may I pretty please ask for something for Chance? 🥹 your snippet about him basing his campaigns on reader was extremely cute! I need more of that DM bias hehe
HELLO!! you absolutely may (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ hope you enjoy this!! since you enjoyed him basing things off of the reader in my drabble i thought i'd do something similar
sir synonym-for-chance
pairing: chance x gender neutral reader
summary: the G&G campaign you're playing feels oddly familiar. so does the self-proclaimed handsome NPC.
content / warnings: fluff / lighthearted, G&G (D&D) campaign, G&G narration that's partially in first person, established relationship, mentions of Beverly
word count: 1.2 k
a/n: he's such a silly guy. the little 'hehehe thanks' he says plays in my mind whenever i see him
You enter the tavern, the soles of your well-trod leather boots announcing your presence to all those within. You are tired, you are wounded, and you are very, very thirsty.
Pfft. Not like that, but I like the way you think.
‘Greetings, fair traveler,’ the bartender, a slender elf with flowing orange hair the color of a sunset, says as you approach.
‘Hail and well met, barkeep,’ you respond, your voice carrying a melodious lilt as you plunk down a sachet full of glimmering gold coins. ‘What’s a Guardian gotta do to get a drink around here?’
Her eyes crinkle with mirth. ‘I think you’ll find that you won’t need to pay to sate yourself tonight.’
She slides you a glass; it is filled with a blood-red liquid, smelling faintly of cranberries, faintly shimmering under the warm lantern light. ‘The gentleman over there sends his regards.’
You follow her gaze, turning your head. At the far end of the bar, a mysterious personage raises one hand in greeting, his face half-shrouded by a red hood embroidered with gold thread; the light seems to warp and bend around him, as if fate itself is trying to alert you to his presence.
Hint, hint: that guy’s important!
Okay, okay! Just saying.
You choose to approach the stranger, drink in hand. ‘Hello there,’ you murmur, low so that the others do not hear you. ‘To whom — who? — whom — do I owe this pleasure?’
‘The pleasure is all mine,’ says the stranger, in a low voice that is immediately soothing to your ears. ‘I have an adventure to propose to you, traveler. It concerns the legend of the Life-Giver, a mighty warrior who was known to breathe sentience into items far and wide. Surely you know of them?'
‘I am aware of the Life-Giver, yes,’ you say, your tone tinged with amusement. ‘And?’
‘There is a prophecy as old as time that points to a hero who will take up the mantle of Life-Giver yet again,’ he answers, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I believe that you are that hero.’
Uh, just to check, can I keep monologuing? I can skip to the end if you want.
Aw, hehehe, thank you! Alright. Ahem.
‘You must go on a journey throughout the regions of our land in order to unleash your true potential. It will be long and arduous — a couple of hours at least, plus or minus breaks for snacking — and it will involve trials of both the mind and body. But the rewards will be greater than you could ever dare fathom.
‘I have been chosen to guide you through this journey, traveler — accompany you and encourage you as you endure the trials, be your steadfast and loyal companion, and, perhaps…’ he pauses and coughs, his voice only faintly wavering as he questions — ‘more, besides?’
‘Sure,’ you say in a distinctly normal voice, correcting yourself, ‘I mean — of course. I would be honored, sir.’
‘Wonderful.’ He extends a hand, and you take it; his palm is warm as it makes contact with yours, strong and calloused. ‘Allow me to introduce myself, then.’
In one fluid move, the stranger uncovers his hood, and you stare at what lies beneath. With dark brown hair and kind, ruby-red eyes, he smiles kindly at you. He is the sort of man that you could fall in love with instantly within a minute of meeting him.
You open your mouth to reply, already burning with questions —
——
‘Something about this campaign seems very familiar,’ you say suspiciously, peering down at the painstakingly hand-painted miniature that stands on the table. If you squint, it looks a bit like Chance. If you don’t squint, it looks exactly like Chance.
Your boyfriend pushes the hood of his cloak back over his neck, innocent red eyes blinking at you from behind gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘What’s his name?’ you ask, pointing to the miniature.
‘Hm?’
‘The name of the handsome stranger.’
He drums his fingers on the table. ‘Sir Prospect.’
Your eyebrows raise. ‘As in, Sir Synonym-For-Chance.’
‘I don't know what you're talking about,’ Chance says, smoothly flipping the dictionary lying on the table upside down.
‘Sure.’ You scrutinize the notes you’ve been taking of the encounter. ‘And the bartender, who is definitely nothing like Beverly in appearance or name?’
‘Hey, Refresha, my completely original character, wouldn't appreciate that accusation at all,’ he protests airily as he toys with the multicolored dice on his bracelets.
‘And the “mighty warrior who was known to bring items to life”, or something,’ you say, making air quotes. ‘Whose name appears to be exactly the same as mine with a few letters changed around.’
‘I think that the unpronounceability turns it from normal to fantastical.’
Hypothesis confirmed. You place your hands on the table, looking him dead in the eyes. ‘Is this entire campaign based on us?’
The tips of his ears go red at your staring, and he bites his lip, ducking his head sheepishly. ‘Maybe.’
The confirmation delights you, your eyes lighting up. ‘Oh my gosh, you absolute dork. So that’s why you said our date today was going to be different.’
‘I’m not going to sway the odds in your favor, in case you’re worried,’ Chance defends. ‘You’re still going to have to roll for things to go exactly how you want them. I just have…’ He mulls over what he wants to say. ‘I’ve planned so that it’s still fun no matter what happens.’
‘So I won’t mess your plans up by rolling a one and dying in the laundry room?’
Chance laughs. ‘If that happens, you’ll be revived with the healing power of warm clothing fresh out of the dryer.’
‘You’ve planned for everything,’ you say, impressed. ‘I’m so excited to see where this goes.’
‘Ah, you haven’t even seen the Land Of Slumber yet!’ he says, steepling his fingers deviously, his glasses glinting. ‘It’s a world of majesty! And maximum comfort! With pillows that are extra fluffy so we can roll even when lying down!’
‘Is this why you wouldn’t let me come into the bedroom earlier today?’
‘It’s one of many reasons!’ he says. ‘I have a whole thing planned in there later tonight — oh, but that’s spoilers. I need you and Prospect to meet first, and then we can go off to the bar so we can reenact this — I wanted to begin the adventure, but I just couldn’t resist starting it here when you looked so happy.’
‘And so, the drink?’ you ask. ‘That’s real too?’
‘My very own creation! Beverly said she’d run it as a special tonight,’ Chance says proudly, showing you a sketch he’d made as well as a list of ingredients. ‘Though she rejected the idea of making a full menu based on G&G. I don’t know why.’
‘I think if she tried sourcing the items you usually mention off-handedly, she’d start pouring her hair out.’
‘Hmm,' he muses. 'Maybe.’
‘You did get one thing wrong about Prospect, though,’ you note, picking up the miniature and holding it up to him. ‘I’m not going to fall in love with a guy I just met.’
Chance shrugs, flushing a deep crimson, and says with just a hint of cheek, ‘Well, you did for me, didn’t you?’
He's got you there. You snort, rolling your eyes and giving him a playful shove. ‘Silence, you unbelievable flirt. If you’re going to make yourself an NPC in this you're going to have to work harder than that to seduce me. Roll for Charm, why don't you?'
And, grinning, Chance picks up a dice and rolls it with a confident flick of the hand. By sheer coincidence, it’s a natural twenty.
Thinking about the first time you hold Prince!Vash’s hand
Not while trying to move through a crowd. Not because you’re forced to dance in front of others.
But just because.
You’re out on one of the balconies in the early morning. Air is nippy with fall coming in. It’s been four months since your wedding.
Wolfwood sees you first, walking alongside the Prince in the hall. He nudges Vash and points. “She look lost to you?”
No, you don’t. In fact you look content, leaning against the railing like that, overlooking the distant forests surrounding the city. Vash moves without thinking, opening the doors and coming to your side. Wolfwood nods and takes up post at the doors. No need for someone to interrupt.
You startle at his appearance, but settle just as quickly. “Am I intruding?” He asks.
You shake your head. “Not at all.” One of your shy smiles peaks out. He’s been getting more of those lately. Much better than the blank stare he used to get. Very pretty. “I was just thinking it would be nice if someone was here.”
Bolstered by your invitation, your husband leans against the railing as well. The trees along the horizon have orange and red mixed with their yellowing leaves now. Outside the castle walls is a hammering—probably a blacksmith starting their day. A crisp breeze blows by.
Vash tries to look at you through the corner of his eye. You’re dressed for the day, of course, your hair pulled up and out of your face. It’s a nice face. Very pretty. Need to think of something else to describe her, he scolds himself. Nai would bite his ear off if he knew how dull his speech is getting.
“I used to,” he starts, clears his throat when you look at him, then looks back at the trees, “I used to ride my horse out there. Especially around this time of year. It’s very nice to hear the leaves, very…crunchy.” Vash feels himself flush. You’re talking about dead leaves, of all things?
That shy smile comes back. “My siblings and I would do the same in our forests. I love the crunch of leaves underfoot. Though, my brother would find worms and other bugs in them to terrorize the little ones.”
He feels his blush lessening, perhaps because of the air. “It didn’t bother you?”
You shrug, “Someone had to be the barrier between them when he tried putting the bugs in their dresses. I got used to it.” Though, you do scratch the back of your neck as if feeling a critter crawl there.
Vash hums. "Perhaps we could go riding today?" You look at him again, and he tries to not hunch his shoulders. "It's a nice day, after all."
Your lips press together. "Don't you have meetings throughout the day? I certainly do."
He smiles. "What's the use of our titles if we can't do what we want every now and then?"
The stare you give has his blush creeping up his neck and ears again. Just as he's about to retract his statement, you laugh. It's a wonderful sound; he doesn't think he's heard it before, but it is...nice. Very pretty.
"I suppose," you say, allowing another chuckle out, "we could cancel a meeting or two."
Victory: he both made you laugh and got you to agree to his shenanigans.
Just as he's about to turn back and cause the havoc promised, you do the strangest thing: you take his hand in yours, and squeeze. "Thank you," you murmur. Your hand is cold. He wonders then why he hadn't thought of fetching you a coat. But then he focuses on your grip. Soft. Small compared to his own. The barest of ink stains under your nails. The smile you give is a warm fire on a dark night.
He realizes, distantly, he's never truly felt your hands before; always focused on pulling you through the crowds when out and about, or dancing for everyone to see. There was never any time to consider...well, you.
He decides he likes the feeling of your hand in his. Very much so.
"For...what?" he finally asks.
You shrug. "For being kind. And dashing." You look away shyly at your statement.
His heart does a little lurch dance. His blush is full-force now. But, he does not pull away. Vash's own lips give a shaky smile back. "'Dashing,' huh?"
"Don't get a big head about it," you snip back.
He laughs and settles back on the railing, your side brushing his now, and thinks, maybe I could stay here just a little longer before I ruin Nai's day.
LOVE LOVE LOVE what you wrote for villain waterboy I need more of that PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏
Maybe a fic of hero reader trying to talk to him or something????
Idk but I definitely want more!!
HELLO!!!! i have wanted to write something with a villain waterboy since i posted the initial drabble... here it is!! i hope you enjoy it, i had fun writing it ✧⁺⸜(●′▾‵●)⸝⁺✧
the torrent of torrance
pairing: waterboy x gender neutral reader
content / warnings: sorta angsty with a hopeful ending, z-teamer reader (unspecified powers aside from extra strength), villain! waterboy (his name is deluge here) and a whole bunch of stuff i made up for the concept
word count: 3.4 k
a/n: i did think about calling him torrent, but then settled on deluge instead, because i thought it made for an interesting villain name!
‘Any sign of him yet?’
‘No,’ you reply, panting slightly as you sprint through the city, following the path of floodwater before you, your feet kicking up large puddles as they go. ‘But he can’t have gone far. I should be right on his heels this time.’
‘Okay,’ Robert says, his voice coming in loud and clear through your earpiece. ‘Keep moving, and look for any signs of flood damage. The rest of you, keep looking for him at your posts and clean up any mess if you see it.'
‘Why did it have to be water,’ Coupé hisses, sounding absolutely miserable. ‘I hate water.’
‘I agree. Fucking cold and it snuffs all my flames out,’ Flambae complains, an audible sizzling sound coming through as he attempts to steam out the water soaked through his suit.
‘Who even is this kid, anyway?’ Prism asks. ‘Y’all ever heard of Deluge before he started tearing everything up?’
A chorus of exasperated nos. ‘Delugeional is more like it,’ Punch Up comments. ‘We don’t even have a clue what he wants yet, do we?'
‘He did rob a record store that one time and took a lot of metal CDs,’ Golem says, adding thoughtfully, ‘I mean… if he wants recs, I got recs.’
‘Focus up,’ Robert says firmly, ‘and stay on target. We can talk about recs later.'
‘Gotcha.’
A loud noise drowns out whatever he says next, your head instinctively swiveling to follow its source. A geyser of water erupts a hundred feet away from you. Out of it rises a figure, clad in a black and blue form-fitting suit, who uses the momentum to spit another stream of water out onto the ground; the force of it propels him forward and out of reach as he runs further down the street, hell-bent on escape — but something's different about him today. His feet are dragging slightly. He's slowing down.
Which means you stand a good chance at catching him today. ‘I see him,’ you say. ‘Heading after him now.’
Cheers and calls to "fuck ‘em upppp" sound joyously in your ears as you vault over a crashed car in your way — it wasn't technically necessary, but it did look awesome — and pursue him further.
——
In the news, they call him the “Torrent of Torrance”.
That isn't actually his name. The official name he’s put forward is Deluge, according to SDN's insider sources, but that isn't nearly as catchy a moniker, so half of the public has the completely wrong name for him. Whatever name you choose to call him, though, is accurate to his powers, which seem to involve water. Lots and lots and lots of water.
For the the past few weeks, he’s been causing floods throughout the city as he commits a string of robberies, all without saying a word. His goals are mysterious, his allegiances unknown, as no one really knows him; he's one hell of an upstart villain.
Is he a villain, though? This is the question that's been running through your mind as you've been tracking him down. He doesn't feel like one. For starters, there's his choice of robberies: he's escalated in his most recent heists, always choosing to break into the high-end banks, the most expensive of fashion stores, and pharmacies, but takes only the highest value items, waterlogging the security footage so all they see is a dark, blurred shape coming and going. You've found the same items going for sale online just days later, none of the items kept for himself, as if there's some kind of standard he wants to hold himself to.
What he does keep for himself seems to mainly be indulgences — items from grocery chains, bookshops, record stores. But the mom and pop shops that are normally the unwitting target of every criminal around have far less taken from them, only enough to survive, and he must use the profits from the other robberies to buy other things. It doesn't scream villain behavior to you. He's more of an anti-hero, if anything. Like some kind of aquatic Robin Hood.
And that, by all accounts, should put him fairly low on your radar, at least from a moral standpoint. But that's ignoring the collateral damage of it all. From what you've seen, the same harmless water you drink flows out of him in an infinite supply, and with enough pressure is more effective than any powerwasher you’ve seen, enough to leave incidents in its wake that SDN has been answering calls for for weeks now. He’s knocked pillars down in seconds, dented cars like soda cans. The destruction almost rivals Golem’s kaiju son itself; the only thing Deluge doesn't have to one-up it is the fact that the kaiju tends to get a little hangry, and destroy walls when it gets hangry. That's children for you.
He only ever attacks with enough force to take what he needs and then escape, slowing you down enough to prevent him from leaving. In other words, he’s been deemed a Category One: Pain In The Ass. This isn’t the first time that SDN’s tried to deal with him, but every one of your last arrest attempts have ended in failure so far — he’s just, pardon the horrible pun, too slippery. With the amount of near-misses you've had, he has to have been injured by now, too, but it’s like he tanks it and the springs right back up the next day, which has made short work of the company's healing facilities. At this rate, it won't be long before he seriously puts one of you down for the count; and it might not be long before he accidentally gets a civilian hurt, too.
Which is why you're really hoping you can actually talk to him this time, at least before you get him in handcuffs. Simply being dangerous is different than posing a threat; whoever he is, and with the power he wields, you're betting that he's just the former. You think you can get him to stop. You just need a chance.
Though he sure isn't making it easy, you think to yourself as you pass yet another overturned car (it’s a Tesla, so not a big loss, but still). At the very least, he’ll be facing public destruction and property charges. But that's a hell of a lot better than manslaughter.
Finally — finally — you see him up ahead again, and he ducks into a building. The sign in front reads TORRANCE MUNICIPALITY POOL, and below that, CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. Based on how every other confrontation has gone, you note that they’re likely going to need more after this.
'He's headed east,’ Robert tells you. 'Still see him?'
‘Yep. He’s headed into the pool.’
‘Like he doesn’t get wet enough already,’ Invisigal scoffs. ‘What’s he want with it? Thought he naturally drools enough water to swim in.’
‘I don’t know,' you say. 'But I’m going in.'
‘Copy,’ Robert says. ‘Watch out.’
‘Copy.’
Carefully, you slip inside, padding your way past the entry gates and through the locker rooms, the scent of chlorine and sweat immediately hitting your nose, the faint sounds of water churning far away. But it's only when you get to the pool area that you actually see him, staring out at the long — twenty meters or so, you’d estimate — pool, colorful float ropes bobbing over clear, tiled water. It’s shadowed inside, the main source of light coming from the windows.
At the farthest lane to the right, Deluge is swimming towards your direction, long forward strokes made with powerful, equally long legs, smooth and silent as they kick underneath the water. Cautiously, you approach the edge of the pool, waiting for him to come to you.
Slowly, Deluge rises out of the water, revealing a tall, lanky form; water rolls off of him like he’s shedding a second skin, only more drops beading on his face in its stead. His hair, light and reddish-brown, plasters itself to his forehead, individual strands curling limply inwards. His cheeks are streaked with leaking black eyeliner underneath; it makes him look like he's been crying, like a jilted lover. The look on his face is hauntingly blank, lips pressed into a thin line.
He looks up. He locks eyes with you. All the color drains from his face.
You move fast, but he moves faster. Before you know it, he’s propelling himself out the way you came in, brushing past you and sprinting towards the changing rooms, missing your grasp by an inch. You curse under your breath and gear up for another long-winded chase, when…
SMACK. Deluge skids on the floor, limbs flailing, before his legs fly out from under him and he crashlands flat on his back on the blue tiles, knocking the wind out of him with an undignified yelp. Guess not even he’s immune to accidents. You can’t help but wince out of sympathy; it’ll probably leave a massive bruise, and as he moves to get up, you see him clutch at his back and hiss. Even Supers’ bodies have limits, and he doesn’t seem as if he’s particularly well-equipped to deal with them yet — his costume lacks protective gear, and looks quite scuffed already.
Might as well make the most of the situation, though. You seize the chance to move forward, getting closer to him before he has the chance to run away again. He’s already struggling to his feet and scrabbles away from you as you approach, but you’re the one who’s faster this time, cornering him against the wall, grasping his wrist; he twists and jerks in your grip, but you weren’t trained in Strength for nothing, and you hold him fast.
‘Hey,’ you say firmly. ‘Stop. I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk.’
‘And bring — take — I’ll go to j-jail,’ Deluge spits, the first time you’ve ever heard him actually speak — the words are stuttered, haltingly said, like he’s unsure of how best to respond. ‘You’re one of the h-heroes — you’re a Super. Hero. You're part of SDN.’
‘Yeah.’ No use in trying to hide it, not when he's known you were tailing him for weeks. ‘Yeah, I am. But I’m not going to hurt you, like I said. I just want us to talk until the others get here so I can figure out what your deal is. It’ll be a lot. easier if you’re willing to talk, or at the very least listen to me, okay?’
Blue-gray eyes, like the calm before a storm, glare at you, doing their best to intimidate. It is not very effective — he looks more frightened than anything, like this is his first real encounter with a hero up close.
You stare back, communicating your intentions with freezing intensity — sit down, and listen to me. It's worked on a lot of people, and Deluge is no exception. He looks as if he wants to fight you more, and you admit he could probably overpower you, even now: internally, you prepare yourself for another exhausting fight.
But then he seems to surrender, his shoulders slumping as he mutters something under his breath. With all the angry energy of a wet cat, he stalks over to the nearest bench without assistance, wincing as he sits down and slouching himself as far forward as his spine will allow.
Robert’s voice crackles again in your comm, questioning. 'I'm hearing a struggle. Everything okay?’
‘Yes, Robert, got it under control,’ you answer automatically, and then add on — seeing Deluge tense up and following your instincts — ‘I’m going to mute you right now, okay?’
‘What?' he asks, his voice sharpening. 'Why —‘
The dispatcher's voice fades to an angry buzz as you take your earpiece out and holding it up to Deluge. Some of the tension bleeds out of his posture, but he keeps himself curled up, long limbs folded over each other.
‘There,’ you say, and make a show of tucking your earpiece into your pocket, holding up your hands once more to show that they're empty. ‘Now we can talk one-on-one.’
‘Wh-whatever,’ he bites. 'I'm not — you can't make me.'
'No,' you reply easily, and move to sit down next to him; he scoots as far away as the bench will allow, but doesn't make to get up. 'I can't.'
You let the silence stretch out for a few moments, enough to make him start shuffling his feet, drops of water pitter-pattering onto the tiled floor.
‘So,’ you say eventually, when it seems like he's going to explode from the tension. 'Jewelry and meds and money all makes sense, but why steal records and books, anyway? It's not like you can't buy them with whatever you're pawning off.'
He mumbles something you can't quite make out, and then must realize that you’ve baited him into revealing more, promptly clamping his lips shut with a twist of the mouth. You wait. If anything, it seems like he'll crack and talk to fill the void if he can to avoid you prying deeper.
‘Th-they’re for me and my — for more than one person,’ he says sullenly, and then reddens, the color going splotchy on his cheekbones. ‘I — like stuff.'
You snort at the phrasing. ‘I, too, like stuff. You're a fan of metal?'
'Metal is cool,' he mumbles, as if daring you to disagree; when all he gets is a shrug and a nod from you, his eyes dart away, fixed on the high diving board on the other end of the pool. He scrubs a hand over his face, and it comes away slick with additional water; he brings his hand to his neck, massaging it it — a form of self-soothing? You don’t know.
Deluge speaks up again. ‘I left notes, with — I did — explained what I did take at the stores so it wouldn't be that much of a problem. In-inventory. So there’s — it's —' He makes a noise of frustration, shaking his hands to try and communicate what he can't. 'I left notes, I’m saying.'
You vaguely remember wet paper pulp being strewn over the cash registers, the ink bled out to the point that it’s illegible. 'Very noble of you.'
He scoffs, though with less resistance, and glances at you, though it lasts for milliseconds before his gaze darts away again, swallowing thickly.
You lean back, turn your head towards the pool, the water's surface only lightly disturbed now, the smell of chlorine still strong. ‘Pretty powerful stuff you had going there for an inexperienced Super. Did you learn to do that on your own?’
He immediately bristles at your choice of words, stammering a furious amalgam of phrases that include ‘I have a lot of — I’m very ex-experience —‘ and ‘You don’t — I — you didn’t catch me until now, today. So.'
‘Hey,' you say, your eyebrows lifting in surprise. 'Not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m saying it’s impressive. I mean, totaling a building’s infrastructure isn’t great, but the way you did it? That could be useful if there was a fire one day. And it's done wonders for the plant growth.' You pause, before adding, 'Kind of badass, honestly.’
Now that leads to an interesting reaction. Deluge startles, lifting his head, and some of the guardedness in his features cracks, giving way to an unfiltered expression of eagerness, a heartbreaking look of vulnerability in his eyes, before it shutters again.
‘B-badass?’
There’s your angle.
He wants to do good, you realize, but he's never gotten the chance to. He's been surviving all this time, and he’s accomplishing that the only ways he knows how, but he desperately wants to prove himself if he actually gets a chance to live.
You can understand that. You’ve been that before. And, you realize, now you know what you can offer him.
‘I was like you a while ago,’ you start quietly. The shift in tone makes him still, staring at you confusedly. ‘Decidedly less, uh, wet, but I’ve done some bad things. Things I did for survival. And I’m willing to bet that you’re not doing this out of a want for power, but survive, too. Am I right?'
He doesn't answer, but he doesn't contest it, either, crossing his arms over his chest like it'll make him smaller, harder to reach. Protecting himself. That's all the confirmation you need.
‘I work with a team of people just like you, who are helping others do good,' you say, scooting closer to him, shrinking the distance between you, and he doesn't fight that, either. 'Former villains, anti-heroes, you name it, they've done it. We need new people all the time. You could be a part of that too, if you wanted.' You let the words hang in the air. ‘You could be a hero.'
Deluge tilts his head to look up at you. ‘W-without going to jail?’
‘You’d have to go to trial,’ you apologize, and his expression falls. 'But when I bring you in, you can apply for the program yourself — it's called the Phoenix Program — from there, and you likely wouldn't have to serve a sentence at all if a hero recommends you for it. Which I could.'
‘You could help,' Deluge says slowly, each word like a revelation. 'You could help me?'
‘Yes,’ you emphasize, your voice going as earnest as you can make it. 'We can help you, and whatever your situation — whatever it is, I'm sure we'll be able to make it work.’ You hold out your hand to him. ‘Let us.'
And you're not sure why, but you add — because there's just something about him, the look in his eyes, the look on his face that makes you want to say, your tone edging more towards desperate — 'Let me.'
He sucks in a breath, stuttered and sharp, his expression wavering — doubt, relief, worry, curiosity. Slowly, his fingers twitch, and then he's reaching for your hand.
And then, you hear the blare of approaching sirens, a piercing wail that ruptures the moment you’ve worked hard to build in two.
Deluge blanches, limbs stiffening, pupils shrinking, and he snatches his hand away as if he’s been burned. ‘Y-you,’ he chokes out, scrambling back on the bench, nearly slipping off with the effort. ‘Y-you tricked me.’
‘No. No, I didn’t.’ You raise your hands in an attempt to placate him, trying to reason, internally yourself for not handling this better. ‘They must have figured out where we were. I promise, no one is going to hurt you, Deluge. Just let me —‘
That’s all the time you get to explain yourself, because he stands up without a hint of a wince, his hands shaking. He's healed a lot quicker than you thought.
Looking hurt — looking betrayed — he screws his eyes shut, and the next thing you know a jet of water blasts you into the pool.
Swimming was not on your mind today. The shock of the water — cold, chlorine — gets the better of you as you thrash for a moment, sinking low to the bottom and inhaling a large gulp of water before you kick your feet and push back up. Breaking the surface, you wipe the water from your eyes, gasping, swivelling your head around to look for him — he’s already made it to the window at the far end of the pool, with no chance you’ll be able to catch up to him now. Your waterlogged earpiece bobs somewhere, emitting useless static.
His face is red, his eyes fixed on you, silhouetted against the light of the window. He looks conflicted.
‘Think about it,’ you rasp, voice hoarse. ’That’s all I ask.’
He stares for a few seconds more, then gives a tiny, jerking nod. Then his cheeks balloon, he turns, and your ears ring as he smashes the window with a jet of water, escaping off just as the rest of the Z-Team bursts into the entrance to the pool.
'Well,' Sonar says, taking in the sight of you in the water. 'Shit.'
——
The application comes to SDN a week later, handwritten and stained with bleeding black marker, nearly illegible, torn in places where the paper fibers have weakened and then dried. It's accompanied by a thin sheet of paper the authorities have put together, as well as a page to write the recommendation. After Robert had admonished you for taking off your earpiece, you'd explained the situation to him: he must agree with you, because he hands a copy of the files to you and tells you to get it in as soon as you can.
The mugshot that greets you when you open the folder is the bare face of a tall man, water dripping off of his face and soaking through his clothing, scared, wide stormy eyes that stare back at you, pupils shrunk in the harsh light. But there's something else in his expression, too — one that you recognize as a tentative hopefulness.
Deluge.
A faint smile graces your lips, and you pick up a pen.
You may not realize it but the students at NRC know you're the secret weapon against their Housewarden when they get in trouble or need something done. Their Housewarden has a crush on you.
ft. Riddle and Leona (warning for mentions of depression/death in Leona's part)
There's an endless number of things that make Riddle mad despite all the techniques he's been researching and implementing. It comes with being the Queen of the strictest dorm, he supposes. Really he wouldn't be mad if people would just listen but apparently that's hard! Cater and Crewel were doing well to soften his edges, Trey sweetening the deal with cooking one random thing Riddle's mom never let him have as a child if he could go ten days without popping a vein.
Riddle thought he'd come a long way, honestly. Professor Trein really put it into perspective when he told the boy that the he could build a reputation on something other than anger. He wouldn't want to be known for that, right? Riddle was far more than his rage and it would be an insult to all his other talents to lose to it.
That wasn't to say he could never be angry again. There were absolutely reasonable things to be angry over. Like the scene in the kitchen right now.
Preparations for an Unbirthday Party were in full swing and Trey had the kitchen running like a well-oiled machine. He had dedicated helpers, people monitoring the ovens, people plating, and little runners to arrange the spread. Everyone knew he made extras and finger foods to tide people over before the event. Heartslabyul members tucked away in the nooks and crannies like clever mice as they gorged, enjoying a brief respite before darting off again.
He fully expected Ace or Deuce to be the culprit this time but they had learned. Riddle could only assume the young student didn't know but that didn't stop his blood from boiling. Those were HIS strawberry cheesecake cookies in those greedy little hands, HIS!
ON HIS SPECIAL PLATE AND EVERYTHING!
His throat burned with rage as he teeth ground together. Riddle could feel the vein pulsing in his head as he began to seethe, forgetting to breathe out his nose. Students slipped out of the kitchen, some slow and some quick, but his vision was starting to get hazy with fury and he couldn't keep track.
He doesn't know if the yell finally breaks free, or if Off With Your Head actually hits a target but he does feel someone's hand on his shoulder.
There's no blubbering, no high-pitched pleading, no force or violence.
It's far gentler than he deserves but that gentleness quiets the fierce beat in his ears. The world seems to come back together, the broken pieces wrapped in a fragrance that only you wear. His eyes focus and Riddle feels the guilt drag him down like a stone.
He was so close! What a stupid thing to get mad over! He really was no better than his mother, was he? So quick to jump at others and punish them with no regard...
"Breathe with me," Riddle doesn't dare meet your eyes, focusing instead on the hand resting warmly against his chest, fingers tapping patiently. He knows when to breathe in, breathe out, and hold. You do it with him and he swears you blow away all his anger when you blow out.
You cup his chin, forcing Riddle to meet your gaze. The angry pinch in his brow melts to a tired disappointment. His face flushes with shame, eyes dotting with tears. "It's okay to have these moments. You have to work through them to heal. You just can't live in them."
"I'm sorry," Riddle slumps against you, unable to lift his arms. You let his head rest on your shoulder, wrapping your arms around him.
"You didn't hurt anyone and didn't break anything so there's not much to be sorry about," he feels you shrug. "But you might've scared some people so maybe apologize for that. What was it Trein said? 'Turn your anger into action, seething into saying'? Go explain yourself."
It sounds simple when you say it. Trein's 'seething into saying' was especially potent because it made him realize all the times his mother failed to hear any reasoning but her own. He never had a chance to say anything out loud so it continued to fester on the inside.
"Now," you steal a handkerchief from his pocket, holding his face in your hands as you dab at his eyes, "compose yourself. We have an Unbirthday Party to get to."
"Right you are, my rose. Right you are," Riddle looks up as you tend to his lower lash line and the corners. "It shall be a very merry Unbirthday."
You pass Ace and Deuce in the hallway and Riddle doesn't miss the thumbs up you give them even though you're trying to be discrete.
--------- ---------- ---------
Leona may have the biggest room in Savanaclaw but that doesn't stop him from hearing Jack stretching for his morning jog at four AM. Ruggie's not far behind him; he can hear the hyena beastman cramming school supplies in his bag and taking pictures of his 'side jobs and errands' master schedule. He reaches blindly for his phone, rolling over as his finger finds the button. The light scorches his eyes and he growls low in his throat, tail swishing angrily beneath the twisted sheets.
Of course his phone is pointed at his face! why wouldn't it be, right? He's always being kicked when he's down. Leona scoffs, face relaxing from a snarl as his spotty vision settles. He has about an hour and a half before Ruggie slinks in to pester him for the day.
At least it's a good-natured pestering, unlike the attendants back home. Leona knows he has some internal shit to work out but it runs so deep that he can't scoop it all out. He feels full of holes and doesn't know which one to patch first. Ultimately he bleeds out, resigning himself to a day of nothing because it's easier to sleep and forget everything.
Maybe he'll have energy tomorrow.
Maybe the Great Sevens will grant him mercy and he just won't wake up. A genuine smile twists his lips as he thinks of haunting the palace like the ghosts of Ramshackle. Oh to scare the fur straight off of Farena!
Does that make him a bad person? He's not awake enough to dissect that, honestly. Leona lapses into a blissfully dreamless sleep until his first alarm goes off. The Housewarden musters his energy and looks at his phone again, silencing the alarm and flicking open his class schedule.
Alchemy, huh? It's better than History of Magic so maybe he'll go. The scent of potion ingredients always turn his stomach but nothing nauseates him more than Crewel. Leona doesn't mind the no-nonsense demeanor and gets a kick out of how the freshies squirm under his steely gaze but he hates the look Crewel gives him.
Crewel looks at him like he believes in him and Leona doesn't know what to do.
Leona knows he's defensive and skittish and lashes out when he's uncomfortable but Crewel doesn't seem to care. It leaves Leona confused because he hasn't left yet. Crewel gets under his skin because he knows Leona doesn't listen, tapping into Leona's bottomless desire to be petty.
It usually works and Leona hates it.
He stares at the ceiling after shooing Ruggie away for the third time, more awake than he wants to be. Leona knows he has to get up, get dressed, eat something, and get ready for class. It just...takes so much.
Jack tags in and walks up to his bed, fluffy ears swiveling and tail so puffy it puts Lucius' to shame. His tail shakes nervously and Leona's sleepy green eyes drift up to the way he rubs his neck awkwardly. "It's time to get up," Jack doesn't look him in the eye.
Leona's tempted to ask Jack to pull him off the bed. That's half the battle. He's too prideful to lay in the floor practically naked; it'll motivate him to change clothes. If he's changed clothes, he's up. If he's up, it's only thirty steps to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Between the water and the mint, his stomach will demand food and the kitchen is right by the front door of the dorm.
If he can make it to the front door, he can make it to the mirror chamber. The mirror chamber is on campus so there's no reason to skip class if he gets that far.
"A lot of us look up to you, you know," Jack turns his back on him. Leona knows it's a hard thing for Jack to do, being a beastman and all. "Be the person we know you can be."
"Easier said than done." Leona grumps, finally pulling himself up from the sheets. He hunches over, already tired at the thought of getting dressed.
"But not impossible," you lean against the doorway and Jack's ears press flat as he darts out of the room. "Tap out," you whisper softly, bumping Jack's shoulder as he passes. The wolf beastman gives you a nod as you close the door behind you.
"Who called you?" Leona flashes his fangs in irritation as he moves strategically with his covers to reach the pair of pants waiting nearby. He's told you more than once he sleeps basically naked but you don't seem to care.
"Does it matter? I'm here." you shrug, staring at him with a look he can't read. It's not pity and it's not aggravation so that's nice. "You want help? The hardest part is getting started."
Very wise. Wiser than a herbivore has any right to be.
Leona concedes with a wiggle of his eyebrow, standing up after he's sure his legs are in the pants. He shrugs into them, groggily doing the zipper. His hands linger on the button as he realizes your words come from a life in a world no one else will get to know.
One you may never see again.
All of a sudden he doesn't feel like one of the oldest students. You're younger than him but you've basically lived two lifetimes.
Maybe you have better words for what he's feeling. Maybe they've found a way to fix it in your world and you can teach him.
He buttons the pants and you hold up the brown top. Leona doesn't know why he leans towards you in this moment. Something in you seemed to hold your arms out to him and a piece of him just wanted to be held. If you ask him, he'll say it's less of a hassle
You untangle his necklaces and lay them flat. Something wounded and happy wells up at the feel of your hands on his chest.
If you can do it, he can too. He doesn't know how you do it, but if you can find a way to exist at the end of the day, he can too.
He can exist for you. To thank you.
Is that weird? Maybe.
Leona shrugs into the black sleeveless jacket and cracks his neck, sighing.
"Not so bad, right? The hardest part of the day is already behind you."
You're not wrong but he's not going to tell you that. Leona separates long enough to brush his teeth and walks you to the front door of the dorm.
"How do you always know what to do?" he asks, looking ahead as you walk to the portal connecting to the mirror chamber.
"I don't. But I can see the signs. Depression was pretty common where I came from. You learn things."
"Do you...struggle with it to?" Leona fiddles with a gold clasp in his hair, acting like it got caught in his jewelry as your feet touch ground in the mirror chamber.
"Always."
You say it so honestly that it shocks him. For a moment it makes him jealous. Overall, he's impressed. That takes unimaginable strength. Strength he, the captain of the Spelldrive team, is not capable of.
"How do you beat it?" Leona asks softly, a hint of defeat and exhaustion in his voice.
"I don't beat it," you shake your head. "I chase it off. Sometimes it's for a day, sometimes it's gone a lot longer. Every now and then it sneaks up and gets the jump on me, the little bastard."
He laughs despite himself and doesn't bother to look ashamed.
"I just want more for myself. I don't want to admit it took me down. I want to be able to turn around and stare it in the eyes one day and say I won."
Leona doesn't know how to respond. He also wants to say he conquered his demons and became more than what people expected (or didn't). Once upon a time that win was the crown but now he's not so sure what victory looks like.
You stop in front of Alchemy and gesture to the door. His eyes widen a little. "Go win." you point to the door, sparing him no more time or attention as you went to your class.
Now he knows why Jack and Ruggie called on you. You'll guard him when he's wounded but won't baby him. You understand what he's too scared to put a name to. He is danger incarnate to a herbivore like you and you laugh in his face.
Silly thing. Important thing, but silly thing.
You're silly and he's stupid. A stupid lion with a stupid crush.
Not if I can help it, you think, seeing the tall, lean man waiting for you at the end of the hall. You don't pause your stride, but you do start thinking.
Meryl was called away early this morning on urgent cartography business, due to the Southern Lands doing what they do best and suddenly turning and twisting away important ports and mines. Milly went with her, stuck to the hip as they are, but not before slipping you a dagger to hide on your person. "A present," she whispered with her sweet smile, "in case I'm not around with my axe!" It is made of mithril, meant to glow faintly when danger is near.
You do not have time to check the dagger, quick as you are coming to Bluesummers. But your mind likes to think it feels a heat from the dagger waking. Something is not right, not with this man.
"Your Highness," his smirk is telling as he bows low to you. Interesting, he hasn't bowed that low before. When he stands, he offers his arm—an invitation.
"I'm afraid I'm meeting my husband here soon," you say.
"Then I shall take only a moment of your precious time," he responds. His arm does not fall to the side. He means to talk with you somewhere else.
You have your papers. And your dagger. You fiddle with the locket around your neck before taking his arm. You're only mildly surprised to not feel actual oil from touching him. "Very well. What is it you want to talk about?"
The man hums as you both start walking. It is a bright day; sunlight dances down the alabaster columns to the left and small bugs buzz through the air. A tangle of ivy creeps up the banisters. "I have a few questions for you, Highness."
He pauses as a maid goes by. She barely glances at you two, hurrying a curtsied bow before rushing away to her duties. You merely nod, noticing the way Bluesummers glares after the woman. "Speak, then."
Bluesummers pulls you forward, barely making you trip. He merely smirks down at you as you fumble and look up at him, peevish. "My apologies, these legs of mine get the better of me sometimes!" When you steady yourself, he continues, "How have you liked the kingdom so far? It has been nearly a year since you wed our dear prince!"
Your lips purse. "I love JuLai," comes your practiced reply, the one you save for curious and well-meaning denizens, "it is a splendor to behold, and King Nai is a fair and kind ruler."
"And your husband? Are you two agreeing with each other?"
Agreeing? "I…suppose? We haven't had any large disagreements, if that is what you mean."
"Then it is both of you who are preventing an heir from being born?"
You stop talking. Bluesummers walks forward a few more steps, then stops walking. Your arm is in the iron grip of his elbow. "That," you say, "is a matter between myself and my husband."
"On the contrary, your Highness: it is the matter of the entire kingdom. The future of the land, I would say." Bluesummers' eyes turn toward you, wolf-gold and hunting. "And matters of the kingdom are my business, after all." He smiles at whatever look you have. "Do tell me, princess—is it an issue with your blood? We have physicians and magicians to help with it. No? Then the intimacy is the issue? I'm surprised, the prince has always seemed so vibrant and vigorous."
Your cheeks heat. You try pulling your arm out of his to no avail. "Tha-That is inappropriate—!"
Bluesummers yanks you close, suddenly, flush against him and his starched clothing. "Or perhaps," he hisses, "it is simply the prince himself? Does he not suite your outlander tastes? Do you wish to conquer us like your barbarian father conquered your own kingdom?" His smile has slipped away. Those eyes glow a dangerous yellow. "I beg of you to remember your place here, princess. The king expects an heir. That is what you agreed to. And if you won't give him one, well…things can be arranged."
There's a threat there. A cold, ancient threat every woman learns to fear. Grinding your teeth, you spit back, "If you're so concerned about an heir, have Nai marry someone and give it!"
"King Nai's seed is too precious to be wasted on the frivolous women of this world."
You reach for your sleeve, the small, thin dagger from Milly hot on your arm. The hilt comes out, but Bluesummers is quick. The blade slices your arm as he takes it from you and points the blue, glowing dagger at your stomach. "Or perhaps we shall go with the original plan: get rid of you, and allow Vash to marry someone more suitable."
You play the part, reaching up to your locket and gasping, subtly unlocking it and touching the paper within. "Marath," you say, and disappear from Bluesummers' sight and grip.
You aren't sure if he screams after you. It doesn't seem his nature. But you collapse on the outskirts of JuLai, just beyond the walls. Your skirts are muddied, and there are a thousand bugs ready to crawl on you as you gasp and try to get air back in your lungs. You hate that spell.
But what you hate more is Bluesummers. The lying snake who finally bared his fangs. He who sent that assassin nigh a month ago. You're lucky his poison missed you…for now.
You stand after a moment. Some denizens walking in through the nearby gate pause at your appearance. One, a farmer and his two sons, stop their ox cart and call out. "You alright there, my lady?"
Well, nothing to do about your ruined clothes. You manage a bright smile and walk toward them and the path. "Yes, quite! Just got a bit carried away with my study of the plants."
He gasps. "Your arm..."
Ah. There is that, too. Blood slowly trickles down your skin and drips to the ground. Your lips thin. "Um, yes, do you happen to have bandages?"
As the youngest farm boy wraps your arm with what they have, you pause and look over their wares. "Tell me, are you going to market? Would you mind if I tagged along for a moment?"
The farmer takes off his hat and bows his head. "Be an honor!" He ignores the strange looks his sons give him and clears a bit of the back lip of the cart. "Here, to rest y'er feet!"
You settle on the cart, and you're off through JuLai in a moment. As the cart sways and you bat away the incessant summer flies, you pull out a sheet of paper and whisper the words you write with the pen you hid in your bodice: "Meet in garden. Developments in case." Then, you say the words meant to transfer your message to Vash's own paper on his person. The words disappear as though blown away.
Now, there is only to plan. And hope Vash does not overreact too egregiously.
A series of Death Note characters dressed up I’m Sanrio themed pyjamas.
On my insta I decided to run a 1v1 vote to pick the best out of the 7 character designs. I plan to make a fully illustration (or maybe a card or sticker) with whichever character wins.
Rigging that vote if encouraged, if you’re interested I have the same username on that.
I’d do the vote on here as well, but I’m not sure how so I apologise
I’m not very knowledgeable about Sanrio characters, I just made this to he silly, constructive criticism is always appropriated!
when some random guy has a blorbo opinion i disagree with: blocked you will die and no one will remember your name
when my beloved mutual has a blorbo opinion i disagree with: i have never considered this, but perhaps i could be won over... your passion compells me my beloved...
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head] wc: 4.8k
m.list | chapter one | next chapter
“You want me to do your hair?”
His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Yes, precisely.”
You sigh as you step into the man’s chambers, walking up to the vanity that’s more fitting for a queen, in your opinion. If only people saw this side of the fire lord. Zuko, the pretty boy. He has zero insecurities over the scar his tyrant of a father left on his face, but he’d faint at the sight of seeing too much hair shed on the marble floors of his bathhouse.
“When you decide to have me summoned like this, do you ever wonder, hm— what would her father think?” you ask as you grudgingly pick up the boar bristle brush and begin to brush his hair.
“I do,” he dryly responds. “I like the way you do your hair, though, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell on me. You wouldn’t want me getting in trouble, right?”
Zuko might be the fire lord, but he still has to watch his relationships with the other clans in this nation— especially with a certain hot-headed strategist that just so happens to be your father. You can only imagine his outburst upon learning that his daughter is playing with the lord's hair, rather than playing your role as his advisor.
Most fathers would be pleased by the information— not yours, he’s a little more… strict. He already doesn’t like him from a joke made over a decade ago, suggesting you’d make a fine concubine, which wasn’t taken lightly.
Your father threatened to usurp the throne, sending a chill running down a then 21 year old Zuko’s spine.
There was no way in hell he’d hand you off to the imperial palace to become a concubine. You’re the only child of his that inherited firebending. If your father had it his way, you’d be a warrior, for fucks sake.
Lord Zuko may have a dry sense of humor at times, but you have your doubts about how much of a joke that statement was, especially with how much he likes to bug you throughout the day.
Perhaps another conflict should erupt— the man has too much time on his hands. Maybe then you’d fulfill your fathers wish of finally working in the military— put your talents to use, as he’d say.
But would Lord Zuko allow the gentle hands running through his hair to commit such violence? Or would that be when he’d draw a hard line with the aggressive strategist?
As progressive as he is, you sometimes wonder just how much it extends to you. Even as children, he’d go easy on you during trainings. He’s only grown softer with you as the years passed. Despite not being a concubine yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw you as one of the flowers in his garden— one he’s not allowed to touch.
You slide the hair stick through his headpiece, securing the top knot he had you redo. It looks the same, but you hold off on making a comment. “Is that better?”
“Much better.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, lips curving into a sly smile. “Now— what are we doing today?”
We. You hate how much he likes to emphasize that at times.
“Well,” you sigh. “Aside from the usual council meeting, nothing much. Perhaps you can visit one of your concubines today… for once.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Are you saying I don’t fuck my concubines enough?”
“Precisely,” you say almost mockingly.
It’s all they ever complain about, and honestly, you’re sure you would, too, if you were one of them. Having to wake up and sit around all day, waiting for a man who never comes. And on the rare occasion that he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’ll show up, fuck the shit out of you for a couple rounds, then leave right after. Allegedly.
“Don’t you want an heir?” you ask.
“Depends,” he hums.
With the way he’s looking at you, you can already tell what it depends on, and it has nothing to do with his current concubines. Lucky for you, he never gets the chance to actually say it because he gets interrupted right after, putting a conversation you’d rather not have to a screeching halt.
“The council is waiting for you, my Lord.”
—
The silk district was notoriously known for two things: brothels and bandits. It was the wild, wild west compared to the other districts in the capital due to high crime and the growing wealth gap. The governments always kept a watchful eye on it, which was never enough in your opinion.
Are you surprised to hear that an entire brothel, including the madame, was discovered to be slain and robbed in the early hours of this morning? Absolutely not.
“Send more military officers to patrol the area,” the chamberlain says without hesitation. “We’ve been too lenient with them. If they want bloodshed, we’ll give them bloodshed.”
Yikes, he wants to rule the area with an iron fist when they’re already clearly struggling. You can’t help but think of how much of a dictator this guy would be if he were in Zuko’s place.
You make eye contact with the lord, who’s sitting at the end of the table right next to you. In that brief moment, he notices the concern in your eyes and gives you a subtle nod.
“Perhaps we can send more public aid?” you suggest. “They’ve been testing out a new rehabilitation program in Republic City as well. I’m sure the Silk District could benefit from—“
“Nonsense,” the chamberlain cuts you off, wondering why you’re even here right now— he thought you only assisted in matters within the court, not outside of it. “I-“
“Careful,” Zuko interrupts the man rather playfully as he continues to read through the scroll. “That’s the military strategist’s daughter you’re speaking to.”
The comment makes you nearly roll your eyes, knowing the only reason why he said it was because you’re having to constantly remind him yourself when he gets too close.
The chamberlain, however, straightens up immediately. You have no idea why it took him this long to realize it. He’s been here for nearly over a year, but at least he knows now. The chamberlain can be quite rude at times, you wouldn’t want him to slip up with your father in the room. Not only would that earn him an earful of insults that are as creative as they are hurtful, but it’d also be embarrassing on your part.
That old man embarrasses you enough when he’s around. Following you around like a lost puppy after meetings, asking if you’ve eaten and if your superiors are treating you right, while side eyeing the fire lord himself. You’d agree so yourself that he has too much power in the court. He enjoys holding it over everyone’s head even more. It’s sickening, really.
You look at the chamberlain, who is now pouting, and offer an apologetic smile. “May I continue?”
“Yes, of course,” the old man nods, struggling to hide his shame.
Always one for games, Zuko finds himself suppressing a laugh, which in turn makes the chamberlain’s slouch worsen. He’s grown to find more and more amusement in his daily tasks, a trait his father would definitely disapprove of— good thing he’s not here anymore.
The rest of the meeting went by as smooth as it could be, with the fire lord, of course, praising the chancellor in the end for being so well behaved, pretending to wonder what could’ve changed his usual demeanor. The usual teasings, all while you once again found yourself thinking of how light he’s become. Even after receiving such upsetting news, he stayed calm while finding a solution.
A humane one.
No longer the grumpy, angsty boy you grew up with. He’s actually quite charming. But you keep that to yourself.
The palace grounds are empty, as they should be during the afternoon. Everyone’s off either eating, napping, or tending to duties such as cooking or cleaning. It’s quiet, surprisingly peaceful. Your footsteps echo throughout the breezeway as Zuko defies the basic etiquette of walking ahead of you as a ruler should. Instead, the bastard walks a little slower than you. If given the opportunity, he’d turn it into a mini competition of who could walk the slowest, up until you both come to a full stop, with him looking at you all smug.
“Your chambers are this way,” you remind the said bastard as if he’d already forgotten.
He doesn’t bother to look back as he responds, walking down a gravel path leading directly to the flower garden. “How about we take a detour today, hm?”
You watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d stop. He doesn’t, and you shouldn’t be surprised by it. You’re able to catch up with him in just seconds given his slow pace, this time not bothering to walk behind him as he’s clearly in the mood to be extra stubborn today.
You’re all alone and away from the hearing distance of anyone else, yet you still choose to speak quietly as you start to gently tease the man. “What a surprise to see the king taking some time to enjoy his garden.”
He lets out a soft laugh that fades into a hum. “Only around a select few.”
“Oh, wow,” you pretend to be impressed. “How charitable.”
“It’s an honor that you think so,” he says, placing a hand over his chest to add to the theatrics, trying not to laugh once again. “Tell me, when was the last time you walked through here?”
You hum as you walk further into the sprawling garden filled with wooden arches covered with green vines and flowers in full bloom. “Can’t say I actually remember when.”
“That’s a shame. I had the gardener plant new rose bushes,” he murmurs. “Wanted to ask what you thought of them.”
“I think they’re lovely,” you admit, softly pinching a petal, rubbing your thumb over the velvety skin.
He smiles. “I figured.”
They were your favorite after all.
Why is he like this? The garden’s already filled with enough flowers. A new section wasn’t needed.
Again, he’s just bored.
In an attempt to keep the conversation from getting any more personal, you change the subject. “Are you looking forward to your trip to Republic City?”
At the end of the meeting, it was decided that he’d visit with the purpose of getting more information about the new rehabilitation program the city was rolling out. While the chancellor wanted to take a more aggressive approach, he decided to take a more peaceful route. It’s admirable how hands on he’s chosen to be since taking his father's place.
“Mhm. It’ll be nice catching up with some old friends while I’m there—“ he cuts himself off and looks at you with slight suspicion, “you’re going, right?”
You never said you would, nor did you want to, honestly. It’d be nice to take a break. “I’m sure you and some of your subordinates can handle it.”
“Weren’t you the one who came up with the idea, though?” his tone slightly clips as he reminds you.
“I was,” you respond tentatively, taking back your thoughts from earlier as you look him in the eyes.
This man looks like he’s about to throw a fit.
Zuko opens his mouth again, already knowing he shouldn’t be this pushy towards you, of all people, but he is far from perfect.
So with a forced smile and all the resolve in the world, he murmurs, “you’re going.”
You smile back despite feeling an annoyed heat creep up your neck, heart starting to pick up. “Alright.”
—
Imagine being the fire lord, a literal ruler, and getting the cold shoulder from your own advisor. Every answer is so curt and clinical, and it’s going to drive him up the wall.
Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.
Give him a fucking break.
As if you weren’t punishing him enough, you went ahead and had two of his concubines “accompany” him on the trip. It’s not like he can say no to that, either, since it’s considered to be one of his duties. Not to mention they both come from high-ranking families that would not be very pleased to hear of their neglect.
So now he has to deal with two spoiled, pent-up brats hanging on him during the entirety of this flight, all while trying not to glare at the biggest brat of them all— you, as you sit directly across from him, reading probably what’s some pathetic romance novel.
This is fucking ridiculous. You haven’t looked at him once since you first sat down.
You’re no better than him. There was a strike of lightning in the direction you walked off in, and given how it was a perfectly sunny day, he’s pointing his finger at you for the damages done in the east wing, despite keeping his mouth shut on the matter. Complain about being dragged to Republic City all you want, but you still have it better than most. If you really did have it that bad, you would’ve been punished for such an offense.
Like, seriously? Blowing shit up, like a fucking child— a terrifying one, to be frank, you are absolutely your father’s daughter— just because you had to do your job? Grow up. His grandfather’s statue was shattered in the midst of it all, thanks to you. You’re lucky he never liked the bastard.
In protest, you’re dressed like a noble's daughter rather than a member of the court. Wearing the finest silk and adorned in gold imported from the Earth nation, quietly refusing to represent your actual nation as you claim to be representing your clan— proof that you have enough power on your own to be acting like he’s actively denying you of basic human rights.
As if he even cared about your attire. Be his guest! You look fucking hot. Someone might even mistake you for one of his concubines, and he might just not correct them, since you think you’re more petty than he is.
Zuko gets pulled out of his thoughts when Concubine Aika speaks, still leaning against him and rubbing on his chest. She asked what book you were reading, which is when you finally looked up from it.
“It’s sort of an adventure novel.” You look at the cover, speaking to her with a certain warmth you’ve been depriving him of. “It’s about a girl escaping an abusive orphanage once she turns 18 and follows her journey for the next 10 years.”
So now you’re fantasizing about leaving him? Good luck with that.
“You look troubled, my lord,” the woman to his right, Concubine Saiyo, says. She’s leaning against him as well, now tracing her fingers along his jaw. “Are you alright?”
“M’fine,” he murmurs, trying to fix his face as he takes a sip of sake. “It’s been a long flight.”
“There’s a private cabin you can retreat to, if you’d like,” you suggest, going back to your little book, missing the way you just made the lord’s eye twitch.
“I know,” he says.
It’s his airship.
Without warning, he gets up from his seat. Was it a little rude? Perhaps. But surely the two women beside him could understand what feeling hounded could do to someone. They don’t, they do their jobs and get up as well, which he understands. However, Zuko’s not in the fucking mood right now and waves a dismissive hand.
“No need,” he curtly says, making his way to the back of the airship. “I just want to close my eyes for a bit.”
. . . . . .
The trip starts off strong with a banquet being held in honor of the fire lord's arrival.
Contrary to Zuko’s wishes, nobody’s stupid enough to mistake you for one of his concubines. At least not within the circle of people you’re mingling with tonight, who all recognize your family's crest engraved on your hairpin.
They were an ambitious bunch that spread all over once Zuko came into power— reaching amongst the highest positions within the military, medicine, and even education.
Funny enough, your position in the court was nothing special in comparison to some of your relatives’ achievements. Some are even bothered by the fact. Being the first of all your cousins to master the art of firebending, being your grandfather's favorite solely for bending lightning with the same grace as he did in his prime, all while excelling in your studies.
All of that potential, just wasted on being the lord’s “pet”.
You don’t have much of an opinion on the disappointment some of them have expressed in the past, though it would’ve been nice if their words had stayed behind closed doors. You didn’t want to hear any of it. If you truly wanted to make use of that said potential, you would’ve worked directly under your father as his subordinate.
Maybe it was the result of growing up feeling like you were enough. You have nothing to prove, and quite frankly, you’re content with having a role that really only requires you to share your opinions with a ruler that shares the same ideals as you… for the most part.
If only he’d also agree that you two spend way too much time together.
Luckily, you’re not required to be by his side tonight since you’re attending the banquet as a representative of your clan— something Zuko had no clue about until the moment you stepped onto the airship, which had him looking like he was about to blow a fucking gasket. He absolutely sucks at masking his frustrations. You’re surprised his concubines still had the courage to cuddle up with him. He looked like he was 2.5 seconds away from throwing you off the ship mid-flight.
Zuko would never do that, by the way, but you’re sure he was daydreaming about it.
But even then, with all the distance between you tonight, you can still feel his eyes on you. Just watching and waiting for you to do something he didn’t like. Very masochistic considering how he wouldn’t confront you if you did end up doing something wrong in his eyes.
You spend the entire night avoiding eye contact, which isn’t too hard given how all you’ve done is catch up with old peers from school and relatives who’ve decided to move here to start new lives.
The relatives you got along with, that is.
You were enjoying yourself. Truly. Until Sokka called you over to their table.
Funny how Zuko wasn’t looking at you then and was instead stuffing his face with spicy dumplings, then downing it with whatever liquor was in his cup.
You walk over with two thoughts running through your head— please don’t let this man be as drunk as Sokka and Aang, and don’t let this be a conversation about how work was been. Sokka tends to ask those things at the wrong time, despite his heart being in the right place.
This time around, it’s not Sokka.
“How’s our flaming hot lord treating you?” Aang asks, throwing an arm around a very drunk Zuko, who’s laughing his ass off over the avatar’s words for once.
Your lips may have twitched a little, as well. Only because Aang gave even less fucks when in an inebriated state.
“Oh, you know— the usual.” You let out a lighthearted laugh, and only you notice the way Zuko’s face momentarily drops.
The air around him quickly screams ‘don’t fuck with me’, then settles back into something more suitable for someone who’s already had half their water weight in alcohol.
“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Zuko forces out a laugh, leaning back in his seat.
You laugh a little harder. “Can I?”
“Yeah, you can.”
Sokka lets out this weird, giddy gasp because he loves drama, and cuts in. “Are you two fighting?”
“No.”
“No.”
You and Zuko look at each other after shutting down Sokka’s question at the same time. The fake smiles you’re wearing are not helping your case at all.
“Where’s Katara? I’ve been wondering where she’s been this whole time,” you ask in an attempt to keep the energy between you from getting any more awkward than it already is
Aang grows a little pale— the instant karma feels nice. “She’s a little sick tonight.”
There’s a bit of fear in his voice. She’s totally pregnant. Not that you say that. Instead, you just point in some random direction behind you. “That’s terrible— my cousin actually just mentioned a bug going around. I hope she feels better soon.”
“Thank you,” the man lets out a sigh of relief, allowing himself to be delusional for just one more night.
“What about Toph?”
“Home. Asleep.” Sokka rolls his eyes. “She’s like a little old lady now. You’ll see her tomorrow, though, she’s been volunteering at the center.”
“Volunteering or beating everyone into submission?” Zuko murmurs, and they all erupt in laughter. “She probably runs that place like the military.”
You find yourself starting to zone out as the conversation moves on to a different topic. You’d like to blame some of the wine you’ve been sipping on throughout the night for that. Everything starts to melt together— the live music, the endless chatter in every which direction. The only thing that pulls you out of it is seeing another one of your cousins who had just arrived, waving at you, and you don't shy away from taking that as an opportunity to excuse yourself.
Aang and Sokka were as kind as usual when you said your goodbyes. Zuko, on the other hand, was harder to read through the pathetic excuse of a smile he gave you. One only meant to save face.
If only he knew just how much worse he makes things sometimes. Although they’re rare, this isn’t the first fight you two have been in. Perhaps you have been a little petty towards the man, but it’s not you who grows so frustrated at someone’s anger that you begin to hold a grudge yourself.
You arrive back to your room in the early morning with the regret of not cutting yourself off from the drinks sooner than you did. You wouldn’t say you were drunk, but you were definitely tipsy as you started to shed layers of clothes and jewelry to get in the hot bath that had been prepared prior to your return.
Aang may be childish at times, but fuck was he a great host. Or maybe it was Katara who had all of these amenities set up for you. Candles and bath salts— you could die a happy woman right now as you settle into the stone tub, taking deep breaths, letting your muscles relax.
Twenty minutes in, you hear rattling and heavy footsteps that seem to hit the ground with more confusion than the determination an attacker would usually have. It forces you to leave the warmth of your bath, slipping on a robe. Getting hit with annoyance rather than fear may be a little foolish. Overconfident, even. But there’s still alcohol running through your veins, and you aren’t the pride and joy of your clan for no reason— you can absolutely hold your own in a fight.
When you walk out of the bathroom, you come face to face with exactly who you were thinking of.
“Fuck,” he looks away for a moment, regretting his decision thinking it was okay to just walk in.
Zuko didn’t think you’d be bathing, for some odd, stupid reason. Judging by the fact that he’s still wearing his usual day clothing and his hairs not up in a bun, it’s safe to assume he went straight here after leaving the banquet.
You let out a long sigh. “God— what are you doing here?”
You don’t even sound mad— just disappointed that you have to see him once more before you lay your head to rest, which slightly hurts the man’s ego. Truth be told, he came here to argue with you, but even in his drunken state, he’s finding it quite difficult to do so since he looks like a fucking pervert now.
“Your comment from earlier— what the hell was that about?” Zuko sounds more wounded than anything right now.
You cross your arms, leaning against the door frame that connects the room to the bathroom. “What comment?”
“The usual,” he says with air quotes. “Do you not like me anymore or something?”
“You’re seriously asking me that right now?” Your face twists, just dumbfounded at this point. “You ask me that as if I don’t work for you?”
He scoffs. “So what, you’re saying I’m not your friend now?”
“I mean, yeah— you are, but I’m still your subordinate at the end of the day,” you attempt to spell it out for him, trying to get it through his brain that he can’t just act like you two are a pair of besties.
But he just continues to argue with you.
“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, people don’t fight their superiors.”
No, they do not. You’re not sure why you even tried to make that an argument, the line between you has blurred a long time ago.
“You know what, just— forget it.”
The thing is, you're not the best at taking accountability. Most of the arguments you’ve had with him have been swept under the rug after a while. Zuko's not having that right now, though.
“Hm— actually, no— I don’t think I will,” he stubbornly says. “You have been punishing me for fucking weeks now and now you just want me to forget it?”
Punishing him?
You roll your eyes, muttering “oh my god” under your breath, not even bothering to look him straight in the eyes anymore as you walk to the nightstand and pick up a small jar of body cream.
“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” you say dismissively, rubbing the jasmine-scented cream into your hands. “I need to go to sleep, and so should you, honestly.”
It doesn’t matter how well he can handle his alcohol— he reeks of it.
“I’m trying to talk to you right now so I don’t have to deal with your attitude tomorrow,” he says, as if he hasn’t had an attitude himself the last couple of weeks.
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” you murmur back.
What feels like minutes pass after your pathetic attempt to settle your issues with him. At first, he just lets out a sigh, trying to keep his composure, but then he laughs under his breath.
“So that’s it?” he asks in a condescending tone. “We’re all good now?”
“Yes. Goodnight, Zuko,” you hum.
More silence follows after. You can just feel his eyes on you despite still facing away, now reaching for some hair oil, waiting for him to leave.
He never does. Even after working the product into your hair, you have yet to hear the door to your room close, making you grow wary.
There are many things telling you not to turn around at the moment— your blurred mind and tensed body. But even you make mistakes, lots of them with Zuko, and so you finally turn around.
His lips are on yours.
You don’t know how long he’d been standing directly behind you, you never even heard his footsteps. All you know is his hands are snaked behind your neck and he’s kissing you and you’re letting him.
It takes you a moment to realize you’re kissing him back— too focused on how soft his lips are, how his tongue glides across your lower lip before slipping inside, so commanding yet so gentle.
Then you sober up— pressing your palm flat against his chest and pushing him back so you two can look at each other, eyes wide and filled with instant regret.
“What the hell was that?” you try to snap at him, but the sharp edge was dulled from the start, already fearing what’ll change between you from this moment forward.
“I— fuck,” he stutters, taking another step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Immediately, you cut him off. “No, you shouldn’t have and you know that.”
“I know.” It sounds like a plea coming from him as his chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”
Even you start to look apologetic, which breaks his heart a little since you did nothing wrong. The one who crossed the line was him, after all. “You should go. You’re drunk.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it shortly after. There was nothing to say.
And so he slowly nods and turns around, still in shock by his own actions as he begins to walk away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of what the fuck just happened on your own.
This was going to be the longest work trip of your life.
notes: i hope u guys enjoyed this first chapter!! this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.
war! war! (i love you more!) l parker bradley x reader
pairing: parker bradley x gender neutral reader
summary: as with most things in your relationship with Parker Bradley, lover of games and the rules within them, saying 'i love you more' quickly devolves into a competition to see who can prove it better.
content / warnings: fluff / lighthearted, gift giving, marriage proposals, cameos from a Whole Bunch of Dateables, reader and parker are equally into games and making everyone worry about them, light innuendo in a couple of places in reference to Realization, very light reference to Game Changer the show. i am desperately hoping i didn't make parker too ooc in the last part of this
word count: 4.2 k
a/n: I'M NOT LATE!!! YIPPEE!!!!! HAPPY PARKER WEEK!!! hope you enjoy!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
As with most things in your relationship with Parker Bradley, lover of games and the rules within them, simple issues are often very quickly turned into vicious competition. None of it is really vicious, of course — whether you win or lose, no matter how many swears or screams you let loose, you're still maddeningly in love in the end, enough to make Reggie want to pack his bags and go to the neighbors' house instead. But the fun during the game is as important as the outcome, and it can get intense with all the tension and one-upping and showmanship of whatever is required of you. It's a never-ending rollercoaster of amusement to exhaustion.
You love it.
And that, you think, is why you and Parker have been inseparable ever since you dusted off his boxes in the attic. You're equally as unhinged about the games as he is, to his delight and to the bewilderment of those who he's rolled to call friends. You simply get him, and he gets you, enough to know that cheating is sacrilege, but purposefully losing to make the other feel better equally so — and the both of you are lovingly, insufferably, dedicated enough that it works as well for your relationship as well as board games.
After all is said and done, you'll put the weapons down and hug, kiss, or pull out Parker's Love Dice and do whatever they say, even if you are getting a bit tired of your elbow getting all the action the past three times. Wars between you always end in peace, because they have never truly been about dividing the two of you to begin with.
The situation currently at hand is no exception to this. It's only a shame that you didn't get the jump on him instead.
——
Like how most of these wars start, the inciting event is something completely ordinary, a peaceful calm before the frenzied storm. It's a normal, sunny afternoon, and you and Parker are up in the dusty attic, getting splinters from the wood you've been lying on for hours, doing
The games of choice today have been Monopoly and a rousing round of Snakes and Ladders, which would have ended ages ago, but you had to make it best out of five, didn't you, and then insisted that you play all five anyway "just in case". You are losing — badly so — and are taking it really well, which means you're gritting your teeth and trying not to lose your cool. (You're not trying hard enough.)
A Hail Mary is thrown, however, when you're needed to help Stefan out with a meal downstairs and are relieved to have to call it quits before either you or him extend it to best out of 9; as much as you'd like to play with him more, you do need to eat at some point today, and if your stomach were Awakened it would be furiously nodding. Ever the gentleman, Parker nonetheless springs up to peck a (only lightly fuming) you on the cheek as you brush yourself off before collapsing back down.
‘Love ya, honey!’ you hear him chirp as he begins to meticulously put away the board game pieces.
‘Love you more!’ you call back over your shoulder as you disappear down the steps.
It's only when you get to the kitchen that you really consider what you've said. You're not short of expressions of affection by any means; saying you love him has become a reflex at this point, because it's true. Obviously you love him. Look at him. Whoever doesn't love his manic little face can say it to your face.
It is, however, the first time you've said that you loved him more. And adverbs like that, especially when extended to superlatives, veer on dangerous game territory; the kind of danger that means you're about to spend a lot of time and resources into throwing yourself wholly into a situation. One does not simply give him “more” without him wanting to up the ante.
Oh, you do love upping the ante. But, you think, he might not have registered it, still high off of his win. And you're not going to just ask him whether he heard — what if he takes that as opportunity? That'd just be letting him get one over on you. No, no, you have to be smarter. Think ahead.
You decide to wait a couple days and see, then spring the 'more' on him again when you're sure he's alert. Yeah. That sounds like a plan, good job, you! Time to make some dinner.
As it turns out, this is your first mistake.
——
You're having an awfully florid dream tonight. You can practically smell roses. Maybe Nightmare's decided to take it easier on you? The last time she made you revisit your middle school memories was a bit pain
But this, in contrast, is truly wonderful. Ahhh.
Ah?
Ah —
ah — CHOO!
You wake up with a start and a splutter, sneezing your brains out and fumbling for tissues. When you open your eyes and they adjust to the morning light, you still think you're dreaming.
The room is covered in roses; red, yellow, pink, every color of the rainbow imaginable, and most likely some that you can't even imagine. What seems to be a truckload of rose petals has been artfully dumped onto your bed and all of the surrounding furniture, like natural confetti.
You pluck out a rose from your headboard, noting that the thorns have been removed, and turn it over in your hand; it certainly doesn't seem fake. This kind of overgrowth doesn't happen in one night, and could only be the result of magic — or, you think, a very optimistic, formerly plastic plant.
A note, neatly folded into an origami bird, rests on your nightstand (you dimly note that there are a lot of crumpled papers in your wastebasket that weren't there last night, either). Petals scattering as you move to grab it, you unfold it to read, scrawled in thick permanent marker:
Special delivery from PARKER "WINNER OF ROMANTIC MOVES" (this, in such large capitalization you can practically hear it being shouted to you) BRADLEY
I LOVE YOU MORE. PREPARE FOR WAR
P.S. I LOVE YOU MORE AGAIN
The space below has been slashed with a series of Xs and Os arranged in a Tic-Tac-Toe grid, with Os winning (and decorated with smileys that are pretty cute, you'll concede that.) At the very bottom of the page, a postscript has been written in an elegant hand with glitter gel pen.
P.P.S. Hi! This is Prissy, Parker asked me to help out, and I thought it was sweet. Prepare for war, I guess! :)
You stare down at the note for a few moments before you break out into a grin.
Okay. If he wants to play it that way, you’re sure not going to make it easy for him. You have some calls to make.
—-—
Parker’s eyes sparkle as he examines the package you you bring in, holding it outstretched in your hands like a server and gently setting it down on the table like a birthday cake. His jaw drops when he tears open the wrapping paper and discovers the chess set inside. With good reason — it’s a beautiful thing, all maple and walnut wood cut, sanded, and glued to to perfection, every square in its place. The pieces themselves are nothing to laugh at, either— with a little help from Tony, you'd managed to get them carved in the shape of various dateables, too: the Bishop being Friar Errol (because the opportunity was too good to pass up), the Knight being Tydus and the pawns her Dipodgenes. And, of course, you'd given Parker the noble title of Queen, with you as the King (though if he thinks that means you're acknowledging he's better at romance, he is sorely mistaken.)
He wants to play a game immediately. He’s practically salivating over the very idea of it. You know this because he’s uttered the phrase ‘Look at the gambits I can pull with this baby…’ at least four times now. It's as endearing as it is very odd to hear.
‘So… do you like it?’ you ask, fishing for the obvious.
‘Are you kidding? Like it? I love it,’ he gushes, enthusiastically scooping up the pieces to his chest and hugging them. ‘And you made me the queen? I’m multidirectional! I can go anywhere now!
‘Aww, welcome!’ Coyly, you drum your fingers on the table. ‘Glad you love it. I’m sure you love it almost as much as I love you.’
Unfortunately, you overplay your hand. The insinuation in your tone makes something in his brain click, and he gasps, pushing back the board and pieces (not too much, though — he's still holding onto that queen) and shooting back with a rapid fire ‘Iloveyoumore’, so. Guess you’ll have to try again. But first, a round of chess! Or three!
——
‘Okay. Open your eyes!’
‘Your hands are on my eyes, Parker.’
‘Whoops!’ You feel his hands fly off of your face. ‘Now try.’
With open, uncovered eyes, you are greeted by Chance, Chairemi, Dasha, Jerry, and Lux, all of whom are wearing fantasy garb and weapons that look like your best roleplay come to life. You're standing in the office, which has been similarly decorated to look like a fantasy realm; who knew that the groaning of your rusty pipes would make for such good cavern ambience?
So taken aback are you that you struggle to form words, looking around at everything laid out with awe; this is going to be awesome. You need to start writing a character sheet now or you're going to explode.
Next to you, Parker — in a fully fantasy version of his outfit, no less — is bouncing on his heels; he is very obviously staring at you and looking smug while doing so. (You have the urge to kiss that look right off of his face.)
‘Is this… a live action session of GnG?’ you ask, delight seeping into every syllable.
'Yep!'
‘How long did this take you?’
‘Ten hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-two seconds pre-cisely,’ Timothy calls from where he’s perched on the bookcase, tail ticking back and forth. 'And half an hour for lunch.'
'Plus, there's a ton of stuff of mine from Fantasy Fridays,' Chairemi adds cheerily. 'Finally, a chance to use it when there's more than one person improving! The lich suit never fits quite right on me.'
'But right on me,' Dasha says with a satisfied look on her face. 'I will enjoy beating you to smithereens. Er, in fantasy sense.'
'Oh my god, this is amazing,' you breathe. 'Thank you so much, Parker. This is a dream come true.'
‘Hey! Good timing,' Mac chimes in as they roll themselves out from next to the desk and gesture to their screen, on which something brightly colored is marked with a FIFTY PERCENT OFF in searingly bright red. ‘Would you still like for me to purchase the Valdivian Jumbo Size —‘
‘Shhhhh,’ you hiss, waving your hands frantically. ’shhhhhhush. Secret love plans for boyfriend to prove a point.'
Mac rolls their eyes good-naturedly, but complies, exiting the tab they were on and instead pulling up a social media video of a cat playing with a ball of yarn.
Parker gives you a happy nod, and affixes a feather to the top of his pawn hat, picking up a blue ocarina (which looks like his jacket, and hey, where'd he get that?) and blowing a discordant set of notes.
‘By the end of this you’ll see I love you more,’ he screeches in an attempt at song. It isn't super great, but the feeling behind the words is so touching you almost consider forfeiting. The key word being almost.
‘Not a chance,’ you counter.
‘Hey, guys, love isn’t exactly quantifiable,’ Chance says, uncovering his hood so that the regular glasses-wearing guy you know is exposed beneath. ‘Even if it was, couldn’t one of you just say ‘I love you most’ and put it to rest?'
Both you and Parker make simultaneously indignant noises, like a pair of ostriches.
‘It’s not about who loves the most,’ you say, offended. ‘We already know we love each other — what would be the point in that? What matters is who can better prove it to the other. They win and then we go on.'
'Sorry, I'm afraid I'm still a bit confused — win what, exactly?’ Jerry asks, fidgeting with a slingshot made out of his many broken rubber bands and tacks (the points of which look very sharp). 'An item of some kind?'
‘I don’t know, they just kind of… do.’ You laugh, taking Parker's hand in yours — he jumps when you do and you could swear his breath hitches, but he doesn't let go. 'It makes things interesting.'
'Okay,' Chance says. 'Uh. So I've given you all starting classes so that it's evenly balanced — and yes, Jerry, before you ask, you're the Apothecary again, but please tell me in advance if you've got any items that could drastically change the gameplay.'
You give Parker's hand a squeeze as Chance talks. ‘This isn’t over,’ you say in your best menacing voice, though it does little to conceal the excitement you're feeling.
'Try to top it,' he replies. 'I love you more, by the way.'
——
In the middle of the chaos, you and Parker face off in the attic, both with gifts held in your hands and expertly wrapped by none other than Holly (you opted for quality, of course!) and then thrust them at each other so violently that a cloud of dust kicks up from the floorboards. They're both amazing, obviously. Equally matched yet again.
During this, you also attempt to tango, which you've both determined is easily the most romantic-tension-filled dance. Neither of you actually know how to tango, though, so it ends up more as a tangle of limbs and you stepping on each other's feet a lot, but you're doing your damndest, and you're not lacking for musical accompaniment (Keyes was willing to play, though you can see her wincing at your combined lack of rhythm.)
‘I love you more,’ you growl as you dip him to the floor. ‘I can’t wait to shove it in your stupid face once you finally realize it.'
‘I love you more,’ Parker shoots back, proceeding to sweep you off of your feet and twirl you around ‘and if I have to tear down this whole house to prove it, you bet I will.'
‘WALL?’
‘Oh! No, he doesn’t mean that, Wallace.'
‘I probably don't, but who's to say! I love you more, by the way.'
'Damn it. I love you more — oh, shit, sorry. Stepped on your foot again.'
——
Parker’s pupils shrink to little black points as the lights you've set up hit his eyes in full force. He doesn’t squint or raise a hand, though, taking all of it in with the air of a man confidently staring into a solar eclipse; you note to remind him he won't be this invulnerable once he's Realized. Once he can make sense of his surroundings again, his brow furrows, and then his eyes go wide; you can practically hear his jaw drop to the floor as he looks at what you've set up.
You're pretty proud of it yourself. Through your blood, sweat, tears, and various other liquids, you’ve turned the attic into a game show stage, complete with podiums, buzzers and all, even whiteboards and cards and a curtain to dramatically flourish through.
‘Oh, my, God,’ he whispers, so high pitched it's mosquito-like. 'A game show.'
‘I take it you like it?’ you ask, your amusement clear, though he hardly reacts; he’s like a kid in a candy store, if the kid were board games and the candy was more games. His eyes shine like stars as he zooms about the set.
‘So many unbelievable things! And it's so hard to believe that something of this size could fit inside a room!'
'So, are you up for participating?'
'Oh, fuck yes,' he says immediately. What are the rules?'
‘Oh, no, you’re not a contestant, sorry,’ you say, mock apologetic.
Parker’s expression crumples like paper before you grin and, leaning forwards, poke a microphone into one of the holes in his vest and five. ‘You’re the host. Have fun making your own complicated Rules for people to follow under threat of losing points, I'm sure it'll be a total game changer. I love you more, by the way.'
The resounding scream of glee threatens to crack every instance of Wyndolyn in the house.
——
Many days later, and many, many romantic deeds done later, neither one of you has conceded, and you've said I love you more to the point of where it almost doesn't seem like a real phrase anymore. Of course, the solution to this is to shout it loud enough that it gets through Parker's skull.
‘I love you more.’
‘No, I love you more.’
‘I love you more plus one.’
’That isn’t how it works at all —‘
‘Wait,’ you say suddenly, throwing up your hands. ‘Let's — let's stop.’
‘Aha! Victory!’ Parker puffs out his cheeks, readies to fill his lungs with oxygen, and you take the opportunity to place a finger to his lips; this deflates him like a balloon, which gives you the opportunity to speak.
‘Parker,’ you say delicately, as if you're defusing a bomb. ‘I think we may have approached… a stalemate.’
'Oh, but I’ve got lots of things planned! We haven’t even gotten to the Lady and the Ramp spaghetti eating contest yet, I have so many noodles to slurp down!’
‘I know,’ you say, ‘but look at this place.’ You sweep your arms out wide, gesturing to the house and its furniture, laden with gift wrap. ‘It’s a wreck. Holly’s in danger of putting herself into hibernation again, and I think Monique wants to strangle me for how much I've spent in the past week.'
Parker looks put out by this, which you understand — but something has to be done, or it'll never end. And, you fear, your love for each other might actually end up killing you both. Or just you, since you're the only one who can actually die right now. You'd rather not die, for what it's worth.
‘As much as I’ve loved loving you — uh,' you correct, 'and to be clear, I am never going to stop loving you — we might have to end this on…'
Your voice drops to a shameful whisper. '…a draw.’
Parker stares at you as you let the words hang between you, oppressive in the air; never in all your wars has there been a draw before.
It's a good thing that you thought ahead, and you have a plan: send him plummeting down in the dumps before you bring him right back up, and then he'll have to see the depths of your affection. You have a plan up your sleeve he'll never see coming, not in a million years —
'Okay,' Parker says.
'Wh - okay?' you say, incredulous. 'Really?'
'Okay,' Parker repeats easily, shrugging his shoulders; there's a glint in his eyes that you love to see, but don't trust. 'Let's truce! Sure!'
Your eyes narrow. 'There's no way you're just fine with this. You're planning something.'
Parker smiles with all his teeth, just a little too much gum showing. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'No, no, no, no, no.' You glance around the room, looking for signs of hidden streamers or wrapping paper or one of the many people you've roped into your schemes — how could they have managed to get the jump. 'What is it this time? You got me tickets to see Bruno Jars? I'm in control of Valdivian for a day?'
'You got me,' he says simply, barely-suppressed glee in his voice. You hear the sound of rustling as he fishes in his backpack, pulling out something. Something small, from the sounds of it.
You whip your head around, scowling. 'I —'
But whatever you were going to say vanishes from your mouth, because Parker is kneeling, he's holding out a velvet box, and the box is open, and nestled inside it is a ring.
'Oh my god,' you whisper.
'Surprise!' he says, and he's beaming. 'I love you more. Will you marry me?'
And he sounds so proud of himself, beaming, that your brain, shocked into numbness as it is, is only capable of taking out the box that's been sitting in your own pocket all morning, opening it exactly like you'd practiced, and holding it out to him.
So much for thinking ahead. In a house full of one hundred and two dateables, never has there been such absolute quiet.
Parker freezes. His face slowly flushes from fair to scarlet, the color spreading all the way down to his neck. A sheet of his paper money hair falls over his forehead, stark and pastel against the red hue; the box is noticeably trembling in his hands. It's not like you can blame him; your own is on the verge of slipping out of yours.
‘Are you —‘ he asks, shocked into as serious a voice as you've ever heard him use. 'You're proposing.'
‘Yeah,' you say, voice thick. 'And so are you, apparently.'
'When did you —'
'I have a car, Parker,' you say. 'I can go to the city. When did you? How did you, for that matter?'
'Don't worry about it.'
‘Okay. Well.' You make a sound that's half a laugh, half a hiccup. 'I, um, had a whole speech prepared for this. I included references to the history of board games and everything. I can't remember any of it now, though.'
'I can give mine,' Parker offers — it's not anywhere near as casual as he's trying to make it sound, and there's a notable hesitation behind his words. 'It's not half bad. If I do say so myself.'
'Sure, go on,' you say, faint, your heart hammering in your chest so hard you can feel it in your throat.
'O-kay. Whew.' He coughs, trying to get some normal sense of himself back, and begins to recite. 'From the day you uncovered me all by my lonesome in the dusty 'ol attic, I knew that we were destined to play together. And we've done a lot of playing, for the record. Every box that I have in me, every type of game — checkers, chess, Cream Capitalist, Sorry. But I'm not sorry! For any of it!'
You laugh at the ham-fisted joke. His tone wavers slightly, but he redoubles his efforts, his fingers gripping the box like it'll run away from him; the speech begins to turn less corny and more earnest. 'And I want to do it again, and again, and again, and again and again! For the rest of all time, and more, if it's possible. If we're together, I don't think either of us will lose. Because I think we'll both be winning.
'So —' and there is so much vulnerability in his voice despite the attempted bravado as he says your name, followed by a shaky breath — 'will you do me the honor of marrying me?'
You fling yourself at him with all your might and kiss him, so sudden that the pawn hat knocks off of his head and he drops the box in favor of holding you closer to him, smile all wobbly on his face, unable to be contained.
'God, I love you,' you breathe, voice breaking as you begin to tear up, 'you stupid — amazing board games man, you. Of course I'll marry you. Will you marry me?'
'Yes,' he says back, and that is enough for him to lose his composure as his blue eyes well up all shiny with tears, and the tail end of what he's saying is hidden by an outpouring of loud, happy sobbing coming from him. You love him so, so much.
You both cry together for a good while. It's not a particularly beautiful cry, but anyone who doesn't look at you and immediately start joining in instead of mocking can go shove it. You're engaged.
By the time you dwindle down to sniffles, you realize that you still haven't put the rings on. Wordlessly, Parker reaches his hand out to yours, and you shake it; then you slip your ring on Parker's finger, and he then puts yours on in turn. The two of you admire your rings for a moment, and then slump together on the couch, tired out.
'You know,' Parker says eventually, 'I think that weddings have specific rules, too.'
'I mean, we can change any of them,' you say. 'I don't really care about the "something blue". It can be something
'Exactly.' He looks at you, elated. 'But what if we added rules instead? It's our wedding. If anyone disagrees, who cares?
Realization dawns on your face, and you grin. 'What if we each planned a wedding? You versus me, and then we can combine them into one big mega-wedding that'll probably make my utility bills weep, but it'll be worth it.'
'Absolutely,' he says, and grins. 'Are you ready to play?'
You laugh, interlacing your hand with his, rings touching. 'Game on.'
a/n: well. i've never written any marriage proposals before. hopefully i did alright? either way, i'm glad i managed to get this out! ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)
summary: zuko's straight-forwardness in appreciating the attractive qualities of the lone stranger saved by aang has you curious on whether you could get him to spill on what he thinks of you. (no major movie spoilers)
"He's very attractive." Zuko admits, eyes unblinking as he stares at the unconscious stranger.
The entire team whips their heads to stare at Zuko in unconcealed shock.
"What?" Zuko mutters, gaze lingering on the surprised expressions casted onto him, before eventually landing on yours. "He is. It's all in the bone structure."
You blink, unable to process his straight-forward words that landed on you like a gut punch. You've never considered it, the fact that Zuko also found others attractive.
It seems like a completely, silly notion now that the thought has verbalised itself in your mind. Of course Zuko would notice if others were considered attractive. Maybe it just never occurred to you in all your years of knowing him—of also finding him—
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away from his prying gaze, confusion alight in his eyes from your taken-aback expression.
If he's unconsciously considered the attractiveness of this stranger... has he ever—no, this should not be your priority. It doesn't matter what he thinks of you, it's not like it would change a thing. He's practically admitted it non-verbally through that monotonous admission of his, that a person's looks is assessed by him in a completely, impersonal standpoint.
Bone structure? You shouldn't be curious. Knowing Zuko, he might accidentally insult your structure if you asked.
The curiosity does not disappear. In fact, it digs deeper and deeper into the crevices of your mind—subconsciously affecting your attitude around Zuko.
It doesn't help that it's painfully obvious that he's noticed your strange behaviour ever since his comment. Once, when his hand had come up to your shoulder to alert you that everyone was boarding the ship—and your entire body jumped in response. Again, when you completely blanked out when he asked if you would like some firecracker buns.
It's not like you wanted to hyper-focus on his observation on purpose. It's just that after years of knowing him and pushing down that sub-concious attraction—of not allowing yourself to even see him as anything more than the Zuko you know, the rebound impact of all your resurfacing emotions combined with his lingering presence is far too much.
Zuko isn't the type to beat around the bush either, one of the rare habits his uncle hasn't passed onto him. In a moment of needed reprieve, your attempt at regaining your composure fails spectacularly when you find yourself in a stand-still, cornered in the back of the ship—one firecracker bun in his hand as an offering.
"Have I said something to make you uncomfortable?"
Zuko's gaze is akin to a puppy's, wide-eyed and brows furrowed. Afraid that he's done something wrong, overlooked the choice of his words once again and destroyed the atmosphere without realising.
Straight to the point as ever, you'd appreciate it more if he had given you a few more minutes to come up with a reasonable excuse. Something more plausible than 'Do you find me attractive?', a lingering question that should've remained buried in the soil that you departed from nearly an hour ago.
"Not exactly." Taking the firecracker bun from his hand, the crumbs coat your fingers. You needed something to muffle your words, anything to distract you. It's easier to focus on the lingering spice that melts into your tongue, rather than his unblinking stare.
"So—I did say something." His mouth parts, a slight tilt downward in the corner of his lip. "Or I've made you uncomfortable."
There was no winning with him. Swallowing your last bite, you brush the crumbs against your sleeve, the slouch of your posture a key sign of surrender, your invisible white flag waving at the sight of his increasingly dubious expression.
"The first one." You admit with a sigh. "Earlier—"
He leans in subtly, a habit he does when he's listening attentively, and the luscious wave of his bangs brushes against your knuckles. His amber eyes pierce through you, and the words practically die off your tongue.
Why is he looking at you like that?
It isn't fair that he has such an effect on you. You still remember the old days, when he had a worser temper instead of the softened expression that lingers warmly on you. Plus, that horrible haircut, a singular ponytail with the rest of his hair shaved off forever engrained in your mind. Even recalling the image doesn't help calm your thundering heartbeat when the Zuko in front of you is so—overwhelming.
"You were saying?" He prods gently.
You swallow, averting your gaze. "When you mentioned... about attractiveness. Was that like—a spur of the moment kind of thing, or do you have a first impression for everyone you meet?"
His brows furrow for a moment, before recognition lights his golden gaze. "Ah—that."
"Right, that." You feel the seat warming beneath you in your embarrassment, a hallucination of senses in your sudden need to escape his assessing gaze. He barely even remembers his comment, and here you are, still obsessively prying over it.
"I was only answering Toph's question." He states. "No one was stating the obvious."
"The obvious." You muse. "Do you assess the attractiveness of everyone you meet?"
"I suppose it depends." He mutters, hand rubbing over his chin in consideration. "If it was during a battle, I wouldn't be prioritising on considering the opponent's appearance. As compared to someone knocked out on the ground, it gives me plenty of time."
You barely resist a snort. Only he could treat a topic like a person's attractiveness like one of his battle strategies. "I suppose you didn't have time during our first meeting then."
As soon as the words leave your mouth, both you and Zuko freeze. Your lips clamp shut, an immediate wince shuddering through your frame. Cat's out of the bag, you suppose.
"Never mind." You wave it off, your own laugh echoing much too loudly through your ears. "It wasn't like I was wondering—well, maybe I was. You just sprung it out of nowhere earlier, and I got... curious. You don't have to answer—"
"I did." He cuts you off unceremoniously.
You blink, his vague words echoing in the thin distance between the two of you. "What?"
He swallows, and for once, he's the one flustered in this conversation. "I did notice, during our first meeting."
No way. Your first meeting with Zuko was anything but pretty. You remember being covered in sweat, grime, and ashes coating your clothes as he shot flames at you from his palms. The twisted grimace on his face when you had him writhing under your grip, as he loudly declared his revenge on you, rupturing your eardrums with all his yelling.
"You mean—" You barely resist a grin stretching on your lips. "—when I pinned you down on your airship, and you were spitting death threats into my ear."
"Yes, that." His long locks cover his ears now, but you can bet the rims are reddened from the reminder. "You were formidable."
Formidable. No, that wasn't enough. His sudden focus on the floorboards of his ship made it obvious that he was simplifying his observation.
"I was gaining the winning hand." You state out-right, disbelief coating your tone. "And you had time to notice?"
A restrained sigh escapes Zuko's gritted teeth, already regretting his slip of tongue.
"What of the angle? Does the Fire Lord recall my bone structure during our first battle too, when I pinned you to the floor?" You tease.
He scoffs in a light-hearted manner, shoulder lightly bumping into yours. "It was the first time anyone had pinned me down. I wasn't exactly given another view to look at."
"Was the view bad then?" You prod.
"Not at all." He answers absentmindedly—quickly without hesitation.
Your lips part, speechless. Zuko immediately separates his shoulder from yours, a bashful expression overtaking his features.
"Objectively." He states hurriedly, waving his arms. "I was expecting to find the Avatar at the time, not... you."
The way he says it, the almost breathless note that leaves his lips. You devour it hungrily, now being the one to lean in, prying.
"And how did you find me, Zuko?" You ask earnestly.
He huffs in defeat. His softened gaze finally meets yours again, his eyes roaming over your features, ones that he's familiarised with for years, and yet... it still takes the breath out of him. "...You were the most beautiful person I've ever sparred with."
Oh... wow. You didn't expect that.
"You were threatening to kill me." You recall in disbelief.
"I was multi-tasking." He mutters, ashamed.
Your intended snort escalates into a cackle, unable to contain yourself. "I would have never guessed that from the way you glared at me. So full of shame—and destroyed pride."
"What about you?" He asks in a hurry, though his tone drops towards the end in hesitation—hinting his regret in the wrong change in topic. He grimaces, gaze dropping to his tightened fists over his lap. "...Did you find my scar hideous?"
Surprise colours your features.
Immediately shaking your head, you're at a loss for words on how to convey just how off-course he was on his guess. How could you ever find Zuko hideous? Your heart barely survived your visits to the Fire Nation, not when their own Fire Lord always insisted on attending to your presence personally, even when it arose suspicion of your shared bond with him, to have him so easily distracted when you arrived on his lands.
Even now, he's overwhelming your vision. Healthy muscles that are barely hidden under his clothes, or the hair he's refused to cut ever since his youth that now flows lusciously down his broad back. His amber eyes that glint golden when the sun reflects his irises, and even the conjured image of the way his arms move when he's fire-bending.
He's— "Beautiful."
By the time you realise your second slip of the tongue, Zuko has already blinked once, caught off-guard.
You purse your lips, finding this conversation to be as riveting as it is a weaponised self-attack. "Objectively speaking. You're attractive, Zuko."
"Objectively." He repeats slowly, amused that you're using his own deflecting choice of words.
"Fine, like really attractive." You deadpan. "It's annoying, because I'm supposed to be focused on the mission, and you're just... standing there."
It was the truth. You couldn't be the only one who noticed it. His subtle change in demeanour over the years, how he carried himself into a room now instead of randomly announcing his arrival at the worst timings. Even Sokka noticed.
He snorts, and the sound deflates the tension in your chest. "Funny, I should be saying that about you."
You gasp, expression aghast. "You're joking."
"It is not honourable to lie." He shrugs. "You've always been the most magnetic in my eyes. I can never find myself looking away from you."
You grow quiet, the genuine sincerity in his words leaving you defenseless. Have you been blind all along? Is that why he always sent letters—asking you to visit his nation for purposes other than meetings? Or why he sought for your company constantly during this entire trip, despite it being the first time the entire set of Team Avatar being together in months?
You had been too focused on what was comfortable and familiar, to teasing and prodding, that you never considered this.
"For the record." You whisper, leaning in to truly look at him. "I never found your scar hideous. You were always beautiful to me, Zuko."
He swallows, something intense flickering in his gaze—but too fleeting for you to catch onto it. Maybe it had always been there, when his eyes linger on your form when he accompanied you in his palace gardens, or even back then, when he was a banished prince who sought for you, even with a grimace on his face.
"That haircut when we first met, though?" Your smile breaks out into a toothy grin. "Absolutely hideous."
The softness in his gaze falters, before a groan rumbles past his throat. "Will you ever let that one go?"
"Never."
He lets out a low breath, drained of his energy. "I admitted to finding you attractive, and this is my repayment?"
"Who's finding who attractive?"
Sokka's voice strikes a jump in your shoulders, and Zuko's in an impressive halt, frozen completely after being caught red-handed.
"Ah, between the two of you—" Sokka whistles. "I was wondering who was going to break first. Congrats, love-birds!"
"We're not—" Your voice clashes with Zuko's. "This isn't—"
You sneak a glance to Zuko, and his hand is already covering half of his face, his embarrassment shielded by the shadow of his large palm.
Sokka's confused gaze switches between the two of you, blinking slowly.
"Ah, couple years too early?" Sokka shrugs, before clicking his tongue. "That's rough. I'll check back in with you guys in another time." Making his way back towards the front, he shouts once more to prove his point. "Just don't let me catch you guys making out or anything, I'll need to poke out my eyes for that one!"
"...We better restrain him before he starts blasting it as news to everyone." You groan.
"Agreed." He mutters.
Right as you made your move to leave, Zuko's hand grips yours—stopping you.
You lift your head, meeting his gaze. "Yeah?"
His Adam's apple bobs up and down, consideration clear in his expression before he decisively leans in. His voice is a warm hush, soft and intimate when he whispers. "For the record." Your own words echo back to your ears in the low hush of his voice. "I wasn't only referring to our first meeting when I said that you're beautiful."
His smile quirks up into something tender, a secret expression reserved only for you. ...At this rate, your curiousity was really going to be the death of you.
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
a/n: i need to write more firelord zuko stat. he looks so good and still so awkward my childhood crush has been reignited.
chance has a particular habit as of late — he may or may not be basing his campaigns on you. variations of your name have cropped up on at least five npcs, your favorite food is how you pronounce a restoration spell… none of it makes the dice you roll any less fairly weighted, but it is nice to see that you’re inspiring every new campaign of his.
even upon realization, your name will still appear in legends, in songs, that chance creates for his tabletop support group. when his players ask him who you are, he’ll say the ‘greatest warrior who ever lived’, staring off wistfully into the distance.
(said greatest warrior calls him two minutes later to ask what he’d like for dinner.)
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