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whet-ones-write · 3 years

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Baku Birthday 2021

So I’m posting this a /little/ early because I’m just too excited to share this fic! So I joined in with Bakugou’s Birthday Bash hosted by these amazing people!!

@phasmwrites @katsukikitten @bakugotrashpanda @lady-bakuhoe @jodrawssmut & @ramen-rambles

And since joining I couldn’t have found a more supporting and helpful group on Discord!! Special thanks to: @hoe-doroki for being my beta reader and editor!! Thank you for dealing with my sorry, inconsistant ass and giving me the strength to pull though and just do some of my best writing to date! I haven’t written so much in so long and it was rather nice!!

And to @notchesandbullets for telling me I can do this and be those words of praise when I needed them the most helping me pull though and finish this!

Contains: DragonShifter!Reader x Bakugou. Fantasy Setting,

WC: 3755 - Masterlist to all the works!!

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, oral (Female + M reviecing), Cowgirl, unprotected sex, Cum eating, Premature Ejaluations (if you squint), Age gap? It’s implied Reader is much older than Katsuki. Restraining Katsuki, Pervert Kiri

Looking around his throne, Katsuki couldn’t help but scoff at what came to his mind. He had everything a chief could want, but it still wasn’t enough for the young, barbaric male. Vast and grand was his home. People were happy, going about their day, harvest due and bountiful, the river running steady and clean.

Though, he was still missing a vital element to his life. Someone to make him happy, to have by his side and call his own. So the only thing he had left to need or want was someone to walk into battle with him, because not just any person would.

No, they had to have a few key traits to meet his standards. They needed to have a willingness to fight, to want to protect those around him and themselves with everything they had. They had to be able to take flack and a joke but also be serious when the time came. They had to be able to take no shit from anyone and make sure to be willing to put others in their place if they went out of line.

It wasn’t much! Honestly…Or at least he thought so.

“...ugou, Bakugou!” A voice snapped him from his thoughts as he glanced at his adviser, unhappy over the fact he was interrupted from his thoughts.

“What is it?” Katsuki questioned as he lazily shifted his attention to the man standing at his right side.

“As I was saying, there have been some sightings of strangely coloured dragons in the nearby valleys. We do not know if it is one or more or if they’re passing by or staying. Moreover, they have yet to attack the villages, but it would be wise to at least investigate the surrounding areas before anything happens,” his assistant spoke as he looked for what the King was going to do.

Taking a moment, Katsuki couldn’t help but smile as he got up and began to stretch. “Eijirou, prepare for a flight. It seems there might be someone that needs a reminder of who those valleys belong to.”

Though to the Bakugou family dragons were revered and seen as good omens, there was a limit. Dragons that fought over territory could be destructive and wipe entire lands from existence, so if there was ever more than one in an area it could prove to be a bad omen instead.

One dragon or one family were seen as protecting the lands, keeping invaders at bay and being loyal by nature. Though another one could offset the balance, should they prove to be hungry or hostile. The valleys in which the Bakugous lived were famous for having the longest standing relationship with the red dragons of the Kirishima clan. They had served one another for generations with the latest duo being that of the Barbarian King Katsuki Bakugou, son of the late Chieftess Mitsuki Bakugou, and the dragon that protected the lands, Eijirou Kirishima, son to late Hikori Kirishima.

Standing at seven feet, the mostly human nodded and saluted as he walked with his friend outside. “Yes, sir.” He beamed happily, seemingly excited by the prospect of seeing another dragon. “Though, what are your instructions, should they prove hostile?”

“Hostile?” Katsuki mused, placing a hand to his chin as the other morphed into that of a forty-foot-long dragon from the tip of his nose to the very end of his arrow-pointed tail. Once finished, Kirishima leaned down to lower his wing, letting Katsuki get on by walking up the thin bone of the arch of his wing and holding onto his spines, climbing all the way to behind the red horns that adorned his head. “Should the dragon wish to try and stay, we will start through the diplomatic route.”

That was the thing about Katsuki. For all his bloodlust and anger, he was quite the strategist when it came to monsters several times his size. Having worked with Eijirou for some time, they had built up a bond of trust valuable for when trouble arose.

“Should that fail, we will have to take things up a notch. I would like to avoid a fight if at all possible.” He sighed as he clung to the horn while the other took off. “The valley is full of fish making their way upstream for the breeding season,” he muttered before groaning and slapping his face as he remembered something, getting even more irritated.

“It could be a female dragon,” he groaned, looking down to Eijirou. “With breeding season approaching, it could prove very troublesome,” he grumbled as he lay down to keep low as Eijirou took to the sky.

“Hm,” came a deep rumble from the beast.

A female dragon would be far better than a male should they be able to move it along. It could prove worse in the long run, though, as other males came to try and have their chance, destroying the local landscape fighting over the female.

“Not going to be influenced? I know you’re a young male.” Katsuki snickered as the dragon grunted and shook slightly in a ‘no’. “Don’t worry, whatever happens we’ll sort it,” he offered quietly as he calmed down to focus on the mission at hand.

They took to the base of the mountains and looked for any signs of disturbance. With fear running though the nearest village, it was clear to see that the crops were half unattended and in the middle of being harvested. “I’m going to go take a look at the surrounding areas and talk to the locals. You go on up the mountain and scout that out,” the Chief commanded. With a short huff and a nod, Eijirou turned to slowly and carefully make his way up and around the mountains.

It wasn’t long before Eijirou returned with some news. Meeting in the center of town, the dragon descended slowly and waited for Katsuki to approach before he spoke. “I found a trail of blood from the ground leading up to a cave roughly halfway up the mountain.

Nodding, Katsuki signaled for Eijirou to lower himself so he could climb onto his back. “Sounds about right. The locals saw a figure flying unsteadily across the sky and into the mountain. There was a loud thump before all went silent. It’s more than likely a dragon. It hasn’t done harm to the villagers yet, though, so a slow, quiet and careful approach is needed.”

Coming to the entrance of the cave, Katsuki hopped off Eijirou, immediately noticing the plants had been recently crushed and a splattering of dried blood was leading into the cave. Looking up to Eijirou, he nodded and quietly led the way in. Eijirou used a small breath to light the torch that Katsuki would have to use to see.

It didn’t take them long to find the cause of the blood and crushed plants. Lying in front of them was a bronze dragon just as large as Kirishima, if not bigger, bleeding heavily from it’s hind leg, belly and face.

“Holy shit,” Katsukimuttered as he looked over the sight. He froze as the dragon raised its head. Chuckling, you looked over at Katsuki and Eijirou. “If you have come to kill me, at least make it swift.”

“Tch, don’t lump me with most humans,” Katsuki stated as he approached you, looking over the wounds. A huffing could be heard as he made his way closer, your muscles tense and beady eyes watching his form, ready to attack should harm come. “I’m a Bakugou. We don’t harm your kind.”

“You may not harm but you enslave. I feel sorry for the red scaled one over there. Forced to serve you like their ancestors,” you mumbled, laying your head down and closing your eyes to rest.

Eijirou huffed before he sat down. “I’m not. It’s nice to have lands that we don’t have to fight over and live in harmony with humans,” he protested, watching as Katsuki assessed the wounds. “I am from the Kirishima clan.” He beamed, almost a little too excited to say so. “It’s nice to see another shade of red around here. Normally those of the Shinsou clan are around these areas.” Eijirou started, tilting his head to the side. “So what brings you here?” he mused.

Which was how you explained your side of the story. It wasn’t uncommon for humans to attack those of draconic race because of the first dragons causing havoc and turmoil for humankind. You were a young dragon who still had not found some land to live in. So, you were aimlessly looking around for somewhere to sleep before you were ambushed by a kingdom that had a bad past with dragons, driving you out.

“Well,” Katsuki started as he backed off. “If you revert into your human form, we can take you back and give you medical aid. I’m not about to let a creature like you just die pathetically cold and alone in such a depressing state.”

With that, they watched as your form changed into a bloodstained, corseted, sleeveless dress, wings still visible with a tail barely peeking from beneath your long skirt. Their eyes lingered for a little too long to be completely respectful.

Getting up from where he lay, Eijirou gently enclosed you in his claws, protecting you, letting Katsuki onto his back before taking off back to the kingdom to give you the aid you needed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next thing you knew, you were waking up to some argument going on outside, though you took no heed to it. After all, you would need to at least stay to repay the kindness the human has shown you before taking your leave.

As the flap to the tent opened, you looked up at the figure that came to inspect you in the cot. “How are you feeling?” The one that entered had torn red wings and a thin arrow-headed tail much like that of the dragon you’d seen earlier.

“Much better, thanks.” He watched you as you got up to move around.

“Yeah, my mother is a great healer.” The man beamed proudly before his face dropped for a moment in realisation. “Oh, that’s right! I’m Eijirou Kirishima!” He offered a hand for you to shake as he introduced yourself. “I’m Katsuki’s dragon companion. Speaking of which, when you feel up to it, he wants to see you in the throne room. He’s currently occupied with some business, so why not come later tonight before dinner? He wants to talk to you about some things.”

“Ah I see” You nodded in agreement though still clearly wary of him.

“Yeah, my mom specialises in herbal and magical treatments for dragons. You should be fighting fit by the end of day! So enjoy yourself and have a look around! You’re more than welcome here as long as you don’t kill anyone.” You found yourself chuckling lightly along with him as he waved. “See ya! Rest up well and don’t push yourself too hard!” He beamed as he left.

As Eijirou left you alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but think back to just how trustingly and kindly Katsuki had treated you. Taking your leave from the tent, you looked to the sky to gauge the time of day. Deciding you had at least an hour before the sun would set and you would need to see the Chieftain, you went to see what the town had to offer.

As you walked among the townsfolk, you couldn’t help but notice that dragons and humans walked around one another as if that were a normal thing to do. Had things always been like this? And how had this not spread to other countries? Though be that as it might, you were happy for these people; they seemed to be comfortable and welcoming just like the man who had found you. Perhaps you could stay a little longer than intended…

Still, once the sun started to set you walked back the way you came only to come across a tent larger than most, assuming that was where Katsuki would be wrapping up the day.

You slowly opened the flap as some villagers came out, happily discussing the day’s harvest before you heard. “Come on in, dragon!” Katsuki called as he remained seated on his chair smirking to himself. “Feeling better, I see?” he questioned as he sat up straight. Even like this, you could see and feel the power he irradiated.

“Yes, much, thank you.” Bowing, you smiled before you were told to stand upright. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please just let me know. It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”

The moment those words left your mouth, you had a feeling that you were either going to live to regret it or thank him.

“Speaking of which,” he started as he leaned back and patted his lap. “Please, come here,” he commanded. Once you approached, he leaned forward, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger as if inspecting you. Up close, you could just see how deep ruby red his eyes were as well as how sharp his teeth were. For a human, he had a great set of fangs on him. ‘Shame he’s a human; he would have made a great and fierce dragon,’ you couldn’t help but think before he spoke, bringing you back to reality.

“Yes, you’re perfect,” he muttered, pulling you into his lap forcefully by your waist. “Strong willed, a fighter, and someone I could learn to grow better with,” he stated as he suddenly captured your lips. “You will be my partner,” he stated as his hands wandered low.

Spluttering and blushing, you thrust your arms at his chiseled chest, putting some distance between the two of you. “B-But how do you know? I could kill you! You barely know me,” you protested, though with his power he forced you to fold your arms, leaning in to whisper.

“But you owe me your life. Surely this is nothing and if you don’t feel like you’re the one you’re more than welcome to leave,” he purred.

You knew he was right. This young, powerful man knew that dragons didn’t back down on their word, and so serving him would mean repaying the debt? A small price to pay, truly.

“So why not get on your knees for your Chief and thank me properly?” he offered, leaning back and letting go of you. You watched as the grin on his face was almost ear splitting as you sunk to your knees in front of him. He let his hands wander down his trousers to help you get them off and down to his ankles.

“That’s it,” he praised, reaching out to gently lay his hand on your head. His eyes watched you with keen interest as you slowly took him into your mouth. He wasn’t completely hard and you shifted to get a better angle and grip him in your hands, though he tried to encourage you with soft words. “That’s it, fuckin’ take it all in,” he muttered as he leaned back, getting more comfortable on his throne. The grasp on your hair got tighter as he started to get impatient and guide your face along his length. “Come on now, no need to be so shy about it.” His teeth showed as he smiled. “You’ve lived longer than I have, surely you have the experience?” he goaded. Which, if you were honest with yourself, was true. You were most likely older than him, and could show him a thing or two while you’re at it.

Straightening your back a little from the floor you looked over his hardening dick. Licking your lips, you took the head in, using the flexibility to weave in between the head of his cock and the shaft before leaning up and taking it in as much as you could. Tongue flat, running along the thick vein underneath, you slowly bobbed your head back and forth, breathing when you could. It wasn’t long before you felt a tug with the hand that ran through your hair to pull you away from him, leaving you panting, and breathless from working so hard to please him.

His cheeks flushed a bright pink he chuckled almost as breathlessly as you, having forgotten how to breathe in the moment before letting go of your hair. “What a good girl,” he praised as he shifted back and patted his lap. “Why not come for a ride?” he questioned as he watched you stand. “I would have taken you back to my room, but I'm feeling impatient. It’s my birthday after all,” he informed, eyes hungrily watching over your form as you stripped naked, and then worked on taking off his trousers completely.

“Your birthday?” you questioned him as you straddled his lap. “I see. Perhaps this will be enough of a gift then?” you mused lining yourself up, slowly trying to sink yourself down on him.

His head slammed back against the back of his throne as he groaned. You were taking your time, though as you hadn’t prepared yourself. You knew your body could and would stretch, but it was painful to begin with. He was stretching you to your limit, but you licked your hand to reach down to let the saliva coating his dick for an easier entry only then were you able to sit down fully on his lap.

Taking a good minute or two you both sat, panting, just feeling one another as you got used to the stretch of his cock within you. His hands empassing your hips, he tried to get you to move, but you had other ideas. It was his birthday? That’s just fine, but you would make sure it would be a ride he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

You gently grasped his hands and took them off your hips to raise them above his head as you started to roll your hips back and forth. Leaning in close to kiss him and to distract him, you used your tail to wrap his hands above his head. He only just realised when you leaned back.

“W-What the fuck is—shit—the big idea?” he panted as his eyes were glued to your form, which started moving so effortlessly up and down on his dick.

“It’s your birthday. I want to spoil you, so enjoy the ride.” Chuckling a little darkly, you couldn’t help but use your wings to give you some extra momentum and power into your movements as you rode him.

He couldn't believe just how lucky he was to have such a beautiful person ride him within an inch of his life. You knew just what to do and how to please him, which, to his embarrassment, had him orgasming not much longer after you started.

“F-Fuck!” he grunted, unable to couldn’t help it when his hips met yours. Though your gut had only just started to coil with your own orgasm, much to your disappointment. You remained seated on his lap as he came down from his high, letting go of his arms.

He watched you only to frown. Noticing you hadn’t orgasmed yet he couldn’t help but feel like a teenager all over again.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all.

Growling, he forcefully lifted you up from him as he slid to the floor, getting you to sit in his seat. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he brought you to his face and started to lap up not only at his own cum that had started to seep it’s way out from the confines of yourself, but searching for any original taste of your own essence. This surprise had you leaning over with a groan. In all your years, no other man had been so willing about doing this.

Smirking from the inside of your thighs, he knew from your expression that you were loving it or at the very least surprised by his movements. “What?” he questioned, so close to your cunt that you could feel his breath ghosting it. “Never been eaten out before?” He seemed a little too smug, as if he almost already knew the answer.

With a shake of your head, he only shifted closer and got more comfortable as he nudged your clit with his nose. “Hmm, good. I'm a man starving for pussy and it’s delicious, so don’t mind me,” he muttered before his gaze lowered.

Though his dick felt great, this was almost a thousand times better. There was no painful stretch, only a soft muscle, though not deep. The slurping and sucking sounds and sensations were what quickly brought your end. He was more than happy to guide you though your high as you remained hunched over his head, hands which you now realised were in his hair, forcing his face just that much closer.

Leaning back once you had come back to Earth, you watched him as he wiped his chin and cheeks with the back of his arm. “Thank you for the meal.” He chuckled, giving off a lopsided smile, showing off the pearly whites of his sharp teeth. He stood as he gathered up his trousers as he got dressed. “You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner in my home,” he stated as he turned to you and passed you back your clothes.

Slowly taking them, you nodded as you got dressed despite the shake in your legs. “Y-Yeah, I think I will,” you confirmed as you slipped back into your clothes.

“Good choice. I’m not finished with you yet, beautiful.” Leaning in, he kissed your cheek before taking his leave only to find a very flustered Eijirou waiting outside. “Something wrong?” Katsuki questioned with folded arms, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“N-No!” the dragon protested, though the redness that was spread all the way up to his ears gave him away.

“Next time, just ask. It’s rude to eavesdrop.” Katsuki laughed as he walked away, going to join the mass for dinner.

“K-Katsuki! I had to make sure you were safe! After all, she’s a rogue dragon,” Eijirou protested in earnest. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that would be something that Eijirou would very much like to do.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, man.”

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki took a seat at the head of the banquet table, waiting for your arrival before the festivities could begin.

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daddy-chiluc · 3 years

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My World is Alight by your Gaze

Chapter 1: Dandelion Dreams

Here you go for Non-Ao3 Readers! ^^

TW: Nightmares, blood, mentions of alcohol, depictions/eluding to trauma

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His skin prickled, hairs rising under the chilling touch of the snow. He knew of this dream. He knew it far too well. A dream of vivid reds and beasts towering over him, his body small and worn out in its futile attempts to fight back. To resist. To resist the abyss that had plagued him, haunted and teased him. He was frustrated. Oh so painfully frustrated. He’s gone through this nightmare so often it’s become a broken record…why it still shook him with fear was beyond him…but he hated it.

The plaint wooden sword in his hands had given him splinters, the wood chipping under his tight grasp, as he slashed at the darkness that shrouded him, the snow doing little to support his momentum. His throat was sore as his tears froze to his cheeks, fingers numbing under the harsh bite of the cold. Crying seemed to stumble him far worse than any monster that had approached him. It confused him. Made him uneasy.

Snezhnaya does not believe in tears he reprimanded as he drowned his fear with the palms of his hands, thrashing and slicing at the darkness until it dissolved into the vast, pure white expanse of snow and trees. He repeated the mantra as a reminder, body shaky as a violent blizzard rushed at him, the wind howling in his ears. With chapped lips, bloodied and numb from the freezing winds, he wiped at his nose, the skin raw from it running. He had finally won. He could feel a gentle shake run through him, the wave of contact quickly growing in force as he darted awake.

“Tartaglia?” Right, Aether. Memories of yesterday’s adventure came rushing to him all too quickly. Flashes of water and blood tainting his mind, “Are you aright? You started to groan in your sleep.”

“Ah, apologies comrade,” he grunted, muscles and limbs sore from yesterday’s brief battle as his wounds began to sting under the bandages. The rest of Aether’s party — Beidou and Klee — began to stir awake at the smell of Aether’s perfected breakfast sandwiches. Had it not been for this reoccurring nightmare, he wouldn’t have a problem eating the Mondstadt delicacy as he had cooked them often, favoring the more comfortable taste over something more refined.

“As much as I appreciate you cooking breakfast, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” He sighed, getting up from the makeshift bed, the grass being the only cushioning he had over the night. His companions were a tad bit concerned, Klee far too enamored by a yellow butterfly and Beidou not caring for his predicament…after all, he had almost drowned her entire city with her girlfriend. It was only fair she despised him.

Aether simply nodded as he watched his eyes scan over Mondstadt, the cliff they had taken refuge on giving a beautiful view of the nation. The wind had blown by, twisting in his orange locks and dancing merrily along his lashes before a heavy exhale escaped past his lips. The sun started to cook him in his dark clothes, never truly able to get used to the heat even after having left Snezhnaya so long ago. Although, while the Tsaritsa had a certain, almost welcoming place in his heart, he couldn’t help be feel the wind calling to him, enticing him to something greater in the land of freedom.

Freedom. A concept somewhat blurry to him. Blue crystalline eyes growing duller as he tried to recall what it was like…but even the Abyss had taken that from him. Taken away the childish wonder and innocence at such a young age, becoming a savage for survival. Who knows, maybe he’d be fortunate enough to find that wonder in such joyous landscapes of summery green, the faintest smell of fresh grapes teasing his nose.

“I was thinking on taking you and Beidou to a really popular tavern this evening after we drop Klee off to Albedo,” Aether spoke calmly, Beidou perking up at the slightest promise of drinks.

“What kind of drinks?” She spoke swiftly, desperate for beer.

“Their wine is very popular, I’m sure you can ask the bartender for beer though.” His sincerity easing the tension in the party just a bit.

“I might try a glass of wine, see what Ningguang might like and take some back to her after our little crusade,” she chimed, voice still rough with sleep but just as energetic as she was yesterday after being invited to the trek from the land of contracts to the land of freedom.

“Tartaglia?”

“I might entertain it for tonight. Not much of a wine person but I could use a drink.” Maybe the discontentment in his voice gave away whatever had been egging his mind because he felt a small pull on his pant leg to find the little chaos bringer looking up at him with worry, “What’s up Fire Bug?” He smiled, picking her up and holding her over his hip.

“Is big brother Childe okay?” With dandelions fisted and bunched together in her hand, she chatted with him while Aether and Beidou finished packing to close their trip. Maybe his façade had faltered just a tad because her grip on his shoulders tightened ever so slightly.

“Of course Ladybug, why wouldn’t I be?” He hummed as her eyes twinkled with delight, light red eyes glowing brilliantly under the sunlight as an idea came to mind. Delicately, she straightened out the green stems of the flowers in her hand before placing them all throughout his hair, taking time to move every strand and stem with practiced ease — as if she’s done this several times before. Satisfied with her work she grinned, innocent and wide as her eyes closed with her cheeks.

The memory of Childe’s nightmare had long since faded, not wanting this fragile moment to shatter in the rough, calloused palms of his hands. Being with the little firecracker had reminded him of Teucer. Instead of that heavy, sickening feeling of sadness that weighed him down, he imagined what would happen if Klee had met his siblings. He could see them playing in the fields of snow in Snezhnaya, making animals out of snow and snowball fights. Snow angels and snowmen. The cold, harsh empty land suddenly filled with excitement and a childish fun that had warmed the freezing exterior of his heart.

He imagined them rolling in hills and flats of Mondstadt, playing in the wind and dancing happily, uncaring of the Fatui and tyrants of the world. Uncaring of visions and fighting. To simply live in the moment and have fun. To have what he lost at such a young age. To not have to fight for their survival every waking moment. Yes, he’d conquer the world and follow the Tsaritsa to the end of time…but he wouldn’t hesitate to burn the Fatui to the ground. They’d fallen out of her perfect image. Betraying each other left and right. Lying and deceiving every waking moment. If not an enemy then they’d deceive and use a comrade. It was pathetic.

Yet, with Klee in his arms and her pyro vision keeping him warm, he felt alive. He felt happy, a lightness filling his chest as she beamed in his arms. Even if he couldn’t make friends he wouldn’t have a problem stopping by to spoil the little one with toys and gifts. He’d done so with his siblings, and even if she wasn’t of blood, it wouldn’t stop him from giving her sugar and letting her blow up an entire Fatui camp if she felt like it. He was willing to protect her if it was necessary.

“Thank you Klee.” He smiled, it wasn’t sly or mischievous. It hadn’t held any scheme behind the gentle pull of his lips. It was genuine. Filled with warmth and kindness. Klee accepted the gesture happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing with vigor, hat squished beneath his chin as they watched the birds fly across the morning sky.

Perhaps her eye had been hallucinating. It would prove to be a problem if it had. A man who nearly killed her partner and the entire city seemed to have a heart after all. Seeing the smile along his face and hold the child so gently made her question him. To Beidou, Childe was an odd figure. He was hard to read, far too many mixed signals to understand which was real and which was fake. After all, he was a Harbinger.

Some part of her however, decided to give him a chance, just for today that is. She wouldn’t let her guard down, but she chose to see what kind of man he actually was rather than letting a title define him. Actions speak far louder than words she told herself, and seeing him be so kind and gentle with the small child made her release a heavy sigh. She could give him a chance, but just for today.

On their journey to Mondstadt, Beidou studied him, watching as he carefully placed a flower back in his hair if one hung loose and carrying Klee on his shoulders the entire walk there, telling her stories and fairytales of all sorts, one of which sounded like Liyue history turned into a children’s tale with bombs for an added effect, keeping her interested. How he came up with such an idea so quickly almost baffled her; and he was supposed to be one of the most feared Harbingers? Maybe she was quick to judge him, but that wouldn’t allow him forgiveness for nearly drowning the harbor. That would take time. If he could explain why she may be able to tolerate him a little more at best.

Unless it’s bullshit. Beidou doesn’t tolerate bullshit. She especially lacks patience when she’s dealing with someone she so heavily detests. So trying to converse with the Harbinger would drive her mad, beyond a doubt. She really hopes this tavern had beer.

—

Let me know if you wish to be tagged in the next chapter!

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bifrostarchivist · 3 years

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tma fic recs

hi i’ve been been going through my bookmarks so here’s a list of some of my favorite tma fics! a lot of these are pretty angsty though so you should heed the trigger warnings!

jon-centric fics

Farewell Wanderlust by CombatBootsAndDreams

Jonathan Sims never had enough time. It was always slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass. He could see it passing but could do nothing as it took more and more things from him. So he learned to measure everything in actions instead of seconds.

Or: The many moments used to measure the life of one Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.

i love this one it hurts me real bad!

the bell tolls by softlyblue

Jon knows about death, and he knows about dying. He tries to plan around his own.

this one also really hurts me!

Touch Me, Even it Hurts by AuralQueer

People don't really touch Jonathan Sims unless they want to hurt him. That's mostly fine. Jon has never been a tactile person, and he doesn't need anyone but himself.

Except the world is falling down around him, and loneliness aches, and sometimes he'll take anything - even cruelty - just to feel human again.

*A story set between s1 and s4, looking at Jon's relationship with touch, friendship, and his own humanity.

i cried over this one a lot yesterday! it’s wonderful and so fucking sad

jonmartin fics

the garden of forking paths by bibliocratic

Whatever he had predicted might happen, Jon wasn't expecting to survive upon demolishing the Panopticon. He certainly wasn't expecting to be rescued.

Instead, he wakes up in an alternative universe where he's never been the Archivist, and Martin Blackwood doesn't exist.

Martin Blackwood wakes up somewhere else entirely.

i love this one a lot! made me really fucking emotional

The Power of Self-Respect by IceEckos12 & PitViperOfDoom

Jon's life has never been easy, but he's now in a place where he has friends, his job isn't wretched, and best of all, he's dating Martin Blackwood. Things are finally starting to turn around for him, so of course that's when he learns that he must defeat Martin's seven exes in order to stay with him.

There's something fishy about this whole thing, Jon is sure of it. But the only way to find out what is to throw down the gauntlet and fight for his love.

the scout pilgrim au i never knew i needed! i went into this expecting crack but now every time it gets updated it’s all i can think about for the rest of the day and it is very painful. it’s so good.

Desperate Measures by quantumducky

Helen offers to help, and Jon is just tired and miserable enough to accept. Turns out her idea of "helping" is to turn his brain into confused mush and then make that Martin's problem. Somehow, it all works out.

this one! fuck! i love it. made me so sad. but also. a happy ending! i miss helen.

See the Line, where the Sky meets to Sea by The_Floating_World

When Jon is a child he looks into the infinite abyss of space. The Vast looks back into him.

also has some jon/oliver! some found family! vast!jon my beloved...

jongerry fics

Til Death, Parted by Hecatetheviolet

“But, yes, if you all really must know, I married Gerard Keay in Las Vegas.” The total stillness at the table would have better suited a painting than a group of very confused archival assistants. A blob of ketchup falls from the chip frozen halfway to Melanie’s mouth.

“You… married a ghost,” says Melanie, eventually, in a stilted, leading tone.

“Mhm,” says Jon.

A ghost story is something that can be so matrimonial, actually. Too bad Jon and Gerry didn't find that out until the wedding.

I ADORE THIS FIC. U KNOW THAT ONE JONGERRY LAS VEGAS WEDDING SHITPOST? IT’S THAT BUT SO MUCH MORE. GOD IT’S SO FUCKING HEARTBREAKING BUT ALSO HAS LIKE THESE COMEDIC MOMENTS THAT ARE JUST SO FUCKING GOOD. THE WAY THE WRITER WRITES THE JONGERRY DYNAMIC IS JUST. FUCK. IT’S AMAZING.

eager eye and willing ear by graveExcitement

Gerry investigates a paranormal mirror and is pulled into another universe, one where Jon has just burned his page.

i just. love this one.

jongerrymartin

Ghosts without Graves by Ostentenacity

“I’m already dead, after all.” Gerry smiles, a mirthless flash of teeth. “If I pop out of existence tomorrow, fine. If I stick around for a while, well—at least now I’ve got someone to talk to.” His tone of voice is still blasé, but his gaze falls heavily on Jon, as though asking, Right?

“Yes,” says Jon. “Yes, of course.”

---

When Jon wakes up from his coma, he finds that while Gerry may still be dead, he’s not exactly gone.

i love this one so much. made me happy. made me sad. it’s just wonderful.

jontim fics

Between Sleeping and Waking by voiceless_terror

So they curl up in his bed, an arm slung across Jon’s waist, his back to Tim’s chest. There are no spiders here, not in this bed that smells of dryer sheets and detergent and Tim. He’s almost asleep when the arm around his waist tightens suddenly.

“My brother always said the pressure helped. When he had bad dreams.”

Jon has nightmares and Tim attempts to chase them away. In the process, they learn a few things about each other.

the comfort. the understanding. it’s just so nice.

enemy of my enemy by beeclaws

Jon comes back from his time with the Circus a little worse for wear. Tim has some feelings about that.

it hurts so bad. but. fuck. the tim & jon somewhat fixing their relationship fic that i just really needed.

Tear Out All Your Tenderness by With_the_Wolves

"He’s been doing such a good job of ignoring it, up until now, pretending he didn’t know how he survived the Unknowing. Pretending he didn’t hear the constant rhythm of hunt hunt kill kill rushing through his veins in time with his blood. He didn’t used to be able to smell fear.

In the aftermath of the Coffin, Tim decides that he's going to be there for Jon. But Jon's fear is intoxicating.

THIS FIC! THIS FIC! JESUS CHRIST IT’S SO FUCKING PAINFUL. JUST. HOLY SHIT.

jonmartim fics

beautiful and annihilating by advantagetexas

But reality was a lot harsher than dreams. He admitted that to himself now, as he gently moved a piece of hair from Jon’s unblinking eye. Daisy Tonner was dead. Sasha James was dead. Daniel Stoker was still dead, or disappeared, or whatever woe begotten fate had befallen him at the hands of that wretched circus.

And here was Tim. Alive. And forced to deal with the fallout.

this fic <3 i love it very much. it’s updates are the highlight of my day. really fucks with my emotions. it’s just great.

#the magnus archives #tma #fic recs #tma fic #tma fics #magnuspod #if you write tma fics at all you are amazing and i love you #minus the like. people that erase jon’s asexuality obviously. but i would die for the rest of you #writing this made me realize how little i read fics that aren’t like. heavily involving jon. so if u have any other recs feel free to add

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hayleysstark · 3 years

Note

For your prompt event: Merlin accidentally hurting Arthur with his magic post-reveal and freaking out about it? (I love your writing!)

oh my god op YOUR MIND!!!!!!!!! im losign it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Arthur had all of ten seconds to get out of range and, as it turned out, ten seconds wasn't nearly enough.

To tell the truth, he knew it was all his own fault—he hadn't tried or, at least, he hadn't tried hard enough, mostly because he didn't want to get out of range, he didn't want to run away, and he certainly didn't want to leave Merlin behind to face the mad old witch entirely on his own. For all his magic, for all his power and know-how and strange, old-soul wisdom, Merlin was a right idiot most of the time and, while Arthur trusted him to take down an obviously mediocre, middle-of-the-road sorceress alone, he most definitely did not trust him to be smart about it. He didn't trust Merlin to be smart about most things, come to that, but magical battles with evil sorcerers was settled firmly at the top of the list.

But it didn't do an ounce of good, because Arthur couldn't get near enough to land a blow on the old woman, and he couldn't even get near enough to watch Merlin's back like he should, like he usually did in these sorts of situations—the spells flew far too thick and fast around the quiet green grove, blinding bursts of color and light flashing like suns and stars in the deep shadows of the wood, curses rebounding like stray cannonballs off the trees and boulders and branches—no, he could only stand there, sword in his hand, out on the edge of the battle, completely useless.

All of a sudden, the old witch stopped, her wrinkled hands still held out in front of her, and she said something—it didn't sound like magic, it didn't sound like a spell, and it didn't look much like magic, either, it looked like she was talking to Merlin, like she was talking and she wanted him to talk back, but Arthur couldn't hear the words over the whispers and rustles of all the sorcery in the grove—and it must have been magic, he realized, hardly half a second later, because a high, howling wind whipped up, right in the middle of the forest, on a cloudless, sunny day.

She must be a bit better than mediocre, then, she must be a bit more than middle-of-the-road, if she could call up storms like Merlin could—

The wind picked up, stronger and stronger until the shriek of it was all Arthur could hear, until the force of it nearly ripped his cloak from his shoulders and clawed the sword from his hand, until it pushed him back, farther and farther away from the old witch, away from Merlin, until it finally grabbed him up in its screaming grip and slammed him, with a nasty crunch, back into the nearest tree.

As near as Arthur could figure out, from the flashes of blue sky rushing past over his head and the fleeting glimpses of Merlin's bone-white face and terrified blue eyes, he had come back 'round on the way back to the castle, but he hadn't stayed awake long enough to remember much, and Merlin had, apparently, defeated the old woman mere moments after Arthur had blacked out, but he never heard the whole of it, and Merlin never told him.

All he could say for certain was, when he had finally opened his eyes to find himself in Gaius' chambers, in the rickety white cot reserved solely for the very ill, the old man had forced him to choke down a vast number of horrible potions and medicines before he had allowed Arthur to settle back in his own bedchamber.

It had seemed an awful lot of fuss for nothing but a broken arm and a few bruised ribs, and, if he had to make a guess, he would say the whole thing had upset Merlin rather more than he had thought it would, and certainly a great deal more than it had any right to—the idiot had turned into the perfect servant in the week since, nothing but yes Sire or no Sire or let me get that for you, Sire, not one gripe or grumble or complaint to be had, and never more than ten steps from Arthur's bedside.

And he didn't make a face when Arthur told him to muck the stables, and he didn't breeze in to work a half hour too late Arthur's breakfast in one hand and a sheepish smile on his face, and he didn't throw the curtains wide and shout good morning like he wanted to wake the entire castle, and he hadn't spilled wine in Arthur's lap even once, and he hadn't used his magic to heat the bathwater, or scrub the floor, or make the bed, and Arthur's armor had literally never shined brighter, a dazzling silver gleam out of the corner of his eye, glinting and flashing in the light of the sun through the open window.

It was absolutely unbearable.

And it was obviously much more than the usual mother-hen impulses Merlin fell into when Arthur got hurt, because he certainly hadn't acted like this even when Arthur had gotten a bite from the Questing Beast, when Arthur had, very literally, cheated death, and survived the unsurvivable!

No, this was bigger than all Merlin's girlish little fits and frenzies of fear, this was more than his everyday panic over nothing, and Arthur was not going to put up with it one moment longer.

"All right," he said, eight days out from that fight in the forest with the old witch, his arm still wrapped firmly in a simple white sling, and the bruising on his ribs a touch lighter now, and certainly less painful, "out with it, Merlin, what is it? What's gotten into you lately?"

"Sorry?" Merlin said, flatly, and he didn't even look up from where he had crouched down to pick up all the dirty laundry scattered 'round the chamber. "Not sure what you mean."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin, you and I both know that suits you a bit too well."

"Yeah," Merlin said blandly, stuffing Arthur's brown trousers in his basket, "just one of my many gifts, Sire."

"Merlin," Arthur sat up a little in his seat, and put down his quill with a soft swish of the long white feather on parchment, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," Merlin said at once. He tossed a pair of socks in the basket, too. "It's nothing."

Arthur waited.

Merlin straightened up and turned his back on Arthur to pluck a red tunic up off the floor and plop it down in the basket with everything else.

Arthur waited a bit more.

All of a sudden, Merlin stopped, with the basket perched on the end of the bed, his hands still clinging to the wooden rim, and finally, Arthur thought, with a rush of relief, finally, he's going to stop being such a girl and just tell me—

Merlin sniffled.

Arthur's insides turned to ice. Oh, God, no, this was a mistake, this was a terrible, awful, horrendous mistake, and now Merlin was having feelings, and what if Merlin wanted to talk about those feelings, couldn't he just give Merlin the day off and let him sort it out on his own time, wasn't that a thing he could do, or would that be "insensitive" and "rude" the way Guinevere always told him, would that make him a "bad friend" the way Guinevere always told him—? "Um," he said, a little blankly, and a lot desperately, "y-you don't need to—you shouldn't—erm—"

"I—" Merlin wiped at his face with the back of his hand, and turned to look at Arthur, his eyes red and puffy, his cheeks sticky and stained with tears, "—I-I'm sorry."

"For crying?" Arthur said, rather weakly, and also rather hopefully.

"I should have said it sooner, but I thought you were going to—to bring it up, and I thought you were going to be angry, so I-I just waited and waited, but you didn't—"

Not for crying, then, Arthur concluded dismally, before he scraped up the last remnants of his dwindling-in-the-face-of-a-crying-Merlin courage. "Why on earth did you think I'd be angry with you?"

"I did this to you," Merlin said, looking for all the world like a deeply repentant puppy left out in the pouring rain, waiting to be kicked. "I hurt you. I-I used my magic to h-hurt you."

What? Arthur blinked a bit dazedly at Merlin while he waited for the words to make some sort of sense. "Hang on," he said, slowly, mostly to make sure he had this absolutely right, "you were the one who called up that wind? You were the one who—?"

Merlin blinked back, just as dazedly. "Y-You didn't know?"

"I thought it was the witch!" Arthur said, thoroughly baffled now. "What in God's name did you do that for? You never do storms unless it's—!"

"I got angry," Merlin said miserably. He sniffled again and wiped at his nose now. "I—I got so angry, she—she said some things that made me realize she was—she was somebody that had done really awful things, she had—she had hurt someone I know, she'd hurt her really badly, and I lost my temper, and—" he flicked a mournful glance up at Arthur from under his wet lashes, "—and it just happened, and Arthur, I'm so sorry!"

Arthur almost crumpled right back down in his seat again. Merlin had conjured up that wind, not the old witch, and oh, that made sense now, didn't it, he had thought, even then, the old woman hadn't seemed strong enough for magic like that, he had thought she hadn't had the power for a thing like that, and he had been right, and—

—and if she was so mediocre and middle-of-the-road, what on earth had she done in her past, to make Merlin so furious with her? "Is she—?" Arthur raised his head to look at his friend on the other side of the room. "Is she all right? The friend that the witch hurt? Is she all right now?"

Merlin stared blankly back at him, blue eyes wide and wet. "That's—?" he scrubbed at his nose again. "That's what you're worried about? Not the fact that I almost killed you?"

Arthur almost laughed. "It's a broken arm, Merlin, and it's not even my sword arm! Honestly, I hardly think I'm going to drop dead all because—"

"It's not funny," Merlin snapped, his every word sharp as a knife when it rolled off his tongue. "It's not funny, Arthur, this isn't a joke! I almost killed you! I almost killed you because I lost my temper! Because I lost control!"

"Yes," Arthur conceded, "but everyone loses their temper at some point, I wouldn't worry about it if I were—"

"Well, you're not me!" Merlin bit out. "And count yourself lucky on that, because when you lose your temper, you don't have to worry that you'll wipe out the entire kingdom, or—or level a whole forest, or put all your friends in danger just because you can't—!"

"M-Merlin," Arthur said, too startled to stay silent any longer, "of course you're not going to—"

"You don't know that!"

"No, I don't know that!" Arthur said sharply, a bitter burn of fury in the back of his throat, because what the hell was wrong with this idiot, why the hell couldn't he see—? "You're right, Merlin, I don't know that, I don't know for absolutely certain that you are never going to do something horrible, but I trust that you won't! I don't know, I can't tell the future, I'm not a Seer, but I trust you to do what's right and to never take it too far, and isn't that enough for you?"

For a moment that felt very much like forever, Merlin only looked at Arthur, his eyes still red, a few stray tears still trailing lazily down his wet cheeks. "But look at what I did to you," he whispered. "You can't honestly tell me you're not angry with me."

Arthur let out a soft, heavy sigh, and rubbed a hand down the side of his face. Yeah, sure, he was a bit put out, but mostly he was put out that he had gotten stuck in bed for three days straight, and that Merlin had decided to hedge around the problem for so long when he could have come to Arthur and told the truth straight-out, but it was like he had said to Merlin—everybody lost their temper now and then, it was hardly some sort of bone-deep sin Merlin had to atone for every day for the rest of his life.

"You can't honestly tell me," Merlin said, and even softer than a whisper now, softer than a breath, "that you're not scared of me."

Oh. Arthur's chest squeezed with something almost like pity. Oh, that's what this is, that's what he thinks, that's what he's so worried about— "Merlin," he said, and he meant it, "I'm not scared of you. There's nothing in you to be afraid of."

"Except the magic that could have broken your neck," Merlin snapped, voice high and tight and still thick with tears. "You don't have to pretend, Arthur, you don't have to put on some kind of front for me, I understand, I get it—"

"You can't swing a sword without almost impaling yourself on the blade," Arthur pointed out. "You can't go an entire day without tripping over your own boots and falling flat on your face. There's nothing in you to be afraid of, and trust me, I'm not flattering you when I say that."

Merlin stared at Arthur like he had never seen him before, his eyes enormous in his tear-streaked face, one hand halfway up to dry the damp trails on his cheeks again. "Y-You're not—?"

"For God's sake, no!" Arthur rolled his eyes. "One time, I heard you say sorry to a butterfly!"

"I startled her," Merlin said, at once, and scrubbed at his eyes again. "I hit the branch she was resting on with my elbow, and I startled her."

Arthur had to bite back a smile. "Yes, I'm absolutely terrified. Shaking in my boots, Merlin, please don't kill me with your evil temper and big bad sorcerer powers."

Merlin turned a little pink. "I'm sorry," he said, hoarsely. "I really didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, I picked up on that, believe it or not."

Merlin went a touch pinker, but he pushed on valiantly. "I-I didn't realize you were near enough to get hurt. I should have been more careful with you."

"Careful with me?" Arthur echoed incredulously, half-offended and half-amused. "Tell me, Merlin, how is it that I'm the one who got thrown into a tree, you're the one crying about it, and you still manage to make me sound like the delicate maiden in this situation?"

Merlin wiped at his nose again. "Should have known you'd be all right," he said, finally, and unless Arthur was very much mistaken, he could swear he saw a small smile tug at the edge of the idiot's lip. "Should have figured your thick skull would cushion the blow."

"Merlin—!"

#merlin #bbc merlin #fic #filled prompt #sweetteaanddragons #this is uh. bad. but on god we're posting it lads

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kimistorm · 3 years

Text

Late Night Shenanigans [Bang Chan x Reader]

Fandom: Stray Kids

Pairing: Bang Chan x GN! Reader

Warnings: None! <20% of this is actually a texting conversation

Summary: You’re a little doubtful of where Chan is taking you for your midnight date, especially since he looks to be taking you into the middle of nowhere, but by the end of the night, you end up with a very special wish.

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration as you looked at your assignment. You had been staring at this darn problem for the past half hour, going to google and desperately searching for something that wasn’t behind a paywall.

Armed with Chan’s answer and excitement for later that night, it wasn’t long until you received another text from your beloved boyfriend letting you know was outside.

You quickly shut off your laptop and grabbed your house keys before heading out to the front door of your home. You silently made your way through the house, straining your eyes to see from the small amount of moonlight peeking through the windows. A hand waved around cautiously in front of you in hopes that it would keep you from smashing into a wall. Once at the door, you felt it safe enough to turn on the flashlight from your phone. Enough to see which pair of shoes was yours. You quietly slipped them on, and eased out the front door as quietly as you could, cringing when the deadbolt clicked as you unlocked and locked it behind you.

Turning around, you saw Chan’s black car stopped in the street in front of your house. You quickly ran across the grass towards him, and pulled open the door to the passenger side, “fancy seeing you here.” You grinned as you slid into the seat, “come here often?”

He paused to think about it, “I’d say so, I have a beautiful significant other who lives in that house.”

“Aww,” you cooed as the two of you gave a quick kiss, “you’re too kind.”

“I see no lies.” He responded smoothly as he pulled on the shifter and released the hand brake to head towards your destination.

“Yeah?” he didn’t see your quirked brow as you admired his profile, “well there’s an even more beautiful man right next to me.”

He scoffed, “no.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Naurrrr.”

“I can do this all night.” You teased when you noticed the annoyance in his voice grow with each comeback.

“Please don’t,” he nearly sighed out, “Jisung kept on texting me awful jokes and puns.”

You let out a mock offended shout, “and he didn’t think to include me?”

“Consider yourself blessed.” He responded as his eyes stayed on the road. While it was quiet, and there were hardly any cars about, he was taking the two of you down a winding path devoid of lights except for the ones coming from his headlights.

“Wait, but I want to hear!” you continued excitedly.

“What do you call a baby computer?”

You tilted your head to the side and thought about it, “minitor?”

“What?” the shock in his voice was clear, “what does that even mean? Like a minotaur?”

“Ah, like a mini-monitor?” you tried to defend your answer, “nevermind that. What was the answer?”

“Data.” Chan deadpanned and it was your turn to be in shock and confusion.

“Data?”

“Da-ta-ta,” he added in a baby voice and you nearly snorted. Mostly from the sound of Chan doing a baby voice, and not really because of the joke. “Come on, it wasn’t that funny.”

“That’s such a Jisung thing,” you smiled as you watched the scenery pass by before turning on your phone to confront said person.

When did that happen? You quickly checked the group chat and scrolled through it a bit to see ‘Seungmo removed Jeekies from the chat.’ Without a second of hesitation, you quickly added Jisung back into the chat.

“Is that the group chat going off?” Chan asked and you took your attention away from the chat to look up at him and the road.

“Yeah, Jisung and I are tagteamming the data joke.” You replied with a smile.

Chan let out a groan, “it’s not a good joke.”

You let out a giggle, “I’ll tell that to Jisung.”

“Believe me, he knows.”

“Do you know why Jisung was proposing to Minho with a squid?” you turned off your phone to refocus on what was happening around you. The area had darkened quite a bit, and by this point you had no idea where you were. You were impressed that Chan seemed to know where he was going, considering how he didn’t even have any navigation system up.

The man in question nearly choked, “proposing with a squid?” he asked incredulously and even glanced towards you in confusion, not that he could make out anything from the darkness.

“Well, an octopus.” You admitted, recognizing the difference between the two.

His laugh blended into his next words, “no. About time though.”

You laughed along with him, “I don’t think Minho liked it that much. Or Seungmin.”

Chan already had a hunch as to what happened and clicked his tongue almost disapprovingly, “did he remove Sungie from the chat?”

“Yuup.”

Chan let out a sigh, “of course he did.”

You laughed at his resignation, “anyways, where we going?”

“You just thought to ask now?” he couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden question, considering how the past few minutes were quiet except for the typing from you and the background music from his spotify playlist.

“I mean, I trust you, so I’m not too concerned.” You hummed and gazed out to the dark expanse surrounding you, “I’d say Area 51 but we’re nowhere close to that.”

“This will be better than aliens,” Chan confirmed with a nod.

You glanced at your phone that lit up again with a picture of an actual squid, Jisung must’ve been running out of octopus pictures, “I think Jisung’s got the alien part covered.”

“Anyways, here we are.” Chan slowed down the car and the dirt crunched beneath the tires as he pulled off to a small clearing by the side of the road. It looked remarkably the same as what the rest of the drive looked like. Dark and empty.

You gave him a confused look that he probably couldn’t see well as he turned off the car, “the middle of nowhere?”

“Exactly.” He told you with a touch of giddy excitement in his voice, “come on!” he nearly jumped out of the car and to the trunk, where he pulled out a blanket and a bag.

You were a bit more skeptical as you slowly got out of the car, “Channie? What are we doing?”

“You said you trusted me?” there was a pout in his voice as he stopped fiddling with trying to lay out the blanket on the hood of his voice.

“Of course I do,” you told him and quickly gave him a hug. You could tell he wasn’t that upset though, judging by the way his voice jumped a couple octaves.

“Hop on,” his voice returned to its normal level as he patted the soft fabric that was laid out on the largest flat surface of his car, “it’s thick enough that the heat from the engine won’t burn.” He added after a moment of hesitation from you. You felt bad for your hesitation and tried to scootch yourself up the hood, “like lay back.” He added as he laid down next to you. You followed his words and what greeted you was a dark sky littered with tiny pinpricks of light.

You felt your jaw drop in awe as you saw an entire collection of stars that you had never seen before. “Oh wow.” You gasped as you tried to soak in the view. It was almost humbling. Each of those tiny pinpricks of white were huge balls of gas light years away. The light that you were currently had traveled the distance of several light years and for several years, now to be witnessed by you and your boyfriend. A warm hand came down to clasp around yours and you eagerly squeezed back.

“It’s my favorite place to stargaze.” He told you softly as you continued to gape up at the sky.

You used your free hand to point at the streak of stars in the sky, the area outside of the streak looking surprisingly empty, “that’s the Milky Way?”

“Yup,” he continued in the same soft tone, enjoying the night atmosphere and you at his side, “that’s literally our galaxy.”

“Looks smaller than I expected,” you laughed and Chan giggled along with you.

“It’s about 50,000 light years across,” he added and gave you a light elbow, “not exactly small.”

“Okay smarty-pants,” you laughed and gave him a slight shove in return. He let out a sound of protest, but let you have the last laugh. You sighed and looked up to the sky again, “do you feel small?”

“From this small glimpse of how vast our universe is?” Chan asked without any hesitation.

You couldn’t help but tear your gaze away from the sky to deadpan at him, “when you put it that way that just makes it seem so much more intimidating.”

He shot you a dimpled smile that you were able to make out as your eyes adjusted, “no.” He scootched over to press himself against your side, “I feel impressed. So many things had to go right. Gravity is the perfect amount that it allows expansion of the Universe, but also brings things close enough together to form atoms. Our planet is the perfect distance away so we’re not scorched or frozen to death. Life evolved from tiny organisms that lived in the ocean to living, bipedal, thinking humans. I exist today. You exist today. And we met, and here we are, gazing at the universe around us. So no, I don’t feel small.” At some point during his ramblings Chan turned his eyes from the twinkling stars shining above to fix you with an adoring look, so it was to your great surprise when you turned and found a pair of eyes looking fondly at you.

“Wait that scares me even more.” You put a hand up to your mouth in slight fear and also to hide the grin as Chan let out an exasperated sound and rolled over so he was on his back again.

“That was insightful!”

“Too deep!” you protested, “it’s midnight, my head’s empty. No thoughts.”

A hand found its way to your head and ruffled at your hair, “lame.” You feebly cried out and tried to fight off his hand but ended up giving up and dealing with it, knowing that nobody was going to see your tousled hair. The hand found itself on the other side of you (effectively bringing the two of you even closer together) and pointed out the brightest star in the sky. “That’s Sirius. Well, technically Sirius A and B since it’s a binary system,” he rambled under his breath, not that you really had any clue what he was talking about, “but we just see it as one point of light.”

“I think you’re brighter than Sirius,” you couldn’t help the cheesy comment as you planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

You could almost see his ears redden and the embarrassed and slightly shocked smile grow on his face as you watched his reaction, “that’s a good one.”

You let out a happy hum and rested your head against his shoulder again, “anything more I should know about Sirius?”

There was a moment of silence before his hand rose back to point at the sky, “it’s part of the Canis Major,” he continued and tried to draw out the shape of the dog with his finger. “Though, not as major as my love for you.” He let out an awkward laugh mixed with a screech and pulled his hand away to cover his face with embarrassment.

“Was that you trying to one up me?” you questioned with a light grin on your face as you propped your head up on a hand as he peered at you past his fingers.

“Maybe?”

You laughed and pressed a kiss to his hands, “nice.” You laid yourself back onto the hood of the car and snuggled up next to him as he continued to point out stars and constellations in the sky while simultaneously giving you more astronomy knowledge than you knew what to do with. It was enjoyable and peaceful as the two of you left your buzzing phones inside the car and there wasn’t a car that passed on the road behind you. The cool night paired with the chirping of insects, Chan’s warm body heat, and the two of you just cuddling up under the stars was your the perfect way to end the week.

“That was a shooting star!” Chan screamed as he pointed up to the sky, you eagerly nodded as you saw the tiny streak of light, “make a wish!” you hummed in agreeance and closed your eyes as you thought about it, but finding it hard as everything you wanted was already right here. “I love you.” He added softly, planting a kiss onto your head.

“Love you too.”

Masterlist

Note: The octopus proposal is a reference to episode 2 of mysterious kitchen! That's literally Han holding that octopus.

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salandition · 4 years

Note

hello I would like a MiloxReader story please. (we need more milo content in this world) Maybe reader is helping Milo out on the farm, it starts to thunderstorm, so they take shelter in a barn. There's some hay, they figure they could be there a while, where it goes is up to you 😎

A/N: milo is so pretty and i love milo very much so I'm very glad to write him........... thank u .,,, also i hate this i wrote it terribly but take it anyway

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As you lift another bale of hay, the hook sunk deep into the soft straws and helping you heave and carry it over your shoulder, you look up at the sky and start to think that there are more clouds than you remember when you last looked.

“Milo!” You call out, and from the other end of the field, Milo’s head raises to attention as he looks over. The two of you are surrounded by the vast fields of long grass and various crops, and beyond that is a fenced area with an abandoned barn that you and Milo are in the middle of trying to clear out. It’s old and dingy and needs several things fixed with the foundation and whatnot. “There’s only a few bales of hay left. Is there anything else that needs help?”

Milo smiles, “nice work!” And then he stands up straight, hands on his hips and under his chin as he ponders. “I think that’s the most of it. Maybe look for any stray Pokémon hiding around and tell them it’s time to move out if you can?”

You give him a thumbs up. “On it!” You shout, and you let the hay fall off your shoulder and onto the pile with the others you had moved out of the barn.

It was too much work to fix up something that’s old and moldy, Milo had decided. It was best to just clear it all out, get the materials that were still useful, and build a new barn somewhere nearby. It was a lot of work, so you (eagerly) decided to help him out. And it definitely was needed- with just the two of you, it’s already been several hours, and the sun that was blaring earlier made you sweat right through your shirt. The clouds that shifted by the past hour provided nice shade, though, so that was nice.

As you wander back into the barn, you swear you felt something drop on your neck and your eyebrows furrow as you look around, but you don’t see anything around you. So you shrug it off, walk in the barn and towards the few bales left sitting inside. Right as you sink the hay hook into the bale with a firm slash, a rumbling clap rings out in the air.

Your eyebrows furrow once again, lips pulling into a frown. When you look at the open barn doors, you gasp-

Because it’s raining in sheets outside, the clouds from earlier now an angry dark grey as they encompass the sky completely. How could the weather change so quick? You suppose the sun had disappeared a bit ago, but this was a bit excessive. You drop the hook and dash toward the doors, into the rain- “Milo!”

Your voice can hardly be heard over the sudden rush of storm, thunder clapping and thunder echoing as the rain pours, but you can see a flash of pink from ahead. And sure enough, it’s Milo- looking just as shocked as you as he runs toward the barn. Nervous laughter bubbles out of him once he makes it to your side and you quickly wrap your arms around his back, quickly leading him inside before you move to shut the barn doors so the storm doesn’t make it’s way inside.

But as the building creaks and sways, you have a feeling it’s really up to fate if you’re going to stay dry or not. You, at least- because Milo is already looking like a drowned Rattata as he stands in the corner and wrings out his sun hat. “Gosh, Milo,” you walk over to him and bite your lip as you take in just how drenched he is.

The Gym Leader meets your gaze and simply shrugs with a smile. “Pretty out of nowhere, huh?”

Another rumble of thunder with a bolt of lightning rings nearby, and both of you jump. You nervously laugh.

“My mom always told me to expect something unexpected every day,” you take Milo’s hat from his hands, moving to hang it up on one of the hooks in the wall meant for horses water buckets, but none are around, so it works just as fine as a hat rack. “So I guess this counts as today’s unexpected event.”

“Wise words,” Milo nods, crossing his arms at his chest. He looks like he’s probably trying to get comfortable, but it’s not really working. You can only be so comfortable when you’re in heavy, wet clothes.

Averting your gaze, you look at the dripping ceiling. “Do you know how long these storms usually last?”

“Considering how we weren’t supposed to have a storm today... It shouldn’t be that long. An hour or two at most,” Milo sighs. You trust his intuition and nod- an hour isn’t really that long, but at the same time, it kind of is.

Because it’s just you. And Milo. Alone in a barn. And did you ever mention how cute Milo is and how he’s really nice and you like him a lot?

Hm. A feeling like dread settles in your stomach as you cough.

“At least we still have some hay bales in here,” Milo breaks through your thoughts as he heads toward them, but hesitates to sit on it as he looks at his situation. You hum.

“You should probably- uh. You don’t want to get sick.”

Milo looks at you, but you’re too busy looking at the floor and kicking the dirt.

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, and your head quickly snaps up.

“I wouldn’t be uncomfortable!” You quickly tell him, “plus, that hardly matters. You’re soaked to the bone and I doubt it feels very good.” Milo averts his own eyes now, hardly looking convinced as he furrows his eyebrows. It’s definitely not ideal to strip yourself in front of someone else... How can you make this better..? “I bet there’s an old blanket or something like that in here. I can look around for one- but. Seriously. While I look around, you should at least take off your shirt. You don’t want to get a cold,” you give him a concerned look- definitely not blushing as you tell him to remove his clothes, because why would you be blushing- and then quickly turn around to look around the barn.

Since the entire building was in the process of being cleaned out, you doubt you’ll find much. But you have to at least try, for Milo’s sake and for yours. The first thing you do is climb the creaky ladder to the area up above. There was various items laying around, none looking promising.

But as you scout around, you find a chest that’s been shoved into the corner and hidden away. You quickly trot over to it and, crossing your fingers, dust off the latch and open it.

Laying inside is a bunch of old, miscellaneous items like candle sticks and even some pokeballs (all empty), and farming equipment too. It’s not until you get to the very bottom of the chest that you find- yes- a blanket!

“Milo!” You call out in glee as you take the old cloth out, standing tall and letting it unfold as you whip it through the air several times to get all the dust off. You cough as some of it gets in your face. “I found one!”

“Really?” Milo asks from below. “Where was it?”

“In some chest up here. So I guess I found some more stuff to move,” you quickly move down the stairs- as quick as you can, actually, without fearing that you’re going to break it from how loudly it groans under your weight. As soon as you’re back on the bottom floor with Milo, you open your arms proudly with an end to the blanket in each hand as you showcase your find.

Milo is very much not wearing a shirt, but you don’t focus on that part. Instead you focus on how Milo’s green eyes light up. “Oh! Would you look at that- I haven’t seen that blanket in years!”

“You recognize it?” You ask as you wrap the cover around his shoulders. Your fingers brush against each other for a second as he grabs the ends and tugs it around him. The simple action surely didn’t make your heart skip a beat- not at all.

Now that his shirt is discarded and he’s at least a fraction more dry, Milo sits on the hay bale and you take a place next to him. In the back of your mind, you’re grateful that it’s hay and not straw- straw is a lot more uncomfortable than hay is.

“The barn’s been around for awhile,” Milo comments as he gets comfortable. “And so have I. I’m pretty sure this used to be the old gym leaders, I’ve seen it once or twice as a child. What else did you find?”

“Some empty pokeballs, old candlesticks... a bunch of random stuff, honestly,”

“Sounds like him,” Milo huffs a laugh through his nose. “He was a bit of a hoarder. Not bad, though, considering it’s helping me now.”

You nod in agreement. Another strike of thunder and lightning is heard above- you and Milo both warily looking up at the ceiling as the building sways unsteadily against the harsh wind, and you unconsciously shiver, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Kind of cold...”

“Yeah,” you shrug, and you meet Milo’s gaze. He’s smiling awkwardly, tilting his head in such a way that- “No,” you quickly shake your head. “That completely defeats the purpose of the blanket. It’s yours, I’ll be fine!”

“Are you sure? It’s- not too big a deal,” Milo says, and you almost laugh.

“What happened to you? You were just as mortified as I was earlier,”

His face heats up a cute pink. “If it- if you’re uncomfortable- then I won’t push you! I just don’t want you to be cold!” The farmer shrinks a bit under his blanket.

“You’re sweet,” you try your best to give him a reassuring smile. “Do you really not mind?”

He quickly shakes his head. You’re not sure how to feel about how sure he is to ensure your comfort- offering you a blanket because you shivered even though he’s the one who’s still wet and shivering himself. You’re not sure how to feel about all of this, really- about Milo. And how kind he is. Biting your lip, you hum for a long time before it turns into a defeated sigh. “Fine. Open up,” you wiggle closer to him and Milo smiles as he lets you wiggle next to him, handing you the end of the blanket to wrap around yourself. Immediately, you feel the wet press of his skin against your clothes, but he’s surprisingly warm despite that.

Warm, wet, shirtless Milo... Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I first caught a fire-type?”

Milo breaks the silence, and your head raises in interest as you look at him. “Really?” You ask, a bit surprised. “I didn’t know you had any.”

He nods. “It was actually because of a situation like this, actually. Believe it or not, I’ve been caught in a few storms. So, I thought- it sure would be handy to have someone who could help me in these situations, or at least help me stay warm!”

Milo proceeds to tell you a long and entertaining story about how he was a teenager, caught in a storm, and how he barely found a shed to hide in. He probably dragged the story on longer than it needed to be, and he did a lot of cute voices for the Pokemon and what he thought they were telling him when he was a kid, but it was appreciated how he completely caught your attention and whisked you away into his story. It didn’t feel as awkward to be pressed against him and it didn’t feel as worrisome whenever the wind blew on the barn again.

Instead it was just the two of you, sitting together on a pile of hay as you exchanged various stories from your lives. Laughing at the wild things that happened to you both. You should have expected this out of Milo- he always had a talent for turning an unsavory moment into a good one.

Though you’re having a feeling it’ll be awkward all over again when the storm finally settles and the two of you will have to untangle from your little warm hub beneath the blanket. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

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tearsofgrace · 4 years

Text

written for suptober day 2: earth

word count: 1700, check archive for other tags!

okay i know i said i was sorry yesterday... but. this time i’m actually sorry

The other angels never got it. Why he loved it so much.

Well really, he’d never understood it either. His home was in Heaven. His family was in Heaven. Most of his eons of life had been spent in Heaven. Even God, the father he was taught to love and worship, had been in Heaven.

But Heaven wasn’t Earth.

Heaven didn’t have mountains that jutted out from the land, reaching for the sky but never quite touching it. Heaven didn’t have wide networks of rivers, snaking across continents, cutting the land deeper and deeper and forming wide gaping canyons. Heaven didn’t have entire ecosystems of life underwater carefully balanced, able to survive with the meager sunlight provided from above.

But it wasn’t just about the astonishing natural beauty of Earth. The other angels never would have understood that anyway. Awe was such a human emotion. Angels were better suited for obedience.

What drew Castiel to Earth, over and over, were the imperfections.

The way nature never quite conformed to patterns. The way flowers sprouted up across an entire field in patches, some small and some spanning miles. The way animals that could have- should have been enemies pulled together to make a better life for both of them. The way snow fell in Spring, covering the buds of green and suffocating them.

And when humans had come along, they’d tried to explain it all. Written countless equations, established rules that couldn’t be broken, scales that measured everything. They tried over and over to make sense of the world, to reign it in and fit it into their small box of human understanding. And they failed. Every single time.

And maybe that’s what fascinated Cas. Because he would never be able to understand it, to explain it, even with millions of years of experience, of divine understanding.

He loved the imperfections. The complexity. The systems that had taken on a life of their own after their creator left them.

But he loved humanity too. Long before humanity had become a very narrow word in his mind, he loved to watch people struggle to fit into the world. To watch them try and define themselves, to define others. He loved to watch them fall in love, to watch their hearts break, to watch them be lifted up and dragged back down just as quickly.

For millions of years, he thought that would be another thing he would never understand. The range of human emotion. The depth to which they can feel.

And then he’d met Dean Winchester. Or maybe met is too weak a word. He’d raised Dean Winchester from the infernos of damnation and painstakingly rearranged every atom in his body to its perfect form.

But that wasn’t what changed him. It was watching Dean. Watching him choose others over and over, watching him selflessly defend the world, watching him refuse to be controlled by the whims of those in power.

That’s what taught Cas to feel.

It was strange, at first. To be on a mission, and feel his heart crying out, yearning to be with someone else. To see an innocent lifeless before him and feel a stab of guilt, of pain for a human he had never met. To feel conflicted when he was given an order, not just confused and full of doubt as he always had been, but torn, broken, afraid to go through with what was being asked of him.

He grew to love it though. To love the joy, the elation, the swell in his breast when he looked at something beautiful. But even more he learned to love the pain, the heartbreak, the feeling of being totally alone in the world. Because they taught him. They taught him that just like Earth, humanity was not perfect, yet he loved it all the same. He fell for it- no, for him, all the same.

And now he had to leave.

It wasn’t that he feared death. He was no great loss to this world. The Winchesters, of course, would be upset. But they would move on, in time. But everyone else… they would see Castiel’s death as a triumph for Earth.

So he wasn’t afraid, not of what he would leave behind. But he wanted to stay. As selfish as it was, he didn’t want to leave. He wanted more time to roam the Earth, to discover places no man had ever set foot before, to watch the seasons change, and people change with them.

He’d known, when he made the deal, that he’d be taken. He had not known it would be so soon.

Even crouched behind Dean’s bed, both of them breathing heavily as the knocks on the door grew louder, he didn’t know why the time was now. Because he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t exactly unhappy, but there would always be that one thing, the unspoken thing that would keep him from true happiness.

And he was okay with it. He didn’t expect it. The unlikeliness of it ever happening was the reason he’d ever made the deal.

“Cas,” Dean breathed quietly, clutching his side and breathing quietly. “Are you- I mean, why is it here now? I thought you said-”

“The deal was I could live until I was truly happy,” Cas said tiredly. The last 24 hours had not been kind. He’d told the Winchester’s about his deal, which resulted in anger from Sam and numbness then tears from Dean. Which wasn’t quite how he thought it would go. But regardless, it was with heavy hearts they had all gone to bed, only to be woken by a cosmic entity a few hours later.

“And, you’re still not…” Dean trailed off. That had been the part Dean got caught up on. Not that he’d made a deal, or sacrificed himself, or had stopped the Shadow from taking Jack, but that he wasn’t happy.

“No, Dean,” Cas said quietly.

“Dammit, Cas.” There it was. That spark of anger. Dean lashing out because he didn’t know exactly what he was feeling. But there wasn’t any of the usual fire behind it, he just sounded tired.

“I’m not going to let it take you.”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

“I’m serious, man. We can’t do this without you.”

And Cas almost laughed at that one. Of course they could. He wasn’t a necessary part of this team. His being part of it, even his desire to stay in this world, it was all selfish. He wanted to stay because he loved it, not because they loved him.

“Yes, you can.”

“Will you shut up? Look, Cas, I,” Dean took a deep breath, “I know you think of me and Sam as brothers…” Dean trailed off and Cas looked at his hands. If only it were that simple. “And I want you to know we care about you too, even if we don’t say it enough. But,” he hesitated again and Cas looked up in concern. Maybe the wound in Dean’s side was worse than he thought. Dean readjusted himself against the bed and started again. “But I cannot let you die without telling you.”

Cas barely registered the words, looking closely at Dean’s wound and resting his hand next to it to try and sense the severity with his grace. It was fading every day, but he was enough in tune with Dean that he could normally get a read on him fairly quickly.

“I love you,” Dean blurted.

The world stopped spinning. Maybe somewhere, far across the earth, someone was still breathing, still talking, still grieving, still rejoicing, still living. But in the tiny bedroom deep within the bunker, nothing moved. Dean’s steady breathing froze, Cas’ hand on his side came to a standstill, the knocking on the door went soft.

Then everything was in motion again. The knocking more insistent, pounding through the wood, the beginnings of splinters starting to form.

“I love you,” Dean repeated quietly. “And I know you don’t feel the same. But I can’t let you die- die again, without you knowing.”

And that’s when Cas felt it. More strongly than any emotion he’d ever felt, coursing through his whole body and making his lips turn up in spite of, well, everything. Happiness. Pure, simple, real happiness.

For once, he didn’t think.

He just pulled Dean toward him, tilting his chin up as he did. In his eyes, he saw nothing but trust.

Then he kissed him softly, reaching up his hand bloodied from Dean’s side to grip his shoulder. Dean melted into him immediately, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Cas squeezed him tighter, afraid to let go, afraid of what it would mean.

When he finally pulled away, he looked into Dean’s dazed eyes and smiled softly. “I love you too, Dean.”

Before the hunter had a chance to respond, the door came crashing open and Billie--no, the Shadow--came walking in.

The smile on her face was completely empty. There was absolutely nothing behind it. No anger, no malice, no joy, no mirth just… nothingness.

“It’s time, Castiel,” she said, and her voice sent shivers up Cas’ spine.

He peeled his hand off Dean’s shoulder, ignoring the bloody mark it left behind, and stood to face her. “I know.”

Dean stumbled to his feet next him. “No. Hell, no, Cas I said you were staying and you’re staying if you think I’m gonna fucking let you walk away after-”

“I made a deal, Dean.”

“So what? You aren’t gonna fight? You’re just gonna give in. Bullshit, Cas.” Dean’s voice was rising in anger, but tears were glistening in his eyes and they were wide with pain, with emotion.

Cas reached forward, wiping a tear from his face, almost letting his resolve weaken when Dean immediately leaned into his hand, desperate for contact, and then turned to face the Shadow.

She took him by the shoulders, and for a minute, he saw it all. He saw stretches of open plain, vast cities rising from the ground, a ladybug walking delicately over a strand of grass, a man picking up another man’s dropped papers, smiling at him, a wave crashing on a rocky shore. He saw Earth.

And then all of it faded from his vision and he was left with only one picture, crystal clear.

Dean Winchester, eyes widened in fear, a bloody handprint on his shoulder, reaching out desperately to save him, to raise him from eternal emptiness. He looked helpless, broken, lost. Cas wanted to run to him, to kiss him and say everything was going to be okay. But he couldn’t. Earth didn’t need him anymore. Dean’s face filled his mind and he sobbed.

Then he blinked. And everything went black.

tag list [ask to be added or removed!]:

@fandomstuff67 @menjiiii @witchyanaels @starlightcastiel @chaoticdean @larryforeveralways @starclaire @flowersforcas @tlakhtwritesdestiel @wanderingcas @prayedtoyou @good-things-do-happen-dean @jayus-fandom-writer @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @gmotheemo @starrynightdeancas

#suptober20 #destiel ficlet #destiel oneshot #supernatural #spn fanfic #destiel angst #angst #bloody handprint #hurt #major character death #my writing

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my-happy-little-bean · 4 years

Text

Constellation Observations

pairing: logince (woah bean isn’t writing logicality what’s this–) warnings: mild swearing, insecurity, talks of burn out, allusions to a depressive episode words: 3456

summary: Logan begins to write a series of observations to learn more about Roman; and as he does, he grows to understand his universe (and perhaps falls in love with it too).

a/n - somehow, reading stuff by @sign-from-god-complex inspired me to go out of my comfort zone and write some logince fluff. it’s not the most revolutionary logince content out there, but it out here :p plus i wrote this whilst lying down in my backyard again so consider this my way of giving you a piece of my good day :”) also i am still trying to figure out the next golden slumbers chapter so i needed to give my brain a break :pp

enjoy!

[read on ao3~]

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Observation #1: Roman always picks at the grass in the Imagination, even if he is the one who grows it. Reasons for the needless destruction of his own creation remain unclear at the moment.

Perhaps it was because he was exhausted beyond belief, but Logan just couldn’t stop staring at Roman.

Logan had his notebook in his lap like he always did; though this time, he was sitting on the grass of the Imagination, not in his desk chair. It was late at night as well, maybe 2:30 AM. However, the stars in the sky flickered in a way that made Logan believe in the possibility of a timeless day.

It did not surprise Logan that he was still awake, given all the work that had to be completed. Thomas’ work schedule for the week was impacted by a rather unwelcome last-minute change, so Logan, of course, had to take a figurative evening shift.

What surprised Logan was that Roman was awake too.

It seemed as though it was going to be a sleepless night for both of them. Roman brushed off his presence in front of the coffee machine as nothing; a mere necessity in light of the new change. Though in hindsight, Logan knew more. The shift in schedule was a result of a production issue, which meant that the idea had to be re-worked. So of course Roman would be awake.

Roman, ever so kind of him, hence decided that Logan’s presence in the kitchen was a ‘sign from the heavens’ that he needed company (when really, it was just the result of Logan needing a refill). He then brewed coffee for the both of them and invited Logan to spend the night in the Imagination.

Logan would never admit it, but he was always intrigued by the Imagination. It was almost like Roman’s secluded workplace, separate from the Mind Palace and the rest of the sides. Not many of them ever really thought it was worth the visit; after all, they all had their own responsibilities, and the Imagination was simply Roman’s. However, Logan’s curiosity couldn’t help but lunge at any opportunity to visit; and while he knew none of it was real, he always left feeling rather awakened and alive.

So that was how he found himself sitting on a grassy hill in the Imagination, with Roman beside him, lying down on his stomach with his elbows propping him up slightly. Logan hadn’t touched his notebook in what felt like hours, only lifting it to mask a yawn. Roman, however, appeared to be busy picking at the grass below him.

“Do you have nothing productive to be doing right now?” Logan said, breaking the silence between the two. “Thomas needs a new idea before his friends arrive in the afternoon for shooting the revised takes of his video.” A pause. Logan added hesitantly, “I believe I cannot continue without your final verdict.”

“Aww, you can just say you need me, Erlenmeyer trash!” Roman said in a pouty voice; one that made Logan tear his eyes away from the dramatic sight. Determined to be seen, he rolled over onto Logan’s lap, flinging his hand onto his forehead. “Just say that you need me like one needs the air above – that you need me like one needs the ocean and all that it bears– Logan! Just tell me you can’t live without me!”

A beat of, quite frankly, unapproved silence. Logan just scoffed.

“That is obviously not the case.”

Roman rolled his eyes, but kept his energy steady.

“Anyway, I’m workin’ on it!” he exclaimed defensively, yet Logan couldn’t find it in himself to believe him. After all, Roman wasn’t even looking at him.

Instead, he rolled over to a patch of grass further away from Logan, landing in the same position as before. He then lowered himself ever-so-slightly, the grass nearly grazing his nose, before slowly plucking an individual piece of grass from the ground.

Logan sighed. “Roman, I do not see how your inefficient gardening tactics reflect that you are ‘working on it’.”

Roman looked up at him dramatically, his eyes narrowing at him.

“I’m rewiring his brain, Logan.”

Logan placed the blame for what happened next entirely on his sleep-deprivation. He blinked, the words registering in his mind. Roman, not breaking eye contact with Logan, then placed the single strand of grass in a patch not too far away from where it originally grew. Logan watched in some kind of twisted horror as the grass straightened in its new place, then moved in the same way the rest of the grass did.

“Are we–” He stood up frantically, grabbing his tie. His next words come out as a hushed whisper. “Is this Thomas’...”

A wide, pearly grin. “Figuratively, Specs.”

His eyes widened, staring at the grass he once sat on. If the grass—and hence, the Imagination—was a mere representation of Thomas’ brain, that meant– well that meant he was sitting on Thomas’ mind. The breakthrough, no matter how revolutionary, was utterly horrifying. What if he had stepped on an important synapse, damaging it permanently? What if that rock he idly kicked on the way to this hill represented a part of Thomas so essential to his development? What if–

Suddenly, Roman broke into loud, hyena-esque laughter. Logan stared at him, his eyes blown wide with fear when it suddenly hit him.

Logan took a deep breath and resumed his place on the grass slowly, adjusting his glasses.

“Now is not the time for falsehoods.”

Roman wiped a tear that was probably just for show. “Oh come on, Oscar the Protractor-Pouch; it was really funny.”

“Not in the slightest.”

(Logan would never admit it, but he found it a little amusing. An infinitesimal amount, some might say. At least, in its execution; not its purpose. It was because he was tired though, nothing more.)

“Besides, we needed something to wake both of us up,” Roman said, swiftly rolling back to Logan’s side. He softly bumped against Logan’s knee.

It was flawed logic, but Logan could appreciate that the logic was at least there.

Logan lifted his pencil from his ear to resume writing—or at least, to resume his attempts at writing—then paused.

“What were you doing, then?” he asked, looking down at Roman. He shrugged.

“I noticed some grass that was out of place.”

He said that as if it were obvious.

Logan continued to stare at Roman, who was still picking at grass absentmindedly. He stared at Roman while he bouncing some possible ideas off of him. And while Logan contributed a great deal to their conversation, he couldn’t quite focus on anything else other than the clear image of Roman.

Roman, whose creation was so vast yet so meticulous; whose attention to detail was almost too impressive to be true. Roman, his companion with a work attitude and ethic that bewildered Logan to great extents. Roman, who worked so hard for so long on a job Logan dismissed as something that could be done in one’s sleep. Roman who, Logan suddenly realized, didn’t sleep much at all.

And that was when Logan truly saw Roman for the first time, under the stars and on the carefully-crafted grass of the Imagination.

So, naturally, he wrote the observation down in his notebook to possibly revisit later.

---

Observation #12: When Roman is upset, he runs his hand through his hair; and he does so as if no one else could notice.

“You are not listening to me, Roman.”

“Uh, I don’t think I like what you’re saying, which means I’m probably wasting some brain cells listening to you, Sir-Nerds-A-Lot!”

“That is not my name. And that is not how brain cells work. You would know that if you were actually listening to me.”

Roman huffed, running a hand through his hair. He threw his head back, as if motioning at the ceiling to come watch yet another one of their disagreements unfold.

As much as he didn’t bother himself with feeling, Logan couldn’t help but feel bad for Thomas, who was standing helplessly in between their quarrel. It was always like this when it was just the two of them; Virgil nor Patton being present to mediate the situation.

He could possibly stretch this illogical guilt to Roman as well. He had not meant to anger the other side, but he just couldn’t help it. He was frustrated with his behaviour, how he was talking as if he– and hence, Thomas– were invincible. It was reckless, it was foolish, it was...well, stupid.

Still, Logan knew now where the figurative line had to be drawn. It didn’t take many arguments with Roman for him to recognize when his anger reached a point that was impossible to work with.

Logan took a deep breath, adjusting his tie.

“Okay. I see now that we are at a figurative crossroad with this discussion,” he said as cooly as he could. “Perhaps we should take a break.”

Thomas blew out a sigh of relief, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Thank you!” he cried out, already moving past Logan and towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna get a glass of water.”

“Yes, yes.” Logan noted the way Roman scrambled to pick up his own sanity as he spoke. “Let’s all take five.” He eyed Logan. “Even dunces need breaks between their...their dunce-ing.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, letting a bit of his own frustration slip.

“You are one to talk.”

Roman tilted his head at him. “Oh really?”

Shit. Logan pushed his glasses up, trying to maintain his composure.

“You are burned out, Roman,” Logan carefully said. “That is to say, you have overworked yourself not only in this conversation, but in your work in general. Therefore, it is not illogical to conclude that your burn-out is one possible reason why you are lashing out at me.”

Roman’s eyes went wide. “What are you–”

“Which is why we can resume talking about this matter at a later date. After all, you are not thinking logically. You are dismissing Thomas’ well-being for the sake of work, you are stressing him out to immeasurable extents — this isn’t you.”

“What do you know about me?!”

Logan blinked. Roman looked as if he was frozen in time, still lunged forward at him. Despite the distance, Logan could see the darkened rings under his eyes.

He didn’t answer Roman’s question for a while. It was most likely rhetorical, but even if it wasn’t, he didn’t know how to respond. After all, twelve recorded observations and a whole lifetime with Roman didn’t help Logan truly understand him.

But as he stared at Roman, who was surely close to tears, he couldn’t shake the familiar pang in his chest.

Through the glassy space between them was a reflection.

“I know myself,” Logan responded quietly. “It’s...it’s not good for anyone, Roman.”

It was quiet between them for a while. Roman drew himself back slowly, as if burnt by his words; and for a split second, Logan feared he had said the wrong thing.

Then, Roman wordlessly nodded at him. His stare burrowing through him like a bullet through a mirror. Before Logan could say anything else, he sunk out before Thomas returned, leaving Logan to conclude their discussion alone. His fear faded into a slight buzz in his chest.

(His tripedations were later reassured when he found Roman sleeping in front of the TV in the Mind Palace, Moana playing hazily in the background.

Logan sat beside him, stared at him for a bit, and then pulled out his notebook. He wrote something about the way Roman slept—peaceful, despite the storm behind his eyelids—before slowly nodding off as well.)

---

Observation #56: When Roman sings to Virgil, he does so by changing the song to fit a minor key. To Patton, he mostly sings him songs in C major. To himself, it varies. Perhaps he’s just practicing.

It was a hard day for Logan, and it was a long day for anyone else. When logic ran itself thin, there wasn’t much for Thomas to do other than wallow alone in his bed.

Logan felt Virgil and Patton on his skin all day, clouding his logical reasoning until it was barely there. It made Logan feel stupid and helpless; like he was some kind of joke.

On days like this, Roman was surprisingly the figurative glue of the group. He would visit Virgil’s room first and listen to his worries, helping him channel his emotions into poetry and songs. Then, he’d bring Patton cookies and watch home-videos with him until Patton felt comfortable moving on.

And Logan wasn’t sure why Roman bothered to visit him, but he did.

They couldn’t say much in Logan’s room, so they played along with the unspoken laws of his space and thought quietly to themselves instead. Roman was the only other side who understood why Logan’s room was mostly quiet; or at least was the only one to accept it. When no one talked, there was the smallest amount of room for subjectivity of any sorts.

Logan liked to think Roman found the idea clever; but judging by the way Roman looked at him with those eyes resembling that of a small puppy, Logan realized that he just found it sad.

Still, Logan’s room seemed to accept Roman’s classical music.

(So did Logan.)

At one point, Roman nudged his head to the bookshelf in Logan’s room, seemingly asking for a recommendation. The two leave his room with a few books in hand and smiles bigger than they initially were; Roman’s brighter, and Logan’s now there.

They make their way to the Imagination where Logan now spent a lot of his free time. Roman didn’t even need to extend an invitation anymore; all he had to do was stand in Logan’s doorway and nod at him. Then, Logan would conjure up a new notebook and follow suit.

(Logan found it strange how Roman didn’t notice the piles of notebooks labelled ‘Observations of the Imagination’. Or if he did, he made an effort not to pay attention to that corner of the room.)

(Logan was also relieved he kept his own personal notebook close, yet out of sight.)

It was halfway through Roman’s dramatic reading of “A Brief History of Time” when Logan broke into sobs. It was spontaneous and cruel that the tears couldn’t will themselves out of existence– that they even existed in the first place– but Roman didn’t seem to mind.

He didn’t mind how Logan ranted about how illogical it was that he was crying, or how illogical it was that Thomas felt like he had nothing when he had everything. He didn’t mind how Logan cursed at himself for two minutes straight in an indecipherable mess of the English language. He didn’t mind that Logan called himself ‘faulty’ and ‘broken’ (but he did frown sadly).

And he didn’t mind when Logan laid his head on his shoulder, so drained from the sudden burst of emotion that he couldn’t lift himself up anymore.

“You need to do that more, Specs,” he murmured when enough silence had passed. He took Logan’s hand into his own and rubbed it gently with his thumb.

“Do what more?” Logan scoffed, his voice hoarse from the strain. “Talk illogically?”

Roman laughed, pressing a kiss to Logan’s hair.

“Please.” Logan’s breath hitched at the sincerity. “I promise I’ll try to listen.”

Neither of them mentioned the kiss for the rest of the night because Roman started singing before Logan even had the chance to question its occurrence.

And when Roman sang to Logan, the key didn’t matter at all.

What mattered more was the sound. It couldn’t be contained by terminology, but rather by how it danced in the air that hung above them before it was carried off by the wind. His voice ran across his skin through goosebumps, as if someone wrapped Logan in velvet sheets. It sifted seamlessly through each verse, smooth as caramel and filled with its sweet, sugary taste.

Roman cared for the song just as much as he cared for his creation. He picked at each note like a strand of grass, as if carefully pressing them into imaginary sheet music in the dirt.

Logan would never be able to find the words because he kept going back to the same one:

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

And for a split second, the clouds in his mind parted, and the conclusion he reached seemed crystal clear.

Roman was beautiful.

---

Observation #92: It has been decided that these observations no longer apply to a person, but rather to a constellation. Evidence for this conclusion can be found in the freckles around his nose; or in his bright, shiny smile; or in the fact that his spirit, if those were to exist, simply housed a million, trillion stars – an entire universe, one might say.

At least, that is what it feels like nowadays.

Logan only understood love once he understood Roman.

Roman was fire, burning and warm. At one point, Logan had no problem describing Roman as his own personal hell – though at this point, that conclusion wasn’t even that far off.

Because it hurt sometimes to look at Roman; to see him laugh with the others in a dazzling display of light and sound. It hurt to see him surrounded by love Logan wasn’t able to pick apart and understand, let alone reflect.

He wasn’t broken. Roman made him understand that all too well.

But he was incomplete; and it didn’t take long for Logan to realize what he was missing.

There was a hypothetical theory called space dementia; where astronauts in orbit become so entranced by the immense vastness of space that they grow obsessed with its beauty.

And while there wasn’t much research done on the subject, Logan knew that his heart pulled towards the sight of Roman.

Roman was unlike anything Logan had ever seen or felt before. He was a million stars all wrapped up in a cluster in his chest, a vessel for something far more beautiful than this world deserved.

Perhaps that was why he held himself so tightly on the nights they would spend sleeping in the Imagination together (Observation #45). Perhaps it was because he was holding onto that cluster so tight; tight enough that no stars would escape. After all, the tiniest of disturbances would cause the whole universe to fall apart. He was as delicate as the velvet skies they laid under, yet burned so brightly when given the chance.

And when Roman showed him even a glimpse of his creation, Logan was, for lack of a better word, star-struck.

The piece Logan was missing took the form of a star, its edges worn and old as time itself. And it shot itself across the sky every night, as if flinging itself in their direction.

There was no set definition for what it was because Roman changed it every day. However, the idea remained the same.

Logan was missing Roman’s love.

“How long have you known?” Roman whispered as they stood on their hill, the Imagination stretching far beyond them.

“I do not know,” Logan replied, though the word ‘forever’ rests on his tongue. He took a step forward and grabbed Roman’s hands. “But I came to my realizations not too long ago. I decided that it would be illogical for me to hide this information from you, so I have decided to tell you now. I hope this does not change things.” A pause. “At least, changes them negatively.”

“Logan…” Roman’s eyes looked so soft. It made Logan’s heart ache and made him vow to love Roman as passionately as he could, if given the chance.

“I know it does not make much sense that I can harbour such a feeling but I...I do.” He mustered up a smile. “I love you.”

“You can feel, nerd,” Roman giggled, taking a step closer towards Logan as well. His forehead pressed against his, and the tips of their noses grazed each other’s.

He was so close. Logan’s skin caught on fire as Roman cupped his cheek, his other arm holding him tightly around his waist.

“I love how you feel,” Roman murmured. Logan’s breath hitched at the words. “And I love you too.”

Observation #93: There will never truly be enough words capable of describing the feeling of kissing Roman. But one thing is for certain.

He is air and he is light, and he is the missing piece.

After all, his lips fit almost perfectly.

(Though further experimentation is necessary in order to reach a solid conclusion.)

---

click here for a new and improved masterlist of all my writing if you’re interested ^v^

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #thomas sanders fanfic #thomas sanders fic #logan sanders #roman sanders #logince #logince fic #logince fanfic #logan/roman #logic/creativity #gabbie writes things

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

52 Project #15: The White-Haired Boy

They called him Alyn Ysmai, the White-Haired Boy. In the village he came from, it was said he had fallen from the sky as a child, carried on a shooting star. His skin was white as the clouds, and his hair as white as the Moon, and his eyes the golden color of wild animals. From earliest days, it was said that the Lady of the Moon had marked him for her own, for his sight in the darkness was like that of the night beasts, while the sun blackened and blistered his moon-white skin. Later it became even more apparent that the Moon had favored him.

None could resist the charming spell of his words, his eyes. Like the Moon, he mesmerized. All the young women and not a few of the young men threw themselves into his arms, desperate for his love. Not a few of these killed themselves afterward, too, when he abandoned them for a new lover or cruelly rejected them.

In the 25th year of his life, he still had the form and features of a boy, but a boy so beautiful none could take their eyes from him. To men who had never before considered another male attractive, he seemed almost a woman in his beauty, and they gave him anything he asked. He was as precocious in mind as he seemed slowed in his growth; when 13, he completed his Passage to manhood by trickery, and since then had made three fortunes and become Captain of a vast Company, specializing in the acquisition and sale of information, as well as the dispatching of skilled assassins. All the other Companies in the city of Tylar trembled in fear of Alyn Ysmai, and his every word was law. Some grumbled, quietly, that Alyn Ysmai sought to make himself a Lord, as they had in some of the barbarous lands of Lysar. But they grumbled this very quietly indeed, or they vanished, never to be seen again.

In truth, the charge had teeth. Alyn Ysmai held a kind of court, where people seeking favors from him came to grovel and beg. Sometimes it pleased the White-Haired Boy to grant their requests. More often, it pleased him to shred their feelings, humiliate them, ruin them, or else steal their souls and make toys of them. Few, few women dared go to him; ever since the Captain of a rival Company killed herself for love of Alyn Ysmai, none who sought men for their night's pleasure, male or female, went to the White-Haired Boy unless their need was very great. The old and hardened, the men and women who loved only women, these were the only ones safe from loving him, and these faced other dangers of the soul instead.

There were those who said he was the son of the Lady of the Moon, one of the star angels fallen out of the night sky. Others said he was a demon from beneath the ground, with his skin that could not bear the daylight. It was people possessed of the former opinion that Alyn Ysmai surrounded himself with.

One day in his 25th year, as the White-Haired Boy held his "court", an old woman was brought to him. She had the reputation of a seer, but none of the psychic Companies would take her, claiming she was a charlatan who prostituted whatever Gift she had. Her only son had betrayed his Company and broken his bloodpaper, and so a deathpaper had been placed on him. She had come to beg Alyn Ysmai to use his influence to save her son.

His gold eyes bored into her own, and it seemed to her he could see all she desired, and more; all her pains, her tragic memories, all her deficiencies and the weaknesses in her heart. Almost, she cringed from his gaze-- she was not a very brave woman. But though she was not brave, and though she might be called a trickster, still she loved her only son. So she bowed deeply, instead. "My lord of the white hair, my humble bones groan with the honor you place on my shoulders, agreeing to lower yourself to see me. Words cannot describe my gratitude and humility..."

"Then don't waste them," Alyn Ysmai said, and his smile was as cold as ice. "I am not terribly fond of lowering myself to see gutter trash like you, old woman. Apparently you convinced my assistants that you were worth my time; either you've got a treasure unheard-of hidden in those rags, or you've a silver tongue. In which case, it would look very attractive if I melted it down and made a necklace out of it. So which is it?"

The woman quailed at his vicious words, all the more terrible for the mild, somewhat bored tone they were spoken in. Trembling, she prostrated herself at his feet. "O most noble lord, I have had a vision concerning your exalted self. Poor as a seer though I might be, still it is said that the gods may choose base vessels for their lofty messages, and who can gainsay the will of the gods?"

"Oh, you have a vision. Concerning me. No doubt, something about how I will be successful in love, or achieve wealth, or something. Since if you came with some doomsaying prophecy, you wouldn't expect a gift for it." He yawned, ostentatiously. "You have no way of knowing how tired I am of every halfwit who fancies herself a seer telling me things about my future anyone could have guessed from looking at my past. If this is another of those tedious predictions, I don't want to hear it."

"No, no, nothing like that, noble one! My vision concerns your true nature, and your rightful position among the people of Tylar. Indeed, the people of all the land of Taldyr!"

"Oh, don't tell me. I'm the chosen of the Lady of the Moon, right? I do get tired of this. Guards..."

"Wait! My lord, you don't know your true nature-- it's even greater than anyone had predicted!"

That had gotten his attention. He leaned forward slightly, gesturing to the guards to hold their places. "So tell me then, base vessel of lofty messages that you claim to be."

She dared not look at his eyes, or he would discern the truth of her message soon enough. She had to make him believe it. "My lord, as you know, four days ago was a night with no moon. It was on that night that I dreamed. I dreamed I went out into the street and looked up at the sky, and I could not see the Lady's face. I called out, 'My lady Moon, don't leave us behind! Don't leave us in darkness!'

"Then the stars spoke to me. They said, 'You fool! You call to the sky for the Lady, when she dwells on the same ground as you? Your brains are addled, old woman!'

"I asked, 'How can the Lady be on the same ground as me? Surely any ground I walk on must be too unworthy for her exalted self...'

"They replied, 'Do not overestimate your importance, gutter slime. Your actions are so totally meaningless that they can have no bearing on the Lady's actions.'

"But then one of the stars said, 'Wait, brothers and sisters. Feeble, old and unworthy this piece of human trash may be, but she may yet perform a valuable service for us. After all, she is not the only human who does not know what magnificence walks among them.'

"'That is true,' said the other stars. Then they said, 'Our Lady walks among your people, in the very streets of your city, trapped by her enemy the Sun and unaware of who she truly is. We will give you a task worthy of far better than you, old woman, and no gods shall help you if you fail it. You shall find the Lady and inform her of who she truly is, and ask her to take her position of worship. For if, trapped on Talla in the body of a human, she does not receive the worship of her loyal servants, she will pine away, and the Moon, her visible manifestation, will fade forever from the sky.'

"'But she cannot be among the people of Tylar!' I protested. 'For her loyal worshipper and chosen servant, Alyn Ysmai, would surely have found her, seeing as he knows all that transpires in this city!'

"They laughed. Then they said, 'Oh, yes, Alyn Ysmai knows everything-- except the secret of his birth. Perhaps you have forgotten, old woman, that in other countries, the Moon is worshipped as a man. As lord of desire and love, the god you call the Lady of the Moon is not bound to the shape of a woman-- she contains within her the essence of the masculine, as well. Go and tell Alyn Ysmai that he is no mere servant of the Lady of the Moon-- he is the Moon, trapped in the form of a white-haired boy on Talla, bound by his enemy, the Sun. He must know himself for what he is and be worshipped, or he will never achieve the strength to break the bonds the Sun has placed on him and return to his rightful place in the heavens. Tell him, old woman!'

"And then I awakened. I feared to come to you at first, believing my dream only the foolish fancy of an old woman. But then I remembered the legend, that the touch of the Sun corrodes your skin. There have been others favored of the Moon, but it is the birthright of all humans to touch the Sun and be warmed. If the Sun is inimical to your existence, my lord, then you cannot be human. Your substance is of an entirely different nature, and the Sun is its ancient enemy.

"Is it true, my lord? Does the touch of the Sun truly burn your skin? Are you the Moon in human incarnation?"

Alyn Ysmai stared at the old woman, shocked to his core. Always had he believed he was touched by divinity, but never that he was divinity himself. Could he believe that? Dared he believe that? If he was not the Moon, and claimed to be, would not she withdraw her protection from him, as punishment for his pride?

Yet-- if he was the Moon, it would explain a very great deal. It would explain his power to see into the hearts and sometimes the minds of others, knowing what they felt as if it showed on their faces even when they showed no sign, and sometimes knowing their thoughts as if they had spoken them, even when they had made no sign. That was no seer's power, no psychic's trick-- that was a far greater power than the humans of Talla had, and he had it. Why? Why did the sun sear his skin? Why was he so pale, as if all the color had been drained from him, when even the babies never bronzed by the blue-white sun were born brown? All around him had black or red hair, curled tightly, loosely, or waving-- his was white and straight as moonlight. All around him had eyes of black or brown-- his were tawny gold. The men of 25 years that he knew were muscular and tall-- he was yet small and slight, with the beauty but not the strength of a woman, as if he were yet a boy. Why?

If he were the Moon, trapped here by the Sun-- oh, that would explain it all. A deity in human form could not be expected to look human. The Sun's substance would corrode the Moon's skin, naturally. And he could not grow to full manhood as long as he remained ignorant of his true nature.

No wonder people loved him whenever he wished, if he was the god of desire and love. No wonder people threw their reason away for him, lost their willpower to his, when will and reason were gifts of the Sun, if he was the Sun's ancestral enemy. It all made beautiful, perfect sense. He felt a sudden rush of warmth for this old woman, who had shown him the truth of what he was.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, it's all true. Now that you tell it to me, it's so obvious I wonder how I could have failed to see it before. I am the Lady of the Moon." He stood, and graciously helped the old woman to her feet. "You've done me a great service, old woman," he said. "Is there any service I can do for you, as a token of my gratitude?"

"If you would, my exalted Lord," she whispered, her eyes cast at the ground. "My dear and only son, the delight of his mother's old age, has had a deathpaper placed on him by the Athysuvyras Company. If you would only use your great powers to make them rescind the papers and let him join a new Company..."

"I'll do that," the White-Haired Boy, now revealed as the Lady of the Moon, told her. He took from her the details of the case, and dismissed her. Then he dismissed all those who sought an audience with him. Turning to his subordinates, he said, "You've heard what she said. Do you believe it true? Will you accept me, not only as your Captain, but as your goddess?"

As one, all of them bowed deeply. His second-in-command, a woman he had never found attractive enough to seduce but who loved him deeply, said, "We will follow you even to death, my Captain and Lady, my god. Command us, and we will follow."

"Then we all go to the temple of the Moon-- to My temple, tonight. There are a few matters I wish to discuss with My priests." Already he had shifted into the dialect used only in myths and religious services, the speech used by the gods to mortals.

***

In the temple, the Lady's priests awakened as their goddess's manifestation first began to brighten in the sky. They went about their duties as if this were a day like any other, until they heard a clamor outside.

One of the priests went to the door, and saw there the White-Haired Boy, followed by a hundred or more. It was well-known that Alyn Ysmai was the favored of the Moon, and so the priest opened the gates. "What brings you to the temple this fine night, sir?" he asked.

Alyn Ysmai looked at him with an expression of cold fire, and the priest suddenly wanted to wilt into the ground beneath and die. "You will address Me with proper respect," the White-Haired Boy said. "It has been revealed to Me today that I am your Goddess, taken flesh in the form of a human male. I wish to address all of My priests. Call them from their duties and have them assemble in the main courtyard."

Stunned, the priest managed to stammer, "Y-yes, my lor-- my Lady..." He turned and ran, to bring the news to the other priests, his mind in turmoil. How could it be that they had not divined the presence of the Lady in their midst? Something had gone terribly wrong.

The priests came out from the chambers where they worshipped the Lady with their bodies, men and women with disheveled hair and hastily-donned ceremonial clothing. Hairbrushes and makeup flew about as they tried to restore themselves to the beautiful aspect they should present, before their goddess should arrive.

Then finally the White-Haired Boy strode into the room. He had dressed in the garment of a priest himself, and was made up to be unbearably beautiful. None who looked at him could disbelieve that he held feminine essence in himself, nor could they disbelieve that he was Desire incarnate. His followers mingled with the priests and prostrated themselves in the courtyard, except for the bodyguards who stood behind him. In his pale white beauty he seemed to glow like the moon itself, and this is what he said:

"Listen, priests of My temple! Today it has been revealed to Me that I am not merely the favored child of the Moon. I am the Moon herself, taken flesh in My male aspect. The Sun, my ancient enemy, has trapped Me here, giving Me a male shape in a place where I am worshipped in My female aspect. But look at Me! Can you not see in Me the duality of My nature?" His voice became seductive, his whole body sensuality incarnate. Every lover of women saw a woman in him, while every lover of men saw him as a man, and all adored him beyond belief. "Is there anyone here who does not desire Me? Who does not think Me beautiful? Who would not die for Me, should I ask it?"

"No one, Lady, no one!" the prostrated priests and followers chorused.

He beckoned to one of the followers. "Stand up and be counted!" he called to him, and the man stood. "Do you not love Me?"

"Yes-- yes, my Lady! I will do anything for You!"

"Take your knife and plunge it into your breast for Me, then," Alyn Ysmai said.

Mesmerized by the burning gold eyes and the beauty, the man did so, and died with a cry of anguish and ecstasy as his own knife pierced his heart.

As the man fell dead, Alyn Ysmai said, "From this day forth, all of you will direct your worship to Me, to My fleshly aspect, as well as to My heavenly manifestation. You will obey My every order without question, and serve the desires of the flesh I wear. If I tell you to break all your bloodpapers, to murder your employers, to make the streets run with the blood of those who worship My enemy the Sun, you will do it. And I will reward you with My presence, and with fortune in love, so long as you please Me."

***

They built Alyn Ysmai a throne in the temple, and brought him the finest brocades to wear, the finest delicacies to eat. He enslaved the hearts and minds of those who opposed him, or claimed he was no god. If they hated him too much to be enslaved, his followers and priests would compete to devise new and interesting ways of putting them to painful death. People broke their bloodpapers and murdered their employers at his order, just as he had said, and when deathpapers were placed on those who had committed the crimes, his worshippers would rise up against that company and devastate it. The streets ran with the blood of those who worshipped the Sun, or sometimes, any god but Alyn Ysmai. Those who earned his gratitude had great rewards granted them, and led enviable lives. Those that disappointed him were required to abase or humiliate themselves, or sometimes to commit horrible suicides.

And through it all Alyn Ysmai grew very bored.

He showed no sign of aging, of developing a more manly body. Worship satiated him, but gave him no mystic strength to command the heavens, or any other of the great powers that should be his by right. And his pleasures had to grow progressively more unusual to appeal to his jaded soul.

Finally, one night he had a dream.

In the dream he saw a woman, and she was mirror to himself, with long hair the color of moonlight, and eyes the color of night. Her body was perfection, and more than perfection, and he fell immediately in love with her, desperately and completely.

"Alyn Ysmai," she said, and her voice was the music of the night. "I've heard a great deal about you."

"Have you?" he asked, and his mouth was dry.

"You're very beautiful," she said. "Truly, you are favored." And she smiled at him with biting sharpness. He could not tell if her smile was a mockery, or if she meant what she said. For the first time, his gifts deserted him, and he could tell nothing about her, affect nothing of her.

"You are also very beautiful," he managed.

"Yes, I am, aren't I?" she said, and stepped toward him.

She drew him into her embrace, and it was like nothing he had ever experienced. It was more real than any dream he had ever had-- more real, in fact, than reality had ever been. And when she took him in love, there was more pleasure than he had ever imagined, more than he could easily comprehend.

Then she faded like smoke out of his arms, leaving him unfulfilled and despairing. He called out to her... and realized that he was awake.

Desperate with unfulfilled desire, he summoned one of his priests, a beautiful woman trained in all the arts of pleasure, to his bed. But she was empty, hollow, after the woman of last night. He felt dirtied by her touch, and experienced no enjoyment, only the release of a physical pressure. His mind and soul were left as unfulfilled as before.

For hours he lay in bed, throughout the burning day, trying to regain the dream he'd lost, but to no avail. Finally, sick to the soul, he rose with the moon, dressed, and glanced out the window.

She was standing in the courtyard below.

Alyn Ysmai was down the stairs faster than anyone should be able to move. But when he reached the courtyard, she was gone.

"Did you see a woman here?" he demanded of a priest passing by. "A woman, with hair and skin as light as my own?" In his desperation, he forgot the terms of godly address, and spoke just as he had when he was thought an ordinary man.

"No-- no, my Lord," the man said. "I saw no one."

"Did you see her?" the White-Haired Boy demanded of other priests, searching the entire courtyard. "Did you? Did you?"

Finally one said, "I think I saw a woman like that heading out the gates, my Lord."

Like a man possessed, Alyn Ysmai headed for the gates, searching for the woman. Already he knew that he would never know pleasure, real pleasure again, never enjoy anything in life again, until he found her. Without her, his life would be empty and meaningless. And when he found her, she would become the reason for his existence. He would worship her, as he himself was worshipped, and give her everything he had, and in return she would give him pleasure far beyond the domain of mortal men.

So he went into the city, and demanded of passersby that they tell him where she had gone. He had none of his bodyguards, but the force of his need was such that even those who hated him answered him readily. It did no good. The fragments he learned indicated that she had somehow drifted out of the city, like a flower blown on the wind. He turned and left the city, hiking out into the wilderness to seek her out.

In the day he sheltered from the sun under the rich brocades his worshippers had given him, and still he searched. In the night, he drove himself without food, without sleep, crossing the wilderness alone, and still he searched. And for days and nights he searched, until days turned to weeks, and then to months, and then to years. And still he searched... for his life would not be complete until he found her again.

In the city, his worshippers tried to follow him, but found that the moon was too dim to find him by-- it clouded their vision, somehow. And slowly they awoke, as if from a dream, and realized that their goddess in male cloak would not be returning to them. So they resumed the old patterns of worship, and the life of the city returned to the way it had been, before the arrival of the White-Haired Boy.

***

In the heavens, the Lord of the Night, master of sleep and dreams, and his sibling the Lady of the Moon, stood in the palace of the sky and looked down. Alyn Ysmai still continued his desperate quest for the woman who had stolen his soul-- she who was none other than the true Lady of the Moon, herself.

"I'm not sure I should have let you enter his dream," the Lord said. "You've stolen his soul, sister, and doomed him to wander all Talla, searching for you."

"Surely you don't think the punishment was too extreme," the Lady of the Moon said, surprised at her brother. "The White-Haired Boy brought chaos to the city he dwelt in. He toyed with the hearts and minds of others, and destroyed people for no better reason than his own pleasure, or to alleviate his boredom. If anyone on all Talla could be called evil, it would be Alyn Ysmai. Surely you must realize how much he deserved his fate, brother! I did nothing more to him than what he did to countless others."

"I know," the Lord said gravely. "For what he did, the White-Haired Boy deserves a thousand punishments, and I don't grieve to see him tormented the way he tormented so many others. But I question your motives, sibling."

"My motives? Why do you question--"

"When he won the hearts of all his family, so that they spoiled him and gave him all he desired, you smiled on him. When he tricked people of their birthrights and of their bloodpapers, you clapped your hands in delight like a small child. And when he played with the hearts and minds of others, enslaving people to his desires, robbing them of will, making them his toys, you laughed and beamed down on him. He was your favored child, agent of your pleasures and your manipulations. It wasn't until he grew arrogant enough to believe himself you, to steal your worshippers and rain blood in your name, that you grew angry enough to punish him." The Lord of the Night gazed sternly at his sister. "You destroyed him, not because he was evil-- for he was evil even before he took your temple, made so by the gifts you gave him. No, you destroyed him for the sake of your own pride."

And the Lady of the Moon could make no reply, for it was true.

***

They say the White-Haired Boy lived a long, long time, and spent all that time searching for the Lady of the Moon, never finding the cruel goddess again, nor regaining her favor. Some say that he wanders Talla still, calling her by the name "Beloved," calling to her as he searches. If you cross his path, these say, he will doom you to a devastating and unrequited love, to make another share his anguish. Others say he died a long time ago. But even those turn aside when they see a pale form in the distance, on a moonlit night, or when they hear the wind crying a name.

***

Translator’s notes:

Aside from the Great Diaspora, when the people of Laon fled their original homeworld, and the world of Scamara, which according to their legends wasn’t settled by willing Laon’l, there is very, very little evidence of Laon’l space travel prior to being contacted by the Galactic Confederation. This is understandable; prior to the Diaspora, the Laon’l perceived space to be the realm of demons, while the chthonic realms of their planet’s depths were understood to be the realm of their afterlife, cradled in the peaceful bosom of their Mother. After the Diaspora, Laon’l saw space as the realm of their tormentor, the Daishenéon Emaroth (the title translates as either “Great Empress” or “Greatest of Demons”.)

However, it cannot be denied that on the new world of Laon, the technology for space travel existed, and the Laon’l leadership has always tended to be conservative and controlling – a combination that often leads free-thinkers, iconoclasts, and members of minority cultures to flee their homes. The Laon’l leadership is known to have suppressed any knowledge of individuals fleeing Laon, in the past, but archaeologists have found evidence of attempts to build spaceships. Until now, however, we’ve found no evidence on Laon’l presence on any world other than Laon and Scamara.

This particular legend comes from the continent of Taldyr on Talla, and has been understood by the Taldyrese to be fictional, or possibly to be based on the actual exploits of a charismatic leader with albinism. However, there are certain factors that suggest that this is not the case.

- The White-Haired Boy is presented as unusually sensitive to Talla’s sun. The blue-white sun of Talla is in fact a serious problem for the rare Tallese albinos, and for humans of the “Caucasian” subgroup and Draigoili of the “anthela” subgroup, but only Laon’l are known to actually die of radiation poisoning from a full day of exposure to the Tallese sun (during summer, or near the equator, and on a cloudless day). The exaggerated sensitivity the White-Haired Boy supposedly had to sunlight in legend sounds significantly more like Laon’l sensitivity to the Tallese sun than to the sensitivity Tallese albinos exhibit.

- The White-Haired Boy, if he existed, would almost certainly have had to be psionic to demonstrate the abilities he supposedly had. This might simply be a convention of fiction – on Earth, another low-psi world, legendary figures have abilities that in reality would require powerful psi, as a matter of routine. But Alyn Ysmai is actually the only Tallese legendary figure to demonstrate abilities that seem to fall in the range of telepathy, telempathy or expathy; most Tallese trickster figures or legendary heroes have abilities that cannot be explained by psionics, such as shapeshifting, flight, abnormally high strength, et cetera.

- “Fallen from the sky as a child, carried on a shooting star” : any version of the Alyn Ysmai legend that covers his childhood at all makes reference to this part of the legend. The resemblance to a spaceship crash-landing is obvious.

- “had the form and features of a boy”, references to the femininity of the White-Haired Boy – Laon’l are significantly more neotenous than other humanoid species, and typically have less sexual dimorphism. To a Tallese of a thousand years ago, a Laon’l of 25 Tallese years would look much more like a teenager, and would appear more androgynous than the average Tallese teenager.

- Talla’s star is visible in the sky of Laon, often during the day. It’s one of about ten stars that writings of Laon’l who believed their species should return to space spoke of attempting to reach.

- Laon’l and Tallese are not interfertile without modern genetic engineering, and some variants of the Alyn Ysmai legend make much of the fact that he fathered no children. No variants claim that he did have children. With the amount of coitus, the number of partners the legends suggest he would have had, and the social status he had, it’s implausible that he wouldn’t have had children if he were fertile at all.

Of course, all of this is circumstantial evidence; without access to Alyn Ysmai’s remains, we have no way of proving for certain his species. However, it’s fairly strong circumstantial evidence.

Given the value to identifying evidence of pre-GalConfed Laon’l space travel, we suggest that an archaeological expedition to Talla to attempt to determine whether the White-Haired Boy actually existed or not, and to potentially recover whatever may be left of his remains, should be funded within the next five years.

#52 project #laon #talla #galconfed universe

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modestlyabsurd · 4 years

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Survival Pt. 4 (Loki x Reader)

"We've got approximately five minutes worth of a head start, that's enough to sort most everything out. ... Alright, we can afford to leave the blanket behind, although it would be helpful to have around ... hm. Maybe we could roll it up and tie it to the top of your backpack like a sleeping bag. Then it could also be a cushion if you were to fall backwards. Yes, that's what we'll do. Alright, give me your ... are you listening to me?"

The skin beside your thumbnail turns white and flaky, and your index finger cramps up in a hooked position. It draws your attention - the cuticle had been picked raw. Only at the sight and subsequent stinging of blood flow did you stop, and simultaneously hear Loki's voice. He was standing above you, clearly annoyed.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" you ask without looking up.

"Getting stuck in your mind. Stop it." He crouches to your criss cross applesauce post in the house's living room floor. Your gaze was glued to the loose board from the other night. Or was it last night? It doesn't make a difference now. From this point forward this place is just a memory. Like all the rest.

"We have to go," Loki insists. His tone surfaces a nasty resentfulness in you, and while you were partially aware that he was undeserving of it, that didn't override it. He grabs the hand that you're absently picking again and you jump, startled by the harsh touch. "What have you done? You're bleeding!"

"It's fine!" The nearing sound of inhuman croaks and moans drives your heart rate up. "It's not a big deal!"

"It is a big deal," Loki counters. "But we don't have time to discuss that right now." He snatches you to your feet by the same hand, plants his hands on your shoulders and stands directly in front of you. "We have to go."

"I heard you the first time."

His eyes darken. "I've said it thrice now."

You squirm, wishing he would understand. Wishing there was time to understand.

"Get out of your head," Loki demands, shaking your shoulders. You want to punch him, but he'd just counter it. What are you gonna do, argue for half an hour? Wait for the infected to get there and ask them why all of this is happening? You're not stupid.

You nod and feel your lip quiver, seething at your body's betrayal. Being made to feel like a child is enough, but then to look like one too. Why is everything so fleeting?

Why is it that even at just the thought of what humanity has come to, at the thought of the infected monsters coming to ruin everything you're fighting for, at the thought that those monsters were once people but are now closer to brainless rabid animals, why when faced with the inhuman reality do the most human feelings emerge? At the end of the day, you are the child that just wants to go home. But it's impossible. There is no home.

Loki hard set jaw softens. "Listen to me," he breathes, and places a cold hand on your bare neck. His big, round eyes are almost blue with worry. "Although it may not look like it, we're one step closer. We're going to be fine, I swear to you." With a gentle pull, Loki brought you to into him and rested your foreheads together.

It's moments like this that you wonder if he's been lying this whole time about not being able to read minds and see the future and such. In his words was conviction. It's a quality Loki rarely exhibits with his usual "any way the wind blows" perspective. It reminds you that at the end of the day you share a common goal. You breathe deeply, grounded by the weight of Loki's head against yours. The intimate gesture made you want to cry; it was a reminder for you to trust him.

You wonder how he always knows what to do, or what to say to give you the appropriate kick in the ass.

"We better go," you croak.

He pats your shoulder. "You know what to do."

The old routine kicks in. First and foremost: make sure your pistol and knife are on you. Save the rest of the weapons for last. Pack all the food. Sort what supplies you need and don't need. (Which, in this case, everything is a need.) Pack the supplies as neatly as possible. Distribute the weight. Put on dry socks. Boots. Dry gloves. Then you place your long rifle in your backpack holster that you'd crafted from a belt, and Loki does the same with his crossbow. Do a quick sweep of the area with your eyes for anything you may have missed. The two of you do this separately.

The place is wiped clean, save for those stocked bookshelves. If only you could take the entire beautiful collection with you. In two steps you cross the living room, removing your backpack. Quickly you scoop up a few books with the most enticing covers at a glance. A voice nagged your mind that the weight of the books would pose a challenge and maybe outweigh the idea altogether, but in your heart you felt otherwise. The paper could be used for a fire at the least. Of course, if possible, you wouldn't be burning any of them.

"They're coming," Loki says out of breath. "Hurry, we don't have time!"

"I got it," you call back, even though you're merely feet apart. You can feel the herd's stamping run through the floor boards, hear their widespread wails and screeching.

"Now!" Loki yells, opening the front door, squinting as he watched the oncoming infected. White light blinds you and cold wind bites your face. You wished you'd thought of putting on a bandana, but there wasn't time. You run out of the cabin, leaving it behind.

Everything is white. Your feet weigh a hundred pounds each as they carry you through inches - hell, more like feet of unforgiving snow. Freshly falling snowflakes dampen your clothes; the icy air draws hot tears from your eyes. Or at least that's the reason your brain convinced itself for crying. You ran towards the snowy hills, toward the frosted trees, toward nothing. You just ran. They were right on your heels. The ravenous sound of the herd was amplified in the wide open outside.

Your momentum got too fast - a leg jutted out too far for a running step and you almost lost it. The other leg quickly compensated, and you bent at the knees and kept running - but the thought of almost falling and being left behind makes you come to a screeching halt. Cheeks burning from the cold, eyes struggling to stay open.

Where'd he go?

"Loki!" you call his name into the air. The whirling wind whispers an empty reply.

Looking around, your aching, shrunken stomach twists into knots. You're blind. Nothing but white everywhere, and no Loki. Standing still allows the grueling weight of snow melt to set into your clothes. Desperately you scan the area, and turn to find a patch of tall evergreen trees nearby. At the moment you saw them, the falling of snow dust from low lying branches reels you in. Too high to be a deer. Too stealthy to be infected. Below to your right was the ever-starving herd, now somewhat dumbfounded at the bottom of the hill. The mere fact that they're within eyesight and earshot makes you decide not to yell out again.

If that isn't Loki in the trees, you're in trouble. But he's nowhere. What choice do you have?

Your fingers grip tightly around the handle of your pistol, feeling like icicles underneath thin gloves. You make way to the trees, mindful of the oblivious but keen infected, scanning your surroundings. No footprints. The branches remain still. When the gun's barrel is close enough to touch them you quickly act, snatching a handful of branches away. A sweep reveals the hollow in the thicket to be empty, free of animal droppings or tracks.

Maybe it was just wind blowing the tree. Maybe it was a flying pig. Regardless, Loki had to be hiding somewhere.

The area had grown quiet, as if the herd had begun blindly searching for their prey. They were likely staggering around the cabin, using their highly developed echolocation to try to spot you. Luckily, their intelligence stopped there. The rest was eat, eat, eat. You considered whistling out for Loki, but refrained from it in fear of rousing the herd up again.

Great. Nothing in sight, nowhere to go, and no one to complain about it to. Where the hell is he? And why is he still hiding? you pondered, circling the perimeter of the evergreens. No movement, no sound except for the thunderous crunching of snow beneath your boots.

And then the sound of snow pluming around your head. Snow in your eyes, ears, on your neck. Chilling your spine, cushioning your elbows. Your mind whirring as you open your eyes and squint them right back shut at the the bright, vast blue sky. Then a tall, thin shadow obscures the light, and your eyes shoot open.

Loki was standing above your body, laughing.

You raise your gun to give him a glimpse of the afterlife. Or whatever Asgardians face after they're scared to death. Only, your gun is gone.

"Looking for this?" he chirps and dangles your pistol above you like a piece of meat, interrupting your panicked shuffling to find it.

Disoriented, lopsided and homicidal, you spring to your feet haphazardly and prepare to unleash a volcano of profanity, but you can't. He's smirking. His cheeks are as round and rosy as a kid on Christmas morning - he even lends a hand to help you regain balance.

Every bit of air leaves your lungs in a scoff of disbelief. "Wha - why'd you do that?" you ask, then interject more forcefully, "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Keep your voice down," says Loki calmly, leaning in and commanding you with a firm hand on your shoulder. You sling it off, furious.

"Fuck you, I thought you were gone! I thought someone had taken you!"

"Yes, and if I had, you would've been taken as well."

"You ... you pushed me to the fucking ground!"

"Actually, I pulled you to the ground. From behind. It was a bit of a test of my ingenuity in the comforter blanket's effectiveness of protecting your head in a fall. And I must say, I believe it worked quite well. Though I bet those books in your backpack proved to work against you, didn't they?"

Your mouth hangs open as if to speak, but you're so possessed by anger that no rational speech comes out. Hyperventilating, head shaking in denial, hands dying to punch him where it counts. How could he scare you like that?!

"Hey," says Loki, taking one of your trembling hands. "Don't take it so badly. If I were you, I'd be eternally grateful that it was me who caught you instead of someone else. Because it all comes full circle, dear. You mustn't get so lost in your own mind. You have to be one with yourself, and be able to separate them when needed."

He wets his chapped red lips and winks, crows feet crinkling around his big, round eyes. He was sincere, despite the condescending untertone in his voice. As much as it lit you up with rage, Loki had bested you. He'd not only proven a valid point of his own concern regarding the deficit in your caution, but he'd also brought something to your attention that you hadn't fully considered; while you're always subconsciously aware of your needing him to survive, you weren't so aware of what you would do without him. Even knowing the cold fact that either of you could be killed at any time. That never completely processed before.

But frankly, it was never something you wanted to give a nanosecond of a thought, and you damn sure don't want to now.

You extend the opposite hand to the one Loki's holding. "I'll take my gun back now."

Loki is taken aback, his eyebrows raising in surprise as though he'd expected a more playful response - or even just something more elaborate. Which, normally, maybe you would've been. But clearly things are changing everywhere, and it seems you're gonna have to change, too.

A strange, conflicted smile washes over Loki's face, then he quickly straightened it out into a more distant look. Without breaking away from your glare, he plops the pistol into your hand with enough force to spring your hand downward.

"Onward, then."

You tuck the gun in the back of your jeans. "Lead the way."

welcome to the apocalypse, dudes

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai @sadwaywardkid

SURVIVAL TAGS: @ania-swissweet @quenilla

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crowleycrawley · 4 years

Text

OKAY Y’ALL

buckle up cause this is gonna be a LONG POST!!! tma meta about the avatars and being CONNECTED in the apocalypse under the cut!!! SPOILERS FOR MAG 163-166 AHEAD

okay SO. first up, we have the tower. so the tower obviously is in London, watching every single person’s suffering, and in that tower is ELIAS himself (ngl it’s totally lord of the rings vibes...). so this tower sees all, and that means (as Not-Sasha says) it’s painful for things that don’t want to be seen, and the fact that things in the BURIED even know its there even if they can’t see it is just. VERY interesting, because why would the eye want to know all that? and furthermore, if jon is technically connected to the eye, and he can reach down into the buried, pick out individual people, and tell their stories then why can’t he see melanie and georgie?? for melanie it’s very likely cause of her non tether to the beholding, but for georgie?? she isn’t even technically an avatar, so he should have no problem seeing her, but he CAN’T. wack...

moving on!! so the first place they get to once they leave the cabin is the SLAUGHTER. the slaughter is very messed up here!! but first and foremost i would like to direct your attention to jon calling the slaughter victims “meat”. it’s VERY similar to the flesh, and he even goes so far as to call what they’re walking into a meat grinder. the meat grinder was the entire salesa statement (mag 115) which was ABSOLUTELY flesh!! PLUS that statement even starts out with salesa talking about a slaughter artifact he sold to the institute (which isn’t really related but Y’ALL they’re just so connected)!! plus. helicopter?? falling from a HEIGHT??? vast!!!??? okay NEXT connection we have “scorched earth” which is ABSOLUTELY desolation. like this whole battlefield situation?? completely desolation!! everything is on fire, chaos, that’s what that entity covets. and NEXT in that same statement we have the BURIED!! where the mud drags charlie down so the barbed wire wraps around him!! folks we are getting SO MANY ENTITIES!!! and then we are back to the flesh again, between ishaan “contorting himself to fit” and the “pig faced enemies” that’s directly flesh related!! plus!! plus!!! in the tank he’s basically BURNING!!! FOLKS THE DESOLATION IS BACK!!!!! and then!!!!! the field hospital!!!!!! “piles of festering gauze” like excuse me as if this all wasn’t bad enough Y’ALL GOT CORRUPTION TOO!!! yikes!!!!!! then we have MORE flesh with that weird creepy doctor dude who has way too many limbs AND we have a bit of lonely with hasana!! no one listens to her, everyone thinks she’s invisible basically, and she got no idea what she doin!! THEN we have corruption again with that gas stuff!!! it sounds almost EXACTLY like mag 157 (where dekker goes to the town in Germany and hmm. amhearst....) also LAST point i didn’t specify it anywhere in particular but the enemy is super hunt like!! with the whole ‘the enemy are monsters and are coming for me’ mentality!!

OKAY NEXT EPISODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

first up we have FLESH!!! “far from the din and compacted flesh of the city” like oof!!! then we got the MAYPOLE with the “mildewed strips of colored cloth hanging limply from it like shreds of ragged skin” like!!!!!!!! LIKE!!!!!!!!!! y’all!! firstly the COLORS are very much reminiscent of the stranger with the circus (cause bright colors!! celebration!!) and obvs the ragged skin is pretty flesh oriented i think... moving on to the BASE of the flag pole it’s “ashen and charred” like hello!!! desolation WHO!!! next up still on desolation is the burning of the corruption like damn... still on desolation baby!! THEN we have the whole bones thing which like BACK TO FLESH!! and then EXCUSE ME STRANGER EVERYWHERE like these masks!! the coats!!! who knows who’s under that!!!!! and then of course we got just a DASH of spiral with the whole inspection thing, like oof!!! especially w/ the whole “those who are unblemished suffer most” like. oof. the whole ‘you have to be infected because there’s no way you’re just an outsider coming here seeking refuge’ is so spiral!! that little DASH of madness, that little smidge of ‘there’s no way they’re not infected’ that’s just SO spiral!! then we have both slaughter AND desolation rolled into one with the “purifying fire” and the brutal murder of innocents!! like big yikes!!! plus then we have MORE stranger with the whole questioning when you got there and how deep your roots go thing, which is another big oof and plus!!! the only real difference between full on stranger and this place is that the residents think they know each other and will stand together instead of fighting like the people on the merry go round! and then. THEN. we got the maypole watching everyone. sound FAMILIAR Y’ALL!! the BEHOLDING makes a special appearance!!! then we got MORE spiral with the whole “the deception is pitiable, and yet deep down every villager knows the mold has marked them deeper than any of the others, and carries it as their most secret shame” line like DAMN!!! that’s literally the spiral bc the spiral is 100% dealing with deception!! and then we are BACK to flesh with the whole razor deal (which was a big oof like ew) and the whole idea that there’s an end to the corruption!! after that we have the whole witch hunt for mrs kim which is very HUNT centric!!! and then just to round it all out we have MORE corruption (obvs) with MORE flesh when the bones get hit and jillian explodes!!

STATEMENT ENDS.

NEXT EPISODE!!! okay this one was sort of brutal to try to decipher because wow!! lots of words and very little punctuation, but here we go!!! so first up we have the faces, which is obvs very stranger, but we also have “all the tattered stolen souls who sense of me is swollen and distended into nothing” which sounds actually very much corruption!! THEN we have the MUSIC and the DANCING!!! so the music is VERY much like the slaughter ritual on the boat (mag 105) and the dancing is also JUST like that, so on the whole so far this looks very tied to slaughter!! then we dive into “eggshell thin reality” which is SUPER spiral like doubting reality, thinking you’re going crazy, etc. then this whole next part is VERY hunt with the whole chase and all, and the tiring of the chase and the stealing of the faces!!! plus the merry go round itself honestly screams spiral i mean between not being able to get off at the same spot twice and the whole “curling path [...] twisted, wound, and spinning”.... SPIRAL..... then there’s a dash of vast with leaping off the ride, and another smidge of slaughter with the blood on your hands. THEN we have the whole description about wanting to be a “who”, which is SUPER similar to what michael talked about with the whole identity thing, which either says something about the spiral or says something about him!!! then there is MORE corruption with “The rotten, ragged rush of fetid fingernails that dig and push and reach around the edges of your face” and WOW what a vibe check.... oof. then there’s some flesh with the animal skin comparison, and a DASH of what looks like end in there with the dream references!! and to top it all off we’ve got a DASH more hunt at the end with the faceless things back on the chase!!

AND NOW we have the whole not-sasha conversation!! this whole thing was a VIBE tbh and honestly like!!!! go off!!!!!! but this is one of the first times it becomes clear jon can sense just about ANYTHING which getting back to the original point is kinda weird because he can sense this crazy avatar THING but not (note, only TWO) of his friends?? weird... then we have the whole “she can’t touch us” argument, and the fact that not-sasha is so pissed about being nobody but being seen!!! like THAT is important and it’s probably going to be EXTRA important for the lonely, bc how can you be lonely if you know you’re being watched?? wouldn’t that technically mess up the whole idea of being ALONE??? and then of course the way the ceaseless watcher SMITES not-sasha like wOAH who knew it could do THAT??? wack!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OKAY WORM TIME. so being perfectly honest here when i first read the episode title i really thought it was about jane prentiss again and i got so excited... so that’s the FIRST connection is WORMS and corruption like yes worms burrow n stuff but they are literally the first monster in the series that is actually a serious threat!!! WORM!!! okay next up we have WEB with sam’s whole lamenting the fact that he doesn’t have choices like wow!!! web has arrived at last!!!!!!! then we YET AGAIN have a dash of flesh tossed in with the whole arms and legs thing and the contortions!!! yikes!! then the beholding is out there vibing again and reminding him “he had eyes”, and there’s a LITTLE bit of vast with all this talking about the sky n stuff (but not super important cause the vast is sorta the opposite of the buried)... then there’s a bit of light mentioned (desolation making a comeback!) and the dark and cold is there too (wooo dark arrives)!!! there’s also a LOT of lonely in this episode because everyone has their own tunnel (until sam meets richard) which is very interesting bc honestly that seems like a lot of tunnels and sorta begs the question just how many people there are there?? then there’s MORE darkness and the whole thing about the fear of never seeing the pinprick of light again which honestly seems like lonely again (losing hope and losing the gaze of the eye), but then there’s some SOLID slaughter action going on when richard and sam meet!! THEN lastly, rounding the episode off, there’s a dash of corruption with richard’s mouldering body and a smidge of flesh as sam has to contort himself to see the light again.

and then!!! last quick mention!!!!! annabelle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! why can’t jon see her???? this is more like. web don’t want him to, or maybe the BEHOLDING doesn’t want him to, but why not??? all very strange..........

anyway tysm for reading!!

#the magnus archives #tma #tma meta #tma spoilers #i am not tagging all these characters #tma entities #did i actually just write almost 2000 words on this?? yes. yes i did

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in-tua-deep · 5 years

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OKAY here’s the weird dream inspired au where five was never supposed to exist and was more of,, a late addition by the Universe to the fun mystery birth line-up

Once upon a time forty-three women gave birth around the world. A fact made only odd because none of these women were pregnant when the day began. Forty-three women gave birth to forty-three children. An eccentric billionaire traveled in an attempt to obtain as many of these odd children as he could.

He got six.

But that’s not quite how the story goes.

Once upon a time, the universe was born. She is beyond human conception, and she left nebulae in her wake and lit up all the stars. Beautiful and wonderful and lonely, and so she had a daughter. A daughter who would grow fond of a particular planet in her mother’s playground.

A daughter who, one day, would meet a man named Klaus Hargreeves and tell him that she didn’t like him.

A daughter who, for the most part, was inordinately fond of the human race. A daughter who was displeased when a group of humans who figured out time travel decreed that the apocalypse must occur and safeguarded it.

She did her best to fix it. But every time she tried, the group stepped up. No matter what factors she managed to tweak, as she could only interfere indirectly, no matter what changed, the apocalypse was always guaranteed by outside interference.

For all the millennia the Universe’s daughter had been alive, she was still a child. So she did what all children do when they encounter a problem too big to take on alone. She went to her mother.

Neither could interfere directly, and indirect measures were doing nothing. The universe was too vast to take a mortal avatar, and her daughter had barred herself from direct interference long ago to establish free will. There was a group whose free will just continued to get in the way. And so the universe had an idea, and she asked her daughter a simple question: if she wanted a little sibling.

For you see, neither the Universe nor her daughter could interfere directly, but the Universe could create someone who could.

So it goes more like this - once upon a time forty-three women gave birth around the world. A fact made only odd because none of these women were pregnant when the day began. Forty-three women gave birth to forty-four children.

It was easy, to slip her child in next to another who was also not quite supposed to exist. To choose a mother of a child who was already known to the Universe’s daughter to be adopted by the man who would unknowingly cause the apocalypse.

An eccentric billionaire traveled in an attempt to obtain as many of these odd children as he could.

He got seven.

Little Number Five, as he was dubbed upon arrival at the lavish mansion which was to become his home for the next thirteen years, opened his eyes and saw fractals of light. He brought his little hands up to caress the paths and choices that existed just beyond the fabric of the universe, a language only spoken by now three individuals.

And he grew up with a gentle crooning voice in his ear - the voice of his mother. The voice that taught him how to part the veil and fall into the timeless space between worlds and out the other side. One that was constantly with him.

He grew up knowing he had a mission.

“You are here to prevent the apocalypse!” Reginald Hargreeves told his children severely as they rolled their eyes and scoffed. It was a sentiment he echoed often enough that it had lost all meaning to them.

Do you love you siblings? The Universe asked her child with unparalleled gentleness.

Yes, Five projected back, because he did. He was aware that he wasn’t quite the same as the others, but he loved them regardless with a kind of fierceness that should be scary but mostly just made him feel warm.

Then prove it. The Universe challenged her child, and so he did. He pulled impossible stunts and stole food and spoke back to his father. He directed all of the attention on himself to spare those he could.

“Why can’t I kill him?” Five asked the Universe one night when he was eight-years-old and sitting on his bed, inspecting the bruises that were still forming on his skin. “I need to protect them - killing him would solve things, right?”

It wouldn’t stop what is to come, the Universe crooned to her child in sorrow, There is much to be done. What is to come is safeguarded - those that guard it must die, first.

“But, you haven’t told me who causes the apocalypse anyway.” Five complained, a frown upon his face.

No matter what changes, the apocalypse comes. They make sure of it. One person does not cause the apocalypse - it is the symptom of a rot. It must be burned out entirely for the planet to survive.

“For my siblings to survive.” Five said, ever so softly.

More years passed, until Five turned thirteen years old and the Universe whispered in his ear again and taught him how to part the veil and fall into the timeless place between world and travel in it.

Time travel.

I’m going to ask you to go through a trial. The Universe told her son, In order to save the world, you will have to sacrifice so much. You are so young, I wish I did not have to ask this of you - but it is important.

“It’s okay.” Five soothed his mother, ignorant of what was to come and oh so arrogant in his youth. “I can handle anything you throw at me. I’ll save them - I’ll save them all.”

He does not have quite the same attitude when he jabs at his father with words and runs out the door, fully intending to go back in a few hours before the Universe prods at him and tells him now.

“But I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” Five protested, thinking of Vanya’s face as he left the table. But there was something exhilarating about falling through and riding the wave of time twisting like a snake under the fabric of reality and emerging in the future and he figured he could always return after whatever the Universe needed him to see in the future anyway.

Again, the Universe whispered.

He fell again.

Again, the Universe whispered.

Again, he rode the wave of time, except this time when he emerged it was different. The sky was filled with ash. All around him was rubble. There was a moment where his emotions were almost in freefall, before the ground caught up to him. Without his permission, his feet were already taking him back - back to the only home he’d ever known. Names tearing from his lips as he called for his siblings.

He found them. He recognized them by the tattoos on their wrists, putting names to faces, seeing the people he knew in the bodies that were left behind.

He turned, frantic, hands rising to part the fabric of the universe again -

STOP, the Universe commanded her son. If you go back, you cannot save them. And you will save them. This will not be the hand fate deals them. But I need you here, it is important.

“For how long?” Five rasped.

Do not worry. The Universe soothed, Time is a drop in the bucket for us. I will change you, as is needed to be done to make sure that the bait is taken and that you will be in position. I will restore you, have no fear. You will survive this, for you are my son. I will make sure of this.

And he did survive. He survived for years, growing up at the end of the world. He grew taller. His skin changed under the sun. He ate what he could find. He grew a beard. His hair turned grey. And that’s when they finally came for him.

A woman came, with white blond hair perfectly in place and makeup pristine against the chaos of the apocalypse. She smiled at him and offered him a job - and he took it.

“Can I go back now?” Five whispered, staring down the barrel of a gun waiting for his target - someone who he didn’t want to kill at all.

Not yet. The Universe sounded apologetic, Soon.

It was a question he asked with some frequency. Until one day he was staring down a gun at a road and a president and a car, and the Universe said - Now.

He dropped everything he was doing, and with a grin on his face pressed again the fabric of the universe and pushed. Pushed and pushed, and felt himself falling falling falling and changing changing changing and suddenly he was on the ground. He looked up at his family for the first time in so long and felt his heart swell.

And then he staggered to his feet and realized exactly what the Universe had meant when she said that he would have to sacrifice. Because the siblings that were in front of him were not the ones he left. Not even close.

They were the faces that haunted him, the ones he had found in the rubble. His siblings were thirteen and painfully young and old all at the same time, aged by the horrors that they faced together. These siblings were all wrong and right all at the same time. They weren’t right. He didn’t know them.

And he tried to stop the apocalypse, he ran around trying to keep his siblings close and push them as far away as possible at the same time. He wanted them next to him right up until they reminded him of how much he missed.

(Klaus spoke about a man and osso bucco, and Five couldn’t bear to stick around. Couldn’t bear to look at a brother he didn’t even know anymore.)

“I need help.” Five howled to the Universe, “Give me a clue, a hint! Anything!”

Make a deal. The Universe told her son, Face the Handler. Accept the job. You need to get into position.

And so he did. He took Luther with him and set up a deal and watched as Klaus and Diego rode in on an ice cream truck blasting music and couldn’t help but feel insanely fond of his idiot siblings. When the Handler showed up and offered him a deal, he didn’t hesitate in taking it.

He had to save them, he had to save them all.

This child went to the Commission with a calm certainty, because his mission was not just to figure out who caused the apocalypse. Because he could part the veil of time itself - his mission was to make sure that those with the same power who wanted to ensure the world died took its place.

This is a Five who didn’t go snooping into the messaging room with its many tubes, instead he kindly appropriated weapons and set them in strategic places around the Headquarters that he finally, finally had access to.

(The Commission were arrogant - they existed in a place outside the timestream where only those with briefcases and invites could go. Temporal assassins weren’t high enough on the food chain. They had only the one base, because if only they could get there then however could they ever be destroyed?

The Handler should have been more careful when deciding to play a game of cat and mouse with a creature that was neither.)

So he smiles at the Handler who holds a gun trained on him, he holds the grenade that will set off a chain reaction and winks. He doesn’t need the suitcase to get back to his own time, not when he is a child of the Universe. He sets it off and pushed through and feels the Universe ripple with approval around him as the Commission is eradicated off the face of the planet.

Oh, there’s still more to do technically. There are suitcases in the hands of temporal assassins who will never again receive an order. There are ground agents left to take care of. But Five cut off the head of the snake, and the body would be soon to follow.

Five jumps back.

Klaus mentions seeing their father and mentions dying and Five leans forward eagerly to ask if he met God. Klaus blinks in surprise but nods, mentioning that the little girl hated him.

Five frowns at the thought, but the Universe sends amusement his way. It is not Klaus’s fault he got to be your brother. The Universe tells him fondly, It is simply a matter that he got to be so before she did. She has never been very good at coming in second, your sister.

The mansion is destroyed while Five is gone, and he finds a newspaper and freezes.

“I thought the apocalypse was off?” Five asks loudly, making his siblings look at him oddly. But Five has been in the habit of talking to ‘himself’ for years now.

You killed the guards. You can stop the apocalypse where before it was an impossible task. But you must stop this one first. The Universe tells him gently.

So they go to a bowling alley, and Five is not distracted by a cryptic message inside of a fortune cookie. They go to Vanya’s concert and aren’t interrupted by goons with guns. Allison stands proudly at the front with a smile, and Five is right there alongside her. Together they are a force to be reckoned with, and they bully Luther into standing down. At least for now.

It’s after the concert, when Vanya snaps out of it and they crowd around one another and they think about the ruins of the academy as Vanya cries fury and pain over years of terror and neglect.

They’ve lost so much in this week. Diego lost Eudora Patch. Allison lost her voice. Vanya became a murderer. Klaus lost the love of his life.

So Five holds his hands out to them, “I can take us back.” He tells them all, “I can take us back to the beginning of the week. We can undo the deaths. We can be prepared and handle it better. We can fix it.”

Because the Commission were fools. They existed outside of the timestream, which meant that no matter where Five jumped they simply no longer existed. Time was a funny little thing, and it was already healing from the scars that had been left.

So they take him up on it. They hold hands and Five hauls them through the timestream and they show up the day of their father’s funeral. Five sitting on the ground where he fell out of a portal and the rest spilled out into the courtyard to see the phenomenon.

And they heal from there, but that’s not all Five has to do.

Five watches his siblings find purpose and happiness and figures he has one favor he can call on - even if it’s from family he’s never met.

He slips between the fabric of the world, and ends up in front of a little girl on a bike.

“Brother.” She greets him, tilting her head up at him.

“Sister.” He responds easily, jamming his hands into his pockets.

“I suppose you want something.” She observes with no real judgement, “I’ve heard little brothers were supposed to be demanding little brats.”

“And I heard big sisters were supposed to be protective.” Five teases gently back, shrugging to indicate all the pain and hardship he had gone through at her request for her little pet world to remain intact. Not that Five can fault her for it, he loves the world just as much as she does. Or maybe not, he just loves a select and small group of people who live upon it.

She rolls her eyes, “Yeah, I guess I owe you one. Name your price.”

“There’s a man that you have.” Five says, voice measured and careful like he’s rehearsed this in his head a dozen times. “His name is Dave Katz and he died during the Vietnam war. I was wondering if we could have him back.”

“I’d need your help.” The little girl who isn’t really a little girl at all tells him very seriously. “I can put him back in a body and heal it, I have a few miracles in me. But I need a body to do so. Retrieve it from the way, after your brother has left, and I will do this for you.”

“And - Ben?” Five hesitates. He should have asked for it first, but he’d wanted to make sure it was possible. Which, given the nature of Ben’s death and God’s explanation for Dave’s return very well might not be.

She sighs deeply. “It could take some time. His body was somewhat scattered among dimensions. In return for the legwork, however, I expect frequent visits.”

After all, Five did deserve some reward for doing exactly what she had wished for him to do.

“Family dinners with God,” Five grins back, already calculating exactly where and when he has to be to succeed at his given tasks, “I think I can just about manage that.”

It’s not exactly all sunshine and roses after that. Apparently producing your brother’s dead time-traveled lover alongside your usually very dead brother and explaining clearly that you ‘made a deal with God’ didn’t exactly cut it as far as excuses went. They all needed therapy. Vanya still had trouble self-regulating her emotions.

And then of course, a few years in, Five had to figure out how to explain the fact that he wasn’t aging.

(He was lucky he managed to convince his mother to let him keep his thirteen-year-old form for now - which considering God looked younger when she’d been alive for billions of years was very generous thank you. But he couldn’t artificially age on his own, and the Universe refused to put him through it a second time so - yeah he was a little bit stuck.)

Five was born with a mission, and it’s one he still had. He had Monday dinners with God, who bestowed upon him the location and time period where he would find yet another surviving briefcase from an agent to track down and destroy.

But his biggest mission is to make sure his family is happy and healthy and cared for until the end of their days. It’s a mission he takes very seriously.

(And hey, it’s not like he won’t be able to see them again on the other side. Sometimes it pays to have God as a big sister, after all.)

Once upon a time forty-four children were born on a seemingly normal October day. One of them wasn’t supposed to be there.

But aren’t we all glad he was.

#the umbrella academy #tua #tua au #late addition au #universe's son au #five hargreeves #number five #this was exceptionally self indulgent #and yes i did not include the part of the dream where it was revealed the mysterious O.W. boss of the commission was Owen Wilson #that part remains a dream #but god being lowkey jealous that klaus got to be five's sibling before she did gets to stay #five is a very baby immortal and is not happy with this fact #five: i'm 58 i'm older than you #klaus: okay but like in universe years how old is that #five: what the fuck do you mean #klaus: i mean like a 4 year old dog is 28 when you translate so like what's ur translated age #five: ...still older than you shut the fuck up #klaus: well I think that since - you know - GOD was a little girl and presumably she's been around forever #five: shut your face klaus #klaus: that makes you a BABY #five: i WILL kill you and it WILL look like an accident #now i'm just picturing god and klaus teaming up to tease five #but also the hilarity of five threatening to tell god's mother (who is also his mother) when she's being mean to him is also hilarious #god (whispering): snitch #far tua long #almost forgot that tag smh #universe child five au #universe child au

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thedyingmoon · 5 years

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I dont know if im doing this correctly... god i hope so. Im a virgin at tumblr and at sending asks. First i need to tell you that I love your writing, "I see my future before me" is amazing and so enjoyable and "chat buddies" is so funny. I love vergil and V so much. Now i wanna ask something i know you say that you dont do smut and thats perfectly fine, but... what about a romantic/make out session with V inside a Phone thingy. Hugs and kisses(you dont have to do it if you feel unconfi with it)

Hello! I'm so sorry this took a long time to do. 🙈🙈🙈

Anyway, here you go. Enjoy!

A/N: Written while listening to Rachmaninoff ( the king of angst ) Piano Concerto No. 2 in D minor.

***

🖤 Stay 🖤

***

youtube

Everything was ruined the moment you decided to confess to him.

Well, yeah, at first you thought he was intimidating and all, considering the fact that he kept to himself most of the time and actually gave no shits to others around him. And during those times when he did bother to join the team, he would always assert dominance over everyone, including you, and that would make things a bit harder, albeit more organized, since any of you no longer had to formulate proper strategies, since he already made some.

But, you had to admit that, during those times when you do get to go with him during missions, you learned his gestures, his distinct mannerisms, heck, even his habit of quoting poetry. And then, you realized that he was actually not the person you thought he was when you first saw him.

The cleverness of his every action, the tenacity to stay alive, the authority he exudes, the kindness he radiates, the sheer strength of his willpower,...

... his love for poetry, his deep voice, his emerald - colored eyes, his smile,...

... and yes, that smile,...

Ah, yes. It was safe to say that, after a month of being with the tattooed poet, you fell head over heels for him.

And that, alone, was a vast understatement.

And it came to the point where keeping your feelings all to yourself was no longer bearable that you just had to confess ( with a little urging from the others, especially Griffon, who kind of sensed your feelings from the very beginning ).

So, one day, that one fateful day, you mustered up all the courage you could, walked up to him and called his attention.

Then, you said it, the dreaded three words, matched and laced by other jumbled phrases and sentences that you could barely remember.

And, just like that, he told you, flat out, that the feelings aren't mutual, and that he could not, would not, reciprocate through any means.

Of course, you two came to a point where a sort of friendship was established between the two of you.

But,...

Everything was ruined the moment you decided to confess to him.

No.

More like fucked up.

And that was three whole months ago since that summer month.

Despite the embarrassing situation you two were in because of that failed attempt at an honest - to - goodness confession, you still went on missions together because no other Demon Hunter in your team could match his unique skills than you ( the others are just too brash and unrefined ). Of course, the first few weeks were very awkward. The two of you found it hard to look into each other's eyes and you barely talked to each other. The atmosphere around the two of you felt heavy and stiffling that you honestly regretted your decision to confess and ruin your decent friendship.

But, soon enough, after a few more days, you learned to move casually around him like before. You managed to maintain eye contact with him for a few minutes and regained your confidence to speak with him without feeling uncomfortable.

A few days after those torturous weeks, you learned to be yourself once more, despite the fact that you cried yourself to sleep for nights on end after his rejection.

Despite the fact that you tried to hide the bags under your eyes with heavy foundation,...

Despite the fact that you stopped listening to music entirely because every song, every lyric, every story, reminded you of him,...

Despite the fact that you were losing your appetite and that the others were beginning to notice your weight loss,...

Despite the fact the you hid all the hurt behind a smile while telling everyone that you're okay,...

Despite the fact that it hurt you even more to see him on a daily basis, reluctantly reminding yourself that you two were just not meant for each other and that you should move on.

...

And move on, you shall.

You were still in this one - sided painful loop of emotions that one cold and dreary day out in an unknown town with V for a mission when something truly unexpected happened.

You and V made your way to the only phone booth in town ( which was located in the middle of an almost empty road a few kilometers away from the next distinguishable establishment or building ) to call Nico and let her know that you successfully finished your mission.

As usual, V was the one who entered the booth to use the phone while you patiently waited outside.

Your back was turned against him all this time but, you suddenly felt an urge to look back at him like something, like an unknown force, pushed you to do it.

And there he was, actually staring at you as he talked to Nico on the phone. He had this strange look in his eyes and his eyebrows were furrowed as if he was deep in thought.

Your own eyebrows furrowed as well.

Was there something wrong?

However, you were not given the chance to muse about this any longer as rain started falling from the sky. You gasped and flinched with the sudden coldness, instinctively trying to cover your head with your hands as you made your way inside the booth. And as you entered, the cramped space did nothing but heighten the tension that V seemed to sense around you, and it actually made you very, very uncomfortable.

Well, there's no other way, right? He has to put up with the lack of space. After all, it would be for the last time -

"Who is Leon?"

At the sound of utter confusion and shock in his deep voice, you glanced up at the man who was only mere inches away from you.

"Oh, he's,..." you began, uncertain how he found out about Leon Kennedy. But, of course! Nico had to mention him to V. " ... my new partner. A high profile client from Europe has commissioned us to take on a top secret mission the day after tomorrow."

To those simple words you just uttered, V's eyes widened even more.

"So, you're,..." V began, his face getting darker by the second. "... you're coming back, right?"

Damn you for being such a big mouth, Nico!

You bit your lip, thinking it was no use to hide the secret from V any longer.

"V, I'm staying there. For good."

Silence. At first, you thought his stricken reaction would only be momentary, since he really didn't have any sort of connection to you to begin with, so there's actually no use in him even reacting, at all.

Until,...

"You're leaving and you never once told me while the others already know." He pressed on, his voice suspiciously getting darker and darker. Like he actually cared about you leaving him. "Why?"

You laughed nervously at his question, actually feeling kind of cornered that V was interrogating you this way like some kind of a criminal.

But, why even bother? You are nothing to him, and you knew that! You learned the hard way,...

"Aren't you happy that I'm finally getting a much better career opportunity?" You attempted to answer in a light - hearted, even jesting, tone, hoping, praying, for the gravity of your words to reach V. "I mean, me! The second rate Demon Hunter me finally getting a once in a lifetime chance to work at a better place! How cool is that?"

"You did not,... answer,... my question."

You slightly drew back at what you just witnessed. Somehow, V looked conflicted in some way. His eyes, which was giving you intense stares since that moment he talked to Nico on the phone, never left yours, and his posture looked more intimidating than ever before.

And he looked mad, and,... possibly hurt,... at the same time for some reason,...

You only sighed. "V, I see no reason to let you know. I mean, hey, at least you won't have to deal with my shit any longer."

"I never,... said,... you were shit."

Once again, you flinched at his words. "Don't make this any harder for the both of us. We both know this would happen any time, and you know this is inevitable."

To your utter shock and total fear, the man slammed a hand against the glass door of the booth mere inches away from the side of your face. Your shoulders tensed, your eyes closed, you were so confused as to what was going on between the two of you.

And so, so scared.

Why, V? Why?

"I' am making this harder for the both of us?!" You never heard V talk in such a way, and it honestly frightened you to the core. This is not the V you were used to. He was kind, and gentle, he was soft, and above all, understanding,...

But, all of those things were absent from him, and you honestly don't know anymore who you were talking with.

"Please, V, stop this - "

"Are you just escaping me, then?"

Your eyes snapped open, and when you finally looked at his eyes, you saw the hurt, the anguish, the torment in them.

There was no mistaking it.

He didn't want you to leave. At all.

"Maybe."

You flinched as another hand slammed on the door, this time on the opposite side. That's it, you were hopelessly trapped by the man.

By the man you still adored above all else.

"Why?!"

"I want to move on, V!" The words came out of your mouth ripped your heart apart, the gravity and truth in them hurting you and torturing you from the inside. "Every time I see you, my eyes sting. Every time I hear your voice, my chest hurts. Every time I see your face, my body goes weak. I thought I cried enough for you but, I was wrong! How stupid of me to think I was finally learning to move on but, no! As always, I'm wrong!"

"(Y/N),..."

"You listen: I want to go away from here, away from you, as far as possible! So I could learn to be myself again! So I could learn to enjoy the things I once loved! So I could learn to smile without getting hurt again!

"I love you so much, V. But, I know I mean nothing to you! I know you never cared! I know I'll never be good enough for you! I'm not worthy! And I don't want to impose my feelings for you any longer because then I know you would only drift away from me further until I could no longer reach you!

"So, please, let me go! Set the both of us free!"

"No."

"WHY?!"

The man's eyes finally started to glisten with the unshed tears that tortured him for weeks since that moment you confessed to him.

Of course he noticed how your eyes were always red and how they have huge bags under them. Of course he noticed how you stopped listening to music - the thing you adored so, so much. Of course he noticed how you were losing your vitality and not only your weight and appetite. Of course he knew that smile of yours was only a facade to hide your sadness.

Of course he knew you wanted to move on.

But, who could blame him for acting this way?

During the course of those three months since that infamous confession, a strange kind of emotion has awoken inside V. At first, he simply ignored this, since he assumed that what you were feeling for him was merely some kind of infatuation of some sort and nothing too deep.

However, as days passed, he began seeing more and more of you in a different light. For the first time in many days, he saw the gracefulness in your movements. He saw how you selflessly cared about others around you. He saw how you unconditionally showed kindness even to the lowest of beings that others might consider trash.

And, above all, he missed your little talks about yourself. He missed the sweet voice that greets his ears each morning whenever you sing to your favorite songs on the radio. He missed how you doted on him and him alone and how you ignored Dante's childish demands for attention, despite his twin brother being the clearly better man than him.

And he missed how you said you loved him and him alone.

And he damn wanted to hear you say those words to him once more.

But, you were leaving him. For good.

You would drift far away from him like a long lost childhood memory.

Then, you would learn to love another.

And this inevitability hurt him. Tore his heart apart.

And the pain was so fucking unbearable.

"Stay. Please." He pleaded, begged, you, his voice lowered and anguished.

To this, you simply shook your head.

"I have made my decision, and you have no choice but to understand and respect it."

"No!"

"Please, V! I beg you - "

And the sadness crept even closer to you as the man took hold of the back of your head and crashed his soft lips against yours, moving in a rushed and certain way that successfully conveyed the untold emotions he had for you.

You tried to push him away, to wake up from this wishful thinking that he's doing everything he can to not let you leave him. But, the gentle strokes of his hands against your back, those whispers of his that begged you to stay, those lips which were locked against yours in heated passion and deep longing that betrayed and conveyed his true feelings to you,...

... that warmth of his and those forbidden sensations it caused your body to have that slowly breached and destroyed the high defenses you put up for your poor and hurt little heart,...

Oh, God! Why?! Why are you falling all over again?!

"I love you,..." the man whispered as his lips softly brushed againts your now tear - stained cheeks. "I love you. I love you so,... so much."

"V,..."

The man cupped your cheeks and laid his forehead against yours, his eyes melting yours, finally making you cave in with his pleas.

"I know this is too selfish of me to ask, but,... I beg you,..." he whispered, his hot breath mixing against yours. "Please, do not,... leave me. Stay."

You closed your eyes, the action making you shed even more tears.

For how you could you refuse him now?

For all the things that happened between the of you for the last months,...

For all the things that unfolded between the two of you in that cramped and hot phone booth,...

Of course, you love him.

And you definitely couldn't leave him alone now.

Nico, who arrived a few moments ago with your luggage inside her van, witnessed everything. With a smug and proud smile on her lips for her two team mates, she dialled a number and waited.

"Hello?"

"Leon, it's me."

"Hey. What time will she arrive on the airport? I want to personally escort her, myself."

"I think that won't be necessary."

"Why is that?"

"Umm, I guess she found another,... a new,... leash on life. She's not going. I'm sorry."

"Oh. That's too bad. Then, I would let the President know. I guess I'll be going to Spain alone."

"Ah, yeah. Thanks, Leon."

"No problem."

"Don't let those zombies bite. And get the girl out."

"Will do."

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #stay #v x reader #v x you #devil may oneshot #angst you very much #ask

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lamiralami · 4 years

Text

TMA Retro 4: Page Turner

I was touched to see some tag commentary on yesterday’s post! Honestly, it gave me an emotion - I am traditionally very anxious about engaging online, it speaks to my immense love of TMA that it brought me to Make A Post At Last. It’s very affirming and reassuring to get some response to my lunatic treatises. Y’all are all right. 💜

Anyway, grab some lighter fluid and a sturdy wastepaper basket, time to torch your haunted novel in MAG 4: Page Turner

It’s ironic that this statement is about the Vast when it is one dense motherfucker. so many dangling plot threads are introduced here, each ready to hook you and start reeling. we’ve been into the meta plot since episode one but this episode is the first time the audience is made aware of such.

seriously: Jurgen Leitner and his library, Gerard Keay and Mary Keay, Michael Crew. the figures introduced in this one thirty-minute installment loom large over the rest of the entire run

you could, your first time through, even file this away as a one-off scary story if not for the fact that Jon knows what’s going on (enjoy it while it lasts, my son). He’s heard of Jurgen Leitner. He alludes to an incident with his library in 1994. Deeper than that, he immediately takes the statement at face value and treats the claims within it as authentic, which is a complete 180° on the first three episodes

and this is such a smart story choice? Jon shapes our perspective into this universe and up until now he’s been utterly dismissive of the validity of the stories he’s telling. To go from practically rolling his eyes to scheduling a meeting with his boss about tracking down more haunted books - that tells us that Jon takes this seriously as a threat. And that makes us take it seriously too, makes us take note that strange books are dangerous things in this world. Any offhand mention of books in future statements will be enough to make us sweat

And! It starts winding the narrative tension on a character level. Why and what does Jon know about Jurgen Leitner and his library? Why does he say his name with such venom? And if he’s so sure about the supernatural nature of these books, why is he so loath to believe the other statements?

(and then it takes 80 + episodes to fully answer these initial questions. Jonny enjoys a slow roasted torment)

love that the statement giver presents, as proof of his iron-clad sanity, the fact that he works as a theatre technician. speaking as someone with an unfinished theatre degree: theatre people are feral my good buddy, try again. I mean, we refuse to say the name of one of the most famous plays in the English language because we think a ghost will trip us for the indiscretion. this is not the trump card you think it is.

a quick sidebar for the Red String Brigade: The Trojan Women is an ancient Greek tragedy that involves a baby being thrown off a city wall. The Seagull’s first published English translation was done by Marian Fell, and also a seagull is a bird and birds can fly. Much Ado About Nothing is very good and you should all watch the version from 2011 with David Tennant and Catherine Tate.

it’s interesting that these early episodes seem to take a cue from urban legends in some respects. Nathan Watts gets extremely drunk at a party and then is almost skinned by a monster while having a smoke. Joshua Gillespie is approached while engaging in a whirlwind of debauchery and has to take care of a cursed coffin after accepting money for what he thinks is a drug trafficking gig. Amy Patel regularly spies on her neighbour for her own entertainment and then has to watch him be replaced by a malevolent entity only she can perceive. and now Dominic Swain pushes past his guilty conscience to score a valuable book off an unknowing charity shop and...gets a bit dizzy and haunted by a phantom stink for a few days then gets ‎£5,000, well anyway, the point is he got spooked! spooked after doing something kind of iffy! that is pure urban legend procedure; modern day fairy tales imparting dire consequences onto societal transgressions. in a horror story this structure offers a false sense of safety - if you’re a good person, the monster won’t come for you. I can’t recall which upcoming statement yanks the rug out from under us with the first completely random victim.

cannot comprehend how this guy didn’t start plugging the book into google translate the second he got home. that probably saved him from being taken by the book but I am still judging him for not even trying it. yeah you’d be sucked into some sort of sky hell but at least you’d know what’s in the book!! could never be me

(yes I am aware in this universe I would have been eaten years ago. I’ve made my peace with that)

grbookworm1818 slays me. I don’t know which is better, the idea of Gertude carefully curating the most sixty-five-year-old-on-goodreads username she could as a cover for her cursed purchase history, or her actual sixty-five-year-old brain just expressing itself naturally because Gertrude is a very busy woman who doesn’t have time to immerse herself in the ins and outs of internet culture, she just wants to buy the demonic tomes she’s selected for destruction and get on with her day thanks.

did Gertrude know what a meme was? which Archivist could convincingly pose as a millennial best, Gertrude Robinson or Jonathan Sims?

The Key of Solomon and its former keeper, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, are both real historical figures. the book is basically Renaissance-era magical au fanfic of the Bible, and the man was a 19th century British occultist (and likely drinking buddy of Jonah Magnus) who founded a Very Serious Secret Society. this is a picture of him whiiiiiich rather dispels any sense of menace he’s meant to invoke. what kind of cosplaying nonsense

Mary Keay is such a striking figure. “She was very old and painfully thin, but her head was completely clean shaven, and every square inch of skin I could see was tattooed over with closely-written words in a script I didn’t recognise.” a Look, a vision!

I’m guessing that Our Gerard was blasting heavy metal at 2 am to try to drown out his undead mother while waiting for her manifestation to dissipate. I like to imagine him frequenting Reddit advice posts about dealing with toxic family members, poor lad

oh my gosh Mary refers to Gerard as “her Gerard” is that where Jon got “our Gerard” from?? I feel betrayed??

whatever, I’m reclaiming it. Our Gerard is meant with affection now babey!

the eye portrait is a bit puzzling. the inscription - ‘“Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call.”’ - could almost be read as an invocation against the Eye? But in general Gerry is fairly Eye-aligned, so...shrug emoji

(honestly my main takeaway from the eye portrait is that it’s finely detailed and near photorealistic so we can add “tortured artist” to our list of Gerard Keay traits and is it any wonder that he’s so Fandom Beloved?)

Mary is Not Good at negotiating sales. her main technique involves terrible tea, bringing up repressed childhood trauma, and getting her magic book to drop animal bones onto customer’s shoes. I’m guessing Pinhole Books was in bad shape even before the police investigation and murder charges.

hahaha, the Vast pushes Dominic down the stairs. classic. you gotta grab what opportunities are available

so did Gerard have to follow Dominic back to his flat and wait awkwardly on the doorstep at like 3 in the morning, hoping none of his neighbours would notice and call the cops

the revelation that Mary’s been dead the whole time! this episode may be more intent on world building and plot set-up but damn if it isn’t still a good little ghost story.

kind of rude of Gerry to just burn a book in this guy’s flat without asking and then steal his wastepaper basket.

Jon may not call the statement giver a liar for once, but never fear, he’s still our petty bastard man. accuses Gertrude of filing statements without reading them, has Sasha double-check Martin’s research, grumps about his general misfortune . he’s stressed from the Archives’ disorder and having flashbacks to a certain picture book but by Jove, that won’t stop him making snide comments on what’s supposed to be an official audio transcription!

#tma retro #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #tma meta #I love love love all the little dominos being set into place in this episode #but I am looking forward to an episode about the Vast that really dives in deep #(pun absofuckinglutely intended)

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xxsanshinexx · 5 years

Text

Of Gods and Monsters: Mystics of the Night

Characters: God! San x reader

Words: 3700

Warnings: Mobs, mentions of death

Summary: Your grandmother, since you could remember, always spoke of things no one could understand. Once the people begin to piece the puzzle together about her words; it means a world of trouble for you and all the answers you had been searching for.

The village elders had always warned of the night. Of monsters and villains lurking within the natural confines of the forest, hidden away in the dim lighting of midnight. Rumor had it that people had perished in unimaginable ways in the forest adjacent to the village; all in the darkest hour of night. Despite the idle chatter of the habits of the night; there had been no proof. There was nothing to say that the elders were not saying the truth yet there was no real reason to say they were. If not for the eerie feeling the dark forest gave, there would have been more curiosity towards such a dark place.

That’s where you stood, watching from your back porch at how the wind moved the trees. The Alder Forest had been off limits to everyone inside the village for as long as you had been alive. The only person you knew who had walked in there and had survived was your grandmother, a woman of many words that never made sense. She had never tried to recite the tale of what had happened in the forest, for there was always a otherworldly look in her eyes.

You frowned as small finches flew from the darkness of the forest, making it seem almost inviting in an aspect. Truly no one was allowed beyond the first tree. There was occasionally a curious soul who ventured close to the tree that marked the beginning of the Alder Forest, yet they always turned around. You had watched it happen several times; some young sprite felt the need to prove their courage and yet as soon as they got to the base of the trees they were already turning away, much like they forgot what they were doing.

“You’re curious again, aren’t you?” A frail voice spoke out against the darkness. You turned your head only to meet the glossy eyes of your grandmother. They were always watery and laced with years of exhaustion.

You smiled at the old woman softly, “I always am.”

“You know I cannot say much…. For the memory is blurry.” She frowned and toyed with the bracelet on her wrist, one of intricate braids of silver and black, “But it was not a bad time.”

“If not for the villagers, would you let me follow in your footsteps?” A conflicted face appeared on your grandmother's weathered skin. She tilted her head from side to side until eventually nodding.

“I wouldn’t say anything. If that is what you are asking.”

“I just don’t think it is as scary as people say.”

A rather forced laugh came from your grandmother, “Night is not as scary for some as it is for others.”

You nodded, a smile making it’s way onto your face, “I suppose you are-”

“Well if it ain’t the old crazy widow!” A loud voice burst the quiet you were having with your grandmother. Your smile fell into a frown as you turned to meet a majority of the villagers, all with angry expressions. Your eyes drifted towards your grandmother who seemed to have expected something like this. She was nonchalant, not giving the mob in front of us the time of day as she began to play with her bracelet again.

“Grandma..?” You whispered, a fear rising in you as you continued to watch your grandma relax. Who could be so comfortable with a mob of angry people in front of them?

“I expected my ceaseless talking to eventually be solved.” She sighed, the bracelet once wrapped around her wrist now folded nicely in her hand. Her head turned towards yours and she gave you a fond smile, “It’s seems the past has caught up with me child,” She gestured for you to take the accessory out of her hand and you did so with teary eyes. “It’s no surprise you are so drawn to that forest. It’s in our blood.”

“Enough of your talking you crazy old bat!” The man in front, Suleiman, screamed and walked forward menacingly, “The Elder’s figured out what you were saying after all this time. Do you really expect us to believe you met the God of Night!?”

You stifle a gasp while your grandmother laughed, though there was no heart in it, “The God of Mystic actually, but yes-”

“No need for technicalities!” He screamed, getting within a five foot radius of the two of us, “If you made contact with him you have doomed us all!”

The God of Mystics was one of fear for the village. They said he roamed the lands before humans were alive, spreading and creating whatever he wanted. The villagers had always preached that he was the creator of nightmares, of the death of crops and the things that scared us so badly. That God was one everyone feared, so why did grandma not?

“I have not doomed anyone,” Her voice was strong, stronger than you had heard it in the years you had lived alongside her. “If anyone had forsaken anyone, it is yourselves. He helped me live, allowed me to see the world beyond the small confines of our daily lives; and most importantly he got me home safely. There is no reason to be scared of the night, only reasons to be scared of humans.”

“You’re still just as crazy as when you were speaking gibberish!” His eyes trailed to you, who stood in bewilderment at the way your grandmother was speaking. “I bet she’s tainted you with this nonsense as well! Is that why you’re parents died? You and your grandmother made a deal with the devil?”

“I-I don’t I can’t- I just don’t understand what’s…” You cried, tears of fear beginning to form despite your inward protests. You just wanted an answer and for the mob that was growing angrier by the second to disappear. “Grandma what’s going on?”

“Time has caught up with me, Y/n.” She said, turning her head to look back at you, a serious expression you had never seen before on her face. “Run to the forest and don’t you dare look back. I promise you nothing bad will happen, just don't. stop. running.”

You stepped forward towards her but she shook her head and turned around, her shoulders straightening despite their old age. “I have to face this alone. Now run y/n!”

“But grandma-”

“I said run!” She commanded with such ferocity that you turned and ran, the sound of the screaming mob blurring in with her words. You did exactly as she said, knowing that she always had a rhyme to her reason, and took off straight towards the tree that marked the edge of the forest. Time seemed to automatically slow as you came to the tree line, a whisper in your mind to turn around and help your frail grandmother. You halted at the tree line, the winds streaming through the trees making you afraid yet comforted, and took a deep breath. There was still sounds of screaming coming from behind, though it now sounded more like a faint chant than the roaring it had once been.

Your feet took steps on their own, due to your brains unwillingness to signal to move. A thought kept stabbing you in the head, telling you to turn around and go back. Your heart kept you moving along, arguing against your reason and pride that your grandmother had you flee for a reason. Despite the turmoil raging inside your body, you continued moving- the forest becoming a blur of darkened trees and the smell of wood. Every so often you thought you saw a pair of glowing eyes, larger than a humans and following you at every turn.

The snapping of twigs caused you to finally hault your frantic running. Your brain turned off of autopilot and the fear finally began to set in. Around you was nothing but forest, and darkness, and an entirely unfamiliar landscape. Tears ran down your face in an instant and you could do nothing to stop their flowing. The twigs snapped again and you spun around, stumbling backwards as you stared out into the vast darkness of the trees.

There again was the glowing eyes that had followed you from the beginning of the forest. They were a bright yellow, contrasting against the black sky and woods. Every second they seemed to grow closer and you could only watch as a creature of unimaginable size stalked out from the shadows. At first glance, it was nothing more than an odd looking wolf; though upon further inspection, there were horns- almost like an elk- adorning its head and strange wisps of fur coming off of it. The area around it seemed to darken as soon as it’s large paws touched the ground.

It growled at you, revealing a maw of sharp and albeit bloody teeth. A strained gasp escaped your lips as your tears of fear continued to slide down your cheeks. Out of all the ways you had thought you would die, at the maw of a abnormal wolf was not one of them. In an instant, it had broken into a long leap, the massive paws colliding with your shoulders and forcing you to the ground. It pinned you down and lowered it snout to your body, sniffing at the unfamiliar scents you exuded.

Your tears had stopped as you stared into the narrowed eyes of the beast. They were beautiful, the most fluorescent golden color you had ever seen. You figured you should at least focus on something lovely in your final moments. The golden orbs turned from inspecting your shoulder to your eyes, the menacing look now gone and replaced with one of interest. The wolf gave you a little nod before moving it’s head down to to your hands, huddled at your chest and cradling the bracelet from your grandmother. One whiff of the bracelet and it had backed up, almost in shock, and shuffled a few feet away from your paralyzed body; the sneer now present again on its face.

“That’s enough Shiber.” A new voice, sounding like every voice you had ever heard before mixed together, stopped the growling of the wolf. You closed your eyes in fear, for whatever had been able to tame such a beast, you did not want to meet it. Light footsteps crinkled against the fallen leaves, coming to a stop right above your head.

“I understand Shiber is intimidating,” The voice seemed to filter itself, now merging into one of a male- a voice that was honey-like and playful. “But he’s as docile as a lamb.”

You frowned, still not opening your eyes even though you could feel the presence of someone right above you, “Tell that to his teeth.”

A small laugh fluttered out of whoever was above you, “I suppose I can accept that,” You felt a hand, light as a feather, brush a strand of hair away from your eyes and despite the situation, the action made you relax, “Now, can I see those pretty eyes of yours? I promise I am not so hideous.”

The voice coaxed you enough to open your eyes slightly, making out the figure of a smirking man above you. He was beautiful: dewy skin, soft pink lips, and twinkling eyes that made you open your own more. There was something ethereal about him, and maybe it was the crown of elk that rested atop his midnight black hair, but the moonlight seemed to shine brighter than it had before. He was dressed in black and purple, colored jewels resting along his throat and collar bones; and a cape that seemed to almost be made of shadow itself was draped over his shoulders.

Upon noticing your wandering eyes, he smiled, one that was brighter than the light he seemed to radiate. “It is not nice to stare, my dear.”

“I-I’m.. I’m not staring,” Shiber let out an undignified snort at my attempt.

“I am sure you weren’t,” He smiled, and stood from his crouched position to offer a hand out towards me. I stared at his hand, still frightened by the whole ordeal, and he cocked his head in confusion. “Has it been so long that this is not a gesture of help anymore?”

“What do you mean by that?” You said, voice barely a whisper as you took his calloused hand in your own.

He pulled you up like you were nothing lighter than a pillow, “I haven’t seen another human in more than a decade-” He still held your hand as he turned it over, revealing the twisted bracelet your grandmother had given you moments before. “She was the last I had spoken to.”

“You’re the God of Mystics,” Your eyes widened and it took all you had in you not to step away in freight. Despite the stories that had been laced with terror, this man before you was nothing like the stories depicted. He was no man of complete shadow, ugly and hideous, and said to be the monster that lingered under children’s beds. You frowned at him, squinting slightly which caused him to raise an eyebrow in near amusement, “You’re not as… fearsome as I would have thought.”

He laughed, head tilting back wash his entire face in moonlight, “I see everyone still has the wrong story about me.”

“They say you create nightmares and kill men in there sleep.”

“Only bad men, I do have morals.” He smiled, and you could have swore his eyes changed in color for a moment.

You pursed your lips, eyes falling to the twilight that seemed to never leave his side. Between that and the crown of antlers, you had no doubt he was a God. “I suppose that’s better than merciless killing.”

“You suppose?” His eyes twinkled with delight, “I am not someone to fear. Though you humans seem to fear me all too much, I’m sure my brother of the storms would have you shaking in terror at the very thought of him.”

“You keep saying I shouldn’t fear you yet there's literal night drifting off of your body.” You gestured to his cloak which was indeed made of pure shadow.

He grinned and ran his hand right through the material, passing through it as if it was a cloud. He plucked a small wisp off of his grand cape and let it slide through his fingers as though it were a game, “Shadows aren’t so bad. Truly,” He held his hand out and the small wisp fluttered towards your face, making a spiral upwards until it fizzled back into moonlight. You were in awe at just a simple act and the God before you held a soft smile at your mesmerized state, “There is nothing wrong with the night, nothing to fear. Humans just crafted the ideas for their own sick uses and to confine the natural life of this world.”

“You sound like my grandmother.” The thought put a frown on your face and you sighed slightly. He seemed to notice and began to play with the shadows again, his hands weaving in and out creating shapes and small creatures you had never seen before.

He finally settled on a small dog, sending it off to run around your head as if to chase of your sadness. “She understood the nighttime and the beauty in it. I can tell she passed it down to you.”

His flattery didn’t work very well as you thoughts began to consume you. Your lips seemed to have settled into a permanent frown, unsure of how you felt about the man before you. He was suave and casual; and despite it all, he knew the reason to what had happened moments ago. The screams and your Grandmother’s final words ran through your head and you looked away from his comforting eyes. Without thinking, your words flooded out of you on their own, “What happened.”

His joyful demeanor seemed to vanish, taken over by something far sadder and serious. “You’re talking about your grandmother, aren’t you-” you gave a small nod in response that harbored a sigh from him, “She wasn’t lying when she said the past had caught up to her. Neither were the villagers who said she made a deal with the devil, though I wouldn’t consider myself a devil.”

“What deal.” You shot down his attempt at lightening the situation.

“A deal of life,” He frowned, treading his fingers over the weathered bracelet which was still in your open palm, “Infest something with newfound life, before it went so far away from this realm that even I couldn’t save it. I advised her that it was reckless, though no one seems to listen to reason anymore. You see, I merely deal the magic and the price that comes with them,” He looked up, a dark look in his eyes, “Most individuals who seek me for help tend to ignore the consequences that come from seeking divine advice.”

“What was the price,” You voice was a whisper as you found yourself getting lost in his captivating eyes. This was the first time you had heard anything of the sort. If you grandmother had made a deal of life though, you could only imagine the dire consequences that could potentially follow; and the guilt on the Gods’ shoulders.

“Life,” His voice mirrored yours, though it was much more sorrowful, “A life for a life. I told her the rules and yet she was reckless enough not to listen. She cared not for her husband's life- which i do not blame her for, he wasn’t a nice man- but... she cared not for him as much…” He trailed off, silencing himself before he said more and looking away guiltily.

A frustrated expression made its way onto your face as you were so close to figuring out what was going on with your grandmother, “As much as what?”

He looked up at you, closed his eyes and looked away, “As much as you.”

The comment seemed to knock you upside the head, and you stared at him, almost not comprehending his words, “She… she made a deal… for my life?”

“Magic comes with a price, love, that no one seems to caution. You’re grandmother was just one of the many victims to it’s wonder.”

“Stop talking in proverbs! You’re saying my grandmother swapped my grandfather's life for my own?” You said and took a step back from him, though you knew it was not his fault.

“Yes.” He glanced back at you and saw the tears forming in your eyes, a wince befalling his face, “You’re grandmother should have told you, not the God who made the awful deal.”

You nodded, gulping down whatever tangle of emotions that had begun to suffocate you, “She should....She should have told me everything instead of leaving me in the dark- but...but now she’s gone. I suppose the deal is also what ended her own?”

“The news got out, and the villagers had a right to be angry. She ended the life of a able farms man for a dying child… no offence.”

“None taken.”

“But now,” He stepped forward, closing the distance that had come between the two of you, “It’s just you… how funny the world works. It is just you, the girl who should be dead and the God who made the deal for your life.” He smiled bitterly, looking up at the moon which shown full and bright above them, “I hate fate, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t call it fate.”

“An awful prank by my brothers?”

“It’s more fitting than fate.” He nodded, and stepped back, extending a hand outwards which you did not hesitate to take this time, “There’s nowhere for you to go this time, am I right?”

You nodded your head solemnly, feeling an uncanny trust for this ethereal being before you. Maybe it was due to his magic which you now knew coursed through your veins, “I don’t even know where to start.”

He smiled, brighter than the moon above, and his hand wrapped around your own tighter, though it was comforting considering the night you had just had. You could understand why your grandmother had ran off to him for help; he was charming, he seemed caring enough, and understood the world. You had never met any other Gods before this though, so you had no comparison; but you figured he was one of the better ones.

“There’s no harm in bringing you along with me,” There was a sparkle in his eyes as he spoke, like he hadn’t had this much enjoyment for a while, “Us outcasts should stick together, shouldn’t we?”

“I don’t even know you….” You whispered, a war waging around inside your brain at what your next step should be. Go with this mystical god or find your own way out of this forest and most likely die, “How could I go with a God? How would… how would it even work?”

“Well for one, stop calling me a god. I like my name better.”

“Which you never told me.”

“Are we seriously that forgotten nowadays,” He sighed and looked back up to you, a small smile on his perfect lips, “My name is San and it’ll work like this; you can go where I go and they’ll be no harm. As long as you’re with me, I won’t let anything happen to you. I need a companion anyways, Shiber smells bad and eats to many poachers to hang around often.”

There was an annoyed growl from the creature somewhere in the depths of the forest.

“Another deal with the devil,” You sighed but your heart was racing in excitement especially as you looked down at your intertwined hands, “What’s the catch?”

“You’ll lose track of time and humanity.”

“Perfect.”

He grinned at you, tugging you slightly to get you to start walking into the depths of the forest with him. “I’ve never traveled with a human before! This is going to be fun! Come on Shiber!” The sound of heavy steps began to sound behind us as we walked through the dimly illuminated trees, “Where should we go first?”

“Anywhere is better than here I suppose… though I do want to ask something of you before we start this endeavor.”

“And would that be, love?”

“Can I have a antler crown like yours? It’s growing on me.”

His laughter was a joyous sound, one that illuminated the world around you. Perhaps, all you needed to be able to feel some light was a God of the night.

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