get”, Meanwhile, Draco by your side leaned in and grabbed Neville’s Remembrall front he grass

“Everyone's to keep their feet firmly on the ground while I take Mr. Longbottom to the hospital wing. Understand? If I see a single broom in the air, the one riding it will find themselves out of Hogwarts before they can say, Quidditch”, demanded Professor Hooch as she lead Neville out of the field

“Did you see his face? Maybe if the fat lump had given this a squeeze, he'd have remembered to fall on his fat ass”, he said loudly for everyone to hear

“Give it here, Malfoy”, demanded Harry when he realized what he was holding

“No. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find”, he got on his broom, like he had many times before in his house, “How 'bout up on the roof?”, he flied higher with incredible mastery, showing all of you the glass ball on his hand, you felt proud, the first tie you got in his father’s old brooms had been tricky

“What's the matter, Potter? Bit beyond your reach?”, he mocked. Harry grabs his broom and runs to get on it. But his friend Hermione stops him

“Harry, no! You heard what Madam Hooch said! Besides, you don't even know how to fly”, but he doesn’t hear her, instead he flies as high as Draco

“Give it here, Malfoy, or I'll knock you off your broom!”

“Is that so?”, he teased back, making tricks in the air, “Have it your way, then!”, he throws the ball far, and Harry swoops in quickly to grab it, almost crashing against a building

Draco comes back to the floor next to you, and you giggled excitedly, the positions in Quidditch were as much as yours for next year

But Harry’s catch… that was impressive too, all your classmates cheer him on and run to meet him when he comes down from the skies

Then Professor McGonagall appeared, making all of you takes steps back away from Potter

“Harry Potter? Follow me”, he was in trouble, Draco, Goyle and Crabbe laughed loudly, he was going to get spelled!

But he wasn’t

Draco growled, loudly when he appeared in the great hall the next morning

You couldn’t believe it! Draco stood up from his seat and Crabbe and Goyle followed him, you just sat there, not knowing what to do

Is not that you hated Harry, your first meeting was a bit… mean, and he had rejected your friend, and you didn’t even know why Draco cared so much, but your friend was hurt, Harry had hurt him, so you did hate him.

He was a celebrity of sorts, and that was annoying, that every day was “Harry this…” and “Harry that…”,

Your friend came back with a face mixed with feelings, for one, he was upset but for the other… he was planning something…

“maybe now we will get rid of Potter”, he said triumphantly

“What did you do?”, you giggled

“I challenged him to a dual at midnight, a duel I don’t think to attend”, he said with a cheeky smile

. . .

Draco’s Eagle Owl screeched, making you recognize him immediately as he flied into the room while you were hanging out with your friends in the dining hall at midday, actually, you were reading your potions book, you were actually terrified that Snape would ask you something and caught you off guard, and you didn’t want to make Slytherin lose points, it was barely like the third week of classes and you were already studying

He dropped a package in the table before he landed on Draco’s shoulder, hooting excitedly as Draco petted him, and then he took flight again

Umbra flew in too, dropping a single envelope, all marked with your aunt’s stationary. And landed heavily in the table next to you, you petted her too and she playfully played with your hair making you giggle

“She is cute”, muttered Mathew, and she tried to pet her

“She bites”, but she didn’t only try to bite him, but raised her wings in a threatening manner and ruffled her feathers, screeching. Then she took off, leaving all surprised, “she had never done that before”, you explained at his angry face.

You turned your attention to the letter. She was answering your own, writing about her excitement about you getting sorted into Slytherin. You smiled as you read her sweet words.

Draco opened the box but he already know what it was, a box filled with sweets from Narcissa

“Here”, Draco says, dropping in your lap a small package, “My mom always sends me this even if she knows I don’t like them!”, he mocked

“Because she knows I do”, you muttered triumphantly, taking a bite of the delicious treat, she always send you fudge brownies

But you were interrupted, as a commotion in the Gryffindor table happened, of course when you both looked, it was around Potter, and he had received something that looked like…

You shared concerned looks and your feet actually led you to him, yo see what he fuzz was all about and sure enough, you didn’t even to see it in its entirety to see that it was the mythical Nimbus 2000

“You are in for it this time Potter, first year aren’t allowed broomsticks”, snickered Malfoy

“It's not any old broomstick”, muttered Ron Weasley, you have heard of the Weasleys, “It’s a Nimbus 2000 What did you say you both have at home?”, oh he dragged you into this too?, “A Comet 260?”, Harry seemed too happy, “Comets look flashy, but they’re not in the same league as the Nimbus”

He was right

“What would you know about it Weasley? you couldn't afford half the handle”, Malfoy Snapped, “I suppose you and your brothers have to save up, twig by twig”, and you couldn’t help but giggle, it was funny

The redhead looked at you angrily and he seemed he was going to fire back, but a professor interrupted you all, Professor Flitwick of incantations

“not arguing I hope”

“No professor”, you said

“Harry got a broom”, Draco said quickly, and you hoped that this time…

“Oh I heard! Minerva told me about the special circumstances”, you couldn’t hear anymore

This was unfair! Why was he allowed a broom and you weren’t?

“Did you hear?”, Draco asked, with a frown, as you went back to the table, “Harry Potter is the new Gryffindor’s seeker”, he muttered with his face filled with cookie crumbs

“What?”, you said, outraged, “we are first years! we are not supposed to be in the Quidditch teams”, you said. You looked right in front, and you saw Theodore snickering with Blaise and Matthew. They were probably mocking you, but you didn’t care. “that’s unfair”, you whispered, looking down at the table at your potions book that you carried with you since the first class.

“I can’t wait to see Harry Potter fall from his broom, the first game is against Slytherin”, Draco snickered, and you thought that could be a funny sight, and it did make you feel slightly better.

“Hey, relax, potions are not that difficult”, Matthew mocked trying to grab your book from under you. You took it back from him with a frown

Draco was lucky in many aspects, one of them being that he was incredibly smart, he didn’t even need to study! He would read a book once and store it in his memory and he could come back to it as many times as he needed, he was incredible

“I don’t want to be caught off guard by Snape, he will take points from us!”, you said hurriedly and defensively

“He wouldn’t take points from his own house”, he said dismissively

“He is right, potions are easy”, muttered Draco

“You are saying that but there are so many names to learn!”, you whined

“You had memorized by heart all the Quidditch players in the female league OF EUROPE! AND THEIR STATS”, he said quickly

“It isn’t the same!”, you said exasperated

“And you bother me constantly with names and dates of important wizards and witches of history”, you had the class of magical history with an actual ghost, how cool is that? you even had the class with Hufflepuffs, which was a nice break from the Gryffindors

You only smiled at him, but then continued your reading, the tricky part was to learn the quantity of ingredients

The truth is you cared about the others things, and potions were… rather out of fear, and necessity, due to your family’s legacy, you could not, NOT, be bad at potions, you really thought is the reason why your grandfather let you stay in here and attend Hogwarts, because of their mastery in potions class which was better than Beauxbatons

As you watched in the corner of your eye the boys snickering and giggling amongst themselves you started to wonder…

Draco was your only friend, but he had many, many other friends, why did he never introduce you? The only ones you knew were Greg and Vince.

Then you shook your head, why would he keep you from knowing people? it was silly.

“I will help you in potions, you will help me with HIstory of magic”, Draco said softly to comfort you and you smiled widely at him

“Alright!”, you said cheerfully

“Did you do your Astronomy homework?”, asked Zabini

“Yes! I chose a constellation named the Bootes”, you said happily, “it has 8 stars”

“Is it shaped like a boot?”, asked Matthew with a mocking grin

“No, it’s like a crooked man with a little legs”, you muttered

“Can you help me with the homework?”, he asked. And you got quiet, “my telescope broke”

“Already?”, asked Blaise

“I’m clumsy”, you remembered him tripping a hufflepuff in the first class making it stumble and fall on its side, they were very fragile, “so…?”, he asked, looking at you

“Sure, we’ll need to get permission from Professor Snape”

“I’m sure you can talk him into it”, he wasn’t asking, he was demanding, and you were sure you were going to write all his homework for me

“Well, bring your book and parchments, I’ll bring my telescope”, you whispered sadly looking back at your book

“Hey, you can’t make her do anything”, snapped Draco, “do your own homework”

“It’s fine Draco”, you whispered, but you felt cornered by his big brown determined eyes

“We’ll all go then”, he said quickly, “I didn’t do my homework either”, you frowned knowing he had made it, last week when they gave it.

He wouldn’t introduce you to Matthew, and he wouldn’t let you be alone with him.

What was this all about?

#misguidedlifeaters #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #harry potter au #harry potter #harry potter fandom #hp fanfic #hp fandom #mattheo riddle #matthew gaunt

19 notes · View notes

hwaaaeun · 2 months

Text

𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖘 . . . have a drink at my table , allow me to tell you stories — stories of dragons and burnt men . tell me about lady hwang haeun .

( jeon somin , cis female , she/her ) : ̗̀➛ twenty-seven years young , a firebender from the noble house of hwang . many know them to be stubborn & judgemental . how unfortunate , truly . . . i’ve always found them to be dedicated & passionate . they oft fulfill the duties of a pianist . oh , i should tell you — they support the rule of house yi . well , you know how every storyteller bends the tale they tell . ✶ eggie , 27 , she/her .

♡ HISTORY ! ♡

♡ haeun’s position within her family has created a complex character left to navigate the uncertainty of who she is . the eldest daughter , the middle child – constantly eclipsed by her elder sibling in the eyes of her mother . when once she fought for the limelight , she now prefers the slink around in the shadows , aware that when you’re in the cool shade you’re less likely to burn up .

♡ she was a dedicated student as a child , stubbornly learning as much as possible so that she could never be looked down upon . she took many musical lesson and is adept with several instruments , the piano being her first love .

♡ her piano teacher was a strict and straightforward elderly man who slowly began to fill the father figure in her early teen years , after the loss of her father at seven . while she was very young when he passed , she felt more seen and appreciated by him.

♡ despite being grateful and , of course , loving her father , there is still complex emotions around the man . she had once overheard him make comments about her and her older brother , disappointed that he couldn’t firebend and she was a female . she had never told anyone about this , especially considering it was so near to his passing , but it left her with an uncertainty – were they loved ? or was being part of a family just fulfilling pre-written roles ?

♡ for this reason , haeun is particularly suspicious of everyone . her eyes are keen and she enjoys watching people expose themselves at moments when they think is safe .

♡ due to her brother’s fame and familial connections , haeun has been given opportunities to play piano at concerts . however , she avoids it as much as possible , only agreeing to when pressured by her family . she much prefers to play as support for singers or just for companions for fun .

♡ DIG DEEPER ! ♡

♡ haeun has a very sweet singing voice , she loves to sing but she will never ( knowingly ) sing to another . sometimes she writes her own music , but once again , it is hidden from the rest of the world.

♡ she is a stark supporter of the house of yi , not because of who they are but because she believes the only way to prosper is to have a strong lead . haeun has an interest in politics but would rather watch other people’s actions and reactions to see who align with her beliefs rather than be an open book in this aspect .

♡ her stubbornness is both a curse and a blessing – to her , she sees it as determination . but to those who have seen that ugly side rear it’s head , they know sometimes she blinds herself to reality to keep from herself being wrong . at least , the few that she allows close enough know that she would never give them up .

♡ her love for music transcends everything else , as mentioned it’s her true love .

♡ she grows frustrated sometimes with her firebending , as it goes against her nature – it’s offensive rather than defensive . however , she has a good grasp at it , especially as ( for the most part ) she’s got a good grasp at controlling her own emotions and manipulating them to serve her .

♡ PLOTS WANTED ! ♡

♡ childhood friends – the one person who may have heard her sing/know about her writing music ( ? ) / fluffy crush or first ‘real’ love / frienemies forever / toxic ex who brings out the worst in her / musical lover unites / people she might become fascinated with watching/trying to understand – im open to anything and everything !

#rs.intro

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momiji-bookhouse · 1 year

Note

Can I request Kazuha + dandelion please?

[Dandelion]: "Fate be damned. I choose you. I love you. And that's all that matters."

Event Masterlist

pairing: Kaedehara Kazuha x gn!reader

genre: soulmates!AU, red strings of fate

cw: panic attack

a/n: at this point this event will probably be done by spring of next year

The continent of Teyvat is a vast mass of land.

Seven nations, seven different cultures and ways of life. Seven nations all trodden with unique footprints of its inhabitants. All of them searching for something, whether it be fame, love, or fortune.

A purpose, a connection, a certain someone.

Out of all those people, you managed to find him.

A wanderer from the land of eternity with starlight-spun hair and a voice as soft as the caress of the autumn wind. Eyes like hearth fire and hands dotted with calluses from a life at sea.

Some say that he is too gentle for this world, too tender and softhearted even after all he has been through. But you would argue that to be soft in a world with knife-sharp edges and thorny briars is perhaps the bravest thing of all. Is it not naiveté, nor is it weakness, to want to believe that there is more to the world than the darkness that defines it.

You’ve become drawn to the way he paints the world with his words, coloring it with dreamy pigments and make you slow down a bit to smell the flowers. You cannot help but savor his smiles and every brush of his touch, drink them all in as if they’re your water, your salvation.

You found him, but he is not yours.

It is a truth that you’re confronted with every single day, a stain that you cannot get rid of, a fact that manifests itself in the form of vibrant red string wrapped around his thumb. It mocks you by the way it flows and moves, like a mischievous sprite that taunts you and flies closer to you before proceeding to laugh in your face.

They say that it is both a blessing and a curse to be able to see what others cannot see.

Ever since you were a child, you’ve always had the ability to see these red strings that connect people together. They flow like mini rivers around you, forming an intricate web like an infinite constellation, adding another layer of color to your world. There are the lucky few that have found their destined ones — their strings short, bright, and unbreakable. More often than not, you would see the strings that fly beyond the limits of your vision, their ends as far as the horizon.

Then there are the strings that are snapped, cut, and broken. Like the one that is neatly wound around your finger.

What does it mean to be outside of fate’s favor?

Over the years, you’ve pored over any legend you can find about the red strings of fate to understand your situation, all the while nurturing a hope that never came to fruition.

The tales said that those whose strings are cut short are the ones whose soulmates have yet to be born, have died, or are simply not destined to find them.

You’ve learned to come to terms your destiny, learned to bite down the jealousy bubbling in your stomach whenever you see those luckier than you, learned to be happy with your life and the relationships that you forged with others.

That is, until you saw the string around Kazuha’s finger, floating in front of you, its end too far away for you to see.

(You have yet to decide if it is a blessing or a curse.)

You tried your best to remain friends with him, but time and time again your heart would betray you — skipping a beat whenever he is near, feeling as if though it may soar to him and tell him your best-kept secret. You know it’s best that you keep a distance from him to relieve yourself of the pain that would come from the inevitability that someday he would find the one he is meant to be with.

You are, after all, not his destiny.

But fate has always been fickle.

You stare at him incredulously as he said those words, those darn words that have left his lips and can never be taken back.

“I love you, (Y/N). Would you do me the honor of letting me stay by your side?”

You mouth flop open and close unceremoniously like a fish out of water, and you’re beginning to feel more and more like one as oxygen fails to travel to your brain. He couldn’t have said what he just said, could he?

Kazuha does not flinch, as if he had anticipated this reaction of yours beforehand. “I know this might be forward of me, but the rest of my days would be filled with unbridled regret if I don’t tell you what I feel. You don’t have to give me an answer right away, I can wait for you.”

You breathe in, but no air seems to fill your lungs. He’s giving you an out, you just have to say it. Say you’re sorry, say that you just want to be friends with him, say it even when your heart twists onto itself and you feel like puking and soaring at the same time. Say it even when those words are like poison in your veins and you feel like your world would collapse if you say them.

“I–I–I...”

Helovesyouhelovesyouhelovesyou.

“I–I–I c-can’t—”

“You...can’t?” He tilts his head in confusion, as if asking what it is exactly that you can’t do.

You open your mouth, but no sound came out. You thought you’ve braced yourself for rejection, but never did you think that you would be the one rejecting him, and it would be this hard.

Oh gods this has to be a dream, right? There’s no way that Kaedehara Kazuha is in front of you and just confessed his feelings. It must be a sick hallucination that your mind conjured up to toy with you. That would also explain why you feel like your world is spinning around you.

“(Y/N)? Are you all right?”

You feel disoriented, like your body isn’t your own.

“Can’t...can’t...”

Heisnotyoursheisnotyourshewillneverbeyours.

At some point you’ve lower yourself to the ground, short breaths still leaving your lips. Kazuha is also eye-level with you, his hands hovering over your shoulder as if debating on whether or not he should touch you. You think you hear him talk, but you can’t make out what he’s saying over the ringing in your ears.

“(/N)...eath...reath...ith...e”

Something inside of you push, like a pocket of air bursting and dissipating the fog in your mind somewhat. You regain some of your clarity, and your instinct for survival kick your brain into restoring your ability to breath properly. You heave in a huge breath of air, your vision a kaleidoscope of dust and mist as if you just woke up from a dream.

But what happened was not a dream, was it?

“Forgive me, if I had known that you would react like this, I would have you told you in a more adequate way,” he says, his eyes crinkle in concern for you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s mine for being so forward towards you. But my words are true, and I will wait for an answer, no matter how long it takes.”

“Kazuha,” you begin slow. “I-I can’t be with you.”

His face falls, his pale eyebrows pulling downwards to meet each other. “Is something preventing you? Do you truly...” he pauses, almost hesitant. “Not have any feelings for me?”

There it is, that opportunity again. But regaining some semblance of thought meant that the more selfish part of your brain has also managed to resurface. It croons in your ears and feeds you images of what it will be like to be in his arms, to be kis—

You forcefully smash that thought away, but your hesitation to answer has already brought back some hope to Kazuha’s face. His shoulders sag in relief of some kind, and the next time he spoke there is a determined tone in his voice.

“I do not know what is on your mind, nor do I understand what your true feelings are for me. But as the wind be my witness, know that my words are true. If you would give me the opportunity, then I shall prove them to you.”

Maybe it’s the imploring look in his eyes, or it could be the earnest way he said it that sways your heart and make you want to forget about the string wrapped around his finger for a second.

But do you believe him? Will you actually succumb yourself to this possibility, knowing that it could shatter you in the future?

It is a choice that only you can make.

· · ─────── ·🍁 · ─────── · ·

Kazuha does not always believe in fate or destiny, or at least he believes it is not the end all and be all. Sure, fate may have played a hand in guiding certain people to meet each other, but the choice for them to start an acquaintanceship must lie on the person.

And though situations may have influenced his decision to wander the world, he still believes it is a choice that he made instead of staying in a decaying home.

(He too, has to believe that his friend’s choice to duel before the throne was one made freely.)

So even if it’s true that fate has pushed him and you together, this choice too will be his own, and he will choose you.

#kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha #kazuha drabbles #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #sagi's recommendation #momiji's collection #spring blooming event #momiji's special events

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heartwithsilver · 4 months

Note

Hi! Completely different anon here.

Conversations about FS started in 2020 long before Alba, people said that she is a normal person, she’s not from the industry (one tarot reader said that she might be in industry but works behind the scenes, but most readers picked up not being in industry and not being famous in any capacity. She will be famous later because people will find out about her through him, but she’ll be famous on her own), educated and intellectual. Also spiritual. She wouldn’t care about Chris’ money and fame, and she will be VERY private and VERY protective of her privacy. I don’t know about zodiac signs, because I think it’s impossible to predict that with tarot, but I think she should have earth sing in her big three, right? I think Taurus will balance his Scorpio side and give him stability he lacks of (but Taurus also might be a little boring, so maybe she also needs to have some air in her chart, and I think definitely cancer in her big three to connect with his Venus).

About people predicting for him ending up with Amal Clooney 2.0. People meant that FS would be something like her (just in general not astrologicaly) - a woman with career and things on her on, smart and independent.

I’m sorry previous anon, but Alba doesn’t match any of these (no offense to her, she’s just different). And all tarot readers who did readings on FS said that Alba is not the one (unfortunately, we don’t know what they currently think, because they were bullied out from tumblr, and, for example, a really good tarot reader - TarotTabloid - no longer posts). Among people, who’s interested in tarot and saw readings on Chris, there’s a thing like “FS curse” meaning that every reader that does a FS reading ends up deleting a blog or not doing any readings on Chris at all, because people are going crazy…

So, it’s just a little things I wanted to add to conversation

Probably you will read thins today or in 2024, so happy new year 🎉 everything best to you ✨

Well... I don't have much to say.

It's okay for him to have Taurus partners. He is attracted to them, but he cannot have a serious relationship if there is no balance in his elements.

I think I saw this in Ana de Armas' astrological chart when I was asked to look at the compatibility between the two. Some fans see chemistry between the two, and there is that chemistry. She is Taurus with a lot of Earth and Air elements. She is perfect in Chris's eyes. But, something was missing.

I have a lot of planets in Libra, I didn't understand my attraction to mysterious men who don't talk much. Libra's attraction is always for men who receive a lot of attention, signs of the Fire and Air elements. I've always hated being in places with lots of people. But, studying a little more about astrology, I saw Ascendant in Scorpio and the Moon in Virgo. I have a lot of Air and Water elements, but I am always attracted to men with some Earth planet (Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn). I would say I am all Water, because my planets in Libra are in a house of the Water element, the 12th house. It's funny that I was very attracted to Pisces men, and I believe my 12th house is the reason for that, because that is the Pisces house.

As I say, I'm a Fake Libra. The two most incredible people I have in my heart had this sequence in their astrological chart: one fire planet/three water planets.

Chris will not be attracted to women who do not have an Air element, because his Sun and Mars are in Gemini, in a house of the Air element, the 7th house, the house of love and attraction. I've never felt like I needed Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius partners and friends as much as Chris does. Because he's not a like fake Gemini. He is a Gemini and Scorpio man. And he will not be attracted to women who do not have the Water element, because his Venus (Planet of attraction and relationships) is in Cancer, in a house of the Water element, house 8.

I don't believe Chris would work with partners who have many planets in the Earth element and some planets in the Water element. Because, the Earth element has some problems with Chris' Gemini side. For Ana's astrological chart to be perfect for Chris, it would be necessary to have a planet in the Water element. With many planets in Earth and Water signs, the person's mind is focused on career and money. And Chris is very emotional, he has a lot of Water. He is attracted to emotional people.

Maybe he needs partners to have this sequence in their astrological chart: Air/Water/Earth.

So there's a lot to look at, but be careful about focusing too much on these things.

#Chris Evans #Chris Evans astrology and tarot

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alfredosauce50 · 2 years

Text

To the Ends of the Earth [Yandere Viking! Denmark x reader]

Synopsis: Mathias is troubled by his clash with Jarl Borg, a grim reminder of what it is to be a chieftain. He seeks the Seer’s counsel for what the future holds and whether you will be a part of it. Marriage is the first challenge; staying together is the next. He goes to war with a vengeful Wessexian King, who transfers the same sentiment to his own King Horik. Conspiracies are brewing, and enemies are amassing. But he fights on, driven by your memory and a dream. Word count: 8, 832 Content warning: Adult themes, gore, and strong NSFW. Strictly R18+ The reader is referred to as she/her.

To the ends of the Earth

The finale

Like all Norse men and women, he believed in a higher power. In a world so vast and perfect, there had to be. The Gods stirred the ocean, cracked the sky open with thunder, and warmed the earth.

They decided everything, including fate.

He was never eager to learn his, having been certain of his success. And so far, he was right. He sailed west where all those before him had failed, then bested an envious rival in an unlikely turn of events. But with every feat that added to his growing fame was the growing threat of the inevitable.

Every breath he breathed condensed into a cloud of white vapor. His hair had grown into a long mullet, but even that wasn’t enough to shield against the cold. Winter was coming. Days would be shorter, nights would be longer, and temperatures plunged well below zero, freezing the waters and shriveling up crops. Yet, it was by no means dark.

Just overhead where the skies were clear, were the Northern lights—glowing rivers of green that streamed from horizon to horizon. They were shaped like ribbons and moved like water, but the celestial show did more than take his breath away. With no torch on his person, they guided him deep into the mountains. While he tread on the damp forest floor, he counted the trees he passed.

Once he reached seventeen, a wooden hut came into view. Two pikes protruded from the ground before the door, lit on fire to beckon him inside. He walked past the crackling flames and into the Seer’s domain.

“I’ve been expecting you.” A voice began. “Come in.”

Driftwood garlands hung from ceiling to floor. Deer skulls peered into the room from the walls, but the ornaments did not demand respect quite like its inhabitant. The Seer was a revered man, for even being blind, he could see things others could not.

“You’ve never once sought my counsel since becoming earl. What changed your mind?”

“Many things.” Mathias responded, taking a seat at the foot of their bed. He took on a solemn expression as he gathered himself. He hadn’t said much, yet the Seer had already reminded him of his troubles.

“Such as?”

“This year’s raids have allowed trade to flourish.”

The chieftain kept his gaze on his calloused hands. They were hardened by years of hard work in the fields, the unyielding grip on his ax and shield.

“My city is richer than it ever was before.”

“Then what are you unhappy about?”

Mathias glanced up, face darkening.

“What happened with Jarl Borg.”

The man threatened more than he could fathom, a grim but inevitable prospect he had to embrace in his chiefdom. So even in death, he cursed his name in every waking moment of the day.

“I can’t let another earl do the same again.”

“That is not up to you. But the Gods.” The Seer raised his voice with credence. “What will become of you and your city has already been decided.”

“Then what has been decided?” Mathias leaned in, darting his restless eyes over the other’s deformed face. “Will another earl wage a war with me?”

“After your victory? No.” The Seer paused, letting him bask in a moment of hope. “Someone far greater will come your way. Whether you rise to meet them will determine the future of you and your people.”

“Who?”

“You ask many questions, Mathias.”

“Because I have many questions,” He breathed out, listening to the unwavering silence before them. As persistent as he could be, he was at the hospitality of the Gods. What their messenger chose to disclose was not up to him. “Fine. Then tell me this.”

Another pause ensued.

“Will she be a part of my future?”

“You speak of her as if I know who she is,” The Seer remarked, but continued without a hitch, pointing at his forehead. “If she becomes your equal, will she not be a part of everything to come?”

Mathias left the hut. He was given a lot to mull over, an unknown enemy and someone more than familiar.

He was uncertain of many things. Whether it would rain, hail or shine was a mystery until it happened. His life, death, and everything between were in the hands of the heavens. You were the only constant. Your image in his mind, the sound of your voice.

You were as sure as the sun, and Mathias was unafraid to chase you to the ends of the Earth.

A few days later, he stopped by your house with gifts. Unlike a few months ago, they spoke of anything but parting. The gold, necklaces, and dress he had tailored to your size symbolized a union, an official bond that could tie him to you forever.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” A woman remarked from the kitchen. Her voice startled him, seeing as her back was turned to stir a pot over a fire. When she turned around, a small, knowing smile graced her lips. “What took you so long?”

“I had to wait for the right moment, Helga.” Mathias smiled back, setting a bag of coins on the counter. Inside was 15 ounces of gold, considerably more than a typical bride price. But it was nothing a chieftain couldn’t offer. “I didn’t want to rush her.”

“Rush her?” She laughed, returning to her cutting board. “I suppose you’re right. She used to stretch her eyes at the mere mention of you.”

“She did?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Oh, yes. She didn’t like you at all.” Helga raised her brows, slicing up some herbs and adding them to the bubbling stew. “The first time you brought up marriage, she stormed into this kitchen, cursed you, then chopped up a carrot like it was you.”

“Like I was the carrot?”

“Part of you, anyway.”

It was Mathias’s turn to laugh now. Thinking about the past reminded him of how far he’d come. It should’ve been relieving, but overcoming one hurdle only meant facing another—asking the question and hoping for the answer he wanted. A woman’s say in marriage wasn’t necessary, especially for a man like him. But to Mathias, your word was everything.

He turned to the backyard. You were drying fish with Emil, reminiscent of the day he first sailed west and, of course, your colorful refusal of his propositions.

So much had changed since then. You no longer cast him out but welcomed him into your house and person. Even now, as he watched you do chores on the cliffside, you were happy to reciprocate it.

You turned to him and smiled.

When he caught it, his lips separated agape.

“Do you think she’ll say yes?” Mathias breathed, never tearing his gaze from you. Every muscle in his body was urging him to you, but with equal force that compelled him to stay was the tantalizing suspense. Your mother didn’t answer and kept stirring the pot. The crackling of flames was becoming a mark of his anxieties, just like fire was a medium for the future.

“She’s madly in love with you, if that’s what you wanted to ask.” She replied, the words getting his face to flush red. Knowing it was one thing, but hearing it made him feverish with yearning.

“What else could I be asking?” He sighed, turning back to her. “We’re getting married.”

“Yes, but there’s always been more to her. I’m sure you’ve already noticed that she has a sense of pride.”

“I have.”

“She isn’t intimidated by your authority anymore,” The other continued, scooping the stew into four bowls, one smaller than the rest. The pungent smell called you in, so Mathias wouldn’t have been able to respond when your mother told him this.

“What she doesn’t like is to feel small. And you, my dear, are the biggest name in all of Denmark.”

The hall was abuzz with conversation, but the unease was unlike any other day. Men were shouting unintelligibly at one another, some shaking their heads, others wearing solemn faces. It was the fourth time the Northmen had invaded their shores, raiding their stores and laying waste to their lands. Thrice in Northumbria and once in Wessex, the very kingdom they stood in and believed impenetrable.

“My friends,” The voice could barely count as a shout, but it demanded the immediate silence of the hall. Everyone turned to the figure on the throne, their king and ruler. “Those pagan heathens are celebrating while we stay embroiled with discourse. They cannot be dealt with any sooner than when we finally come together in agreement.”

“Then what will we do, sire?” One of the lords asked, briefly joined by a hush of murmurs. “They grow in number with every attack. It’s impossible to gauge how many there will be the next time they come.”

“But we have the home ground advantage,” The king responded. “The men they bring are all the men they have. Our forces can be readied with more flexibility.”

“But what about their ships? They never venture far from them, and I’ve never seen ships that fast.”

“Their ships can even sail up rivers,” Another added, face tense. “Just as they can cross oceans.”

“The answer is simple, then.” The king rose his brows at the riotous lot before him. “If we cannot out-sail them, we won’t chase them. And if we cannot predict their next attack, we won’t. Instead, we will take the fight to them when they least expect it.”

“But we would have to cross the ocean in Winter,” The same man argued. “It cannot be done.”

“Weren’t you the one who spoke of ships that could cross rivers and oceans?” The king replied, irritated by the hypocrisy of his court. The question silenced the hall once more. “You all talk of these Northmen with the same revere as the supernatural. If a band of barbarians can accomplish those feats, are we not capable of sailing through a little ice?”

Once the court dissolved, the king retired to his chambers. As he stood facing the window, he stared down at the green meadows below, rich with foliage.

“The leader of these Pagans,” He began, never tearing his gaze from the pristine scenery outside. “What do you know about him?”

“He’s a regional ruler, sire. A chieftain.”

“A chieftain.” The other narrowed their emerald eyes. It was insulting to think someone below him could defeat his forces with such prowess. He couldn’t imagine what possibly had become of other towns. “I’ve heard stories. They kill without conscience, sacrifice their own people and worship false Gods.”

The king turned around to face his closest subject, expression knowing and fierce with credence.

“We cannot guarantee we’ll find him, but we’ll attack the first city we find. These Danes must know we’re as capable as they are, and who brought us to them.”

Mathias glided a knife across the back of his head, cutting off his mullet. It was unwise to wear his hair this short, but it was a feature of youth.

While he shaved off the sides, he kept trimming and trimming to fix what was uneven. Once satisfied, he studied himself in the mirror. Mathias cut his hair shorter than he planned, but he looked good enough.

It was also a symbol of new beginnings.

He told you to meet him on the beach after you finished your work. Surely enough, you came, finding him on the ground and staring out into the fjord.

“Mathias,” You began, chest heaving. He never called you out to a place like this. He could only want one thing with the ambiance of the tranquil waters, and you couldn’t contain your apprehension.

“You came.” He stood up with a gentle smile.

“Of course I came.” You softened your gaze, taking in his face with a smile of your own. However, it faltered at the sight of his hair, or lack thereof.

“What, you don’t like it?”

You let out a breathy laugh.

“No, it’s just that it’s so short!” You spun him around, reeling at what you saw. With so much cut off, he looked no more than a mere farmer, no more than the boy he used to be. What could have compelled him to do so was beyond you, but he always had a way of getting you to understand. “It suits you.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Mathias grinned, pulling you into a warm hug. You returned it without a second thought, breathing in the scent of his hair and clothes. “Aren’t you going to ask about it?”

“I thought I’d let you ask the questions,” You uttered, tightening your arms around him.

His heart quickened.

Without another word, he pulled away, his cheeks rosy as he watched you with an unreadable expression. Then, he got down on one knee.

The wedding was to take place on the first Friday of Winter; next week. After proposing to you, he couldn’t contain his excitement about being your fiancé. In his delirium, he made immediate arrangements for the ceremony, followed by a seven-day celebration of feasting, drinking, and games.

Asking him to wait out the colder months was like asking him to wait for the grass to grow, literally and figuratively. Mathias had waited long enough, and in his insistence, you were left scrambling to prepare.

The pre-ceremonial ritual was simple; removing your kransen, visiting the city’s bathhouse, and being enthused about the horrors of married life.

Being mentally prepared was another story.

“I’d tell you all about Arne, but I doubt he’s anything like Mathias,” Thyra declared, scooping some water and splashing it onto the hot rocks. White steam erupted with a hiss, engulfing the sauna in a warm mist. “Sweats through the mattress and eats like a horse. Leaves a mess everywhere he goes, that one.”

“You just described him perfectly.”

“Who, Arne?”

“No, Mathias.”

“Then I take that back,” She blinked, leaning against the wall. “He is a man, after all. They’re one gene away from the rest of the animal kingdom.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about looking after farm animals, human or not,” Your mother raised her brows for a look of amusement. Here you thought the preparations would be more suffocating, but the only thing suffocating about them was the sauna. “We won’t have to farm or do housework anymore.”

“What about our house?” You asked.

“Don’t you know? Mathias has servants to tend to it now. And you’ll be living with him.”

It was practically unheard of, not slaving away day and night. But being wed to an earl had its benefits.

“We’re free to do what we want now.”

He stayed true to his word when he said he would give you freedom. In a society where free men and women were worked to the bone, he had given you time and liberty, real freedom. It was the greatest gift anyone could receive, and it warmed your heart to realize. But that begged the question, what could you give in return? It was on all your minds, and Thyra was only the first one to say it.

“You’re free to do what you want, Helga,” She noted, picking up a pail of cold water. Mixed in it were oils, herbs, and flowers to enhance the scent. But more importantly, its properties as an aphrodisiac. When you glanced at the contents, your nerves were shot at the thought of being doused in it. “Your daughter may be the chief’s wife, but she’s still a woman.”

Standing on the altar with Mathias felt like a dream. The pier was overwhelmed with flowers, and the air was sweet with cypress. The whole city was there to watch, but you never looked at them once.

The golden light of the setting sun cast him in a heavenly glow. And his hair, a fair blonde, left luminous upon his head. You were enchanted by his image, the warmth of his smile. Mathias was beautiful, and you felt tears come just by looking at him. He wiped them away before exchanging swords with you, a symbol of everlasting protection.

He would watch over you forever, and you, him.

To consummate the marriage, you were both accompanied to his bedroom by six witnesses.

They never stayed long, and after they filed out, it was just you and Mathias in the candlelight. He didn’t say anything and stripped out of his clothes, filling the silence with the rustling of fabric. Once he was naked, he climbed onto bed and laid on his back.

“I’ve never eaten that much in my life,” He sighed contentedly, folding his arms behind his head.

You relaxed some, turning to the corner to start undressing. Something about Mathias made it easy to be with him. He never made a big deal out of anything, taking away from the formalities.

It held true for his character, and you found that endlessly comforting. But the moment you let your guard down was the moment he changed, wholly and entirely. Seeing your back and spine did it for him—he’d never seen you in so less, so his thoughts didn’t just wander. They were thrust into where they always ended up, and he couldn’t ignore them.

Not on his wedding night.

“I hope you ate your fill,” Mathias appeared from behind, snaking his arms around your stomach. “Because we’re burning it all off tonight.”

“You tricked me,” You let out, face warming as he coiled tighter around your waist like a serpent. It wasn’t the same without a layer of fabric to separate him from you. Feeling his bare skin against your back and everything below it left you feverishly mortified.

“Tricked you?” He whispered, pressing his cheek to yours. The curves of your back were flush against him, sending a hot twitch down his manhood. He was already at half-mast, and his mind, hazing with perversion. “I thought you knew. We’re supposed to make love to consummate the marriage.”

“But what if I get pregnant?” You asked faintly, chest drumming at the thought. The question itself was self-explanatory. You were meant to conceive with him, but you hoped he would be a little more understanding. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

Having a baby couldn’t excite him more, the mere suggestion of it awakening a sort of manic lust. In truth, he hoped to impregnate you. But he couldn’t give in to his desires at your expense, could he?

“Why not?” Mathias whispered, reaching down to give your stomach a gentle palm. His other arm tightened around you, letting you feel every inch of his dick against your back. “I’ll look after you and our family. Don’t you want to have my baby?”

“It’s not that I don’t want your baby,” You breathed, shivering from the eager prodding against your skin. He was already rock-hard from the conversation, and it was hot to realize how much he wanted it.

Mathias was ready to take you.

He was only waiting for your permission, but fortunately for him, you had a soft spot for his touch. It didn’t help how further down his hands wandered, which stroked your delicate folds for a reaction.

“Mat,” You heaved, closing your eyes as he sunk his fingers between them. He rubbed around to find your clit, which he didn’t hesitate to start playing with. “Not so hard—do it gently—”

“Okay…” He whispered, moving around your clit in soft, circular motions. Slowly, his fervent rubbing began to feel good, and you threw your head back in pleasure as he built up speed. “How does that feel?”

Too inundated by his fingers, you never managed a coherent answer. Soft moans poured from your mouth like a faucet, and hearing it had his cock dripping with pre-cum. He was throbbing for you, and he indulged himself in the only way he could.

Mathias slid his dick between your thighs.

He held them together as he thrusted against your folds, rolling his eyes back at the sensation.

Being so tall and well-endowed, he was lifting you slightly off the ground with his manhood. That increased the pressure more than any of you could handle, but he only sped up from there, pushing you closer and closer to a hot climax.

If he wasn’t sliding against your entrance, he was rubbing himself against your clit, kissing it with the head of his cock. The hot, wet friction left you both panting. Blood flushed his face, neck, and ears as he lost his mind to white-hot pleasure.

But you were already gone.

Your resolve to resist him was waning, evident in the hazing in your eyes. There was nowhere to go except his embrace, nothing to feel except his body, and nobody else your heart could ache for. So you let go, falling into the warm fire that was Mathias.

“Go deeper, Mat….” You breathed, voice hitching to the rhythm of his strong thrusts. Your head was rolled back as he held you against a wall, pounding you to oblivion. While you hung off his neck, there wasn’t anything you could do except give in to him.

This had been his plan all along; to seduce you until he could have his way with you. But then again, saying ‘no’ to Mathias was impossible.

He was persistent, and you had a weakness for him he couldn’t help taking advantage of. So here you were, letting him make love to you until he had his fill.

“If I go deeper—” He panted, pushing himself in until he was down to his balls. The tip of his cock was now kissing your cervix, and seeing your legs tremble had him aching to release. “—I’ll go into your stomach.”

“Not that deep, idiot.” You heaved.

Mathias was either bad at following direction or too indulgent to care. To make up for it, you bit into his neck, hard, leaving teeth marks on his skin.

What was meant to be retribution turned him on more than he could handle. He loved it when you got feisty, so he was back to bouncing you again, turning your complaints into moans and breathy utterances.

Licking up the spit on your chin, he silenced you completely by tonguing you down. Strings of saliva draped in his brief parts, but they never broke when he kept rejoining his mouth with yours.

While he kissed you breathless, invading your throat with the taste of him, he resumed his strong thrusts. Mathias was inside you in more ways than one, and you were losing yourself to him.

Your chest was heaving, your head was spinning, and all you knew was Mathias. The gliding of his tongue against yours, his hot manhood pumping in your walls, and his warm breath pouring into your lungs.

When he moved you to the bed, lowering you down with the utmost gentleness, you gave in to him, spreading your legs with a sultry look.

Your face was flushed, eyes watery with desire, and Mathias loved the way you looked at him. He had you in every way someone could be had, mind, soul, and body, and he was taking them all tonight.

He made love to you for hours, pinning his elbows on either side of your head so he could pound you into the mattress. Cum was frothing where your bodies connected, but dripped and draped everywhere else.

Your stomach and legs were splattered with his balmy release, more of it being stuffed in your womb. With so much of him on and inside you, it was safe to say you smelled more like him than he did himself.

Mathias had claimed you in the rawest way possible. You were all his, and every bit of unreturned affection was being overturned in these fateful developments. You were his wife and soon, the mother of his children. Thinking about it sent a hot twitch down his cock, and with one final plunge of it into your tight walls, he reached a hard climax.

His face scrunched up in ecstasy as he released his semen into your womb. His balls pulsed with every ejaculation, and you felt every jet of his cum, filling you to the brim. Mathias came countless times inside you already, but he was insatiable.

He had the strength of an ox and the stamina to match. But for you, he had an insatiable libido. Nothing would be enough until he could see himself growing inside of you, swelling you up with his child.

“I can see myself in your tummy,” He smiled floatily, watching your stomach bulge every time he plunged into you. He was hung like a horse, and it was endlessly hot to see it show. “If we keep having sex, there will be an even bigger bump, kæreste…”

“Don’t talk like that…” You heaved, closing your eyes as he started rocking back and forth. He was as equally honest as he was a pervert, and hearing him speak his mind left you feening for him.

“But it’s true.” He kissed up your neck, dragging his tongue along your jaw. You never responded, too inundated by his thick cock slamming into you like a jackhammer. He was sliding against your clit from the inside, making it pop with every roll and grind.

Seeing it drove him crazy, so he only sped up to pound you even harder. He pushed you faster and faster to your zenith, shattering your mind with a hard orgasm. It came in waves, and while he helped you ride it out, your legs were shaking.

And your breasts, bouncing furiously to his thrusts.

It was so lewd, a single glimpse of it could get his heart aching. And Mathias wasn’t shy to smother his face into your chest. He kissed your breasts before sucking on your nipples, pulling on them with his lips until he had enough of your taste.

You dug your hands into his hair, letting him do as he pleased. Having him inside you felt like scratching an itch you couldn’t reach until now. Mathias was touching a place nobody else could, and reaching a depth you didn’t know to be possible.

Doing something so carnal was equally intimate, and you couldn’t get enough.

Not until he filled you up one last time, and your ears were ringing from another intense orgasm.

When you both finished, he sat cross-legged on the mattress. You were on his lap, surrounded by his warm embrace. Unlike before, the kiss he shared with you wasn’t laden with lust.

It was gentle on your lips, every peck, every lick.

While your mouth connected with his, an unbearable sadness welled in your chest. You should’ve been happy, joining hands with your childhood friend.

Mathias wasn’t the same as he used to be, but he was still Mathias. His smile, laugh, and unwavering zest for life never left him, and instead, grew with each passing day. But the relief of being with him came hand in hand with the fear of losing him.

He saved you in every way someone could be saved. In a world torn by violence, his gentle embrace protected you from bloodshed. And in the dark ages of paranoia, he delighted you with his curiosity.

He picked up a sword so you wouldn’t have to, and to welcome death with every step he made left you aching to hold him close. Your arms tightened around his neck, and you towered higher over him, kissing him harder than you ever did before.

He could feel his lips getting swollen from your relentless affection. For the first time, Mathias was struggling to keep up with you.

It spoke volumes, so when you parted over him, he flickered his eyes over your face. Feeling tears dot his cheek answered more than he wanted.

“What’s wrong?” He whispered, brows joining in a deep frown. His hands went up to your cheek, and you pressed into it quietly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” You closed your eyes. “I just missed you.”

“Missed me?” Mathias softened his gaze.

“I missed you the most when I pushed you away.” You pressed your forehead to his. He pressed back with equal force, kissing away the glistening trails on your cheek. All the words were stuck in your throat, and once you started, you couldn’t stop.

Everything came spilling out like a broken dam.

“But now that I have you, I don’t want you to keep leaving. What if you never come back?”

Your greatest fear was a euphemism for his death. But somewhere down the line, they became synonymous. It reminded him of what the Seer said, a morbid warning of the inevitable. He could never be free of war, no matter how deeply he wished it.

Mathias took you out on a boat to cheer you up.

Under the ethereal glow of the Northern lights, he rowed you out into the water. You would’ve leaned back to the sky, but it was nothing compared to what was in front of you. While he moved the oars, he was going on and on about taking you around the world. His eyes were alight with passion, and he included you in every one of his greatest fantasies.

“England is only the first place I’ll discover. With more men and better ships, we can go to even more countries,” Mathias breathed, jetting clouds of white out of his lips. “Not to raid, I mean. To travel.”

“To travel,” You pondered, taken by the wondrous suggestion. It was always a fleeting dream of yours, to travel as men did. “What about our life here?”

“In this city? Why should we stay here when there’s so much more out there?” He grinned. In truth, leaving his hometown meant abandoning everything he had—his belongings, his people, and his authority as a chieftain. But to find a better place, a land rich with green or warm all year round, he was willing to make those sacrifices. “Just think about it, kæreste. Raising our family somewhere that’s meant for life.”

You fell silent, never interrupting him as he spoke. Behind his boundless admiration was a sadness that could fill oceans, but he covered it with a rosy smile.

“Huge cities of stone and marble. Desert oases and palm trees,” He stopped rowing, letting the boat drift by itself. While he eyed you with an expectant look, he added this faintly. “Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

“Anything sounds amazing when you talk about it,” You smiled, watching his expression falter. It seemed like you were shutting him down, but your intentions couldn’t be any further from it. “I’d go anywhere with you, Mat. I could follow you to the ends of the Earth.”

Your words paralyzed him with happiness, but what you said next took the air out of his lungs.

“I love you.”

He hung his head, smiling gently. He should’ve been euphoric, hearing what he always yearned to. Mathias had always been waiting for you to let him in, but now that he reached the deepest part of you, he realized that nothing would ever be enough.

“I’d say I loved you to death, but that would be a lie.”

When he felt your arms around him, his anguish finally rose to the surface, running down his face in bitter tears. He clung to your waist with grave desperation, burying his face into your stomach.

“Having you in this life isn’t enough. I want to have you in the next, and the one after that.” He cried.

Life was fragile, fleeting from his fingertips no matter what he did. Death, however, was inevitable, so he thought of the only salvation to it.

Endless rebirth, just to be by your side.

An arrow whistled through the sky. It sunk into the watch tower with a sharp ‘thunk.’ Before the guard could process the sound of it bouncing against the post, a deafening ensemble of whistling followed. When he glanced up, hundreds of arrows were raining down from above.

One shot through his neck, leaving him gurgling in blood as another pierced his stomach.

“Saxons.” He declared, voice thick with contempt. The clothes they wore, the language they spoke, the invaders were from anywhere but Scandinavia.

There was only one place they could’ve hailed from, just across the North Sea—the kingdoms of England, all hellbent on revenge against the Danes who trespassed their shores. Standing from his desk, he marched out of his study with wolf’s fur in hand.

“Evacuate as many people as you can. We cannot fight this ambush.” The man ordered, chest heaving.

“What about you, King Horik?”

“Make a course for Jarl Densen’s city,” He glanced back at his steward. “We need his aid. He has the most experience dealing with these Christians.”

The King sailed in through the fjord, but there was no fleet to accompany him. Only his family, who stood by his side on a single longship. There were no shields lining the sides to give it any color, nor flowers for any flair. When the earl witnessed their arrival, the reason for visitation was jarringly clear.

“I must thank you for your overwhelming hospitality.” Horik raised a drinking horn at him. Here in the great hall, the chieftain was kind enough to throw a banquet to welcome his guests. “Not just anybody would hold such a magnanimous feast in winter, let alone for unexpected guests. Skål, Jarl Densen.”

“Of course, King Horik.” Mathias hardened his stare, raising a horn of his own. If he were to be well and truly honest, a feast was the least he could do. “When I heard you were attacked by the Englanders, I was already involved. My men and I were the first to make contact with them, after all.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of your ventures. Your reputation precedes you.” The other replied, pausing to slice his pork roast. Forking a piece into his mouth, he returned the gaze with a grim one. “While I revere your achievements, I’m afraid your ties to the Saxons have doomed all of Denmark to war.”

“Then we will go to war.” Mathias glowered. These developments couldn’t be more unwanted, but what choice did they have? It was with a heavy heart that he made this commitment, and he could only hope for a speedy resolution. “Our alliance should be more than enough to crush their forces. After which, we will chase them back to where they came from and raid until all they have is the dirt beneath their feet.”

“You didn’t eat much during dinner,” You heard him say. The atmosphere was somber, and yet, he talked like it wasn’t. Just when you started appreciating his nonchalance, it became a menace to your person.

“I wasn’t hungry,” You murmured, dipping a finger into a tin of lanolin. Rubbing some on your hands, you approached Mathias in bed and started applying it to his chapped lips. He watched your movements, every swipe, and every twitch of your brows.

“That’s no good,” He uttered, mindful of the oil on his mouth. “If you’re hungry, I’ll fetch you some herring.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mat. You’ve done more than enough today.” You pecked him on the cheek.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If I wanted something to eat, I’d get it myself.” You curled up next to him, eyes trailing over his slight frown. Without another word, he sat up and scooted off the bed. You took his wrist before he could stand. “It’s fine, Mathias. I’m really not hungry.”

“I feel like you’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” You pulled him back in, much to his discontent. He laid down on your lap, but stared up at you stubbornly. “Why are you so eager?”

“I’m just thinking about our baby,” Mathias sighed, pressing his face into your warm stomach. You softened your gaze, but never opened your mouth to interrupt him. “I want you to be well looked after. What kind of husband would I be if you weren’t?”

“I am well looked after,” You stroked his hair gently. With so many burdens of his own, you would’ve hoped to relieve some of them. But all you did was add to them, and it hurt more than you could say. “And we don’t know if I’m pregnant yet.”

“Let’s say you are. What then?” He straightened up, catching you in another defiant gaze.

“We carry on like normal,” You said. His insistence was something else, and only seemed to grow with every word you spoke. “It’s only been two weeks, Mat. I’m sure I can tough it out for a little longer.”

“No. If you have my child, I’m staying around you as much as I can,” The steely look in his eyes never faltered, not even as he made the most unreasonable demands. “And I forbid you from doing any work.”

“You’re not making any sense.” You frowned, closing your eyes as he pecked your lips. He kissed you once, then twice, but his persistent affection couldn’t stop you from pointing out the obvious. “There’s barely any work for me to do, now. And besides—”

Mathias wrapped himself around you, sensing your resistance. If he could get you to give in, just one last time, he could sleep soundly knowing you were safe.

“—I can’t keep relying on you.”

“I don’t agree,” He frowned back. His hands traveled up your waist, settling just below your breasts. While he held you around your ribs, he whispered this into your ear, voice gentle. “You need me.”

“I do need you,” You hugged him close, listening to the gentle drumming within. The carnal beating of his heart was a surefire sign he was alive, and at the same time, a reminder he was vulnerable to everything that could stop it. “But you won’t always be here. I have to manage by myself, somehow.”

“I’ll always be here,” He let out. He was losing you, and he thought of the only remedy to it; being overzealous. “This war will be fast, I promise. Then we’ll be together again like it never happened.”

“You can’t promise those things, Mat.” Your face contorted with pain. His lips pursed and his eyes grew wide. Mathias had never been so keen to argue, but there was nothing he could say in the face of the truth. “Only the Gods know what will happen.”

Just once, you wanted him to listen, but he was too far gone. Lost in fantasy and obsessed with a dream, he would stop at nothing to achieve them.

“You have to trust me to look after myself.”

“I do trust you,” He pressed his forehead to yours, mouth trembling agape. “But I don’t want you to.”

Mathias grieved the day you would ever have to fend for yourself. Not again. The thought enraged him more than he could fathom, but as of now, it was only sadness that choked him from the inside out.

Giving his reins a mighty whip, he charged forward on his horse and galloped across the plains. His men raced behind, following him to a walled-up fortress in the distance. Smoke rose from within.

When I come back, I will teach you everything I know, he told you. Inside his study was a deluge of souvenirs, courtesy of all the places he explored. Sitting you on his lap, he pulled out an opaque rock and sun-shadow board. How to navigate, sail, and all the languages they speak beyond the seas.

When he got inside, everything had been destroyed. The houses, burned, and the livestock, slaughtered. As for the king’s people, starving in the mountains. His warriors had been anxious for his return, hoping for the reinforcements he promised.

We will travel the world together, free from conflict.

“King Horik,” His steward ran up to him. They stood in front of the camp, well away from the earshot of others. Mathias and his men had settled around the campfire, unloading supplies and preparing food. “Your presence is as welcome to us as spring after the hardest and most bitter winter.”

“How are my men doing?” He brushed past him.

“Good, my lord. But I must speak with you, urgently.”

“Can’t it wait, Rune?” Horik continued.

“I have a message from the Saxon king.”

He stopped, nostrils flaring.

“What is it?”

“When you left, he sent scouts into the mountains,” Rune spoke breathlessly. His king turned to him, perplexed, and even more so when the other began ushering him away. “They found us. But they left us alive so you could consider a proposal. A treaty.”

“What treaty?”

“A peace treaty. The only condition is that you join forces with him against Jarl Densen.”

“I hate how quiet it is.” Thyra swung a wooden sword at her side, watching the same water channel as you.

Out there in the fjord was where Mathias sailed away with his fleet. Two days passed since he departed, leaving the city in your hands. It wasn’t new, being without the men. Now and then, all the warriors vacated their homes for expeditions. But their absence marked a dark period of uncertainty, having left the women, children, and elderly by themselves.

“He took all the best fighting men with him.”

“Then what are you doing here?” You hummed.

“Someone had to stay back and look after the rest,” She smiled, offering you a hand to take. Your fingers slid into her palm, hardened by farming and fighting alike. “And teach you how to use an ax. Come on.”

Without any chores to stay active, you found some joy in sparring with a friend. Mathias forbid you from many things, but picking up weapons was, by far, the most illicit of them all. He would’ve lost his mind if he knew what you were doing, for with every swing of your blade, you were stepping deeper and deeper into the world he desperately wanted you out of.

“And why is he so sure that I would betray my ally for him? The Christian who burned my town to ashes?”

“Because, lord,” Rune frowned, leaning in to say what had to be said. The English King was as ambitious as he was cunning, and would strike the Danish King where it hurt most. “Mathias Densen is why he has come to Denmark, and why your lands are lost.”

Horik narrowed his eyes.

He couldn’t deny the beginnings of this conflict, and had been willing to look past it. But he couldn’t ignore a third contender for power, either.

“After defeating the Saxons, your city will not build itself back. Who is to say that Jarl Densen won’t take advantage of that weakness? He is an opportunist.”

Mathias was eating with his war band, laughing and making faces around the fire. There they watched, king and aid, riddled with growing suspicion.

It was no secret he killed his previous ruler to assume his place. He was also the first to sail west, a pursuit once deemed by many a deluded fantasy. Their ally didn’t believe in tradition, let alone authority.

“And how does he suppose I fight against him?”

King Horik delivered news to the camp, announcing his contact with the Saxon King. The English were eager for battle, having given a place of meeting.

In three days, the Danish mobilized hundreds of warriors and shield-maidens. They marched into an open field, axes at the ready and eyes smeared with black kohl. Their leader wore the most formidable look, dark blue warpaint in the shape of a handprint.

“King Æthelwulf wants you to kill him in his sleep.”

An army appeared at the top of the hill, flying a foreign flag. Mathias slammed his ax against the center of his shield for a loud, metal clank. He sped up in rapid progression, joined by the rest of his men. They beat their weapons furiously, never taking their eyes off the enemy standing on the horizon.

The victor would decide the future, and the defeated, a victim of it. One would expand, the other, decline. That was the outcome of all battles, only this was a conspiracy. Their King had lost faith in his subjects.

With a synonymous battle cry, they charged forward.

“Odin!”

Mathias raced towards the hill, heart racing and mouth agape. He sunk his ax into the closest man, ripping their chest open. Clashing shields with another, he shoved them to the ground before hacking their head off. Blood spilled over the earth, and more sprayed onto his face.

The crimson was a fine contrast to his blue eyes, but the smell of iron never faze him. Nor did the clanging of metal, or the screams of fallen men. His senses were dulled, yet sharpened at the same time.

He was mad with vengeance, sparing no remorse for the soldiers who dared cross his path. Slashing one in the neck, he kicked their body away before taking down another. He fought with the anger of ages, driven by the promise he made to you.

Mathias would return and take you someplace safe. Somewhere free. Somewhere he could make life with you, and to realize that dream, he would gladly take it away all the same. His only regret was that he couldn’t obliterate the enemy army by himself.

No matter how hard he pushed, how well he fought, he was only one man. When he stopped to look back at his warriors, many had perished. Horik’s were no better, but the rate at which his people fell was alarming. Just when he began to suspect foul play, his King appeared at his side. He defended him against an incoming Saxon soldier, saving his life.

“When his men have thinned out Jarl Densen’s, you can attack him in his camp with more ease.”

The English retreated two hours later, saving what was left of their forces. By then, Mathias’s army was cut down by half, a little under what Horik had.

That begged the question, how could he enter a battle with more men than his ally, only to leave with less? It troubled the young earl enough for victory to go uncelebrated. While the sounding horn went off, signifying their triumph, he could only pant in exhaustion. Others rejoiced and chanted.

But the exhilaration of his friends was infectious. Mathias eventually found solace around the campfire, albeit deafened by the singing of his proud warriors. And with enough mead to go around, his worries reduced to nothing but fleeting thoughts. He won. What more could he ask for?

By the time dinner concluded, everyone retired to their tents, drunk off glory. But not the King and his men, who only feigned their intoxication.

In the dead of the night, he left his bunk with a lamp in one hand and a dagger in the other. He gave an order to slit every one of their allies’ throats. And their leader, he would have for himself.

“If you cut off his head and bring it to him, he’ll help you conquer his city as your own.”

Horik slipped into Mathias’ tent. Approaching his hammock with soundless steps, he readied his blade as he neared the bump beneath the blanket. His lamp flickered, plunging the room into a moment of darkness. When the flame stabilized, he removed the blanket and glanced down at the heap of supplies where Mathias’s sleeping body should’ve been.

His blood ran cold.

“I would kill you right now, but what good is a dead hostage?” Someone asked from behind, voice dripping with malice. He didn’t need to see their face to know who it was, not that he even could. The frozen edge of an ax was pressed against his throat, digging deep enough into his flesh for a slither of blood to form. A hand gripped his wrist so tight, it popped, forcing him to drop his dagger. He was cornered, caught amidst a wicked act of treason.

If not fear, a stinging pain engulfed his throat, but he still choked out this mind-bending question.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” Mathias grimaced, letting his expression darken. “I was just never asleep.”

“But you were drunk,” Horik seethed through his teeth. The blade sunk further into his neck, making him wince. “You had four rounds of mead—”

“Even if I was drunk, I can’t fall asleep without my wife beside me.”

The revolt quickly died when the Jarl appeared with their King at knifepoint. As Mathias stepped into the clearing, he ordered his men to kill all those who stayed loyal to their ruler.

A bloody massacre unfolded, and it was just enough to make up for all those lost in battle.

Longboats appeared in the fjord two days later. The entire city flocked to the beach, relieved to see their husbands, sons, and fathers return. You were one of them, heart racing with a euphoria you came to embrace. Mathias finally came home, and judging from the exhausted smile on his face, he won. But his victory was far more comprehensive than you could imagine, even if you played a part in it.

When you joined him on the pier, exchanging a much-needed embrace, he breathed in the sweet scent of your hair. The smell was a stark contrast to the iron on his skin, truly bringing him home. And for that, days’ worth of fatigue caught up in an instant.

While he spoke to you, he could only manage a hushed murmur. How you were doing, then how his people were doing. But when Horik passed him in chains, shooting you a dirty look, he found the energy to threaten him one last time. The worm set his treacherous gaze upon you, one that wished death on the woman who did so much, yet to little.

For that, he would grant him a fate worse than death.

“My men died for you.” Mathias leaned in with a whisper. His expression was unreadable, but his icy blue eyes burned into him with unspeakable hatred. “I was only going to kill you for betraying me. But because you looked at my wife, I’ll turn you into a blood eagle. I’ll tear out your lungs, King.”

Horik was dragged away, begging for death.

He struck fear into his heart like never before, and for good reason. That night, Horik was stripped of his kingly robes and forced to the ground. His back was sliced open, his skin spread out like wings. Each of his ribs was snapped and pulled back, flaring out like spikes. That left his lungs, which were torn from his body so he could suffocate to death.

He was propped up on a podium for the entire city to watch. You were one of the few who stayed inside, but the company made it more than worthwhile.

After washing every drop of blood off his body, Mathias joined you in the bedroom, smothering you with the affection he saved over many sleepless nights. He kissed you, not until his lips grew swollen, but until he couldn’t anymore, overtaken by fatigue.

You held him close, naked bodies tangling like yarn. He stayed true to his promise, and you couldn’t revere him more for it. Mathias was the single most hopeful person you ever met. But he was capable all the same, so nothing felt impossible with him.

“King Mathias,” A man kneeled by his throne. Yours was right beside his, only you preferred standing next to him. That way, he could hold your hand or feel around your stomach. Three months had passed since you married him, and a small bump had grown.

Even now, he had his head on it, warming the side of his face with your tummy. You let him, combing your hand through his soft, blonde hair.

“Mat, Frode has something to say to you.”

He was taken by your touch, the sound of your voice. And for that, he was indisposed to acknowledge his ship-builder. After all, there were only so many things that could demand his undivided attention. But what he heard next was a perfect paragon of all of them.

“It’s ready.”

Mathias led you down to the beach, eyes wide and chest heaving. You were more out of breath than he was, so he picked you up in a bridal-style carry.

You couldn’t be happier, but he kept proving you wrong, delighting you with every little thing he did. The same could be said for his greatest gift to you. Mathias had given you freedom, but he outdid himself yet again, giving you the gift of movement. Of travel and enlightenment.

He kissed your forehead one last time before letting you down. There you stood, onboard the grandest Viking ship of your time. And he was going to take you to the edges of the world with it.

Next: Dancing with Wolves

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cazperx-x · 1 year

Note

Hiya!! The name is 🇵🇱 Anon!! Its nice to meet ya!!

I have a little request for you!! I thought of this one, and i thought why not send it to someone so here i am!! but feel free to delete this anytime if its to intense but anyways…!

Could i request Eddie Munson or Gareth with a Famous! S/O? (Maybe… something like Elvis Presley Famous? Where girls are all over them, and etc, its from that movie, it was really good so i would suggest watching it so it makes sense and etc)

Thats it!! I can send more later on lol, but thats it!! Thank you :D

Im sorry it took me so long to get to this request, but i'm finally back in a writing mood!! Also i did not watch the elvis movie

Fame has its price

Gareth Emerson x Famous!S/O

Mostly fluff, but at the end kinda angsty? I might try and write something similar later but with Gareth as the famous one and it leans more heavily towards angst.

Warnings- cursing more towards the end, also at the end the reader gets "hugged" by an adult fan without consent- very brief though im pretty sure

1.4k words

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕🥁💀💀🥁💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Your laugh.

God it got him every time.

"Good night New York City!" You were announcing to your crowd of adoring fans, smiling through your sentence.

As long as Gareth could remember, music had brought you two together.

First time you met?

Kindergarten battle of the bands. Both of your practically clawed each others eyes out trying to get to the kiddie drum set. Who would've guessed that would lead to a 10+ year long friendship? Well, technically 12, but it's not like anyone was counting. Especially Gareth.

In middle school everyone in the crowd watched in awe as you sang your heart out during the school's talent show, obviously winning first place.

And there were times when Eddie even begged you to sing for Corroded Coffin, just one song. And of course when he couldn't convince you all Gareth had to do was ask once.

You would do anything for him.

Including convincing your agent to let Corroded Coffin open all your shows for your most recent tour across America.

Gareth's eyes darted back up to you on stage, looking around for the sign it was clear to make your way off while people tried to claw their way onto it. You were still smiling and waiving, but Gareth could see the tenseness in your smile.

But that was something to worry about another day.

Right now most of security was busy pushing teenagers and even some adults back from the stage. You tried your best to not visibly back away, but it was still necessary if you didnt want to be clawed at and pulled off the stage by strangers. Fame had its price, and a heavy one at that.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Look Eddie, as much as I would love cheap, greasy gas station quality pizza at the moment, I really don't feel like being torn apart limb by limb for even daring to appear in public." You sighed, after Eddie had spent the last 15 minutes trying to convince you to go out with him and the band.

"Don't make me do it Y/N," Eddie warned, glaring at you.

"Oh you wouldn't dare." You glared back.

"Emersonnnnn, theres something I wanna ask youuuuuu!" Eddie shouted, before glancing at you and smirking.

"Don't believe a single word out of Eddie's mouth Gare! Its full of lies!" You shouted back.

Before you knew it Eddie was running out of the room you were staying in and practically slammed Gareth to the floor trying to get a hold of him.

"Ow! The fuck was that for?"

"You agree Y/N over here should treat themself to a little slice of commoners pizza before we have to get back on the road right? C'mon man all I need is for you to ask them once, hell not even ask ask, just allude to it and- "

Just then you ran into the room, out of breath.

"How the hell are you so much faster than me Munson?" You wheezed, hands on your knees.

"Too late Y/L/N! I've already asked my good pal over here too-"

"How about we have something delivered here and have a movie night?" Gareth cut Eddie off with a sigh.

"Hmph. Guess thats a good compromise." Eddie muttered, but still crossed his arms.

"See Munson? My amazing boyfriend can't be tricked by your lies and deception. And he's always looking out for everyone involved." You smiled, before hugging Gareth from behind.

"Anything for my lovely partner. It would be really inconvenient to have to stitch all your body parts back together after you get torn to shreds by an adoring mob." Gareth smiled, turning his head to look you in the eye.

"No one else I would rather have sew my body back together."

"And no mob could ever adore you more than I do." Gareth said, before leaning in to kiss you.

"Ew! Get a room you two, before I call the paparazzi." Jeff groaned, having walked into the room at a considerably awkward moment.

You rolled your eyes before turning to Eddie.

"So, what place are you gonna order pizza from?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wake up sleepy head." Gareth said, before nudging you a bit.

"I'm already awake." You muttered, but still didnt move from your position under the bed sheets.

"As much as I would hate to do this lovebug, if you dont move soon i'm gonna have to pull the covers out from over you, leaving you exposed to the harsh element known as the ceiling fan-"

You dramatically gasped. "I thought you loved me?"

"More than anything, but that does mean I have to do what is best for you sugar."

You groaned, but sat up.

"Is this good enough?"

"For now, but you know you'll have to get dressed soon enough. You sure you want to walk today and not just get a cab or something?"

"Yes Gare Bear I'm sure. It's not that long a walk anyway."

"Still don't get why the bus can't just pick us up here." He muttered.

"They say it would draw too much attention to the hotel."

"Yeah because us having to walk there wouldn't."

Gareth gave you one last hug before leaving the room.

~~~~~~~~~

"The great outdoors don't seem so great anymore." Eddie muttered.

You all were stopped on a sidewalk, on account of you practically being swarmed by fans to sign autographs and take pictures. Some people were even trying to seemingly jump on you, and others were clawing on your clothes just so you would turn their way.

Some people were talking to the Corroded Coffin boys, much to Eddie's delight and Gareth's annoyance, but you were definitely the star of the show.

You turned and gave Gareth an apologetic look that said 'I really did just want to take a walk' and he shook his head knowingly.

"Okay, I'm gonna have to wrap this up soon. Sorry guys but-"

Just then someone pulled you by the shoulder and by impulse you turned around, only to crash into what you realized was a man who was much bigger than you's torso.

"Um, excuse me sir- I-I don't know what you're trying to do here but-" You stuttered as you tried to wiggle free, not even being able to look around.

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. That was the main thought going through your head right now.

"Hey, you're a real pretty thing huh?" The man started, cutting you off.

"How about y-" Before the man could even finish his sentence you found yourself being pulled free and arms wrapping around you tightly, but this time you welcomed the embrace.

"Listen here you sick little fuck. Does this get you off? Trying to kidnap underage musical sensations in broad daylight in front of witnesses and bystanders?" Gareth started, and you realized the rest of the band members were standing around you. You also realized most of the people that were there before for autographs and whatnot, had left.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll fuck off and never speak of this again. Or hell, even pay to get a ticket for one of their shows. Got it?"

"Yeah creep. 4 against one." Eddie chimed in.

You noticed the man say something under his breath, before quickly looking around and leaving.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"A-are you okay Y/N? I swear to fucking god if anything bad happened to you on my watch I-I- I don't know what I'd do." Gareth let go of you and walked in front of you so you could look him in the eyes. You noticed he was on the verge of tears.

"I don't know Gare." You sighed.

"Do you wanna keep walking? Or just get a ride?" Jeff asked, concern in his voice.

Everyone was looking at you with worried eyes, but it didn't bother you as much as you would've thought it would.

Fame has its price sure, but you have people watching out for you.

Not just hired security guards, or brands who just want to make money off of you talent.

No, real people who know the real you, and really care.

Especially Gareth.

And you were okay with that.

"I think we can keep walking."

With Gareth's arm around your shoulder and Eddie leading the way, you all walked to the tour bus, prepared for your next destination.

And you had a sense everything was gonna be alright.

#gareth emerson x reader #gareth emerson #gareth x reader #gareth stranger things #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #gareth stranger things x reader #st4

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palimpsessed · 1 year

Text

The third annual! Questions by @captain-aralias .

Complete Fics for 2022:

I Can't Believe He's Not Butter

4,941 words

by any other name…

3,035 words

Simon Snow and Dracula's Curse, A Scooby Doo AU

46,064 words

In Progress Fics for 2022:

Slings and Eros

70,055 words added in 2022

Total:

4 complete fics, 1 fic in progress

Word count:

124,095

Thoughts:

I thought my output this year had really waned, but I only completed one more fic in 2020 and 2021. My word count has been pretty consistent, with this year's actually being higher than 2021 (107k) and 2020 (113k). So maybe I need to be kinder to myself. It's truly just having the specter of a massively long wip looming for a second year running.

Since I included SAE in last year's review, I'm going to stick with the three fics I haven't talked about yet. All I ever talk about is SAE anyway. However, I think this works better for writers with more fics to talk about because there would be less repetition in the answers.

best/worst title?

best:

I Can't Believe He's Not Butter

What else is there to say? This fic is about an emo syrup container watching an attractive tub of margarine being spread seductively over pancakes.

worst:

by any other name...

I like this but perhaps it doesn't pin down the point of the fic well enough. But I really couldn't lead with "dicknames" or "cocktail" so. Shakespeare it is.

best/worst summary?

best:

SSADC

"The gang is invited to spend Halloween weekend in famed seaside town Whitby, North Yorkshire. It's supposed to be a holiday filled with music, history, and more vampire fangs than Simon Snow has ever dreamed of. But when a flying fiend claiming to be Count Dracula himself shows up, warning tourists and locals alike to stay away from the famous ruins of Whitby Abbey, Simon and the rest of the Enigma Ltd. gang know they've got another mystery on their hands. Matters are only further complicated when Simon's longtime professional rival, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Grimm-Pitch of Pitch Paranormal Investigations, swoops in with perfect hair to steal Enigma Ltd.'s case.

"Will the gang manage to solve the mystery in time to save Whitby from the Count and his Curse? And more importantly, will Simon solve the mystery of his very confusing feelings for Baz?"

I could see this one printed on the back of a Scooby Doo DVD clamshell. (I absolutely do check out Scooby Doo DVDs from my library every Halloween.)

worst:

BAON

"Baz has been making a new list and he’s decided it’s time to share it with his unsuspecting boyfriend."

Again, I was being coy. This probably should have been something like: "Baz decides to give Simon's cock a worthy nickname. Unapologetic puns ensue." You know, after I did this last year, I actually revised my worst summary to make the changes that I felt would improve it. Maybe I'll do that with this one, too. Maybe.

best/worst first line?

best:

ICBHNB

"The existence (if one can be so bold as to call it that) of a blue plate diner denizen holds all the shine one can find on a cloudy-water-spotted soup spoon. There are occasional flashes of warm, bright pink neon ("open 24 hours") to give you the sense of a rose-tinted view, but by and large, the days offer little more variety and adventure than stuck-on food and creeping rust stains.

"In this place, soup spoons are to solitary condiments like myself what reflecting pools are to Narcissus."

Okay, maybe this is a bit too long to consider a line, but oh well. I hate writing descriptions of physical places. I would much prefer my characters just float around in a void and have endless amounts of banter-laden dialogue. But the diner was integral to this story and I think I did a pretty good job with it, introducing it along with our narrator, pancake syrup!Baz, and using it to set the mood.

worst:

SSADC

"It was a dark and stormy night."

This was obviously intentionally done, so I'm okay with it. Except for the fact that somewhere along the way, the period disappeared without me noticing so it just sat there with no punctuation for weeks. The very first sentence. Off to a strong start.

best/worst last line?

best:

SSADC

"Hey, Baz," she said. "How come you're not in costume?"

You need the context for this one to make sense, but trust me. I love how punchy it turned out, and also that it wasn't planned. I just knew in the moment.

Also, ICBHNB is somewhat open-ended, but I do really like how the last sentence revisits the opening of the fic and shows how much Baz has changed his mind about his "life" now that Simon is in it.

worst

BAON

"We never do get back to Baz’s list."

It's okay, but it's a bit lacking in impact after the repartee immediately before it. This was just my way of fading to black so I didn't have to actually write the sex.

looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, fewer than you thought, or about what you predicted?

Fewer. I thought I'd finally wrap on SAE and be able to tackle more of my other ideas. I had been determined not to write anything else until it was complete, but at some point I decided it was healthier for me to indulge a side fic now and again for the sake of my creative sanity. I didn't want to start resenting SAE because I couldn't work on other things. More to look forward to next year…

what pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

I didn't think I'd ever have cause to write pancake syrup/margarine. But here we are.

what's your favorite story this year? not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest?

It's so hard to choose. I'm really happy with all of them and they're all very different things. I suppose SSADC because I've been working on that concept off and on since I got into fandom and it was nowhere near as clever or funny in my early drafts and planning. I was frustrated with it for a long time, but then it ended up being so much better for the delay. And it's done!!!!! I'm incredibly proud of it.

okay, now your most popular story?

I never know what the best metric is to judge this by? I suppose kudos?

BAON leads in kudos for the year, so I'll say that. Which makes sense. It's the closest I came to smut.

story most underappreciated by the universe?

SSADC and ICBHNB are my least kudoesed(?) over all years so I think they just didn’t find their audience.

story that could have been better?

I know I said I wasn't going to talk about SAE, but damn it could be SHORTER. I find myself most critical of it because I've sat with it for so long. But I still wouldn't change any of it. I always kind of avoid this question.

sexiest story?

Hmm. It probably should be BAON since it is about cocks, but I kind of want to say ICBHNB because that margarine!Simon does spread on awfully smooth… How many fics can boast a completely appropriate use of the word 'nubbin' anyway?

saddest story?

None of my finished fics were sad, but SAE definitely goes there with the deep emotions, so that one gets the honor.

most fun?

SSADC

I wrote a theme song! Lucy the dog dashes into action against "Dracula" wearing a Dracula dog costume. Simon chucks bricks at creepy hooded cultists because Penny didn't let him bring his sword. Baz and Simon absolutely do not speedwalk race down the street to the Whitby library. Penny’s skirt has pockets! No one ever gives Baz a leaflet. BJ and the CUNTS! Penis window. I need to reread this fic.

story with the single sweetest moment?

SSADC

Simon feeds Baz pieces of mint Aero while they're sharing a bed. That was pretty sweet. (Get it, sweet?)

Honorable mention to ICBHNB for being sweetest fic overall, in that the narrator is literally pancake syrup.

hardest story to write?

SSADC

Which I've been trying to write unsuccessfully since very early 2020 (does anyone remember very early 2020?). This version of the fic did give me some hiccups along the way, but finally sorting out the POV and tone of the fic was key, as was the timely Dracula tie-in. It finally felt right this time and I look forward to continuing the adventures of Enigma Ltd. and Pitch Paranormal Investigations.

easiest/most fun story to write?

I'm being difficult and answering with all three fics!

Easiest is a tie between the one shots: ICBHNB and BAON. Short and also mostly crack. I'd had both ideas tossing around in my head for a while and once the mood hit for each of them, they came about pretty quickly.

Most fun: SSADC (for the reasons stated under the other kind of "most fun" above)

did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

I'm boring with this one and usually say 'no', but I will say that SSADC was my first time really writing the classic SnowBaz "enemies" to lovers dynamic. I think I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it, because I tend to shy away from that. Not sure if that will inform fic writing decisions going forward, but considering that nearly all of my ideas at the moment are But-What-If-SnowBaz AUs, the dynamics are mostly determined by how I'm adapting the worlds of the various AUs.

most overdue story?

hahaha

I can finally say SSADC and know that it's DONE!!!!!

did you take any writing risks this year? what did you learn from them?

Everything felt like a risk while I had a 100k+ wip. Staying in more lighthearted and cracky territory wasn't necessarily a risk, but certainly something that took me out of my comfort zone as a fic writer. Really, I think I just needed to give myself permission for it.

this year's theme and the story that demonstrates it?

Perseverance.

SSADC and SAE

I finished one and am determined to finish the other.

what are your fic writing goals for next year?

See above.

Seriously, though, my main goal is to wrap SAE and make sure it's satisfying for all the build up—for me and its readers. Aside from that, I have a whole list of prompts for myself and I think I'm really just waiting to get inspired about which one to work on first. I have my Bond AU pretty much entirely plotted out, so you'd think it would be that one. But I also want to do a second part for my Scooby AU. And maybe finally write that The Holiday AU. Or Galaxy Quest. Or Troop Beverly Hills. Or Bell Book and Candle. Or or or…

Here's a good goal: I would like to not write any more dactylic hexameter.

If you read all this way, thanks for taking this journey with me. See you for more words and more fics in 2023!

#fanfic year in review 2022 #icbhnb #by any other name #simon snow and dracula’s curse #slings and eros

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euleweis · 1 year

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Art is a Journey

Please note that I write about my own experiences and thoughts. I don't want to claim that this is true for everyone. But I think that reading about other peoples experiences can be helpful sometimes, that's why I want to share mine.

In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that I started drawing long before I had access to the internet. I think that comparing yourself with other people (not just in terms of the artwork quality but also number of follower and likes) can influence your attitude towards drawing, your motivation, as well as how you perceive other artists in a negative way - maybe even before you start learning how to draw.

I started drawing as a kid because it was fun. I loved creating my own characters, for example. Except for a few professional artists I liked at that time there were no other artists I could compare myself to. No social media, not algorythm. I worked on my skills and was proud of every little improvement. When I started uploading my artworks online as a teenager my skills were not great, of course, but my drawing experiences up to this point were not influenced by competition and numbers and stuff.

Blessing and curse

Please don't get me wrong. Seeing other artists online can be a big motivation and inspiration boost, of course. It's just that I think that it can be a blessing and a curse at the same time.

Sometimes I see bitter posts of people who gave up drawing. I don't know it for sure, of course, but I have the impression that some people want to draw for reasons that are not connected to passion. Maybe they want to impress other people. Maybe they want to be as famous as other artists with X followers. I don't know. Once you see all these things online every day it's hard to not wish for more followers or likes. I totally understand that.

That's why I believe that it was good that I started drawing before social media came up. In my opinion, it's important that your motivation comes mainly from your heart. From the inside, not from the outside. In order to develop skills, you need to practice regularly for a long time. You will need a strong motivation, but motivation tends to weaken over time. No matter how you define it, but I think that you will need passion to keep going despite all difficulties.

Keep going and growing

For me, passion is a strong connection to something (drawing for example). Maybe I sometimes don't have time or energy for drawing, but I always come back. I can't remember that I ever seriously thought about giving up. Why should I? There is no reason to give up. When I started drawing as a kid, I didn't have a concrete goal in mind. I didn't want success. Or fame. Or money. I just enjoyed creating my own characters and stories.

Goals change over time, of course. There's nothing wrong with the goal to become a professional artist. But I'm not sure if this goal should be the first and only reason why you want to learn how to draw.

I mean, what do you do, if it seems like you won't reach your goal? What if it's much more difficult than you thought? There will be always people who are much better than you. How much does this matter to you? Would you give up your big goal but keep drawing (as a hobby)? Or would you give up drawing altogether if you are not as successful as you would like to be?

I'm drawing manga for several years now but I'm still not a professional manga artist. I don't earn money with my manga. Instead, I have a full-time job and draw in my free time. Maybe I'll be a professional artist in the future, but I can't imagine a future without being at least a hobby artist.

What I mean is, if drawing is your passion you will always come back no matter if you are a "successful" artist or not. And as long as you keep going, you will grow as an artist.

Before you work towards a big goal I think it's better to have a strong foundation. Not only skill-wise, but also mentally. Building (and maintaining) a healthy relationship with drawing should come first, in my opinion. This is the base for everything else.

By building a strong foundation first, you'll make sure that you won't give up long before you reach your goal. If you can't imagine yourself drawing even without having "success" (becoming famous, earn lots of money, having a great number of followers, etc.), I think it will be hard to keep yourself motivated over a long period of time (=long enough to improve your skills to the desired level).

Learning is a process

Why is this so important? Your drawings won't be great in the beginning. And, to be honest, they won't be great for a long time. Don't worry, it's not a matter of talent. It's only natural. Improving your skills will need lots of practice over a long period of time. You can't force it. It's a learning process and effort is part of the process. It's a life-long cycle of trial and error. As long as you don't give up, you can always learn something new and improve your skills.

If your motivation comes mainly from your heart (passion) it can help you to overcome phases of frustration. Yes, you can experience frustration even if you usually enjoy drawing. But this doesn't necessarily mean that you want to give up. In my experience passion is what makes me always come back to drawing - despite all difficulties.

Without passion, however, your motivation becomes weaker and weaker. The risk is high that you finally give up because you don't see any reason to keep drawing. That's why I think that the reason why you want to draw can make a difference in the long run. Some people keep drawing and growing and other people give up along the way (for different reasons).

Don't get me wrong, giving up is not a shame. If drawing doesn't spark passion in you, that's fine. Move on and look for something you really like doing. But it's a matter of fact, that you can't improve a skill like drawing if you give up.

In the end, it's not about 'talent' but about persistence. Keep working on a skill and this skill will improve. Focusing only on the end goal is contraproductive, in my experience. That's why I recommend to focus on the question "What can I do to make this journey as enjoyable as possible? How can I build a healthy relationship to drawing?" Try to find something that helps you to keep going in the long run.

If you really want to improve your drawing skills you'll need to do it for a long time. If you make enjoying the journey your number one priority it doesn't matter when you will reach your goal. The more you draw, the more you'll improve. Eventually, your skills will reach a professional level but try to see this rather as a byproduct. Enjoying what you do should come first in my opinion.

And you really don't need to pressure yourself to becoming a professional artist. There's nothing wrong with earning money with your art, of course. But it's nothing wrong with being a hobby artist, either. Either way is fine. If you like drawing as a hobby don't listen to people who want to tell you that doing something without monetizing it is worthless.

Don't get me wrong: Earning money with your art is great and if artists do commissions or offer books or merch they absolutely should get paid properly! Work deserves a proper payment. Period.

If people are interested in a print version of my manga, for example, I'll try to make this possible and of course these books won't be for free since print and shipment costs money. Money is not unimportant. Everyone needs to pay their bills, and this is true for every artist, too. But what I mean is, money is not what makes drawing worthwhile for me in the first place. I work on my manga project because I want to bring my ideas to life. This is what fulfills me.

As long as you enjoy what you do it's never a waste of time or energy. Maybe that's hard to believe for some people but you really can enjoy drawing at any skill level and without having great success.

I know it's hard nowadays, but please don't put too much pressure on yourself. Give yourself time to grow as an artist and do what feels right to you.

#artists on tumblr #artist #art tips #art advice #art motivation

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ratwithkeyboard · 1 year

Text

THIS FIC HAS BEEN EDITED AND POSTED ON MY AO3!

In Memoriam

a Utah gas station crimeboys fic that I thought up late 2022, finally done (I'm free)

I swear this thing was a beast to write. I think it's a bit cursed. I think it cursed me.

8,577 words

If you look up the word ‘nobody’ in the dictionary, all you’ll find is a picture of Wilbur Soot.

For the latter part of his life, ten long years, he’s worked at a gas station in the middle-of-nowhere, Utah. He lives in a rusted old van, one which has been illegally parked behind the station for years now. Besides work, all he does is play Dungeons and Dragons- though he’d never admit to it- and write depressing love songs for the red-haired woman who works at the library (never mind the fact he doesn’t have a library card and doesn’t plan on getting one anytime soon.)

He’s not particularly notable. He has no major achievements to be celebrated for, and his legacy will be less than his current worth. All of these facts, he’s come to terms with. He’ll leave behind nothing but bones, barely a memory of who he once was, left to rot in the desert heat for all eternity. As is the course of life.

Well, that’s maybe putting it a little too… harshly. Nonetheless, Wilbur doesn’t have much to be proud of in his life.

He used to be convinced he’d be one of the greats. He’d have his own fans, one day, and he’d inspire millions to follow in his footsteps. He’d be remembered. He’d be important. For what? He didn’t know. He’d just have to find out on his way there.

That’s why he left home in the first place.

The most monumental thing that Wilbur has ever done in his life is leave home. He had only been eighteen years old at the time, freshly out of high school and longing for fame and fortune. He had wished for nothing more than to leave behind the life he had, stifled and boring and repetitive, meaningless and insignificant as any teenager believes their life to be. With no real destination in mind, he’d packed his things in the van and driven off into the horizon, no looking back.

God, how stupid he’d been.

He doesn’t really regret leaving, even if he doesn’t agree with his original reasons for doing so. He was stupid back then, reckless and selfish, but a part of him was still right. A part of him still refuses to call home and reassure his family he’s okay, refuses to settle down and live the life he’s expected to. A part of him is still reckless and selfish, even if he won’t admit it. A part of him wonders if it’d even be worth it to call back and explain how he ended up here, insignificant and alone in the desert.

In movies, when the main character runs away to make a life for themself, they always succeed in finding that fame. The protagonist with wide eyes and big dreams waves their small town goodbye and drives off to achieve something much bigger- and they always achieve it by the end. It’s every classic success story: the small-town kid moves to the big city and becomes a self-made star.

Wilbur is not one of these protagonists. When he left home, setting his sights on the great unknown, he hadn’t been given some big opportunity. Instead, he’d been left with a barely-earned high school diploma, a week’s worth of clothes, and whatever pocket money he’d managed to gather over the past month.

When he’d finally stopped driving, he’d ended up in a town with a population barely in the triple digits. A town where nothing ever happens, the last place you’d want to be stuck in. This was no Hollywood or New York City, not even close.

This was Rapids, Utah- ironically named considering the town’s lack of rapids. Or rivers. Or running water in general.

He wouldn’t call this town his home. Not exactly. The word ‘home’ always implies a certain set of characteristics that just aren’t present here. Home is a place you’d want to return to. A place that’s warm and welcoming. Somewhere that’s just as important to you as your loved ones.

They say home is where the heart is, but Wilbur’s heart is stuck stubborn in his chest, unwilling to claim a place for itself.

No, this place is certainly not home to Wilbur; however, it’s as close as a place can get to it. Maybe if he’d grown up here, or moved here under better circumstances, he could find a home here.

Then again, he’s never had the best luck with finding a place to call home.

He supposes he could find a home in star-filled skies, pinpricks of light brighter than he’s ever seen, and in this community, enthusiastic as one so small can be, and in the way everything feels so much smaller out here, a part of a greater universe.

After years of drowning in crushing expectations to be so much more than he is, it’s oddly comforting to Wilbur to feel so small. Out here, his mistakes don’t matter. He can be himself with no consequences. Just one miniscule part of an incomprehensible world.

He’s not famous, but over the years, he’s to come to terms with his insignificance. (will he ever stop being so dramatic? The world may never know.)

Upon arriving (or, well, running out of gas) in Rapids, he’d gotten a job at the first place that would take him. The Manberg gas station was old and run-down as all hell, the kind of place you’d bypass even if your car was running on fumes. The manager, Eret, who was Wilbur’s age and still somehow the manager, graciously gave him the job despite his complete lack of experience. He took the offensively neon orange jacket with a twisted sense of pride, a symbolic middle finger to the people who’d told him he’d never leave his hometown.

Did I mention he was a little reckless back then?

Over time, he’d fallen into a routine. He’d take the night shift alone unless Eret or Fundy had already taken it, because nobody shows up at night and he can sleep as much as he wants. Eventually, they both just let him have it.

During the day, he would write or sing. If he was out of words for the day, he would wander around town aimlessly. Usually he would end up passing out in the van dehydrated and tired. On Wednesdays, he went to the library to play D&D. Truly living his best life.

He owes a lot to this job, namely a place to park and free sometimes-decent wifi. Oh, also money. Not much, but still, it’s money. So he won’t afford it the title of home, but he’s gotten used to it. The orange jacket, and the flickering fluorescent lights, and the annoying little bell above the door are all familiar now.

On this night, Wilbur’s daydreaming is broken by the sound of said bell. It’s not exactly quiet enough to tune out but not loud enough to properly alert him as the door opens. He has to scramble to appear awake.

They don’t get many people coming inside to buy things, even during the day. Usually, customers just get their gas and speed away. This is certainly a surprise, especially at this hour.

The customer is hidden behind a shelf before Wilbur can get a full look at them, but he does notice a shock of blond hair sticking out from behind the gray wall. He wonders if they’re alone, or if someone’s waiting in their car outside; If they’re on their way somewhere or if they’re headed home. He wonders why they’re driving through here at- he checks his phone- 1:05 at night, if they know the closest place to stay for the night isn’t for another two hours’ drive.

The questions are never ending for Wilbur. It’s easy to wonder who a person is when they stop by. Why here? Why now?

When the customer finally approaches the counter, arms full of energy drinks that even Wilbur wouldn’t touch for fear of having a heart attack, Wilbur has to hide his surprise. The man looks dead on his feet, eye bags more pronounced than Wilbur’s, and he can’t be more than eighteen years old.

The customer fixes Wilbur with a grimace, eyes squinted under the harsh light, and clears his throat. He seems exhausted and nervous. Wilbur can’t blame him.

He speaks in a hushed voice as Wilbur rings up the pile of snacks, “D’you know if there’s anywhere around here where I can park for the night?” He pauses, laughing to himself. “I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself lost.”

On one hand, no, legally there’s only one or two places in town he can park overnight, and they’re far too shady for Wilbur to recommend in good conscience. On the other hand, Wilbur has been parked in the small employee parking lot behind the gas station for nearly two years now, and there’s always a few open spots back there.

Eret would like this, he tells himself, They’d say I’m doing a good thing, as he shows the customer around to the back parking lot, plastic bag of junk food in hand. His car has clearly seen better days, and the back two seats have been converted into a makeshift bed that cannot be good for his back. Wilbur hopes he can sleep well out here.

“You’re not going to, like, stab me in my sleep, right?” he asks, and Wilbur blames how late it is for his delirious little laugh. “This is no laughing matter-” he squints at Wilbur’s name tag, “Wil-bur. Is your last name really Soot?”

Choosing to not hear the last bit, Wilbur responds, “I’ll have you know, I would never kill a paying customer. I don’t think my manager would appreciate blood stains on her nice clean parking lot. Now, if you stole anything, that’s a completely different story.” He laughs a bit, pretending not to notice the can of coke shoved into the customer’s pocket. It’d be hypocritical of him to get on this kid for stealing, and the little Eret in his head tells him it’s only three dollars lost.

Maybe the voice of his boss in his head isn’t actually representative of Eret themself. Oh well.

“Appreciate it, big man, seriously.” he salutes to Wilbur, pulling his car into one of the empty spots and cracking open the first of many energy drinks. Wilbur salutes back, and returns to his post, intent on sleeping the rest of the night away.

In terms of interesting events, this is the first one Wilbur’s had all month, and he honestly doesn’t mind it all too much.

When Wilbur wakes up to the sound of the door bell jingling once again, he’s surprised. He can’t have been asleep for too long, feels like he just rested his head on his arms a few minutes ago, and it’s still dark outside. It’s rare to have one customer come in at this time, but two? In one night?

In his half-asleep haze, he brushes the dust off his jacket, subtly checking his reflection in the cash register and deeming it acceptable enough.

Looking up, he finds himself face-to-face with a bright orange jacket not much different than his own. Only, this one has a little fox patch sewn on. Wilbur knows that the patch is covering a mysterious stain, a stain that he may or may not have caused, and his brain slowly puts the pieces together. His eyes meet his coworker’s, confused.

“Fundy! You’re a bit early,” Wilbur exclaims, jolting up. He brushes the sleep from his eyes in a sad attempt to look professional, “I wasn’t expecting your for at least a few hours,”

Fundy looks unimpressed. “It’s nearly seven in the morning, Will,” he sighs, “your shift ended half an hour ago,”

Wilbur feels the early-morning headache start to set in alongside Fundy’s words. How did he let the time slip away from him so easily?

“There’s a weird ass car parked out back, by the way. I’d be careful if I were you,” Fundy continues, and Wilbur pretends he’s listening to his coworker, “Thanks for covering for me, by the way. Sorry I was late, you know how it is…”

Wilbur is already on his way out the door, giving a quick wave to Fundy and grabbing his things. The sun is just about to break the horizon when he steps out. The stranger’s car is still parked, crooked as fuck in the light, in the never-used employee parking spot by the dumpster. Its owner sleeps in the back, spine contorted in the most painful shape imaginable.

Wilbur finds a spot on the concrete and sits. And waits.

The sunrises, like everything out here, are more beautiful than any sunrise back home. There are no buildings blocking his view, only small hills and distant landforms. The air isn’t as polluted as it was back then either.

The sky is painted a rainbow of brilliant color, vibrant warm tones that fill his lungs and urge him to watch on. It all shifts minutely as the seconds go by, and eventually the sun breaches the line on the horizon. Wilbur sits cross-legged on the curb of the sidewalk; the rough concrete beneath his fingers contrasts the smooth sky beautifully, one just within reach while the other remains unattainable.

He doesn’t notice that someone has joined him until he hears the sound of him breathing in the early-morning silence, whispering a quiet “woah,” as the sun rises to claim its home among the clouds.

The stranger- Wilbur refuses to keep calling him “the customer”, it feels a bit too impersonal at this point- looks significantly less tired than the night before. That’s good, he thinks. The bags under his eyes are still there, sure, but he looks alive this morning. He’s sitting cross-legged on the curb, eyes following the clouds as they cross the sky.

“Surprised to see you’re still here,” Wilbur breaks the silence, “figured you’d’ve left earlier,”

The stranger just shrugs, “Didn’t feel like driving anymore. It’s not like I’ve got somewhere to be…” he trails off, eyes unfocused for a second, before shaking his head and turning to face Wilbur, “Name’s Tommy, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” says Wilbur, “So, what brings you to Rapids? I can’t imagine this place has any good advertising,”

“Oh, you know, things,” Tommy stumbles, looking for words, “I um- I just sort of- ended up here, really,” And Wilbur understands, knows so well the feeling of stopping in this barely-a-town after driving for so long and deciding this is it, this is where he’ll be. He may know nothing about Tommy’s situation, but he knows someone like him when he sees them.

He saw it in Fundy when they had first met. He’d been born in Rapids, but he’d left the second he could, only to find himself back in the place he started. He sees it in Eret, the blind artist who never quite made it big and was left here, the place where dreams go to fade out slowly, not quite dead but close enough.

He sees it now, in Tommy, who is clearly trying to either find something or get away from something, or both (Wilbur hopes upon hope that it’s not both, not for Tommy's sake).

So, being the kind, loving soul that Wilbur is, he holds out a hand to pull Tommy up. “You wanna get a tour of town? I’m basically an expert on this place,”

“Sure,”

By the time Wilbur’s shift is meant to start, he’s half an hour deep into an impassioned rant about anteaters.

“You don’t understand, Tommy, they’re evil. Look at them!” he points to the picture on his phone, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that this is a trustworthy creature, Tommy. Tell me that this is one of God’s great creations,”

Tommy is leaning heavily against the grimy counter of the Manberg gas station, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he cackles. His laugh is loud and distinctive, something that Wilbur would take note of if not for his current anteater-fed haze of anger.

After their tour- which was basically just two or three hours of Wilbur slandering the town and another few hours of pointing out useless information- They’d headed back to the gas station to bother Fundy, who had left as soon as he could. Wilbur can’t imagine why his coworker hadn’t been a fan of his and Tommy’s conversation.

Maybe it was the furry jokes, or the- well, maybe Fundy actually did have a good reason to leave early. Yeah.

Needless to say, Wilbur had a productive day.

Tommy walks out to his car just after the sky goes dark (Wilbur had made sure Tommy stayed to witness the sunset- “you can’t see the sun rise in the morning without watching it fall at night,”- and Tommy has to admit watching the sun shrink below the horizon was just as breathtaking as watching it emerge). Wilbur says goodbye, and prepares himself for another boring night.

Maybe tomorrow, he’ll do something notable.

Tommy had lied when he first left home. He’d lied, and never had the chance to confess the truth. He still feels guilty about it.

Let’s go back to the beginning, shall we?

Tommy Innit, aged eighteen, had never wanted to stay at home. So many of his peers had been planning on staying local- for what reason they would want this, he’d never know- and everyone just assumed he would decide the same. They assumed a lot about him, actually, most of which couldn’t be further from the truth. Privately, he’d always planned on moving out the second he graduated. He didn’t hate his hometown, just, well…

He wanted something else. Something far away from there, something new. He wished for adventure, a break from the status quo. That was all, really. He didn’t want fame or fortune, hell, he just wanted something else.

Tommy never considered himself the type to run away. He still doesn’t. Running away is something criminals do. The kid who gets bullied in school, and who graduates in the top ten percent of his class, doesn’t just up and leave.

Yet here he is, lost and alone in Rapids, Utah.

It was easy for him to leave home. Nothing ever really tied him to that place. He had some friends, a favorite record shop, and some less-than-perfect memories there, and not much else. He tells himself that’s why he should be fine with running away, and squashes down the guilt.

He’d promised to return when he left. Said he’d be back in a few months, he was just out on a trip. To figure out life, or some bullshit he'd made up on the spot. His parents are probably still expecting him. He wonders when they’ll stop. If they’ll ever stop. It has been too long, just over a year, and surely now they’ve noticed he’s not coming back.

He should go back- No, he’s never going back- oh but he really should.

They wouldn’t find him if they tried. He’s made sure to leave no trail, no evidence of where he’s been. He’s blocked almost everyone he knows on social media, save for the few friends who helped him pack his things all that time ago, who’ve always stood up for him and deserve to know if he’s doing better. Nobody would ever find him in the middle of the Utah desert if he didn’t want them to, that’s for sure.

It’s not like he’s in any danger out here. Rapids is a good place to stay. They’ve got a nice library and a few restaurants and all the little quirks of a nowhere-town that Tommy’s come to expect. Rapids has a run-down Manberg gas station with plenty of space in the back for him to park, and that’s all he can ask for right now.

It’s not awful here, not by a long shot. Tommy likes it here, even. He likes spending time with Wilbur and watching the sun rise and fall. He likes making fun of Fundy, enjoys meeting the people of this town. He’s had more fun in these past few weeks than the last several months he spent back home (and all of the time he spent traveling, but that’s not important).

But the guilt is still there. It festers, rotten and wrong, and this must be what it feels like to be a criminal running from home. To like something- he won’t say he loves it, can’t bring himself to quite yet- but to be unable to enjoy it.

His car’s check-engine light is on.

Wilbur doesn’t seem too worried about it, and that almost reassures Tommy. If Wilbur knew shit about cars, he thinks he’d feel a bit better, but the man knows admittedly very little despite the amount of time he spends in and around them. Tommy should be fine, though. It’s not like he’s going out on joy rides or anything. The car, Henry, is old, a gift from his aunt that was ancient when she’d bought it, but it’s his. This car is his home, he wouldn’t be reckless with her.

His real home is miles away. He’s never returning to his home. Is it even his home anymore? Was it ever? Henry is warm and reliable, that’s gotta count for something.

Eret offers him a job today. An opportunity. He doesn’t decline for once. The sun rises silently above the horizon like always, and falls back down just as gently, right on schedule, another day passed. It’s still breathtaking to watch. Between sunrise and sunset, there are flickering fluorescents and too many empty coke cans and casual banter with the people he’s beginning to think of as friends. There’s a love song today, sappy as fuck and written for the giggly red-haired woman with the cool tattoos. Tommy orders waffles for dinner and goes to work the night shift with Wilbur.

And the guilt, angry and infected, leaves a sick taste in his mouth. He drowns it out with another diet coke, sticky sugar a much more welcome evil than the bitter that coats his tongue. Fundy’s on about some weird guys that came in earlier, and by the time the man is gone, the moon sits high above them and Wilbur’s dozing off.

Wilbur sleeps nearly all night, but Tommy hasn’t gotten a full night of sleep since he was sixteen, so he spends the time with glazed-over eyes lost in thought. His imagination is vivid, though not always bright, and tonight he thinks long and hard about the merits of becoming a moth under the eye-burning lights of the station.

If I was a moth, he’d be named Clementine, he thinks, and he’d never fall for those stupid lamps. The other moths would burn up and he’d be all fine looking up to the stars and knowing they’re unreachable. And not trying. He wouldn’t leave, never, and he wouldn’t be happy but at least his longing would eat him alive before a hot lamp could get to me-

The door bell rings, and Fundy walks in, ready to start his own shift again. Tommy hides his jacket in the back, shakes Wilbur up, and heads out to watch the sun rise. The moon tonight will be full.

He’s been here in Utah for a month now. The thought sinks in as Wilbur rambles beside him about something; Tommy can’t be bothered to listen right now. He’s been here for a month, gotten himself a job and everything. His mother would be thrilled.

His mother would kill him. Maybe. Who knows?

He’s been here a month, yet his mind still won’t let him call this place home. Some cruel part of his brain still insists that home is back there, boring and stifling and oppressive, and not here, where the sun moves across crystal-clear sky and desert stretches out for ages and he feels free.

“-and obviously, that’s the worst take I’ve ever heard, so I… Tommy? Are you there?” Wilbur stops his impassioned rant, noticing Tommy’s vacant stare. He snaps out of his thoughts, choosing to ignore the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach for now. There are more important things, like blinking fatigue out of his eyes and responding.

“I’m here, big man.”

“Alright,” Wilbur begins again, “Well, as I was saying: I couldn’t just let this pass, right? This guy was so obviously wrong…”

Tommy doesn’t have many friends in Rapids. He has Fundy, maybe, and he supposes Eret cares for him enough to offer him his job, and the librarian is nice, as is the pink-haired waitress who already knows his order by heart. But none of these people are really his friends, the same as Freddie and Eryn and Tubbo were back home.

That leaves Wilbur.

Wilbur is his coworker. He’s the first person Tommy met when he arrived here. Wilbur, despite barely having room enough for one person, invites him over to listen to music; he lets Tommy steal from the store because he’d do the same; he agrees to Tommy’s stupid plans before thinking. Tommy would like to consider them friends. Wilbur’s the closest thing he has to family out here.

He’d said just that, three weeks into his stay, when Wilbur had come up with the bright idea to vandalize the Manberg sign. “L’Manberg is a symbol,” he’d said, “of freedom and brotherhood between gas station workers.” And the spray paint was stolen, for sure, but who is Tommy to say anything? He’s a L’manbergian, after all.

“We are a bit like brothers, you and I,” Tommy had responded, jokingly.

“Don’t say that, I’ll cry”

Tommy stomped out Wilbur’s cigarette and Wilbur hid Tommy’s stash of energy drinks. They’d painted the L’manberg sign over a few times for good measure and stargazed from the roof when they finished. Tommy called out into the desert until his voice went, and Wilbur laughed at him until his went as well.

Tommy will never say it, but Wilbur really is the brother he’d never had. The annoying, asshole, prick of an older brother who shows him all the shortcuts and secrets of Rapids, Utah, and makes him listen to his shit love songs. Tommy wouldn’t trade that for the world.

This place isn’t home, the back of his brain says, but Wilbur does a good job of pretending it is.

Tommy can’t help but wish that he could do the same. Act like he belongs here, that is. If it weren’t for the guilt, he thinks he would have started weeks ago. He and Wilbur are like brothers, after all.

There is one thing tying Wilbur to this place that Tommy lacks. Wilbur has friends here. As in, more than one friend. Friends plural. He has a D&D group (a confession Tommy had practically pried from Wilbur’s grasp), knows everyone who works at the library (They have free computers, Tommy!), and has made a name for himself in town for his music (It’s not like I’m a celebrity, I’ve only played in town a few times). Regardless of what the man says, he has cemented his place in this town.

Tommy only knows five or six people here, and only three by name. Wilbur goes on and on about Ranboo and Charlie, as if those names have any significance to Tommy.

It’s a week or so after the founding of L’manberg when he first actually meets Ranboo. Wilbur had been telling him about them for a few days by now, and Tommy had been ignoring the odd pang of jealousy in favor of listening to Wilbur describe their last D&D campaign. He always figured he’d never really meet the guy, that they’d forever be one of those mythical friends-of-friends that you hear all about and never actually meet.

He had been wrong about that, to say the least.

See, Wilbur has been trying for ages to get a date with the red-haired librarian. His scores of love songs, Tommy has learned, are almost always about her. He leaves her notes folded into little flowers and recites poetry to her, and yet he’s just now decided to ask her out for real. It’s kind of sad. No, it’s very sad.

Regardless, Wilbur finally manages to ask her out, and against all odds, she agrees to a date. Wilbur thinks it’s a good idea to talk Tommy’s ear off all day about said date, and only after oversharing to the nth degree does he think to tell Tommy that he’ll be working alone at the station tonight. Needless to say, Tommy’s a bit pissed. Happy for Wilbur, but still pissed that he’s alone. He hopes Sophie- Sadie? Sammy? Who knows- is enjoying the sunset with Wilbur.

He doesn’t hate her, just the situation. He would never disrespect women, but he would disrespect Wilbur without a second thought. He reminds himself of this again for the fifteenth time tonight.

For maybe the third time since Tommy’s started working here, the doorbell chimes. He quickly shakes away his thoughts and stands up straighter, attempting in vain to scrub the scowl off of his face.

The door creaks, and in steps one of the oddest guys Tommy’s ever seen. They’re incredibly tall and a bit on the lanky side, and they cast a long-ass shadow across the dull floor. Tommy really should clean that some time.

They’ve got a facemask and sunglasses covering their face, and if it weren’t for their garish Hawaiian shirt and dangly, clinking Hatsune Miku earrings, Tommy would call it suspicious. Instead, he just hopes they buy their shit and leave so he can get back to his vivid daydreams.

As if the universe personally hates him- and he’s starting to suspect it does- they don’t just get their shit and leave. In fact, they make a beeline straight for Tommy. It’s weirdly both threatening and not.

And then they speak.

“Do you know where Wilbur is?” They slam their hands down on the counter, immediately pulling them back with a look of pain crossing their face. As they shake out their wrists, they continue to question Tommy, “Wilbur Soot? He owes me. He said he’d be here tonight.”

“Why would I tell you?” Tommy clears his throat, composing himself, “Who the fuck even are you?” He's met his fair share of weird strangers here in Utah, but this one is a specific brand of weird. Tommy wonders how they know Wilbur, if they really do.

The stranger sighs, pushing their glasses up to their forehead to properly meet Tommy’s eyes. Their stare is cold, but it looks directed more toward Wilbur and not the man they’re staring at. “I’m Ranboo. Ranboo Beloved.” Tommy remembers now, Wilbur telling him about his friends. He’s pretty sure this is one of them. “..and it looks like Wilbur lied to me about working tonight. Again. He’s owed me twenty bucks for a month and he still hasn’t repaid a cent,”

“Yeah, that sounds like Wilbur,” Tommy sighs, “He didn’t lie this time, though. He was supposed to work tonight, but he bailed on me. If you must know, he’s out on a date with that librarian…Sarah?”

“Sally? Finally?” Ranboo seems shocked, but Tommy can’t tell if they’re more shocked that Wilbur finally had the courage to ask her out or that she actually said yes. He doesn’t know which is sadder. He does know that he’ll be bullying Wilbur about this as soon as he comes back.

“Yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about it. All day, ‘oh Tommy, she’s so beautiful. She’s like the sun, but also the moon, and the stars as well! And she’s the best and I love her so much! Look at me, I’m Wilbur and I fuck fish, meh meh meh meh’ shut up, we get it!”

“That definitely sounds like Wilbur,” Ranboo says, mischief in their eyes, a plan clearly forming, “Do you want to help me get back at him?”

“Fuck yeah, dude!” Tommy’s a little too ready to drop his work to mess with his friend. So what if he doesn’t care about his job? Malicious intent comes first, work comes second. That’s a new law, he decides, in the L’manberg constitution. Mischief before Work.

Wilbur’s gonna love that one, he thinks, but only after they prank him.

Tommy has only met Ranboo tonight, but as the two of them run over their devious schemes, he can’t help but feel as though this is the start of a great friendship. And maybe, just maybe, the part of his brain telling him he doesn’t belong here quiets, content in this moment to consider it is wrong.

Tommy also decides, here and now, that he’ll be stealing all of Wilbur’s friends. It’s what a brother would do, isn’t it?

A week later, Tommy stands at the edge of town, his phone telling him it’s five past midnight. To his right is Ranboo, carrying a backpack that must weigh fifty pounds. To his left is Charlie, who insists that he’s a perfectly capable ghost hunter. In terms of first impressions, Charlie’s had sure been unique.

Wilbur had denied to come, saying that this whole plan was stupid, which leaves Tommy out in the desert with two near-strangers.

And they’re going to catch a ghost.

The little shack that sits in the distance is their target for tonight. There have been rumors of paranormal activity there, or so says Charlie, and tonight the rumors would be proven. True or false, they would at least be getting some fuel for the town rumors, though Charlie is dead set on actually hunting this ghost.

In all honesty, neither Tommy nor Ranboo know much about ghost hunting. Ranboo’s always been more into cryptids and conspiracies rather than the paranormal, and Tommy never pays much attention to anything like this.

Despite his lack of knowledge on the subject, Tommy doesn’t feel out of place on this haunting journey. The sun is below them, the moon lighting their way, and the presence of his car keys in his hand grounds him. These two friends-of-Wilbur act as if he’s always been a part of their little group, and he finds it easy to join in on their jokes and bits.

It has never been easier to pretend he belongs here.

The three of them approach the decrepit, decaying structure with the most caution, as if the building itself is a monster. With shaking hands, Ranboo pulls out a flashlight and hands it to Charlie, who steps up to the door. Neither dares speak louder than a whisper. Charlie reaches slowly for the rusted doorknob, settling his fingers hesitantly on the metal. They all collectively breathe.

It’s calm for a moment. The stars above blaze like an unseen warning, but it’s calm. Then-

Thud!

The three ghost hunters jump at the sound. It echoes for a moment, reverberating and sending chills down Tommy’s spine. There is a heavy shuffling inside. Faint light that they hadn’t noticed before shines out from under the door. It flickers for a second, almost like a dying candle, then dies out completely. More shuffling, scratching at the boarded windows.

Without so much as a warning, a woman’s loud scream echoes from inside. The old, damp wood of the shack does little to muffle the shriek of agony. A few more loud bangs follow, increasing in intensity, and then…

silence

The door’s hinges creak with decades of weathering and age as it is opened from the inside, but the three ghost hunters are gone before they can see who- or what- is standing behind it. They pile in Tommy’s car, barely bothering with seatbelts. Tommy’s never driven faster in his life as he speeds back into town.

Wilbur and Sally laugh from where they stand in the shack’s doorway. The looks on Ranboo and Tommy’s faces more than make up for the chaos the two had caused on their date. Sally laments the cobwebs in her hair and Wilbur inhales a bit too much dust from laughing as they watch headlights grow dimmer in the distance. Overall, their plan was a success.

Back at the station, safe under the harsh lights, three amateur ghost hunters- Charlie has managed to get both Tommy and Ranboo on his side by now- chat excitedly about the potential of actual ghosts in Rapids. They’ll have to tell Wilbur about all he’d missed tonight when they see him again. Tommy barely registers his brother’s absence, not all that bothered by it like he thought he’d be.

He also barely registers the fact that he sees Wilbur as a brother now, not just a friend. That’ll be a breakdown for another day.

This feels like home. It feels like he belongs here. Hanging out with his brother’s friends on a Wednesday night, talking about ghosts, saluting to the already fading L’manberg sign, this is where he belongs. The clawing guilt subsides for now, leaving just enough room to breathe. It’ll be back, he knows, but pretending it won’t is a whole lot easier when he can just focus on the rapidly rising sun.

Tommy finds he’s starting to regret his lie less and less.

- Autumn passes faster than it has any right to, and soon the air grows a new, bitter cold. The holidays are around the corner and the days themselves are much shorter than they ought to be. Winter arrives quickly and harshly, consuming the last dregs of summertime warmth with a furious passion.

The roads coming in and out of Rapids, Utah are icy.

The good part is that, because the roads are shit, the customer base of the Manberg station is culled down to just the regulars and the locals. There are no more demanding Karens or suspicious old men to deal with, especially during the night shift. The only people who are willing to stop in right now are friends and the occasional frazzled Rapids resident (Though that’s rare even in normal weather).

Noticing this shift, Wilbur begins to play his own music on the store's tinny speakers, and every once in a while someone else will pitch in with a song recommendation. It becomes a community effort, curating the perfect gas station playlist.

Tommy helpfully names their playlist ‘Hell music’, a fitting title to say the least. Eret and Fundy even go along with the change in music, if only so they don’t have to listen to the same five Christmas songs on loop during the day. God bless Mariah Carey, but everyone already knows what she wants for Christmas, they don’t need to be told again.

The week of Christmas itself leaves Wilbur and Tommy alone. Sally’s out visiting family, Ranboo and Charlie as well, and even Eret and Fundy have taken a break from Rapids for the week. The town is even emptier than normal, seemingly everyone choosing to either stay bundled up at home or leaving the second they could. Wilbur and Tommy tell the others that they can handle the station fine, it’s not like they need all four employees.

They close the shop for ‘maintenance’ for the week and don’t mention it.

They agree to not do a gift exchange, seeing as neither of them really celebrate the holiday and it’s on quite short notice. Despite this easy decision, Tommy buys Wilbur a tamagotchi, and Wilbur buys Tommy a polaroid camera. They both pretend to not notice when the other hides the gift in their car, waiting to be unwrapped.

Tommy tapes his new polaroids up on his dashboard and sneaks one into Wilbur’s pocket the next day in lieu of thanking him. Wilbur just stands there studying his new toy like it’s a piece of great, revolutionary technology, then gives a quick nod to Tommy later on in the day. The two of them have the communication skills of a rock (just one, not two), but they hope they get the point across that they’re thankful.

It’s Tommy’s first Christmas away from home, but it’s far from Wilbur’s first, so he elects- out of the kindness of his heart- to invite Tommy to join in on his holiday traditions. Tommy’s all too eager to accept his invitation, confessing he never enjoyed any of his family’s old traditions, and he’s excited to take part in Wilbur’s this year.

That’s not the whole truth, obviously. His thoughts surrounding the holidays are complex and overwhelmingly negative, but Wilbur doesn’t need to hear about all of that.

They go get breakfast at nine p.m. in the corner booth at Niki’s diner. Next is running around town until the sun goes down, dipping in and out of shops, and eventually Tommy finds a trail of animal tracks that they follow until they stop abruptly. And then, the grand finale: they set off fireworks until midnight. With that done, they retire to the roof of the station to stargaze and get a well-deserved calm moment. Another successful holiday celebration in Wilbur’s book, with polaroids to commemorate it all this time.

Under the light of the moon, Tommy nearly forgets that this isn’t normal for him, this isn’t the lackluster Christmas with his parents he’s meant to be having. He puts out another of Wilbur’s cigarettes- dude, seriously, stop, you’re going to kill yourself one of these days- and lays back atop the roof, content to live in this moment forever.

Unfortunately- or maybe fortunately, he can’t decide- the moment can’t just keep going for eternity. It seems, in his exhausted state, that Wilbur feels the need to ruin the tranquil peace they’ve found themselves up here.

“Tommy-” Wilbur clears his throat, a sad little cough, and fiddles with his hands in his lap, “Do you ever… regret it?”

Tommy gives Wilbur a confused look, sitting up on his forearms to look him in the eyes. “What?” The concern in his voice is evident, as is his lack of understanding. Wilbur sighs.

“Do you ever regret this?” he begins again, spreading his arms wide as if the whole town were laid out in front of him, “All of this. Running off, moving here, staying here. Don’t you ever feel like you could be doing more? Like your life could be so much more? Do you ever-” He pauses, collecting his thoughts, “Do you ever get the sense that it would’ve been better if you’d stayed and listened to them about who you could be?”

The question hangs in the air, going stale as soon as it leaves Wilbur’s lips. It’s immediately clear this is more about him than Tommy.

This stops Tommy for a second, thinking. “Will, do you regret it?”

Silence falls over them, not quite comfortable like before but not the suffocating quiet of before. Wilbur takes a deep breath, cool air filling his lungs and shocking his brain. His answer is hesitant and soft, almost an admission to himself rather than to Tommy. “No, not at all. My only regret is how long it took me to realize that. To realize that I don’t regret it. Maybe I would’ve been better off staying at home, but that’s in the past now…” he turns back to Tommy, “But I'd like to think I know you. And I know you feel bad about leaving home.”

And Tommy desperately wants to say yes, he does. Wilbur almost gets it. He almost understands how hard it is for Tommy to feel at home out here despite how welcoming and right everything has been so far. How the boundless sands of the Utah desert feel more freeing and comforting than home ever did, but his brain still won’t admit that this is home.

But Wilbur doesn’t understand. He can’t fully understand. That’s the one difference between the two of them; Wilbur had come here in search of something new, but Tommy had come here as an escape. Wilbur had been looking for notoriety and fame. Tommy had only been looking to get away. It took Wilbur living in rapids for months to settle for mediocrity; Tommy thinks he would settle for less than that in half the time.

While Wilbur has had to deal with the letdown of not getting all he’d set out for, Tommy has to deal with the crushing revelation that this is what he’d left for. He knows it’s beautiful out here, but he still can’t reconcile that fact with the guilt he feels for leaving.

I don’t think I deserve even this, he realizes, but Wilbur thinks I deserve more.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“I don’t… I don’t think I want to regret it either,” He says finally, “I don’t want to go home-” He stops, shudders, “I don’t want to go back there, I want to stay, I just- I don’t feel like I’m meant to be here,”

“I used to think that too,” Wilbur begins, “Used to believe that I was destined for much greater. But I’m still here even after all that. I don’t doubt you could find yourself something better, though-”

“You don’t get it! I don’t think I deserve more, hell, I barely deserve what I’ve got,” Tommy interrupts frustratedly, “If I could just stop feeling guilty about leaving that fuckin’- fucking prison, then I would be fine out here!”

His outburst gets the both of them to shut up for a bit. The moon inches minutely across a star-filled sky.

For as much as Tommy’s paid attention to the sunlit blue of the day, he’s never really given mind to its night-time counterpart. There’s so many stars out here, each forming constellations he’s never really learned about but he’s sure Tubbo could tell him all about. He can’t see stars like this back home. He focuses on the pinpricks of light above and breathes like Wilbur had shown him. He tries to bite back the sting of forming, frustrated tears. He finds he cannot collect his thoughts very well, the idea of gaining composure utterly impossible, so he just silently wipes his eyes.

“The first night I spent here, I was so awestruck by the stars that I forgot to sleep. That’s actually how I learned that the sunrise is as beautiful as it is. I stayed up all night to stargaze and ended up catching the sunrise afterward by accident,” Wilbur speaks, barely a whisper against the vast sky.

“Tommy, that first night, I was a mess. I was absolutely miserable. But seeing what’s out there made me realize that I’m- well, I’m myself. I’m not what everyone told me I am, and I’m not any better than anyone else. Moving into this town has taught me that the relationships I make and the things I do are me, not whatever came before. I can’t imagine feeling guilty about that. Feeling like I don’t deserve that.”

“You get-” Tommy breathes, “you get used to ignoring it,” he laughs, no humor behind it. He can feel himself closing off once again, regretting this whole conversation. Wilbur makes a distressed sound, going to argue, but he is cut off. “I just feel bad about leaving home, that’s all. I can’t see this place as my home when I don’t feel like I belong here,”

“Well, did you belong back where you were before?”

And Tommy has to stop. Because Wilbur, stupid, awful Wilbur, his brother and best friend, has a point. A good one, at that.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, but if it hurts you so much to think that this may be where you belong, you can always call back home,” maybe it’s a bit hypocritical for Wilbur to recommend Tommy calls home, but that’s not important, “It might help to talk to someone from- from before. And then we can go and get another round of Christmas waffles and do whatever you want for the day, whatever makes you feel at home.”

Behind Wilbur’s miniscule, reassuring smile is a new determination, a single-minded focus on making sure Tommy feels like he belongs here. He’ll be damned if Tommy still feels guilty for much longer.

Even if Wilbur is nobody to the world, he thinks it’s enough to be somebody to Tommy. And if that means letting the kid drag him around to every shop in town until they both pass out, that’s a price he’s willing to pay.

Maybe they are like brothers. Sue him for caring.

That morning, Tommy calls Tubbo. He sets his camera toward the horizon and shares the sunrise with his friend from back before (That’s new, Tommy thinks, he’s starting to think of it as ‘Before Rapids’ instead of just ‘home’. That’s a step in the right direction, surely). Wilbur chooses to stay off to the side, not wanting to get in the way of this personal moment. He pretends he doesn’t see the tears drying on Tommy’s face as he talks to the phone in his hand.

“I take it that your call went well?” Wilbur asks him as they walk into town. Since this morning, Tommy’s had this lighter look to him, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He still looks a bit off, but it seems like the past several hours have helped.

“He got me a gift, forgot I’m not there anymore, wrapped it up and everything,” Tommy laughs, melancholy, but it’s a start, “Said he’d mail it as soon as he could. Told me that everyone back home misses me, you know, everything you’d expect. He said the sunrise was beautiful…”

“That’s good,” Wilbur can sense there’s more that Tommy wants to say.

“He- um, well- and I feel a bit stupid now, but I uh- I told him about you. About our conversation last night. And well, he and I both know that I’m not great with emotional shit but-” it’s clear he’s struggling, “He told me not to worry about being guilty, and if I like it here I should just call it home already. And then he called me a bitch, and I hung up. I don’t know, I’m just being a dumbass right now, but that- I think that helped. A lot, actually. Hearing it from someone that I left behind- someone who actually cares for me back there. That I can call this place home.”

Wilbur wants to say something, some words of encouragement or reassurance, but he finds himself lost for words. He just smiles, hopeful and kind, and holds open the door to Niki’s diner for Tommy.

He needs to thank this Tubbo guy at some point.

For the first time in a while, Wilbur sits down and eats, and doesn’t think at all about wasted potential or doing something notable or legacy. For the first time in months, Tommy sits down in Rapids free of guilt and ready to make a new home for himself. For the first time, the sun sits low on the horizon, rising as the seconds pass, and two brothers eat together with no worries about belonging or deserving. They’re still not perfect, but they’re here together and that’s all that matters.

There’s nothing inherently special about it, this mundane scene, but to Wilbur and Tommy, this is the world. This is home.

#wilbur soot #tommyinnit #dsmp #the mice are writing

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