#(although that's less of a risk for boats now than it once was)

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

i need to figure out how to apply for alumni access to my university's library so i can research the historiography for my phd applications, sure, but more importantly* so i can research sailor superstitions for my sci-fi novel

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 23

still a bit ill so this chapter's late, but we're racing towards the conclusion of the panama arc! Woohoo!!!

MASTAPOST

An entire day passed by in a haze. Damian continued to refuse to speak to Danny. They passed through coral reefs, shipwrecks and uninhabited islands, each teaming with beauty and vibrant sea life. Damian remained listless. At a certain point, Danny even tried to coax him into seeing a pod of orcas passing by. The child shook his head, and growled.

Past a certain point, the kid was barely even eating. Even as Danny passed him bits of seaweed and sargassum, Damian only nibbled on them over the course of hours.

They swam over the second coral reef they’d seen that day. Danny’s eyes passed over sea horses, clownfish and a whole pod of jellyfish. Damian slept clinging to his back, although it didn’t make much of a different, having not spoken a single word since the whaling boat. At least he was resting.

Somehow, he felt even guiltier than when he was speaking and guilt tripping him back in the reefs around Amity.

It had been days now since he was home. Suddenly left without a conversation partner for long stretches of time, Danny felt his mind wander to scary places. He pursed his lip, careful not to chew it with his sharp teeth. An old question reared its ugly head. What would he tell Bruce Wayne when they got to Gotham? Damian seemed to think it wouldn’t be an issue, but the kid was ten (or six now?). Danny didn’t know if he could live with himself if he took away his companion’s family on top of everything else.

And Danny’s family? He shuddered to think of how he’d explain his weeks’ long absence from home. His parents have probably been going crazy over his disappearance. Even with their habit of getting easily distracted, there was no way they hadn’t noticed it. He prayed that they would just assume he ran away. Unlikely. It would be less surprising if the returned to Amity with a million and one new inventions to fight and hide from.

A treacherous stray thought crossed his mind. Bruce Wayne did have a reputation for taking in troubled kids-

No. It would never happen. Not after failing to save Damian, and returning him a wreck of a traumatised child.

Maybe it would be better if he disappeared into the ocean…

These thoughts trampled over his poor heart for hours, and hundreds of miles. What did he do? What didn’t he do? What will he do and what won’t he do next? What could even be done? The answer stabbed needles in his throat. At the moment: nothing.

All he could do was keep swimming.

Jazz looked over the SAV’s radar. Internally she was panicking. She’d done all she could, endured hours of stress directing her parents and Bruce Wayne away and distracting them and slowing them down. But they still kept getting closer, and Jazz didn’t know if she could do anything more without tipping the elders off and risking everything.

Even now, Danny was within five hundred miles of them, and at the rate they were going, they’d catch up within a day. The autopilot hummed as it drove the boat. She texted Tucker on his secure server. What could they do now?

Jazz looked up at the night sky. She raised her hands, and traced constellations. She recited stories Danny would tell over and over again, and then the new stories he made up once the old ones got boring. He stopped doing that when he came back, irrevocably changed.

She recalled the story of Herakles. How Zeus conceived him with a mortal woman and slighted Hera, queen of the gods. How Hera rejected Herakles for what he represented: Zeus infidelity, and tried to have him killed.

The parallels were startling to her. The hour of confrontation fast approached, and she still could not tell what would happen, or what she would do. Would her parents show mercy to someone they saw as a monster, as no different from Aunt Alicia’s murderer and Great Uncle Jack and Great Great Grandma Wlikes and so on and so forth? Would Danny be cast away, his blood spilling into the water like the Milky Way?

Jazz sighed, and retreated to her room. As she went below deck and passed the hallway, harsh whispers slithered out of the door around the opposite corner, left slightly ajar. The light was on. Her parents’ and Bruce Wayne’s shadows shifted over the light.

Jazz tip-toed, heart pounding in her chest. She put her hand to her ear, and her ear to the door.

“I’m saying we need to be analytical about this.” Came Bruce Wayne’s hushed voice. He sounded like he’d been talking for a while now.

“That blob of ocean magic animated by post-human consciousness and possibly also negative emotions ripped our boys away from us, and probably sold them off somewhere for them to be used as- used as- I don’t even know!” The shadow of her mother threw her hands up. It was the same speech as ever. Her parents were stubborn. That was where she and her brother got it.

“And if we don’t interrogate him the right way, then we’ll lose them forever. Don’t you understand that?”

Her parents went still.

“Mads, I think Brucie’s got a point.” Her father’s voice lowered an octave, a stark contrast to his usual jovial shouting. Jazz had to shake herself. What was Bruce Wayne doing?

“Jack?”

“Phantom’s taken big hits before. What happens if tearing him apart doesn’t get him to squeal? We’ll be back at square one.”

“But if we threaten him first, then we can use that as bargaining chip.” Bruce Wayne continued.

Her mother was breathing heavily. For a moment, she said nothing.

“There’s another thing, too.”

“What is it, Brucie?”

“We have much more we need to learn from Phantom. What his motives are. What his species’ motives are. You said so yourself Jack, that you haven’t caught a single siren ever. Has anyone?”

Nobody had. It was something her parents had been pursuing for years. The first scientists to capture and study a live specimen. That was what they wanted. What did Bruce Wayne want, and what was he getting at here?

A spark of hope inside her told her it was because he was sympathetic. He wasn’t directly opposing her parents’ views, because doing so never made someone change their minds. He was going with their flow, subtly redirecting them towards more constructive ideas.

Hah! What a joke…

“He’s right, Mads. There’s so much we don’t know.”

“I know…” Her mother whispered, her voice breaking at the last syllable.

“There’s… another thing.” Bruce Wayne began, speaking slowly. “I have a source from Atlantis. They sent a report of a Phantom sighting a few hours before you approached me.” Jazz’s heart chilled. Billionaires really did have their pockets in everything, didn’t they?

Chairs scraped. “What? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It didn’t have any information that was either relevant or new.” Bruce Wayne hummed. “By the time the report arrived at my inbox, Phantom was already long gone, and your radar was already providing that information.”

“Then why bring it up now?” Her mother asked, always discerning.

“The report mentioned a second siren. A young boy. The report mentioned he looked about six years of age.”

Her parents went silent again. Jazz’s eyes widened. There was only one person that she thought of that Danny could be travelling with, and that was a turned Damian. Perhaps the report only saw them from afar, and misjudged his age?

“So he’s got a tiny accomplice??”

“Jack, we don’t know what-”

“Actually, Jack would be right. The child was assisting Phantom in pillaging at least two Atlantean outposts.”

Her mother growled, muttering a string of swears. Her father sat down again, chin in his hands, something he only did when he was in serious thought. “We didn’t even know for sure if there were siren children out there.”

“Jack.” Bruce Wayne stressed. “I’m bringing this up because whatever we are going to do to Phantom, we leave the child out of it.”

“But the research we could conduct-”

“Where’s your code of ethics?” Bruce Wayne’s shadow made a cutting motion.

Her parents’ shadows went still.

“How can our sons look us in the eye if we tortured a child, even an inhuman child, to try and save them? Whatever crimes Phantom has committed, this child hasn’t been a part of them. He may be just as much of a victim as Damian and Danny.”

“Bruce, the sirens have been responsible-”

“I’m keenly aware.”

At this point, Jazz decided to make her presence known. She poked her head in, putting on a light voice and a sleepy expression. She fake-yawned. “Guys? It’s getting very late. We all need to be up bright and early.”

“Oh, sorry Jazz. We were just talking about what we would do once we capture Phantom.” It seemed her mother didn’t mind her being privy to such a conversation, which meant the location out of the way was Bruce Wayne’s choice.

Jazz ran her hands down her hair. “For what it’s worth, I think the possibility of interviewing and surveying a child siren might give us an opportunity to investigate and potentially isolate the effects of nature and nurture. How much of the violent behaviour displayed by sirens past is due to their cultural upbringing and how much is caused by natural instincts? We could learn so much.”

Her mother hummed. She could tell by her face that she was considering her words. Jazz pressed on.

“Look, whatever happens, I think we need to reserve judgement for this new siren until after we’ve met him. We don’t attack baby lions just because adult lions are dangerous to humans, right?”

She looked to Bruce Wayne. She couldn’t read him. Jazz felt ill for what she was about to say, but she knew how futile it was to express her real beliefs, and try to push back an avalanche. “And maybe we can save the child? Teach him to be better than his violent peers, and educate him to be kind and accepting like us humans are.” Like she hoped her parents could be.

That got her parents attention. Jazz told herself it would all be worth it. It would be worth the nausea she had for saying something so utterly vile wrapped up in a cute bow.

She ignored the strange look Bruce Wayne gave her, and excused herself. She needed to have a cry. Catharsis would be good for her. Even if the underlying problem still writhed beneath her skin, fraying the bond between her and her parents.

She was so distracted she didn’t even use the opportunity the heated conversation gave her to sabotage the boat. What kind of a sister would this journey reveal her to be? What kind would her parents be revealed as?

Night settled as an eerily quiet day of swimming went past them. Danny scurried into a small cave for shelter. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Damian got off his back and shoved himself into the far end of the closed space, curling himself into a tight ball, back turned.

Danny unpacked the supplies one by one, alone. He passed a strip of kelp to Damian. The small siren’s fins remained rigid, like they’d been all day. Damian yanked the strip from Danny’s hands without a word.

Danny stared at the boy’s back. The words he needed still hadn’t come. They still slipped away whenever he tried to search. No pathway of apology seemed right in his head, so he pushed it back.

“It’s a nice night out.” Danny rubbed his wrists. “Clear skies. We can still see the North Star. Funny how we’ve gone south for so long, but we won’t be crossing the equator at all.”

Danny looked back to see if anything changed. Nothing did. “We’ll be in Panama soon. Probably in a day. Hopefully the GiW won’t be able to track our location enough.

He gave up soon after. He passed strips of plant life and watched as Damian silently took them. When Damian finished one batch, Danny passed him another. Once dinner was done with, all he had to do now was sleep, and dream. And think of the families that each missed them.

Damian shivered. His fins rattled from the motion. Danny crawled closer, reaching his hand out, waiting for permission.

“Do not touch me.” Damian whispered, voice still hollow. Danny’s heart took another wound, but he nodded regardless. He took a sack and emptied it, and draped it over Damian’s body. The rest of the night was spent tossing and bending his fins, and then in fitful sleep.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

seasick

prompt: motion sickness (alt no.7)

whumpee: river cartwright

fandom: slough house/slow horses

hii here's yet another sh fic for yall but this time with no spoilers for anything lmao. i saw the prompt and was like 'wouldn't it be so funny to do this to river considering his name' and so this was born. hope you enjoy!

This is one of the more bizarre assignments she’s been given in her tenure at Slough House. Go on a cruise down the Thames and look for “anything unusual” beneath the bridges. Totally normal thing to do. Definitely worth her time. 

Not that she’s complaining much. It gets her out of the office and there’s a bar on board. She’s sure there must be some way of getting a drink and snack paid for on the Park’s dime. 

She’s gone ahead and gotten them, in any case. She balances both items in one hand as she pushes out through a door onto the deck. The first bridge is coming up, and she supposes she’ll at least pay some attention to it. 

River is where she’d left him, having turned down the suggestion of both drink and snack. She’d assumed he’d been less assured of their ability to be reimbursed, and admittedly, the prices hadn’t been low. 

He’s leaning against the railing now, and he turns his head slowly towards her when she stops beside him. She offers up her bag of crisps and he turns away, swallows visibly. His skin has gone a funny shade, almost grey, and he’s sweaty although it’s rather cold and drizzly. 

“Are you ill?” Louisa asks, point-blank. He’d looked fine when she’d left him, and that had been all of ten minutes ago. 

River shakes his head, then stops very suddenly. He takes a deep breath which he aborts halfway through, and then leans over the railing and throws up. 

“Shit,” Louisa says, the pieces assembling themselves rapidly in her mind. She sets down her snack and drink, returns to River and puts a hand on his back. 

“Do you get motion sickness often?” She’s been in cars with him plenty of times, but, she supposes, cars and boats are quite different. “Or, seasickness, I guess?”

River shakes his head, vomits again. “I don’t—I don’t really go on boats.”

There’s something a little funny there, a jibe at his name she could make, but he looks all kinds of awful and she just feels sympathetic, more than anything else. 

He throws up again, coughs harshly, rubs a shaky hand across his face. “This fucking sucks.”

Louisa squeezes his shoulder. “I’ll get you some water. Why don’t you sit down?” There are empty benches behind them—in fact, the whole deck is empty, owing to the wet and the cold. Louisa’s suddenly incredibly glad for the weather. She knows how much worse River would feel if this was happening to him in front of a larger audience than just herself. 

River shakes his head. “I’m not—I might…”

Ah. Louisa’s not sure that she’d care all that much about the potential consequences of puking on the deck, their positions being reversed, but it feels very River, somehow, to not want to risk it. 

“Alright, just—hold on, then. I’ll be back soon.”

She heads once more into the covered portion of the boat and makes her way back to the bar, where she manages to procure a bottle of water, napkins, and some crackers. She’d been hoping for medicine or an offer to stop off at the next dock, but she’ll take what she can get. 

Louisa returns to the upper deck. River is still leaning over the railing and barely stirs at her arrival. He’s sort of crying, Louisa notices, which she supposes is down to the exertion of vomiting more than any truly severe distress. It makes her feel worse for him, all the same.

She wordlessly hands over the bottle of water, watches him struggle to open it with shaking hands for several seconds before doing it herself. 

He says, “thanks,” and his voice is noticeably rougher than it had been before. She decides she’ll hold off on handing over the crackers, not that she particularly expects him to want them, anyway. 

She watches with a critical eye as he rinses out his mouth and wipes his face with a proffered napkin. 

“How are you feeling?” Louisa chances to ask. 

“Shit,” River replies, not meeting her eyes. His sickly grey face has gone pink from what she guesses is a combination of embarrassment and strain. 

“You’re alright,” she offers. “You’ll feel so much better as soon as we get off this boat.”

“When’s—when’s that?”

She checks her watch. Fuck. “About an hour.”

“Fuck,” River echoes her thoughts exactly. He bends down, rests his head against the railing. He looks so fucking miserable and Louisa hates that there’s really nothing she can do. Unless—

“D’you think they’d stop the tour and let us off if I told them we were MI5?”

River shrugs. “Maybe.” He lifts his head briefly and gags harshly over the railing before promptly putting his head back down again. 

Yeah. She’ll go wave her ID in the face of whoever’s in charge here. 

Fifteen minutes later, the boat is pulling up to a dock somewhere beyond Tower Bridge. As they get off, both putting on their very best official-agent-on-official-business looks, River valiantly stopping himself from throwing up in front of the onlookers aboard, Louisa briefly remembers that they were supposed to be examining the bridges. Not that it matters much. She’ll just tell Lamb there was nothing of note—she’s sure there wouldn’t’ve been, anyway. 

The second they step onto the dock, River drops to his knees and throws up once more, unable to hold out any longer. Louisa stands behind him, doing her best to protect him from the suddenly very interested gazes of the people aboard the boat. 

When he’s done, she offers him a hand to his feet. He takes it, staggers upright, blinks hard, then breathes a sigh.  

“Alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I—I feel fine now, actually.”

Based on the scratchiness of his voice, she knows he’s not entirely fine, but evidently the nausea has left as quickly as it’d come. 

She wraps him in a quick side-hug and he leans into her in a way that reassures her, somehow, of his being relatively unhurt by the whole ordeal. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

“Don’t mention it. Speaking of not mentioning it, actually, we’ve still got like 45 minutes to kill before our tour is supposed to end. I’m hardly going back to Slough House until I’ve got to. Fancy a walk?”

River nods, “yeah, yeah, that’d be nice,” and the pair of them set off together, just like that. 

thanks for reading! hope you liked <333

[darling-i-read-it]

I Missed You

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: siege and storm and ruin and rising spoilers, fighting, insinuations to smut

Author’s Note: he <3 <3 <3 <3 I haven’t read king of scars yet so don’t kill me but I had to write this

Summary: When Nikolai disappears after the battle with the Darkling, you’re left wondering where he is as Alina recovers enough to search for him.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(rip the fact i cant add a gif)

You knew that the fight would get nasty but nothing could have prepared you for this. You weren’t even sure what to do about it other than run around blindly, fighting everything that came in your way that you didn’t recognize. The Darkling had gotten the drop on you. Alina was somewhere, alive hopefully but you were much more worried about Nikolai.

You couldn’t seem to find him in the blindness of fighting. You looked between bodies and above heads for that familiar head of blonde hair but you couldn’t find him anywhere. Hopefully Alina could get this fight done with sooner rather than later.

You slashed your sword and used your summoning powers to the best of your ability. You were always the top of your class and it showed on the battlefield. There was no stopping you once you started but you were beginning to wear down. You couldn’t last much longer at this rate.

Suddenly the ground shook. You looked up and saw Alina and the Darkling, hands intertwined. For a moment you thought she had betrayed you. The battlefield seemed to still. Then there was blinding light and the darkest black at the same time somehow. You collapsed to the ground and passed out.

=====

When you woke up Mal was by your side. That was confusing to you. Why wasn’t he with Alina? You looked around and noticed she was laying in the bed beside you, even more wounded than you felt. You tried to sit up but he pushed you down gently.

“Rest. You got hit by a building,” he said. You scoffed.

“I feel like it.” Suddenly your eyes went wide and your stomach dropped. You sat up completely and nothing Mal did was able to stop you. You looked around the infirmary for Nikolai. He had to be here. He was here somewhere. But just like on the battlefield, you came up empty. Your eyes flashed to Mal’s but he wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Where is he?” you asked, fearing the worst.

“I don’t know,” he said earnestly. “I saw Alina tell him to get everyone out of there during the fight.” He paused for a minute. “He made her promise to keep you safe. Dropped the slyness and everything to ask.” You cursed under your breath. That was almost worse than knowing for sure he was dead. He could be lost somewhere. He could be dead in a field alone. Your mind raced and you laid back down of your own volition as it sunk in.

“I have to find him.”

“He’ll find us,” Mal said but his voice sounded skeptical. Like, he’ll find us if he’s alive. You closed your eyes tightly and wished you had stayed asleep longer.

====

The Apparat kept Alina tightly locked away underground, away from her people. It was a harsh time after that fight. She was weak.

Though you liked Alina, you had spent most of your time tracing leads on Nikolai. It had been so long since that fight. There were rumors that he was alive but who could really tell? The rumors could have been spread by the Darkling to give Alina and everyone false hope. He could have died on the battlefield and been taken away. There were far too many options and you didn’t like most of them.

You and Nikolai had been very close. You had met while he was off on his ship and then stayed close to him. You loved him deeply and you had started a relationship while on that ship. You were the only person who he felt truly knew him.

You missed him. You missed his banter and his face and his remarks and his hair. You missed his lips. You missed everything about him.

Though you were in on the plan to break out Alina, your mind remained with him. You got her out and she gained her power back.

Mal walked up to you afterwards, a neutral look on his face.

“I think I’ve tracked Nikolai down.” You raised your eyebrows and tried to hide your delight. Mal was the best tracker you had, if he said he had then he had.

“Really?”

“I think so. I’ve spoken to Alina and we’re leaving in the morning for him.” You let out a breath of relief. Finally. After all this time you were going to find him.

“Thank you Mal.” He nodded. He turned to walk away and then stopped, turning back to you. “I think he wanted me to find him. He left some clues along the way, for you.” You leaned against your desk.

“That’s risky. The Darkling could have found them.”

“Have you met your Nikolai? Is there a risk he wouldn’t take for you?” Mal smiled a bit. He knew the feeling Nikolai felt. He would give everything and more up for Alina if she asked. You scoffed a bit.

“He’s quite the prince charming,” you said. He nodded.

“Be ready by dawn.”

====

When this fight with the Darkling began you were not in the mood. Mal had promised you were so close and now this? You still used all your power but still, it was not something you wanted to do.

You were losing, everyone was. You were losing a fight to one of the Darklings shadow soldiers when the ship arrived above you. You didn’t even see it, you were so distracted. Someone shouted happily which was an odd thing to hear in the middle of a fight. You glanced up just in time to see Nikolai and his men fending off the Darklings troops. Everyone was going up to the boat.

The boat.

He did it. You couldn’t help but smile. You ran up to him and he met your eyes from above as you climbed up with everyone else. The second you were on deck he grabbed you, kissing you harshly. It was brief.

“Expect more of that,” he said as he went back to helping everyone up. You started to help as well. The boat moved away from the Darkling and then you were safe. Or as safe as you could be in this world.

Everyone took a collective breath.

You met Nikolai’s eyes and walked up to him, hugging him tightly. He didn’t even have the heart to say anything snarky to you. He just wanted to hold you. He had missed you so much. You pulled away and hit his arm.

“Where have you been?” you asked him harshly. He rubbed his arm.

“I was building this!” he told you. You couldn’t help but smile and hug him again.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“It’s already there. It’s in my head now.” You rolled your eyes and kissed him gently. There was something about the way Nikolai kissed you that left you weak in the knees. Alternatively, Nikolai was very sure it was all you that was the good kisser. Neither of you would admit this out loud.

You pulled away so that he could order his troops. Alina walked up to the two of you. Nikolai kept a firm grip on your hip as she approached.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she said honestly. “We thought you might be dead.” He looked over at you.

“Did you think I was dead?”

“I thought you were six feet under. You didn’t see me for months!” Nikolai nodded.

“Fair assumption.” You laughed a bit. “Although you should know, there wasn’t a day I wasn’t thinking of you.” He looked over at Alina. “You too Alina but in a less romantic way.”

“Fair enough,” Alina said. “We should talk.” He nodded a bit and looked over at you.

“If you aren’t waiting for me in the captain quarters I’ll have you walk the plank.” You rolled your eyes but fought the urge to blow him an air kiss as he went. He fought the urge to bring you along.

[pocfansmatter]

Wishing For You

Sailor Gally x Mermaid reader

Summary: A sailor named Gally stumbles across an injured mermaid. She then agrees to grant him a wish for his help. 

Y/N was an absolute idiot. How she managed to get herself caught in that net she doesn’t know, okay she does, but it’s too embarrassing to even think about fully. The fact that she got distracted by an actual dolphin is such a childish mistake she never wants to think about it again. Knowing dolphins it probably led her into the net on purpose. So Y/N has been caught in nets before, she’s got out of them many times, that’s not her problem. Her problem is instead of the fishermen waiting to catch more fish in their net by leaving it in the ocean for a little while longer like most do, they started to pull the net to the surface as soon as they felt her stuck in it. That threw her off a bit, caused her to take a little longer to get free, she didn’t break surface of course but she got close enough to where they made her figure out and shot at her once they noticed she got free of the net. The harpoon sailed effortlessly through the water and caught her side. The long spear stuck but she used her claws to cut the shaft, the arrow however was jammed beneath the skin of her stomach and she’d be stupid to try to get it out here where there’s a chance she could get caught. Ignoring the pain she swims straight down, deeper into the ocean, far away from the boat trying to capture her. She ignores the pain as she examines her surroundings. She needs to figure out a plan and fast. She was bleeding so it won’t be long until she attracts predators. Although she could normally handle her own pretty well she was injured and she knew in her weakened state she wouldn’t survive a fight. She had a fleeting thought about racing home, but if something followed her there she could put the colony at risk. She knew they could win a fight but if she gave away their location they would be upset they had to move again. She couldn’t risk it. In a true act of desperation she heads straight to shore. She knew nothing big enough to take her down would be in that shallow of water. Her only worry was hiding from humans. She just needed time to think and take out the arrow so she could heal properly.

She swam as fast as she could to where she knew shore to be. She could feel herself growing tired the closer she got. Her version started to get spotty and she could feel her body getting weaker. Just a little bit more. She encouraged herself and pushes onward. She doesn’t give herself time to rest or even look around. She can’t take that chance. Finally she notices the bottom of the ocean getting closer, signifying she was near shore. She uses the last of her stretch to swim that much faster. Finally she breaks the surface and see the sky is dark, it’s night meaning she is least likely to run into humans at this time, she rushes to the sand. Until she using the top half of her body to crawl, unable to use her tail this close. Finally she stops and one hand goes to her wound and feels the arrow sticking out of her abdomen. Before she can gather the strength to pull it out she decides to take an actual rest for a moment, just a moment. The rest of her vision goes black and she doesn’t even try to fight the sleep that overcomes her.

Gally walked along the shore to clear his head. The guys were getting on his last nerves and he just needed some space. He walks for about 30 minutes one way, far from the dock and people. He sits on the beach and just looks out into the dark waters he can see the reflection of the moon in the ocean. He scans the area and freezes when he sees a lump on the beach. He can only make out a dark mass, the light of the moon not bright enough to help him see the shadow. He slowly makes his way closer thinking a manatee washed onto shore or something. Once he gets close enough to see a little better he can see it’s actually a girl, he can only see the top half of her body, the bottom half is submerged in the sea. Gally rushes closer and collapses onto the sand beside her. His hand goes to her neck and he sigh in relief when he feels a pulse. He notices her breathing is shaky like she’s having trouble but other than that she doesn’t move. He examines her and sees the problem, the tip of a harpoon is sticking out of her side.

“Jesus, who the hell throws a harpoon at a woman?” He whispers to himself. Thinking quickly he wonders if he should carry her to the town or if it would be faster to run to get help himself and rush back with a doctor. The thought pops into his head that this probably wasn’t an accident and if he leaves her here there is a real chance whoever did this to her might find her and finish what they started. That decides it and he gets to his feet and hooks his arms under her armpits to drag her out of the water fully. He doesn’t get far though because what he finds shocks the hell out of him. He falls flat onto his ass and uses his feet to push himself far away from the thing as fast as possible. The moment wakes her and she slowly starts to stir. What Gally thought was a young woman was actually anything but, her waist cuts off into a tail, an actual fishtail. The scales shimmer in the moonlight and reflect a glittery purple and the end fin was a lilac. Gally wondered for a moment if he was asleep, dead, or had gone batshit crazy. There was no way he was seeing an actual mermaid on the beach. Just then the girl opens her eyes and he can’t help but scream. Just then the creature face transforms; her cheekbones become sharper, her eyes go completely white making her pupils disappear, and she opens her mouth to reveal sharps fanglike teeth and it hisses loudly. Gally freezes and he gets the weirdest flashback to when he was a child and he was playing outside. When he was 7 he found a cat stuck under a fence, when he got close she hissed menacingly and swapped her claws at him. She scratched him pretty good and he bled out but he just waited until she calmed down enough for him to aid her. When he freed her she ran away. This creature reminded him of that cat, she was terrifying and could probably rip his head off with her teeth alone, but she was injured and scared, that’s where the hostility comes from.

Gally holds his hands palms up facing her to show he wasn’t trying to do anything funny. She has her sight trained on him.

“It’s okay, I’m just trying to help.” He doesn’t even know if she even understands him but he keeps his voice low and steady like an adult would talk to a skittish child. “It’s okay, your injured, I think I can help, I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s okay. I know you’re scared, I know you’re hurt, I know you want to get back in the water, so let me help you.” In the middle of his speech he slowly sits up and gets to his knees. By the end he slowly scoots towards her.

Her tail was still planted on the sand but her top half had twisted back towards him and her hands were planted on the sand. He knew with her injury it had to be painful but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He understood but notices she doesn’t move as he gets closer. Her face stays the same, never going back to the calm regular face it was when she was sleeping except her eyes squint. He slides to the side of her so she can turn her body back forward and be in less pain. Once he has her facing back towards the sea and her body isn’t twisted painfully he stops again. A quick glance shows he’s right beside her tail but doesn’t move her hands from their upturned unthreatening position. He glances at the arrow again and tries to figure out how to get it out.

“I just want to help,” he reassures and she watches him, her mouth now shut but still just as intimidating. “Can you understand me?” He asks softly and waits. She continues to study him for a moment before nodding once and he fights back a gasp of surprise.

“Okay, we got to get that out of you,” he nods towards the weapon lodged in her side. “if you know any specific way I can help you I would like to know them now because my only plan is to pull it out, press down, and pray you don’t bleed out.” She stares at him for a moment and he still doesn’t move waiting for some kind of sign from the siren.

“Seaweed,” she says softly, her voice is small and smooth and it takes everything in him not to fall in his ass in shock that an actual mermaid can speak and said something to him.

“Seaweed?”

“I need a long piece of seaweed to wrap around me… it’ll help me heal.” It takes her a while to get the sentence out like it takes too much energy to talk. Gally nods and looks around the beach to try to find what she needs. A few feet into the water he notices a stack of rocks and knows there is a fair share of seaweed stuck on them. He stands and notices her tense beside him.

“Shit,” Gally says softly to himself. “Okay, this is probably going to hurt but please don’t bite my head off, okay?” She studies him in silence for a moment before nodding once. He slowly grabs the end of the arrowhead that is above her skin. She teases at the moment and he stays still for a moment. “Okay, now take a deep breath and I’ll pull on 3, okay?” She nods once. He takes a breath with her and starts to count. He only says 1 before pulling the arrow straight out as fast as he can. He hears a loud screech near his ear and he scurries out of the way from the sound.

“I’ll be right back,” he informs her before rushing towards the boulders. Before he hits the water he kicks off his shoes and slides his shirt over his head he decides to keep his pants on. He quickly gets in and it doesn’t take long for the water to hit the middle of his chest. He reaches the nearest rock and hauls himself up before scanning the area. It takes him a minute but he finds a few long pieces of seaweed wedged between rocks. He doesn’t know how much he needs but figures better safe than sorry. After he grabs threes long pieces he jumps back into the water and as fast as he can gets to shore. With his other hand he grabs his shirt and shoes and runs back towards her. He slows down as to not startle her again and drops to his knees quickly. He notices that her face went back to normal like how she looked while she was asleep. He tosses his shirt and shoes to the side not bothering to put either back on before holding his hand towards her and waits for her instructions. She takes the seaweed while managing not to touch him. She stares down at the wound and studies it for a moment. “Unless you have powers I don’t know about our only option is to pull it out.” She meets his eyes for a moment and y/e/c burns into his soul before she jerkily nods.

He nods back and slowly scoots closer to her. Once he was right beside her he can see the arrow is serrated making it harder and more painful to get out. 

“You lied!” She screeches and he sees her face back to the terrifying face it was earlier.

“I know I’m sorry, I was trying to catch you off guard so you didn’t tense up.” He explains quickly and he looks down at the bloody arrow before dropping it and going to her side again. She calms down again and her face goes back while she grabs the seaweed. He holds it against her wound and she wraps it around her waist and ties the end. After she lays flat on the beach and takes a few deep breaths to calm down and Gally sits silently next to her waiting for his heartrate to go back to normal. Her eyes are closed now and he’s terrified to break the silence. After what feels like an eternity she opens her eyes again and turns to look at him.

“Can you… help me get into the water… not too deep just to feel the water… it’ll help me heal.” She speaks slowly and takes deep breaths between pauses. Gally nods before standing and trying to figure out how to move her to the water with the least amount of pain. He decides dragging her again is not a good idea.

“I’m going to pick you up,” he explains and she nods and he slowly carries her bridal style to the ocean.

“Stop here,” she orders and he slowly lowers her to the water. It’s not too deep but enough to keep her wet and his feet to be submerged. She stays seated and they fall back into silence again. He waits a few minutes just watching her staring down at her seaweed wrapped stomach.

“How- so how did this happen?” Gally finally asks and she whips her head up to glare at him, it scares him a little bit but not too much since her face doesn’t change again.

“Humans,” she spits the word like an insult. “I got caught in a net and when I freed myself they shot the harpoon at me.”

“Did they see you… like what you are?” He clarifies.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so, you humans confuse us a lot with others…” he nods remembering how not too long ago before he walked up to her he thought she was a manatee.

“So wha- what do I call you?” He wasn’t sure what exactly her species was referred as. He wasn’t sure if mermaid or siren were interchangeable. His only knowledge was horror stories exchanged among sailors on ships to scare the newbies. Even though he’s been working on the sea for 5 years he never had stories of his own. Hell he wasn’t even sure he believed in mermaids until this moment right now.

“We greet each other differently,” she says and he waits for her to explain but she never does. Instead she reaches for the seaweed and pulls it off. Gally is surprised to see her wound gone, only a light pink scratch remains but Gally can tell it will be gone in no time. She bends her tail to pull herself deeper into the oceans and Gally watches her unsure what to do. She gets to waist deep water for him but she’s laying down so only her head bops above the water.

“Y/N, that’s what you can call me,” she answers and he can feel his cheeks warm embarrassed.

“Y/N,” Gally tries the name and smiles kindly. “Well I’m Gally ma’am,” he introduces himself before holding out his hand; she looks at his hand in confusion. “Uh, you’re supposed to grab it and shake it up and down,” he explains while reaching for her hand. She watches him and once her grasps it he moves it slowly up and down. Her hand feels smooth but at first but when he moves a bit he can feel it snag like his hand is stuck. “It’s how humans greet each other,” he explains and she whispers his name softly to test it out and Gally ignores the shiver going down his spine.

“Thank you for your aid sailor Gally,” she says and he furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “I’m a siren, we can smell sailors from miles away,” she explains and her eyes flash all white for a moment before going back. “For helping me, I will grant you one wish, anything you desire is yours.” She explains and Gally sits there stunned for a moment trying to figure out what his wish would be. His mind was drawing a blank, the only thing he could think at the moment is he wanted to know more about Y/N, not just her species but her specifically.

“I don’t know…” he admits, “Can I take a day to think about it?” He asks and she studies him for a moment. She’s trying to figure out if it’s a trap or not.

“Fine, meet me here tomorrow night,” she says and he nods.

“What time?” He asks and she studies him before a moment before flashing her sharp teeth in a horrifying smile and turning her body and diving into the sea depths and disappearing. Gally sits stunned for a moment wondering what time he should come back tomorrow or if she was ever coming back, did he just lose out on a wish?

“You know you can’t return,” a fellow mermaid named Brenda warned.

____

Y/N explained to the colony what had happened to her and meeting the sailor.

“I offered him a wish in exchange for his help,” she explained.

“He could set up a trap for you when you return,” another explains.

“Don’t you think he would’ve attacked while I was injured if he wanted to do me harm? I can handle a human now that I am fully healed.”

“You give humans too much faith,” Brenda argues.

“I owe him a wish, that’s it.”

Y/N waits to the moon is high above the ocean before going to meet sailor Gally. It doesn’t take her long to swim to the same area but she takes a while to swim around the area before breaking the surface just to make sure he didn’t try to set up a trap. She spots the piles of rocks that Gally found the seaweed the night before and swims to it to use it as a shield to scope out the area before exposing herself. Her head lifts above and scans the area. She sees Gally laying on the beach staring at the stars and she takes a moment to just watch him, making sure no one else is with him.

_____

Gally decides his best bet is to go to the beach the same time he went yesterday and wait. He figures it would be empty by that time anyway like it was yesterday. He leaves the house and claims he’s going for walk. He leaves with only his jacket and a small blanket to rest on while he waits, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be there. Once he gets to the same spot he met Y/N he unfolds his blanket and sits as close as the water as he could get without hitting the tide. He slips his shoes and socks off again and scans the ocean waiting.

After she deems it safe she swims near shore and reveals herself. Gally doesn’t notice as his attention is still on the night sky.

“You’re back,” Gally greets.

“Sailor Gally,” she calls out and he quickly sits up to see her swimming.

He stands and walks closer and she gets closer as well.

“You sound surprised,” Gally chuckles and shrugs before pulling off his shoes and rolling up his pant legs before sitting down.

“You helped me, I owe you a debt, don’t you remember?”

Y/N pulls herself onto shore and lays on her stomach but remains in the water.

“I… I wasn’t sure you were going to come back,” he admits

“Of course I do…” Y/N lays her head on her folded arms and looks up at the sailor, studying him.

“Well, did you think of your wish?”

“No, I’m still trying to figure out what I want,” Gally looks down and his cheeks tint red.

“You don’t know what you want? That’s rare for a human,” she explains.

“Well what would you recommend I wish for?”

“I don’t know, humans usually wish for money, power, love, trivial things like that.”

“Love is a trivial thing?” Gally raises one eyebrow high as he questions Y/N.

“It’s freeing… the thought that I’m constantly in motion and not tied down to any one piece of land is comforting. I didn’t really start because I WANTED to be a sailor or work with water, I was 18 with no family and needed a job. Then I fell in love with it. It’s easy to get lost in the ocean, on land people can focus on you too much…” Y/N stares at him in thought for a moment.

“I wouldn’t know,” Y/N admits as her tail waves back and forth with the movement of the ocean. “Why do you work with water?” She starts with.

Gally looks out into the ocean for a bit and thinks of how to word his thoughts.

“How about your own boat and crew?” She reasons. “A lot of sailors would kill for that…” Gally shakes his head as soon as she suggests it.

“No, I have no desire to be in charge of a crew. If you asked me a couple years back maybe but now I know it’s not for me.”

“What’s it like living on land?” She questions instead of trying to dissect what he said. Gally shrugs and sighs.

“I’m not here much but I share a house with the crew and all they want to do is drink and talk about the local women. It’s… suffocating. It’s like you’re in competition with everyone around you. On the ship we all have a job and place but on land it’s like you have to outdo the person next to you.”

“When do you go out again?”

“We set sail again in another 2 months,” he answers.

“I can make someone fall in love with you,” she offers and stares ahead at the sand.

“Nah, if I get into a relationship I want it to be authentic and real, not magic.” He explains.

“You’re a difficult man Sailor Gally,” Y/N smirks showing a bit of fangs and Gally chuckles in response.

“Now you sound like my captain… How does this all work? Like your magic, where does it come from?”

“Everyone is born Sailor Gally,” Y/N smiles.

“Magic has always been there, there’s no explanation I have, it’s like your voice, it’s a part of you that you’re born with and just use. It’s just something my body is born with, same as my tail and hands.”

“Were you… born?”

“No… I mean…” Gally takes a deep breath and tries a different approach. “I’ve heard stories that some mermaids are women who fell overboard and drowned but were saved by a kiss and changed into mermaids themselves… Is that true?” Gally looks into Y/N eyes and waits for her answer.

“It is possible to be changed that way… they rarely FALL though,” she spits the word and a little bit of a hiss comes out. “Usually they are thrown overboard by other humans. Do humans really believe women aren’t allowed on ships because it’ll wreck?” Gally takes a deep breath and slowly exhales it.

“There are some sailors who believe women don’t belong on the ocean and that having one as a crew member is bad luck… yes. I don’t know if I fully believe it but my crew has never thrown ANYONE overboard since I’ve worked it.”

“Do you work with women on your crew?”

“…no…” he admits and she studies him a moment.

“So it means at least your captain believes it…”

“How did you become a mermaid?” Gally dares to ask.

“Do you need more time think of a wish?” She counters instead of answering.

“Yes…”

“Then I’ll leave you for now, tomorrow I’ll be back. Hopefully you have a better idea of what you want. Farewell Sailor Gally,” She flashes her sharp teeth again and shoves her body deeper into the water before disappearing again.

Gally stared at the still waters for a moment before standing and gathering his things again. He had been here for about 3 hours. Tomorrow he at least had a better idea of what time to come.

“You’re going to see that sailor again aren’t you?” She accuses.

____

Y/N prepares to meet Gally when she’s stopped again by Brenda.

“He still has a wish to make,” Y/N swims around her.

“He’s keeping you coming back to give himself time to set a trap.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“This can only end badly.” She warns before Y/N swims far enough away to not hear her anymore.

Just like before Y/N scans the area before revealing herself to Gally.

“Y/N,” he greets before walking barefoot to the edge of the water like the night before.

“Sailor Gally, hello,” she answer backs.

He sits down and she rolls onto her front and stares up at him.

“You don’t know what you want do you?” She asks and Gally stares at her in silence for a moment before shaking his head. “Eventually you’re going to have to give me an answer, I can’t come back forever…”

“Why not?” He challenges and his eyes shine.

“I’m not supposed to hang around humans too much,” the mermaid stares ahead and the statement hangs in the air.

“I wou- I have no reason to hurt you…”

“Humans tend to find reasons to hurt us.” Y/N made unwavering eye contact with him; Gally breaks it first and looks down.

“How old are you?” He asks.

“I can’t remember, over 200,” she answers and Gally’s eyes widen.

“Years old?!”

“Yes, we age differently than you…”

“Yeah I can tell…” he chuckles surprised.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 23,” he admits.

“You’re young,” he chuckles.

“So what do you do in the ocean?” He asks.

“You’re a curious young human aren’t you?” he gives a hearty laugh.

“What do you do on land?”

“Mostly wish I was back on the water… I read a lot. I like to be by myself, it’s hard to get some alone time on a ship with a bunch of other guys. So on land I take advantage of that.”

“Read?” Y/N’s lips move oddly around the word.

“Do you know what a book is?” Gally tries not to sound judgmental in his question, he genuinely wants to know more about the being. Y/N shakes her head no and Gally takes a moment to try and think of how to explain it. “Books are stories that you can hold, reading them is how you find out what they are saying…” Y/N nods and processes what he says.

“We gather and one of the mermaid’s tells a story and we all listen, usually it’s the oldest.” Gally nods.

“Books are like telling stories to yourself that someone else has created. The act is called reading.”

“Can you show me these books?”

“Yes… do you want me to read to you?”

“Yes, please, I want to know what human stories are like.”

“Okay, I’ll bring one tomorrow,” Neither of them pointed out that they never agreed for her to come back or that he still hadn’t decided on his wish yet.

The next night Gally grabs a copy of Alice and Wonderland and a lantern so he could see.

"Heading out again?" his crew mate Tim asks.

“Yeah… you know me, can’t stay trapped with you all too long…” Tim doesn’t say anything else so Gally gives him a nod before leaving.

It doesn’t take long for Gally to get to their spot, he doesn’t question when he started to think of it as their spot but he tries not to think too hard about it. He rolls his pants up and brings the blanket as close to the water as he could get before sitting the lantern down and lighting it with a match.

“What’s that?” Y/N startles Gally but he catches himself quickly.

“It’s a lantern, it helps me see in the dark,” he explains while getting himself situated.

“Your eyes don’t do that?” Y/N tilts her head in confusion.

“No, human’s need light to see, sometimes moonlight is enough, sometimes it’s not.” Gally chuckles and Y/N pulls herself as high up the beach as she can go to be closer to the sailor.

“Why are you so far?” only the tip of her tail is touching the tide by the time she’s close enough to him.

“The lantern and book can’t get wet,” he explains and she reaches for the lantern but he catches her wrist before she gets too close and closes the glass door to block the air from the flame. “You can’t touch fire, it hurts.”

“Fire,” she tests the word. “Why do you use it if it hurts you?”

“Your teeth can hurt you but you must use them,” he points out and she ponders his statement for a bit. “It helps us see, and cook, it also gives us warmth.”

“Cook? What is cook?”

“It’s what humans must do to our food to eat it.”

“You call it cook? We call it clean.” Gally gives a small smile at her mix up.

“We clean our food too, that’s not what it means though… It’s hard to explain. We burn the food so it’s not raw… It makes it warmer and tastes better to us,” she makes a face, “also if we eat an animal or fish after it’s just been killed we could possibly get sick and might die.”

“So you get hurt from fire and sick from food, I’m starting to question all the stories I’ve heard about the terrifying predators called humans…” Gally throws his head back and lets out a bark of a laugh at that. When he calms down he finds Y/N smiling, not enough to show teeth though.

“Are you going to show me this… book of yours now?”

Gally picks up the Alice in Wonderland and hands it to the siren. She turns it around and feels the cover before he reaches over and opens it so she can peek inside. She pulls it away a bit and stares at the letters trying to make sense of the symbols before closing it again and staring at the picture on the front and handing it back.

“Tell me the story,” she orders and Gally gets more comfortable.

“It’s long; I can’t tell it all in one night.” He explains and she nods once before he starts into it.

The next night Gally once again grabs his book and lantern, they got through a good chunk of Alice but didn’t finish. Gally had to cut the meeting short after 4 hours. Y/N protested but Gally explained he needs sleep. She let him go with a promise to return. The time to set sail was getting closer and Gally actually had to work during the day preparing for their next voyage.

“Off again?” Tim stops Gally before he leaves his room.

“Yep, just a stroll and a read before bed,” Gally explains as Tim narrows his eyes.

“Well don’t stay out too late, and stay safe.” He calls as Gally is already walking away.

Gally closed the book but kept his finger as a marker, looking up to show the mermaid she had his full attention.

___

"I have a question,"

"What's a rabbit?" Gally blinked realizing they made it a good chunk into the book without her knowing what a rabbit was.

"It's... an animal on land, it's fluffy and has big feet so it hops a lot. Anymore questions well we're talking?"

"What else do you have questions about?"

"Yes what's 'hops' mean?"

Gally laughs before getting up and hopping to show her what exactly it meant.

"What is a hat?"

"Still don't know your wish Sailor Gally?" Y/N smirks knowing the answer.

They spent hours talking about land versus water. Gally learned about more about fish than he ever learned as a sailor.

It was near sunrise when they finally parted.

"Not yet sorry..." Gally smiles back and she pushes herself back into the ocean fully before diving down and disappearing for the night.

Off to the side, out of sight of both Gally and Y/N, Tim sat having followed Gally and watched his interaction with a mermaid all night. The first hour he was convinced he was dreaming but now he knew for sure that his fellow sailor was interacting with a siren. Once he seen them start to part Tim got up and rushed to beat Gally back to the house to not raise suspicion.

Once back at the house Tim racked his brain trying to figure out his next move. Gally was literally flirting with danger. The fact that sirens were real was still shocking to him, this was life changing. People would travel days to see a real life mermaid. Tim thought back to the freak's tent at the circus. He wasn't an idiot. He knew that trapping the siren would be no easy feat, he would need the help of the whole crew for this. How would he convince him of the truth though?___

"Do you have a mate?" Gally chocked on the strawberry he was eating. Instead of reading like normal they decided to have a picnic. Y/N was curious about human food so Gally brought her different fruits.

"By mate you mean?"

"A perfect match... a partner for always... Do humans not have them? I know you can fall in love..."

"Yes we have them I just... was surprised by your question."

"Ok... well do you have one?"

"Uh no... it's hard being with someone when most your time is spent on a ship. Human women usually like guys who are around or who are of a higher class or someone they could relate to..."

"Do you usually have a hard time relating to other humans?" Y/N grabs a grape while she waits for his answer and chews it slowly making a sour face at the sweetness that Gally smiles at.

"Yeah, I just, I've always been alone so you kind of get used to it..."

"I understand... sometimes I leave to go alone for long periods of time. It's not smart for a mermaid though, we can die or get caught alone. It's best we stay in groups."

"Were you alone when you got stabbed with the spear?"

"Yes, I was just taking a swim alone, I shouldn't have been so close to the surface but I wanted a closer look at the moon." Gally looks up at the night sky and nods.

"It is beautiful," Gally agrees.

Once again out of sight of the mythical creature and sailor, Tim and another crew mate Mark sat in astonishment at the interaction.

"I don't believe it," Mark says in shock.

"You see it with your own two eyes. that's why I brought you here. As proof for everyone else.

"Do you think Gally is going to trap it?"

"No... look at them? Eating fruit on the beach? it's almost... romantic."

"He's not just going to let us take it..." Mark points out.

"He doesn't have to let us do anything! Once we convince the Captain to trap it, it's him against us. He's out-maned. I just needed you as my witness. Do you know how much money we could make? How famous we could be?"

"Come on, lets go back to the house and talk to Cap before Gally is finished with his date."____When Gally returns right before sunup he's surprised to see his captain an older man by the name of Janson sitting at the dining room table waiting for him.

"Captain?"

"Sailor Gally, I was waiting up to tell you the news..." Janson looks intently into the younger man's eyes for a moment before finishing his sentence. "We're setting sail tomorrow morning, you have a day to get yourself in order... say your goodbyes and such." "I have no one to say goodbye to Cap," Gally reminds him but the Captain just smiles.

"Of course... Most of us don't..."

"May I ask why we are leaving so soon? I thought we had at least another couple weeks?"

“Do you want to know how I became a mermaid?” Gally was shocked by Y/N’s question.

"Job came up, real money making opportunity, I'd be stupid to pass it up..." He smiles and Gally gets an uneasy feeling before nodding and walking to his room.

_____

The air is tense, both the human and mermaid were upset by the fact that this would be there last meeting for who knows how long. Gally would be shipping out tomorrow before the sun was even up.

“Yes,” he said quickly.

“A long time ago, before you were born, even before your parent’s parents were born I lived in a town far from here. The townspeople were scared because of things these little girls were doing. To keep themselves out of trouble they tried to blame others. It didn’t take long for things to get out of hand,” she pauses to take a deep breath and it comes out shaky before she continues her story. “The townspeople accused me of being,” her nose scrunches up a bit a she looks a little lost. “a witch… They ran this… trial… they threw me far into the ocean with a rope tied to my stomach.” She chuckles a bit but Gally doesn’t find anything funny about it. “I didn’t know how to swim then… They were supposed to pull me back but they weren’t quick enough. Before everything went black a mermaid swam towards me. Her name’s Brenda but I didn’t know it then. Do you know what a mermaid’s kiss is?”

“I think so…”

“When a mermaid kisses a human, they can turn into a mermaid. We don’t do it as much anymore, humans can’t be trusted as much as they used to. It’s only used on human’s that are drowning. I don’t really remember my first life… just my death, in bits and pieces, Brenda filled in the rest.”

By the end of her story Gally felt tears in his eyes. He mourned Y/N's past life and their death. He can't imagine how scared Y/N must have been in their final moments but he was glad they were at least still with him.

They spent the rest of their night in silence, a comforting one where they watched the stars and moon and listened to the ocean crash against the sand. Gally was done ignoring the romance of it all but knowing he loved Y/N doesn't change anything. The sun starts to show itself but they didn't rush to part like always, instead they watched it rise until the danger of Y/N being spotted was too much. As she starts to push herself into the ocean she asks again "Do you know what you want to wish for yet?"

"We're not really asking kid," Captain Janson explains kneeling in front of Gally.

"Yes..." Gally didn't finish the sentence however and Y/N didn't pry just smiles and fully submerges herself into the water. They had an unspoken understanding it seems. Gally walks back to the house and wonders if he'll see her while on the ship but given how little privacy he has aboard and the fact that Y/N isn't that reckless he knows that probably won't happen. He'll just have to wait until they dock again. The energy in the house is weird when he returns but not too different from the normal sail off days so he ignores it. No one blinks twice at Gally coming in when most of them were waking up. It's pretty normal for seamen to spend all night out the day before they leave again. They'll just assume he was at the pub or spent the night with his best gal, they don't need to know his best gal wasn't human. He packs what little clothes he has and walks beside his crew to the dock where their ship sat. Gally felt unease being around his crew but chalks it up to the fact that for the first time in his life he had something worth sticking around for, he wonders briefly if this is what others meant when they said they wished to go home. Gally wasn't the smartest man but he knew that him and Y/N would never fully work. They were from two different worlds, literally. However he wants her as long as he can have her, if that means secret meetings under the moonlight where they spend hours talking that was fine by him.

_____

"I'm not doing it." Gally was exhausted, he should have known something was wrong when everyone was acting so strange around him, plus the shipping out early but he had no idea they knew about Y/N.

"Sorry Captain," he stares at the floor and remains quiet again.

"Come on Gally, there's other fish in the sea," The other crew mates laugh at the joke. "Just let us catch her and you can find yourself a nice octopus to settle down with..."

"Shut up Tim."

"That creature can hurt you, they rip the flesh off of sailor's bones for a snack, they lure good men to their death for breakfast-"

"If she's so dangerous why do you think catching her is a good idea?" Gally spits blood out of his mouth directly onto the Captain's boot in a weak attempt at defiance and gets a backhanded slap for his actions.

"That thing could get us a lot of money. You may never have to work hard again. Come on, orphan like you, no family, no ties, you could set up roots, clean up, get some female attention that actually has two legs." The crew chuckles again.

"There's no amount of money in this world that will make me help you catch her." Captain Janson looks down in frustration and stands up before punching Gally straight in his jaw, once, twice, a third time before Tim stops him and pulls him back. Gally lets his head hang in defeat.

Away from the crowd Tim whispers his idea to the Captain.

"He's not gonna give it up... but maybe, their bond is a two way street..."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he won't say where the siren is and maybe the siren feels the same way... Maybe it won't let him die..."

The Captain thinks the statement over for a second before looking back at Gally. He was stubborn as a mule. They beat him bloody and he still hadn't given them any information. Clearly going to get the creature wasn't an option but maybe, just maybe they could get the creature to come to them. 

“I wish Y/N was here,” he thinks as the water gets darker around him further from the light he sinks. His lungs start to burn screaming for air. They don’t understand what’s going on, they think he’s holding his breath for the fun of it. Things start to get hazy when he sees a back mass heading full speed to him. 

______

“Oh great a shark,” he’d laugh if he could.

He fights to keep his eyes open, he’s getting light headed. The creature comes closer into view and he finally sees it’s not a shark but Y/N. Gally immediately believes it to be a hallucination conjured by his brain to comfort him in his final moments. She grabs his face with both hands.

“Gally,” he can hear her voice so clearly in his head, like she is really speaking to him, just like it would sound on the beach. “Please hold on, I’m here now,” she reaches behind him and suddenly his arms are free, she must of slashed them with her claws. She grabs one of his hands and shoots upward swimming as fast as she can. The water sloshing around them makes it harder for Gally to see and without air he’s already fighting not to pass out anyway. Gally has enough sense to remember the crew awaiting to trap his friend and he uses his last little bit of energy to thrash around and tug on her hold on him until they stop. When Y/N stops swimming and comes face-to-face with him again he notices the water is lighter again, like they are closer to the surface.

"I hope they don't see us." He could feel Y/N confusion but she doesn't try and pull him to the surface again.

He wishes he could tell her it’s okay, that he’s sorry, that he’ll miss her, but he can’t speak. He closes his eyes when she grabs his cheeks again and can feel himself falling into unconsciousness. Right before he slips completely under he feels a softness touch his lips

“I love you Y/N” he thinks before everything goes black.

His eyes open and he feels different… weightless. Gally is confused, “is this heaven?” he thinks, before a movement catches his eyes. Y/N is in front of him and touching his cheeks again.

“Gally,” her voice is soft. He knows now it is heaven. “This isn’t heaven…” she explains and he blinks, his eyes feel different. He looks around. He still looks like he’s in the water. That’s impossible, he’s dead, he has to be. Is heaven in the ocean? Or is his heaven with Y/N and because she’s a mermaid he’s in the ocean. “Gally!” He looks up at her.

“How are you speaking without opening your mouth?”

“I need to explain somethings. Gally you aren’t dead… I- do you remember the story of how I became a mermaid?” Gally thinks back to the conversation they had on the beach before and nods. “You’re a mermaid… I kissed you.” Her eyebrows furrow and her lips are downward. “I’m sorry…”

Before she could overthink too much he grabs her face and smashes his lips to hers. Their first kiss he didn’t get to enjoy it because he was on the cusp of death. Her body pulls closer and molds against his and she wraps her arms around his waist as she kisses back. It’s when her arms touch his hips he realizes a change. He pulls back and looks down. His tail is a yellow with a gold shimmer and the fins are black.

“I have a tail!” He hears a giggle as he swishes it through the water. “Wait how do we talk… can you read all my thoughts?” He looks back up at Y/N and she shakes her head fondly.

“Above the water we can talk like you did before. Down hear I can’t hear your thoughts… It’ll take you some time but you’ll learn the difference between communicating and thinking. Basically if you look at another mermaid and talk to them in your mind they’ll hear it. Don’t direct thoughts at another mermaid don’t look at them or picture yourself talking to them or they’ll hear it. For a while you should only look at me if you’re trying to talk to me until you get used to it.”

“I’ll probably offend other mermaids for a bit…”

“No, you won’t meet others for a while. I have to keep you from the others until you learn how to be a mermaid…”

“Are… are they upset about me?” Gally’s voice comes through worried.

“No… it’s just the rules whenever a human is changed. I’ll explain more later.”

"Wait, where are we? Are we still where you found me?" Gally becomes frantic and Y/N has to grab his cheeks to stop him from literally swimming in circles.

"Calm down, we are far away from the surface and away from the ship, what happened?"

"My crew turned on me, they found out about you somehow. I think one of them followed me to the beach one night. They wanted to trap you but I refused, that's why they threw me over. I think they were hoping you'd save me."

"I did save you," she corrects.

"I know but I think I sunk too deep if you broke the surface they would've caught you," Y/N gets this soft look on her face, almost fond.

"That's why you fought me when I tried pulling you to air," it wasn't a question but Gally nodded anyway.

"Gally you spent your last human moments protecting me?" She squeezes his cheeks which she was still cradling while he explained what happened and smashes her lips to his for a third time.

The merman melts into it and moves similar to how he would move his legs he manages to wrap his tail around hers and she giggles against his lips before pulling apart, Gally chases her lips and she allows a few a few more pecks before placing a clawed finger on them to stop him.

"I love you Sailor Gally," she smiles softly and if he still could he would be blushing.

"I wished for you, you know?" He says instead knowing she already heard his confession earlier.

"I know..."

[tsarisfanfiction]

Heyyy.... gonna ask for your favourite Millitary!Bros and “Ow...ow...ow... NO I’M NOT BEING A BABY. I’ve been impaled!” Pretty please!

Childish Mannerisms

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Scott, Gordon

My favourite indeed :D  Good old Military Bros, always cheer me up.  Who doesn’t love these two idiots together?  I admit it took a bit of thinking to try and figure out what situation one of them would actually say this in, but I think I’ve got it now.

Maybe.  We’ll see.  Not particularly long, and considering the prompt, rather fluffy, but hey ho.  Here we are.

Injury Dialogue Prompts

“Hey, Scott!” was the only warning he got before something collided heavily with his back.  He staggered a step forwards, and another, as something wrapped around his throat and held on tight.

“Gordon,” he wheezed, shrugging his shoulders and reaching behind him to stabilise the squid now clinging to his back.  “Air.”

It took another few moments before the limbs crushing his throat rearranged themselves into something a little more comfortable, instead looping over his shoulders and clasping together in the vicinity of his sternum, and Scott took several deep breaths.

“You okay?” Gordon asked, angular chin jabbing into the divot of his shoulder and salt-crusted hair irritating his cheek.  Scott glowered at him out the corner of his eye.

“Why are you on my back?” he demanded, well aware that his instincts had kicked in and he was now giving his little brother a piggy back despite intentions.

“Why not?” Gordon shrugged.  “Didn’t feel like walking back.”

They were the other side of the island, near a well-concealed boathouse.  Inside it lived most of their pleasure boats - well, mostly Gordon’s - including the speed boat Scott had found himself dragged out on earlier.  Not that Scott actually minded - he always loved spending time with his brothers, and while it wasn’t the same as flying, the sheer speed across the water was still exhilarating.

It was the sort of activity Scott wished he had time to do more often, even if Gordon now appeared to have regressed in age by a decade and was doing an excellent impression of a monkey.  There was a high chance he was just doing it to be annoying, but Scott had to check, just to be sure.

“Your back’s not bothering you?” he asked.  Gordon huffed in his ear.

“Smother hen.”  It wasn’t an explicit answer, but it was good enough.  Gordon could be as bad as the rest of them when it came to injuries, but he was always upfront about his back.

Scott didn’t dignify that with a verbal response, but he started walking down the track back towards the villa.  The island wasn’t big, but the terrain was rugged and most of the tracks didn’t go in a straight line.  With a brother on his back, Scott definitely couldn’t clamber over some of the rocks on the more direct paths, so he willingly took the longer, more convoluted routes.

Instead of the jagged rocks on the coastal routes, they ended up in the woodland area affectionately referred to as the Jungle.  It wasn’t particularly large, and while there were some dangers in there for the unwary, all the Tracys were well aware of the risks and were just as at home in there than out on the volcanic rocks.

On his back, he could feel Gordon looking around, no doubt trying to spot any of the local wildlife.  While marine creatures were his brother’s first animal kingdom love, he still kept a close eye on the ecosystem of the land and air creatures that called Tracy Island home.

He still wasn’t quite prepared for his brother to suddenly jump off of his back and scamper into the undergrowth.  He was even less prepared for the yelp, followed by language he knew the aquanaut had learnt during his time in WASP, and dashed after him.

“Gordon?”

“Ow,” his brother whimpered, which meant it was either really bad or he was just playing it up.  Scott knew which one he was hoping for.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, crouching down by where Gordon was squatting, glaring at something.  Scott followed his eyeline and relaxed.

There was a thorn sticking out of Gordon’s arm.  It was a familiar one - not dangerous, just painful - and Scott pulled his brother upright again.

“Ow,” Gordon pouted, as though he hadn’t, in the past, wandered back in from exploring resembling a porcupine and entirely unconcerned about it.  He was definitely playing up the little brother side of things today, just to be annoying, and Scott rolled his eyes fondly.  “Ow, ow, ow...” he whimpered, scowling at Scott.  “No, I’m not being a baby, Scott,” he added, although the put-upon pout contradicted the statement.  “I’ve been impaled!”

“It’s a thorn,” Scott said bluntly.  “Come on, let’s get back and we can take it out and put a nice, squiddy band aid on your battle wound.”  If Gordon wanted to pretend to be a young child, Scott could humour that just fine.

Gordon’s pout grew deeper, but Scott just raised an eyebrow at him.  After a moment, his brother caved and moved - gripping onto Scott once again and demanding another piggy back.

“How old are you?” Scott asked, resignedly, but let Gordon cling on as he made his way back to his feet and continued the journey home.

“I’ve been impaled, Scotty!” his brother insisted, apparently not interested in breaking character, and Scott sighed again.

“I’ll be sure to tell Grandma and Virgil,” he promised.  The gulp was loud in his ear, as was the whine of his name.

Scott just rolled his eyes fondly and kept trudging down the track.  Despite the childishness, he secretly quite liked it when Gordon was comfortable enough to mess around.  His brother had been through too much in his short life.

He’d take innocent moments like this one any time.

[catboyklug]

The Fish and the Fisher

Summary: Estri Fisher goes fishing at midnight and finds someone odd.

Characters: Estri Fisher [OC], Nebulous [friend's OC]

Warnings: None

No fish were biting.

---------

It was late at night, the lake was still and the moon was high. Estri, the only sailor who dared fish so late at night, was half-asleep on their boat as it drifted through the lake.

Now, this might have been normal anywhere else, as there are very few nocturnal fish - and, from what they've heard, comparatively very few fish - outside of the village that Estri lived, but to them this was incredibly odd.

The village was known for being rich when it came to fish, or really any marine creature. There was no real reason for it; many people reasoned that their respective Deity blessed the place, but Estri didn't really believe that.

Regardless, the lack of fish biting must have meant something was wrong. Estri was too sleepy to be really worried about it, but nonetheless they were fairly concerned.

After some more time of simply letting their boat take them around the lake, they sighed. They'd try to catch fish tomorrow, they decided, and hopefully then the fish would have returned.

...Wait.

At the far end of the lake was a soft glowing light.

They had heard of that light before. According to many anxious and afraid fishermen, that light came from a huge sea monster that ate fish and fishermen alike.

Estri thought it was a myth, something to keep people from fishing too late. They had never once believed it, of course, continuing to fish sometimes until the very early hours of the morning.

But it was real. It was standing - sitting? swimming? - just a few hundred meters away from them now. Although it didn't appear to be moving, it probably could do so at any point.

They took a deep breath to calm themself. If it really were a giant sea monster, the light would probably be a lot bigger.

Wondering if this really was the right thing to do, they gently rowed their boat closer to the light source.

---

Soon enough, they reached the far end of the lake, where the small light was softly floating but otherwise not moving at all.

Risking even more than they had earlier, Estri allowed their eyes to adjust...

And so the light revealed itself to be not the evil sea monster the village feared but a small, slightly shivering child.

Upon that reveal, Estri tilted their head slightly; they were not expecting a child, especially not such a small one.

"Huh," They whispered, amazed at how such a small thing could glow so brightly in the dark, much less exist at all.

Upon saying that, however, the child immediately stopped shivering, quickly turning towards Estri.

"W-wait, don't lea-" They begged, extending an arm toward Estri.

"I'm not leaving, I want to talk," Estri interrupted, keeping their voice calm and light.

"You-" The child stuttered in disbelief, "You're not.. not leaving?"

"Nope." Estri responded.

"Oh... Th-thank you!" "Uhm- my name's Nebulous,"

"Estri," They said with a slight smile, "Now... Nebulous, can you tell me what you're doing here?"

"Oh, well, uhm," Nebulous stuttered, "I was going to make more fish come here, but then I kinda realized... it was sorta late, and nobody would be coming here anyway... so I decided to just try resting here."

"Resting." Estri said, almost asking.

"Resting," He nodded.

"But you were shivering?" They asked.

"Uhm, no, I wasn't!" He said quickly. "I was just..."

"Snoring, maybe?" Estri offered, amused.

"Oh, yes, that! That's definitely it," Nebulous said with false confidence, "I was just snoring."

"If you're sure."

---

After a few seconds of awkward silence, caused by both not being sure on what to say, Nebulous looked up at Estri curiously.

"So, uhm, Estri," He began, "What are you doing out here?"

"Well, I came out here to fish," They said, considering, "Although before spotting you, I was just about to head home. Nothing was biting."

"Uh.. that's it?" He asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah." They nodded. "That's it."

"Nothing else?"

"...Well, there's one thing,"

"Oh?" He said, tilting his head the other direction.

"I've heard rumors of a giant sea monster," Estri said carefully, "For some reason, apparently, they visit this lake sometimes, so I wanted to check it out."

"A sea monster? I haven't seen anything like that at all," Nebulous said, "Just me and all the fish!"

"Well, I guess that'd make sense." Estri shrugged.

"What'd make sense?" Nebulous asked, confused.

Estri looked at the floor of their boat, thinking hard on how to word this. Eventually they realized being blunt was all they could do, and decided to go with that.

"Nebulous," They sighed, "You're the monster."

At that, Nebulous simply looked shocked for a few moments. Once he got over the shock, he

"Oh." He whispered, "I guess that makes sense."

Although Estri figured he couldn't cry like humans, it was still clear that Nebulous was incredibly saddened by this. Taking great care not to touch anything that looked sensitive, they gently pat his arm.

"Hey, kid, it's alright," They said reassuringly, "We both know what they think isn't true"

Nebulous sniffled a bit, comforted but not fully okay yet.

After some thinking, Estri speaks up again.

"Why don't we go to the village tomorrow, together?" They offered, "I'll help you prove them wrong."

Nebulous is understandably hesitant, sniffling again and looking away when Estri smiles reassuringly.

"Nebulous, trust me," Estri said, interrupting his hesitation, "If anyone tries to hurt you, or anything at all goes wrong, I'll bite their head off if I have to. They'll see you're not the real monster,"

Despite himself, Nebulous giggled a bit at that.

"You promise?" He asked, a small smile gracing his face.

"I promise," Estri said, smiling back.

[furblrwurblr]

I had to adress the trauma before they kissed

Part three to Patience, Love!

Douxie x Reader Soulmate AU, fluff, angst. crack if you squint.

《One》 《Two》 | Masterlist

You'd had a few days of unfamiliar band after unfamiliar band and were glad for a taste of home when Papa Skull was up on the itinerary. You two slept in as you had for the past week and had an instant noodle breakfast (the good kind, none of that Maruchan crap Douxie's addicted to) before hitting the town. Dancing, walking, and browsing the streets with their little shops was a fun way to spend the afternoon before you made your way to the venue. You noticed Douxie was being… a little bit more. A little closer, a little softer, a little jittery. You'd had a mind to ask him but he interrupted you every time he saw your curiosity scratching itself on his forearms, running off looking over his shoulder for you to follow. At some point, he'd asked to split up, absolutely not because he wanted to find something for you, or so he said. You spent the whole time he was gone absently searching for something in return, preoccupied with the thoughts on your arms and legs that were just so very Douxie.

"Oh! That's nice! No, no no no, this is your soulmate! Nice isn't great, it's between good and okay. Or would it be between good and alright? Which trumps the other? Blast it all, this store isn't helping," or "This store isn't at ALL what I thought it was... No! Don't think about that, if they see that on their arm I'll be the impatient one!"

You told him where you were after he seemed somewhat satisfied. He walked towards you, the grin on his face falling into a betrayed look of feigned shock as he watched you taking pictures of all the thoughts he'd forgotten you could see. He groaned as he sat beside you on a park bench, seeing just how much you'd read.

"Did I give it away already?"

"All I know is it's somewhere between great and good, or is alright the better word?" you teased.

He bumped your shoulder with his. "Cheeky," he smiled. "Let's head back to the campsite, eat a quick meal, and grab a good spot!"

After a light dinner, you'd managed to squeeze your way fairly close to the front, far enough from the stage to risk being squished. You'd been there a few hours when Papa Skull finally made their appearance, you and Douxie amongst the loudest welcoming them onstage. Not long into their hit song, "Mean", Douxie was nervous.

"I’m gonna do it. I don’t want them to spook..."

You glimpsed his concern on your forearm, unable to make much out in your excitement for the live music, but you knew he was working up to something. You let it be, curious to see what he'd do.

Douxie slowed his breathing. He really liked you so far, and although your mind was quick to dive into the gutter, he didn't want to scare you off. Your own mishap ended in him seeing you once before ghosting for nearly a month. Not to mention, he could tell how embarrassed his little experiments on the boat had made you, what with the whispering and all. It may have been a different kind of embarrassed, more flustered than mortified, but you'd never spoken out against anything. He didn't have a clear grasp of your boundaries. While he'd been searching for a gift for you, he'd wondered how he was going to give it to you. He settled for another first- nothing big, it was pretty cliché, but he enjoyed doing it and hoped you would too.

Douxie placed a hand on your upper arm to make sure you wouldn't startle, it was a bit difficult to get your attention. He slid his arm behind your back, looking to you for confirmation. Your nod made him sigh in relief as he planted his hand on the outside of your shoulder. He felt you laugh and nearly withdrew before you grabbed his hand and pulled so his arm draped over your shoulders, placing your other hand across his back and gently curling your fingers into his waist. You two shared a tender moment of silence before half-turning your attention back to the concert, both too caught up in each other to be in the moment.

He fingered the large box in his sweater pocket, withdrawing his hand. It could wait, he didn't want to risk you moving to look at it, and Mordrax forbid you take your warm hand from his side before he was ready.

Later, you both fell into your sleeping bags with a mighty puff of the air rushing out under the sudden weights, both heaving great sighs of relief. You looked over to him in silence, waiting for his gaze to meet yours. His head turned quickly, smiling wide. Laughter built between you until the pair of you were wiping tears from your eyes, still feeling the euphoria from the concert and one another. Once you relaxed again, Douxie got up and beckoned for you to do the same. You looked at him quizzically.

"If I know I'm hungry then you must be too, I eat less often than you," he reasoned.

Reluctantly, you got up, sad to leave your plush dollar-store sleeping bag. Douxie started the fire while you zipped the tent to swap your themed tour outfit for something more comfortable.

Douxie rustled through the bags back on the ship, pulling out leftovers from the diner in town. He made his way back to the now-blazing fire, sitting on a log to prepare the meal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glow of the lantern in the tent--

blimey, was the tent always that sheer? It was night and the lantern made it far too easy to see your silhouette. "Woah, looking away now!" Ah, he saw how appropriate the word "blimey" was in this case. While he did enjoy what he saw, part of him did want God to blind himself because he was 90% sure he'd just watched you remove your top without your knowledge. "God, I tease them constantly, but I'm just as bad, aren't I?" he realized. He quickly went back to warming the food, hands rushed and face pink.

You watched his fault write itself on your torso, cheeks just as flushed, although with a bit more amusement than he was feeling at the moment. You finished and stepped out, a smug look on your face. Wordlessly, you sat next to him, studying his reaction. He avoided your eyes, recognizing the glint they had when his thoughts betrayed him. You slid off the log, reclining against it and making a show of placing your arms behind your head.

"I guess I can't really complain, you are making me dinner first, as per your own terms," you said, nonchalant.

Douxie cursed himself. "How could I have been so bold?" he lamented with a sheepish smile. Time to change the subject. He looked around, searching for anything to talk about, settling on the flames that reminded him of the familiar he missed oh so much. He broke the comfortable silence and turned to you. "Would you like me to show you something?" The nondescript watch on his wrist extended, magical glamour falling to reveal his brace, now glowing with energy.

You nodded eagerly. His magic was comforting and beautiful, just like he was… wait. Why not mess with him a bit?

"One condition."

He withdrew his hands from their position in front of him, face earnest.

"Take off your sweater. I've seen your tattoos under your short sleeves, and I know they glow, wonderboy," you half-demanded. Payback and your own reward in one? You deserved to be a little stern.

He laughed, shrugging off his sweater before putting his hands at the ready once more. With a smile, he pushed and pulled the bonfire from where he sat beside you, flames turning his signature blue the more he manipulated them. It was beautiful, drowning the verdant green of the forest in a blue that belonged only to your soulmate. Douxie reveled in your amazement, fire magic a new experience for a novice such as yourself.

You turned your attention to his tattoos and your lips parted in wonder. You'd never seen them in full, runes you couldn't recognize glowing a vibrant blue. The swooping lines didn't move, but it seemed the light shining through them did, glow rippling below his skin. You slid back onto the log again, closer this time, and brushed your fingers over them. Douxie let the fire swirl to its original shape, goosebumps raising at your feather-light touch. They dimmed, once again their original grey, but you persisted, enthralled by the runes.

Douxie had never loved someone so much. Sure, you'd only known each other a few months, but he felt justified since you were his soulmate. As much as he still couldn't believe he'd met you after all that time, he was more amazed at how often it proved true that you were made to fit one another. Your humor, your joys, your sadness. It made itself apparent in how you walked towards him, the way you smiled when he called you. The comfort in your voice that he could feel through the phone. Your eyes. Oh, your eyes, how they did things to his heart.

He pulled himself from his thoughts, eyes roving over your body intently, latching onto any exposed skin. He was looking in pride at his thoughts of admiration, feeling almost as if they marked you as his. "A reminder," he thought, that right now, you belonged to one another. He brought his gaze back to those eyes of yours, now studying his face. The two of you looked at one another in silence, watching one another's eyes flick down and back again, faces drawing closer. His tongue darted out to moisten his slightly chapped lip, causing your breath to hitch. His heart jumped at the sound, snapping him from his daze. He gently lifted your hand from his bicep, shakily breathing the same air as you. He folded your fingers into his chill grasp, bringing them to his lips and pressing a long kiss to your knuckles before bowing his head to press your hand to his brow. You smiled, heart beating from your chest, then grabbed his sweater from between you two with your free hand and sliding it up to his back and over a shoulder. He slowly released your hand with a small chuckle, twirling the garment from his shoulders and placing it on your own. His hands dragged down to the beginning of the zipper and tugged it forward to secure it on your body, pulling you just that much closer. He lingered, smiling gently at you. This. This was a moment he hoped would never end.

His long fingers withdrew to finally warm the food, the 'almost' of what had just happened filling the comfortable silence of the forest clearing.

It'd been a few days since the Almost (your affectionate lament for the kiss that nearly was), and the tour was nearly over. Only a few days were left and you weren't ready for it to end. Maybe after this you and Douxie could spend more time at one another's flats, just to have each other around. Your home was your sanctuary, and you were already fully prepared to open it to him. You trusted him and were happy you'd ironed out your initial issues. For the most part, that is.

"What's this, Y/N?" Douxie asked. You were taken from your thoughts by his sudden question and gave him a puzzled look. He gestured to the 'trust issue' statement written boldly across his bare shoulder before going to sit next to you, the distance between you feeling like an emotional chasm. He used to sit closer before the Almost. "Is something the matter? Did I do something to make you cross?" His face was less puzzled now and more anxious.

"Well," you began, "It's nothing recent. Maybe it is? I keep dwelling on the past, and I feel I need to bring it up."

"Go for it, darling, anything you need," he rushed, turning his entire body to face you.

"I've been running most of my life, as is the curse of an immortal, but I’ve spent the last sixteen years of it searching for you. I kept asking you questions, trying to find you. As amusing as it was to play cat and mouse, I felt displaced and restless. Friends came and went, I scoured America in its entirety. A hint, a clue, something!" You rushed, breathing ragged. "Arcadia was my resignation, you know," you continued, quieter now. "I've stayed as long as I have because I gave up, too tired to keep running towards something, no matter how much I wanted it. No matter how much I wanted you, I--" your eyes filled with tears and you paused, choking on a sob. You sucked in a breath. He needed to hear this. *You* needed him to hear this. "It hurt when I realized you didn't remember our fleeting moments together in combat. I enjoyed sharing that moment of revealing ourselves to one another, but it hurts that I've chased that beautiful blue for the past eight centuries and you don't remember those two years of patrolling the canals.”

Douxie placed a hesitant hand on the small of your back and his eyes dropped from your face to the forest floor, remembering why he'd been so excited to meet you. He'd seen your reactions to his thoughts back in Italy but quickly had to move on. He and Archie had decided long ago that no matter what, they'd put Merlin's tasks above anything else. Even his soulmate. When he realized how close you were he got excited. He couldn't search for you, but he didn't see anything wrong if you found him first. Even then, he kept you at arm's length, scared of the consequences. Merlin's tower, how could he have been so thoughtless? Douxie had never stopped to consider how his constant moving around would affect you. He never took the concepts of soulmates all that seriously. Sure, he could daydream about being with someone made for him and refuse to date anyone until he met you, but it became real the night he found you. Too real. So he ran. Dancing around you, pretending he was doing you a favor with his vague answers and puzzling riddles. Then, he met you again. You were real once more. After his comical encounter with you, he was too preoccupied to sleep, absorbing the finality of having a soulmate. You had come into his life with a bang, a reminder that Merlin and his tasks didn't define who he was. What had shaped him were small influences of the people he'd met throughout the last millennium, including you.

You were worried. Douxie's brow was more creased than you'd ever seen it. His hand on your back grew clammy, the cold night air quickly cooling the fresh damp patch of your shirt.

"...Douxie?" you whispered, afraid your rant had gone too far. His head turned just a little too quickly and you gasped at the tears glistening in the moonlight. He choked on a few unsteady breaths, mouth half-forming words. You reached your hand for the bicep of the arm loosely wrapped around your waist, but before you could touch it, he spoke.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, drawing his hand away from your torso. The first of many large tears burst upon the wood of the log you sat upon. Whose tears they were no longer mattered when both of you began crying anew. You wrapped your fingers around the arm he removed from your side and placed it there once more, throwing your arms around his middle. He sobbed at this, heart happy that you still accepted him, and brought his other hand to clutch your head to his collarbone. He wasn't running anymore, he'd done what was asked of him and was finally able to let you catch up to him.

The two of you were too caught up in one another to notice but had either of you been paying attention, you would have seen each other's skin being adorned with countless words of adoration, regret, and joy.

[bonktime]

Weather the Storm

Chapter One - Taken Aback

Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader (no y/n) 1861 Lighthouse au 

Written in the third person, so I guess you could say Ezra x OC? but she isn’t physically described or named at any point

Rated: E (just the whole story)

Prologue - Lay of the Land // Masterlist // Chapter Two: Hand Over Fist

Ezra travelled with the tides, let the sea carry him where it willed and never stayed long. The lighthouse keeper was the opposite. Where he moved she stood firm, defying the waves and the tide as if carved from the cliff herself. They’re drawn together, but opposing forces so strong are always destined to cause a storm.

Summary: In search of a place to stay Ezra meets the Lighthouse Keeper. Stuck together for the night by the tide she must quickly work out whether she can trust him enough to let him stay.

Warnings: Language, a lil violence, an even liler bit of sexual tension, some victorian sexism (smut will come)

Wordcount: 3700

Note: Thanks to @danniburgh​ who I throw ideas at left right and centre to figure stuff out! Turns out I can’t write short things? Either way I’m glad I decided to chapter this so I didn’t go totally bananas. Next one should be up in a week! Prepare for yearning. 

~~~~~~~~~

Spring was doing what spring always did by the sea. Vehemently refusing to start. Sometimes a crack in the clouds let a beat of sun through warming the lighthouse keeper's skin and for just a second teased what could be. But as ever, it shyly retreated back behind the grey.

Unable to rest until dawn broke and tinted the sky pink, she had slept through most of the day. When she finally shook off the exhaustion from work the night before, there had been just enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers, enough to entice her into moving. So, she had thrown on her chemise for some illusion of modesty, not that anyone could see her, and gone for a swim. 

Bracing was one word for it, fucking baltic was more appropriate. There was nothing quite like it. The way it made her heart pound, made her gasp as she swam, circling the small island, it made her feel alive. There was always a risk of a current pulling her out, a risk she knew all too well. But she knew the water, knew every dip and whirlpool well enough to recognise when they should be avoided. Keeping an eye on the sun she let the incoming tide tug her gently back to the shoreline. In only a few hours she'd have to ascend the steps and light the light.

From her position in the water, she spotted a figure, wading across the causeway, getting pulled to and fro by the tug of the tides, but determinedly heading for the island. She'd let the captain of The Mistress know her room was available a couple days ago and he hadn't sent trouble her way so far. Even so a jolt of unease struck at the thought of being trapped with the stranger until the sea went out. The little rowing boat wouldn't be much good with the storm that was now threatening to roll in. Cursing quietly to herself and suddenly very grateful she’d thrown on even a thin layer, she struck out towards him.

Clambering inelegantly back into the rocks she stood to watch him. He hadn't seen her yet, too focused on keeping his possessions dry, giving her the opportunity to take him in. From this distance she couldn't see his features but his broad shoulders and lean body were a good sign he had experience with trying work, and she could make out a bright shock of white in the crown of his hair. That was more curious, she wondered if he'd been born with it or if he'd suffered such a fright, it'd left a mark. That seemed like a rude thing to ask on a first meeting so she brushed the question aside and headed towards him, carefully stepping over the rock pools and avoiding slipping on the seaweed.

⧫⧫⧫

The first thing Ezra noticed about the woman heading towards him was the fact she appeared to only be wearing her undergarments. The next was that she was soaking wet from stem to stern. Had he been a better man, he might have looked away. Instead, he blatantly stared, the liquid made the cloth cling to her body, damn near rendering it transparent. As she got close, he watched a droplet make its way down her throat, following it with his eyes, he swallowed thickly.

Up close she could see his coat was clearly well made and had probably been expensive but it was old and in desperate need of being rewaxed. Perhaps it had been a gift? Hopefully it had not been stolen. The thin scar curving across his cheek would probably give fair warning to most, but his eyes were soft and wide. He just spelt trouble for her.

"Shut your gob, the wind'll change and you'll get stuck like that."

At that Ezra closed his mouth quickly and pulled himself together, finally focusing on her face. She was waiting for him to speak, clearly sizing him up "Could you possibly direct me towards the lighthouse keeper?"

She noted his strange accent but couldn't stop rolling her eyes, no one ever expected her. "That depends on who's asking"

"Captain Williams suggested I could find respite here whilst I work his ship."

She frowned at him, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Ezra, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I humbly apologise if I interrupted your swim.” again Ezra felt himself be judged, but apparently, she deemed him enough for now and nodded. 

"Come on then or we'll both catch cold" she turned to climb the steps to the cottages with him following behind.

The small kitchen was warm, heated by a small arger, she moved a kettle onto its plate and tossed in a log. With a deep sigh she turned to him, biting the inside of her cheek to stop grinning at his bemused expression. "I'm going to dress; you should get out of your wet clothes too. Don't let the kettle boil dry, I'll make a cuppa, then we can talk." With that she left him dripping in the rough wooden floor.

Ezra decided then that whatever she was, she certainly wasn't grey. But she wasn't colour either, she was something else entirely. Something he couldn't recognise. It stirred something in him, an urge to uncover what lay beneath, like cracking a rock and discovering a beautiful gem. Naturally, it stirred something in his trousers too, but, he reckoned, seeing any woman wet and nearly naked would do that. Ignoring it, he tugged off his boots and trews and pulled on his spares before going to lean on the oven to warm up, feet still bare.

Just as the kettle boiled and he was closing the hot plate she reappeared, rolling her sleeves of her dark blue woolen dress up to the elbow and hanging her soaked chemise over the arger before stretching up to pull a teapot and cups out of a cupboard next to a little window. 

"This is quite a place you have here, and what a view.” He looked out the window, reaching up to the wind chime made from sea glass, worn matte from the sand that hung there. He touched the smoothed edges of the glass, it felt rough on his fingers. “I'll wager it’s quite something to awaken and be able to see water on all sides without feeling the rocking of a ship beneath you." As far as Ezra could tell, it was as if he wasn't there. The woman moved around him locating loose tea and milk as if completing a ritual, never one to be discouraged from talking he continued, "Course once you get used to it, I imagine you barely notice it. But for me, having been on the waves themselves for the past weeks, it will be quite an adjustment." He looked at the two cups. "Is your husband not joining us?"

She didn't turn around, "He will not."

"Your father then? Although I am surprised a lovely thing like yourself is not betrothed. Promised perhaps?"

"No." He wasn't sure which question she had answered at first, it dawned slowly that it had in fact been both. He nearly smacked himself in the forehead.

"You wouldn't happen to be the keeper, would you?"

She turned to him then, eyebrows raised "I think perhaps you worked it out the fastest, I once strung a poor young man along for a week before he realised, I lit the light."

Ezra wasn't really one to be shocked by much, and after her appearance on the rocks this wasn't too much of a revelation, so now with her full attention he continued to talk.

"I'd wonder it doesn't get lonely though, on this rock all by oneself would be mighty isolating. Almost no one around for company except the sea and the rocks. Perhaps that's why you rent the room? That or your expenses are far higher than I'd expect" he forced himself to stop as she placed the tea and a biscuit tin on the little table and turned back to glare at him 

"Why are you here?" That made him blink, halting his thread of thoughts

"I'm here to rent a room. Did I not make that explicit? I do apologise"

She waved him off "No. I know why you're here. Why are you in this place? Work sure, but work can be found anywhere, especially on the water. Work less dangerous, with better weather. Were you bored and thought it romantic?" She was stepping towards him "Are you desperate?” A step. “Do you like taking risks?" Another step "Are you running from something?" She was right in front of him then, looking up at his face "So, I'll ask again. Why are you here?" For a split-second Ezra felt frozen in her gaze but then she reached around him as grabbed his soggy trousers, turning away to hang them alongside her chemise on the airer.

He blinked and shook himself. "I wanted to see it, to work it. The dead sea. Conquer it in my own way.To continue my own adventure somewhere new." She hummed in response picking up her cup and watching him. "And what of you? All alone on this rock. Seems you're a risk taker yourself. Most people would frown upon a woman welcoming a single man into her home, it implies things. Not to mention anything could happen to you,” He couldn't help himself, his voice lowered, unable to back down from the challenge she'd given him. The implication of his crimes. “Anything at all and no one around to save you."

In a split second she'd moved, pulling a blade, he hadn't even thought to look for, out from a sheath under her apron and had it pressed against his jugular.

"A bit of risk? You needn't worry for me." her steady hand pressed firmly enough the knife nicked into his flesh "But you? You know no one here. If you die no one will notice, no one will care. No one will even think to look for your body, let alone find it." He couldn’t hold back the grin as she stepped back, inspecting the drop of blood on the blade, cup of tea still in hand. "5 shillings a week for the room and food, first payment up front, the rest when you're paid." 

Well, this was surprising. Such a spark, truly tough enough to stand against an ocean. "Sounds perfect."

Finally, she cracked the smallest smile and Ezra felt as if the sun had found a fissure in the clouds. "I'll make food, I'm working tonight so it'll be breakfast for me and dinner for you, then you can settle in. When do you start on The Mistress?"

"Two days' time, should be quite an experience." He thought of the heavy clouds.

"Well make sure you don't wake me in the morning tomorrow or your stay will be very short." She wiped the drop of blood off the knife and stowed it away again. Ezra wondered what else was hidden under that apron and why he hadn’t even thought she might have the sense to be armed. He chastised himself.

"Do you man the light alone? It seems prudent you don’t have to remain awake every night."

"5 days to three, I take an extra shift, the other keeper has a house in the mainland so he spends all the time he can there. I expect it won't be long until you're sick of the sight of me."

"Oh, I doubt that, not when you're so full of surprises. Why do you rent the room, with an extra shift surely you don't need the money?”

"I don't get paid that shift," Ezra waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t. "I" she let out a laugh "Mostly I rent the room so I can buy books, something to do whilst I work. Plus, I like the company. Get to meet new people from all over for a few months and I still get to have the whole winter to myself. It's lonely as you said, sure, but I like being alone. I'm good at it."

There was a wildness in Ezra that she couldn't seem to pinpoint. Something about the reckless grin when she's threatened him, the fearlessness. It was what compelled her to let him stay. It drew her in like the pull of the moon. To welcome in such a force of nature, made her doubt her own judgment.

"I'll expect you to help plant and harvest the vegetables when the time comes." As she spoke, she moved around the kitchen throwing together the meal as quickly as she could before the sun began to dip.

Supper was simple, just a stottie with a couple eggs and vegetables. She'll have to go into town soon and see if she could get some meat cuts. But he didn't complain. Just talked continuously, complimented her cooking whilst watching her every move not unlike one might watch an animal in a zoo. It was a little unsettling and it made her feel very glad she was going to be awake all night, not letting herself be vulnerable to him at least for a few more hours.

"Will I need to be expecting guests? Women? Men? Either way I'd rather be warned beforehand." Her upfront way of talking made Ezra chuckle.

"I cannot be sure yet but I'll endeavour to let you know should I be taken by someone. And what of you? Must I prepare for being kept awake in the night by men, women or otherwise?"

She just shrugged, "I doubt it, I'm not the most popular around here at the best of times"

"That wouldn't have anything to do with your working and welcoming in strangers, would it? Are the people here so closed minded?" He smirked at the notion of the scandal that probably followed her.

"Not all of them, just those with power. I am at odds with the vicar because I sleep most Sundays and keep defying the lord's will for me"

"How cruel of you." His tone was laced in so much sarcasm it made her relax a little. At least she wouldn't have to face his judgement and sly glares for a summer.

Still, it was very strange for a woman to hold this job. “I am compelled to ask if you have ever been married?”

A look crossed her face, of pain, and of something else he didn't know. Just there for a flash and then swept away, like writing in the sand. She ignored the question. “Pay up and I'll show you your room, you can get settled and sleep off your journey. I'll imagine you're tired.”

He handed her the coins and followed her through the door and up the rickety staircase. There were two doors, one slightly ajar. The glimpse inside revealed just the end of a bed and a bookshelf but all too quickly, she opened the other door and ushered him in. Inside was cosy, or possibly just small. The bed was heavily laden with blankets which appeared to be handmade, it sat opposite a chest of drawers and a chair. 

She crouched to light the fire, “Hopefully you won't need it all season but you definitely will tonight. I don't know how hardy you are against the cold.”

“Not as hardy as you I'd expect. I had the blessing of spending most of the winter months far south, so far south ice couldn't possibly be conceived”

The flame sparked in front of her, flickering around the room. "The sun is setting; I'll leave you to it. If there's an emergency I'll be in the tower. Try to stay quiet tomorrow. I'd like to actually get some sleep."

He opened his mouth to respond but she was already out the door, with a huff he sat down on the bed and opened his satchel to begin unpacking. When he was done, he stripped down, folded his clothes and placed them on the chair and curled underneath the blankets. The orange glow of the fire lit the room as the crash of the waves lulled him to sleep far quicker than usual.

⧫⧫⧫

It turned out the storm's threats had been for naught. The sky didn't break and the rain didn't come. Instead, after winding up the rotation system she enjoyed the peace and quiet, sitting back with a book only needing to move every hour to fill the sock over the paraffin with air. She was reading an old favourite, ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Mr Bennett reminded her of her father, all quick wit and dry humour. It made her laugh even as her heart ached for the loss. He used to say she was too much like Elizabeth for her own good. Hot headed and stubborn and determined, perhaps if he saw her now, he'd disagree. Be made sad by how the world had wearied her, wonder when her ability to find easy joy had gotten misplaced. But it had been dragged out to sea along with him, never to be found.

The night passed quietly and slowly. But every quiet night was a relief, to be bored, by this sea, was a blessing.

⧫⧫⧫

He awoke early, before the sun had even considered peeking over the horizon and stretched. Looking out of the window he saw the ocean was black, just the flash of the lighthouse illuminating it every few seconds. Tugging on his shirt he placed another log on the fire and picked up his leather-bound journal, an intimate document of his travels, reading the last page. Written on the boat in the cold it didn't give the most flattering depiction of the view of the village from the water. He chuckled to himself, light beginning to peek through the thin curtain as he continued to write his tale, it had its highlights. The appearance of the lighthouse keeper was one, approaching nearly naked and wet from the waves made quite the first impression. He wondered vaguely if even his ridiculous vocabulary could do it justice. The spark, the last stand against the sea, that damn near see-through chemise- he sighed to himself, that was going to haunt him.

The front door slammed shut and he heard a short curse, cut off by the sound of the keeper running up the stairs. Incurably curious, he put the journal aside and headed onto the small landing, dressed only in his long cream shirt. She had already disappeared into her room but as he stepped out, he stood directly onto a wet patch on the floor. Looking down he spotted the wet footprints. Clearly, she had striven to swim before he awoke for some discretion.

Unfortunately for her, Ezra's self-control had always run a little thin and there was no stopping him knocking on her door. It cracked open a little, her head poking out, body held to the side hidden behind the door. He grinned as her eyes widened for a second at his state of undress.

"What do you want? I'll make food in a minute"

Her statement was so concise he almost laughed. As if he had any real excuse to bother her. "It appears I have the day to myself, and with your need to rest I find myself in dire need of stimulation," an eyebrow rose at that, "Perchance could I borrow a novel? You implied ownership of quite the collection."

She pursed her lips at him and shut the door. He blinked, not expecting her just to brush him off and stood dumbstruck for a second. It was not often he was so rudely ignored. And then, even more to his surprise the door cracked open and a hand appeared. A hand clasping a book. He continued to blink at it.

"Do you want it or not? You're letting in a terrible draft." So, he took it and the door shut again. Totally baffled, he returned to his room looking at the cover. ‘Pride and Prejudice���, an old favourite.

A short while later a shout alerted Ezra to food and he chatted happily to the keeper who again appeared to be ignoring him as she hunted for bowels and pulled a dish out from the arger where it had been heating.

"I haven't had the pleasure of Jane Austen's writing for quite some time. Not since my book was cruelly stolen from me, along with several other possessions and my bag, just as I arrived in the beautiful port of Genova in northern Italy. Quite a place." He let himself trail off, expecting her to shut down his monologue or continue to ignore him.

Instead, she handed him his food, some fish pie, and sat down. "What's Genova like? I haven't been."

His face cracked into an easy grin as she watched, clearly thrilled to have her participation in the conversation even a little and he continued to talk until she yawned heavily and sloped away to sleep.

⧫⧫⧫

His day was quiet. He read, walked round the island, was delighted to see seals flopping around on the rocks, and wrote. Despite his best efforts, the lighthouse keeper seemed insistent on making herself a central character, even if she'd only been around for a few pages. Something about the woman watching the sea had captured his imagination. He wondered how she came to man the light, why she was alone, why she took him in. She had seemed far too clever to let him stay. Of all people, she should have had the sense to turn him away. Naturally, he was glad she hadn't but even so it was strange. He thought on all the trouble he'd found himself in, often of his own creation. She could very possibly become the worst of it.

⧫⧫⧫

Upstairs she tossed and turned. No idea why she'd let him stay. Maybe the loneliness had finally taken her sense. That evening, they ate together again. He talked seemingly endlessly but smoothly evaded her pointed questions about where he got his accent and why he really wanted to work the North Sea. It was amicable, but also impersonal, both still trying to gage the other well, before they could become totally comfortable. As she left to work, she told him to stay safe on the sea.

When day broke and she descended the stairs, he was gone. She hoped he'd survive.

~~~~~~

Glossary

Taken Aback: A boat facing the wind directly so no sails can catch the wind, basically just a bad pun

Enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers: A teeny tiny amount of blue

Baltic: Geordie phrase meaning freezing cold, I dunno where it comes from, baltic sea maybe?

From stem to stern: from top to bottom of a ship

Arger: Cast iron oven, in this age it would have had a fire in the bottom with two ovens, a hot one above and a cooler to the side along with a stove/hot plate on top. 

Stottie: Geordie bread bun

~~~~~

Ezra Taglist

@fandom-blackhole​

[callme--starchild]

I Could Ever Learn How to Love

The 23rd century was something else. With buildings that reached up to the sky, others that were literally in the sky, droids roaming the streets and living among the citizens, and even the flying cars that were expected by those science fiction movies plowed through the clouds.

But in Odin Eidolon's mansion, it seemed that time had stopped. With the man facing a window reaching the ceiling, his gaze was fixed on the Eidolon Garden. Several passers-by were walking, either alone, as a family or as a couple, or simply with a pet keeping them company while police watched the area.

And Odin couldn't help not frowning. So many people that he has seen born, grow and die, simply living their lives without knowing the eye in the sky that saw for the common welfare of the city. Contrary to popular belief, he did not mind that people were ignorant of his presence; he liked to be discreet — unless the situation required otherwise, he either had to deliver a droid or make a donation; he cared for everyone and had no preference for any. And since he was secretly an android with a literal artificial intelligence as conscience, no one had to worry that he was okay.

This is how things should be. He was the millionaire — millennial — businessduck of the XXIII century that saw for the common good even without expecting anything in return. Since the twentieth century, that's how things had been: his old friend ... and he against the world, facing Evronians and putting aside the tirades against the guardian of the city — and the galaxy, he would proudly acclaim — as if they were tiny particles of dust.

But everything had changed since 2188, and now he had an image to maintain: no one could get too close to Odin because it was knowing that he was not what he appeared to be, no one could get close because it was knowing that the great and powerful Odin Eidolon had a gentle side. Nobody could get close because it was to become fond of someone, someone most likely very mortal, someone who would not last forever unlike him–

"Odin" no one, unless they shared the same vestiges of immortality as him, for exactly the same reasons even if that was his best-kept secret "you felt it too, right?"

And of course, as someone who has dealt with time-related issues in a very personal way, it wouldn't take long for Lyla to know what was different about the timeline. And as someone she knew long before Odin Eidolon, he knew that he could trust her. That is why he had specifically asked her to come to her mansion, even if it was with the vague excuse of needing her to deliver a message from him.

Still, he couldn't help but straighten up, rearranging his jacket and securing his expression in the reflection in the window. One of the downsides of being a droid is that, unlike the sphere in which he could modify his appearance, his features were more vivid, and now anyone could see how melancholy or frustrated it made him think of the past just by looking at his face.

"To tell the truth, I doubt that someone 'tinkering' with space-time did not go unnoticed by the best time officer," he commented with a sure smile taking place on his face, a great contrast to the Odin who a few moments ago was thinking about what was once. In his reflection, he saw Lyla's face over his shoulder and the way she smiled even if she did so with a raised eyebrow.

They had never discussed the hypothetical case of Lyla knowing the true identity of Odin, much less after PK's last visit to the XXIII century, and even if they did, something in which his words were kept honest was the esteem he held for the droid and her capabilities.

Not only because it was a creation of his industries, but because after years of adventures with a certain duck with or without the mask, he knew what she was capable of; like a father being proud of his child, strange as the comparison was when neither of them were exactly biological.

"They've already sent a squad to investigate, they'll send a report as soon as they get to the bottom of all this," she commented as she removed her jacket, revealing the dark pinkish suit of herfourth. Her hair was honestly a mess, indicating that she had come in a hurry as soon as she sensed the alteration in the story.

It was one of the few things that would never change no matter how many centuries passed, and while it was not something outlandish or very shocking, as someone who had seen so much since his inception, it would not be a surprise if Odin came to have a preference for simplicity. What would be normal or surprising for someone who has already seen it all, after all?

"Meeting the Time Police, it won't take long." But even if there was sincerity in the words, there was no room for doubt in the way his voice grew distant, finally turning to face the android, being his footsteps all that could be heard on the marble floor as he approached the couch closest to Lyla, whose expression had become more thoughtful, not to mention uncomfortable.

"This is not the first time the flow of time has been altered recently…" she commented, her voice softening as her fingers began to fiddle with one of her loose strands of hair, her free hand combing it as calmly as if it had never been rowdy in the first place "does the Timephoon sound familiar to you?"

It sounds familiar. Why does it ring a bell if he didn't remember being activated when that happened? The truth is that his memory did not recall any data of that event, or find a record that indicated that that event really happened, but he did not think he could say something to Lyla without giving any clue of who he really was.

Confusion must have been evident on his face because Lyla looked distant for a few seconds, her shoulders slumping with an emotion Odin could not describe.

"We are not supposed to disclose the details of our investigations, but there is something that worries me, and you are literally the only non-cop and person of this time that I can trust." Given the uncertainty in the words of the droid, Odin looked up again, arching an eyebrow. A part of him had been stirred when Lyla referred to him as a person, but at least he had the privilege of knowing that Lyla had the same trust in him as he had in her "but based on this, it appears that both incidents occurred in the XXI century."

Paperinik. Hero. Donald. Wow, he hadn't thought of the mere name in a long time, and just doing so awakened old previously buried feelings.

"Fortunately everything went well," Lyla added quickly, sensing Odin's concern; and though it ultimately calmed the businessduck's cravings a bit, he could not be reassured by the idea that he still lived risky alongside his uncle, no matter how capable he was of taking care of himself.

But it couldn't be like that, right? He was a young adult the last time they saw each other as Donald and Uno and he shared his dream of sailing the seas in his own boat or forming his own band, The Three Caballeros, and leaving behind that life of adventure to which he was typecasted to. Odin was aware that more than a century had passed since then, but he still had such information in his cloud; and it was Donald, the most stubborn duck he had ever met — technically the only duck he had ever met; it would make sense for him to be more independent now,

right?

But it was not like that. Even if Donald was technically more dependent on himself, he still stayed under Scrooge's roof, risking his life as if it were a piece of cake for him — which was true, considering what he lived through day to day as a superhero, but his nephews–

The nephews. What would become of them?

"Surely it must be strange to receive this news so suddenly, but you are one of the few who are still present after the departure of PK; I haven't heard from The Raider after his retirement, and I doubt I had the same confidence in him as he does in us" another good point.

"If it weren't for the fact that time travel is still unstable, I'd see a way to go there personally to make sure everything is fine. It is not the first time that such an abrupt change has occurred, much less on two almost consecutive occasions."

But it could not be. Because since the micro-contraption and the change of the Police's department, traveling through time had become a suicide mission. Even Donald Paperinik knew that stabilizing him again was a matter of time and patience.

Knowing which one leftover for one or both was the mystery.

"I bet they'll figure it out," Odin said with an expression so radiant that he left Lyla blinking multiple times, "if there's one thing that characterizes the Time Police, it's that they never give up."

And that was a fact for both of them, and she couldn't help but smile with a tiny bit of determination. Lyla could remember all the misadventures she'd had as a policewoman with Paperinik, usually affected by his clash of ideas with the officers'. But Odin cleared his throat before sitting down on the couch, disturbing the droid's thoughts.

"Maybe," she confirmed, taking a place next to the businessman, entwining her fingers in her lap with a thoughtful expression, humming as her gears worked, "…but I won't be able to do it alone."

As if on cue… which it was basically, Odin looked up, meeting Lyla's questioning eyes. It must have meant a lot to her, or she must be advanced enough that her gaze said what her voice box did not, so vivid that it reminded him of the times when Donald refuted about the humanity in them.

Quite ironic, considering they were anything but human.

"Are you sure? It could be risky" and although he knew it wasn't a possibility, Odin wouldn't know how to explain to PK why Lyla's move was made.

Especially because it meant that he would have to accept it himself, he would have to accept that he once again lost someone whom he held dear and esteem.

And though there was that same hesitation in the droid's eyes, Odin still sensed that determination that characterized her.

"I thought what you liked best is that we didn't give up," she scoffed, though it was clear that she wasn't doing it out of pettiness. Especially since Odin detected that bit of doubt that he rarely saw in the attractive robot. "Also, as much as it pains me to accept it, it's not exactly a fact. I like this time, and I appreciate your company, but I don't belong here..."

Oh yeah. The certainly selfish desire to go home. Donald had explained it to him once, and even now he couldn't quite understand it. And after all that she had been through in both eras — it's not like he knew, it was natural for Lyla to think of that time as her home.

Well, there were already two. Seeing Anxieties wasn't the same with no one complaining about his merely scientific interest in it.

Oh.

"Well, we won't achieve anything by standing idly," he concluded, delighting in Lyla's pleasantly surprised gaze, "we should check first that the micro-contraption..."

Sure, it wouldn't be easy. No one said it was, and the 23rd century did not have all the answers, no matter how surprising technological advances were compared to three centuries ago.

But after meeting PK and facing the way he had changed by being reactivated for the first time deactivated, he knew that he couldn't leave his friend behind when the mere possibility was present.

He could tell that a long time had passed since then. But unlike him, she could go home. with Donald. As much as he wanted someone who shared the same vestiges of immortality as him, it wasn't fair for her to keep her pigeonholed into the 23rd century when she had just expressed that she didn't belong there — otherwise, where would be the freedom of the droids that he had fought so hard for?

Who knows, surely the return of time travel would mean that she could visit him, and they could talk about… who knows, only time could tell.

Poor Odin, he didn't know how wrong he was.

"Family," Donald cleared his throat, his shoulders partially tense before extending both arms to Uno, showing off with years of restrained pride, "this is Uno. Uno, this is my family..."

Before repeating the same gesture, and no one missed the way Uno's expression had softened. How not do it when Donald gave him his million-dollar smile and stars literally shone in his eyes?

It was an expression that he dedicated only to him, when the adrenaline of heroism had already run out and it was only them in the Tower, talking about everything and nothing with Anxieties playing in the background. And he didn't know how much he had missed it. for all these years. Not to mention how clear it was that he was hiding his emotion from them.

Della literally kept her gaze scrutinizing him, analyzing his every move as he stood with some power, a mocking smile crystal clear on his face. If he didn't know better, surely his partner would compare him to that cousin Gladstone of whom he spoke so much with disdain, and the idea was funny and ironic.

Scrooge? He could still recognize him, how could he not when the most obvious change in his appearance, despite the years clearly elapsed, was the color of his coat and spats? Sure, he looked different than in that photo Donald had shown him in that boat of his, and his shoulders were slumped with weariness.

Though it was not the same exhaustion that Old Cape reflected in his posture.

What attracted Uno's sensors most, however, were the new additions to the family, four children whose undivided attention was on him, and it didn't take long for him to identify them with the information his partner had given him.

Huey, Dewey, Louie, Webby. Certainly lovely that their names — or nicknames, as he had assured him — rhymed.

"One Ducklair, Donald's old friend." He held out his hand, maintaining a certain formality that it puzzled his friend if his nervous snort said something. It was obvious how much he had improvised with the name. However, even if he didn't put it into words, to him the sailor was like an open book, and he could feel how new it was for both of them him to hear him without a voice modulator.

However, in front of his scanners, he saw nothing but Donald injured, physically or emotionally.

Magic ice.

Comments on his voice.

Feathers.

The fights at school.

Cookie.

All the times Donald came to the tower with fire on his sister and his uncle on the tip of his tongue.

Hospital.

Every night he spent in the tower after a heated argument with Scrooge.

Dry blood and untreated scars.

Tears that shouldn't be there.

In front of him, there were only the people who had caused so much damage to the most important duck for him, be it involuntary or not. And now that he had a more lively body and features, he knew it wouldn't be long until his disgust was evident.

But for now, he would have to keep his guard down. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for his partner, as tempting as it was to tell Scrooge and Della their truths.

After all, it wasn't the first secret he had to hide.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

It will be fun while it lasts.

[iminye]

A life saved

A Feanor lives AU... more or less. No he's not a ghost in this one. English is not my first language and a large portion of this text was translated from my mother tongue German into English so if some things like metaphors seem weird to you that might be why. I also aplogise for any errors.

There was nobody welcoming them when Nolofinwe and his followers arrived on the northern side of Lake Mithrim. Not that they should have expected this much from Feanáro to begin with. Instead of wasting time waiting for those too proud to come they started setting up their camp and began restocking their food and water supplies as best as they could with their limited resources.

But when the third and fourth day had come to pass without a single word from the camp on the other side of the lake it was not only Nolofinwe who grew tense. When he made his rounds through the rows of tents to look after the injured or to speak with the few scouts they could spare he could hear the people mutter the same things that were going through his own head.

Shouldn’t the Feanorians have noticed them by now? Was it not enough that they had abandoned them in the first place? Left them to fend for themselves? To take on the risk of crossing the grinding ice? Did they have to ignore them even now? Or was the king perhaps absent, so that it was unclear whether they should be approached at all? But even then, Maitimo was not the sort of person who would act like this.

The fifth day had to begin before there was any change to their situation and it was Irisse who brought it upon them in her usual stubborn manner. Nolofinwe watched her drag Tyelkormo of all people from the west side of their camp all the way to where he was standing, watching Isil rise. Huan was trotting after them leisurely, a stark contrast to his master who was complaining loudly about the way he was being treated.

Irisse ignored him and only pulled harder in his arm, her face very much like her mothers when she was angry. For all the noise he was making Tyelkomro was surprisingly tame and went with his cousin rather willingly. He did not even try to bolt when they stopped in front of Nolofinwe and Irisse let go of his arm.

‘Now talk,’ she said and left them to their own devices. Both Tyelkomo and Nolofinwe watched her as she vanished between the tents, her white dress stained with grass and dirt. As Nolofinwe turned his head to look at Tyelkomo he noticed that his nephew's clothes were similarly looking. He did not even need to ask how Irisse had gotten him here.

When it became very clear that she would not return, Tyelkormo turned his head and looked up into his half uncle's face with a look of great discomfort.

‘And?’ he asked, less sharp than normal, ‘What is it that you want to know?’

'Answers for a start,' Nolofinwe found himself replying. Upon closer observation of his nephew’s face he noticed a faint scar above his left eye that had not been there when they had last seen each other.

‘Well they were too frail,’ was all that Tyelkormo said as if the answer was enough in his mind. It was not for Nolofinwe, a fact that the other one quickly realised. He seemed even more uncomfortable than before and only when Huan laid his head on Tyelkormo’s shoulder and nuzzled the right side of his face he replied reculantly: ‘The boats. They were too frail to cross the sea, technically. It’s a miracle we made it work but they wouldn’t have survived another journey. You don’t have to believe me but I can tell you from what I have seen that you would have been lucky to catch a glimpse of them on the far horizon before they would have fallen apart.’

‘The Teleri are… were very well known to keep their ships in good shape. why then should they let boats like this rest in their havens?’

He was aware that Tylekormo, who never had been overly fond of boating, was the last person who could know the answer to this question. Yet Nolofinwe felt the need to ask anyway. Arafinwe would have known surely but Arafinwe was not here with him but on the other side, in Tirion. Instead of an answer all Tylekormo was able to do was flinch when his uncle mentioned the Teleri and bite his lower lip.

Then after they had stood in silence for a while and that silence became uncomfortable he lifted his shoulders and with a defeated tone in his voice he said: ‘What do I know? All I can tell you is what I already have said. They were too frail. One of them nearly sank to the bottom of the ocean during the journey here because it started falling apart. If Aiwë.. Curvo's wife hadn't been there, we wouldn't have been able to fix it in time.'

Ñolofinwë refrained from asking why Curufinwës Telerin wife had decided to accompany her husband even though he had been part of the slaughtering of her kin. He could see that Tyelkormo's patience was running thin. A question like this could end their conversation in a very short amount of time.

'And how did your father expect us to follow him?' he asked instead.

'Not at all,’ Tyelkormo said. ‘Father mentioned something like this but I wasn’t really paying attention.’

It was very much like Tyelkormo to not pay attention and that was not what surprised Nolofinwe. It was the fact that Feanáro had expected him to turn back. Had he not told his brother that he would follow him?

"He wanted us to turn back?"

"Turn back, return home, well whatever. You hardly had any part in... what happened. They probably would have forgiven you."

We didn’t participate. They will forgive us, Nolo.

Arafinwe's voice rang clear in his head and Nolofinwe could barely hold back a flinch on his own. For once his brothers seemed to have thought alike and he could not disagree more with their notions. He was here for a reason and because of a promise he made. He could not just turn back.

It was then that Huan, who had been quiet the entire time and had been resting his chin on Tyelkormo’s shoulder, made a small noise, which Nolofinwe could not quite identify. Tyelkormo petted his head and nodded as if he had understood what his companion wanted to tell him. The uncomfortable look on his face vanished for a moment.

‘I know, Káno wanted us to be back yesterday…,’ he said, then he smiled a little. ‘You just want to see Tyelpe again, don’t you?’

Once again Huan made a noise and this time it sounded like agreement to Nolofinwe.

'You could come with me,' Tyelkormo then addressed Nolofinwe again and he looked like he thought this was a very good idea, 'if you want to talk to someone who is more informed than me.'

Preferably he would have liked the Feanorians to come, for then it would not have looked as if Nolofinwe would give in, but it seemed to him that this would take days perhaps even weeks and he simply did not have the time for this.

'I want to inform Findekáno before we leave.'

'Mhm,' was all his nephew replied and proceeded to scratch Huan behind the ear.

Soon enough they were on their way around the lake to the Feanorian camp. Neither Findekáno nor Turukáno had been particularly happy about Nolofinwe’s announcement but for different reasons as it seemed. Findekáno most certainly had hoped to accompany his father so that he could have a word with Maitimo but Nolofinwe had been clear that he needed his eldest son here to aid his aunt. Turukáno on the other hand had looked like somebody had served him a cup of sour milk as soon as the name Tyelkormo had left his fathers mouth. He was still grieving and full of hatred.

It was Findaráto who made them agree in the end as he promised to go along with Nolofinwe as a representative of the House Arafinwe. If he would have been able to have things his way Nolofinwe would have told this one of his nephews to remain behind but alas Findaráto could be just as stubborn as any of their family when he wanted to. Besides he also had inherited his mothers ability to become menacingly scary when he really wanted to bring a point across in an argument. Nolofinwe did not want this to happen.

‘I did know that grandfather was reluctant to use the ships,’ Findaráto remarked once Tyelkormo was done telling him what he had told Nolofinwe before. ‘They were treated like holy artifacts by many of the older generation, so it would make sense to have them on display and not use them. They fell apart, yes? I guess the wood here on these shores is not made to last forever like it did at home…’

Nolofinwe remained silent. He was vibrating with tension. The anger at his brother, though somewhat mitigated by Tyelkormo's words, was still boiling under his skin and he had to prepare himself not to explode the moment he saw him. He could just be as fiery as his brother if the occasion arose. Many would have doubted this because he put a lot of effort in his calm and put-together appearance. It was a trait both of them had inherited from their father although Finwe had been very good at turning his temperament into passion.

Nolofinwe bit his lower lip. No, it was still too early to think about father.

Carnistir was the one waiting for them once they reached the outskirts of the Feanorian camp. Nolofinwe noticed almost immediately that many of the buildings were in fact made from wood or stone. There were only a few tents left standing. The pathway they set foot onto was also made with stone. His brother’s people had not been idle in the last years.

‘You’re late,’ Carnistir greeted Tyelkomo unimpressed and with his arms folded in front of his chest.

His trademark frown was not missing either, yet there was something off about him but it took Nolofinwe a few seconds to realise that Carnistir had cut off a large chunk of his hair. Automatically he looked over to Tyelkormo and noticed the same thing. Both men's hair barely reached their shoulders now. He wondered what had caused this drastic decision, for it was very un-Noldorin to cut off one's own hair unless it got burned or otherwise stained in an accident. Neither Tyelkomo nor Carnistir looked like they had been in an accident recently but Nolofinwe did not know what had happened in the past years.

‘I would have been back earlier if Irisse hadn’t found me and decided to drag me all the way back to her father, so that I could have the conversation with him all of you are refusing to have,’ Tyelkomo replied.

Carnistir only sighed.

‘Discuss this with Káno if you wish to complain.’

This made Tyelkormo go silent within a split second. Findaráto and Nolofinwe exchanged confused glances. Neither of them could make anything of the conversation that was happening in front of them.

‘I see, well if you don’t have anything more to say,’ Carnistir turned to them and bowed formally. ‘Uncle, cousin, please follow me. He would like to speak with you in person.’

He started moving almost immediately and at a fast pace at that. They followed him as best as they could with Tyelkormo and Huan behind them. The way they were led through the settlement - because upon further inspection and observation Nolofinwe opted that it was in fact more a settlement than a camp - made them visible and unable to ignore for many eyes. Their presence was not met with hostility or any form of annoyance but rather with curiosity and calm acceptance. Nolofinwe did not know whether he prefered their rather passive behaviour.

‘Where are you bringing us?” Findaráto asked and caught up to Carnistir.

‘The community hall… well it is supposed to be the community hall but these days it serves as an infirmary.’

‘Neither of us is wounded…’ Findaráto said and Nolofinwe could hear the irritation in his voice.

‘Well that’s good for you,’ Carnistir acknowledged. ‘But this is also where he wants to meet you. His study is in one of the spare rooms.’

They were led through a side entrance of one of the larger buildings near the town centre. It was nowhere near as impressive as the buildings Nolofinwe had seen and grown up in all his life but it was rather admirable what had been accomplished with the recousers given to them. He should have expected nothing else from his brother. The room they entered was some sort of dining space with a large wooden table right in the middle surrounded by what looked like ten chairs. One for each member of the house Feanor, including Curufinwes wife and child.

‘Where is he?’, Carnister asked one of the guards hiding in the shadows next to the door. The man made a step forwards into the light and Nolofinwe recognised him as Makalaures confidant Erestor.

‘His study,’ the man replied in his usual stoic manner. ‘A report came in this morning regarding enemy movements in the north-west. He wanted to look into what he can do to keep the residents safe.’

The residents, Nolofinwe realised, were his people. They were the only ones living in the north-west - as far as he was aware. If there was enemy movement he should probably also keep his people prepared no matter what his brother planned to do to keep them safe. It seemed like a miracle to him that Feanáro was even considering this given that he had wanted Nolofinwe and his people to turn back and had ignored them for the better part of the past week.

Carbistir just nodded.

'I see,' he noted the news and turned to the others, 'Come. And Tyelko if you want to tag along, you'll have to leave the fleabag here.'

'You know Huan doesn't like it when you call him that, Moryo.'

'He's just a dog. He doesn't care about what I call him. He cares about what I feed him.'

'Say that when he starts chewing on your shoes again.'

Nonetheless he told Huan to go and lay down on a large rug on the north side of the hall where a small fire burned in a chimney, while Carnistir led them through a door on the opposite side of the hall.

The study they entered then was… a mess if Nolofinwe was completely honest. It was a battlefield of papers, documents, books and various other objects buried underneath them. There was not one empty chair, not one empty spot of floor aside from a small area by the door. The dark wooden desk in the centre of the room was no exception to this. Nolofinw had seen massive amounts of paperwork in his fathers study all the time but Finwe despite his faults had been a very tidy person and had kept them all neatly organised. Feanáro on the other hand had never seemed like someone who would keep things tidy - not the Nolofinwe would know this, he had not been allowed to set his foot into his older brother's study ever in his life.

But this was not Feanáro’s study. On the floor in front of them, bent over an especially important looking paper sat not Nolofinwe’s brother but his second eldest nephew instead. Makalure was dressed in heavy looking robes of red and gold but they fitted him ill for they seemed like they had originally belonged to his father and Feanáro was not only taller than Makalaure but also broader. Loosley they hang from his shoulders and Nolofinwe could not get out of his way to notice that his nephew was thin and boney underneath.

‘You own a table, Káno,’ Tyelkomo commented on his older brother’s app and waved his hand in the general direction of said object. Makalure looked up then with an unimpressed expression on his face.

‘Well in theory you are correct but as you may be able to see, it is not in a state where I could use it.’

‘You could if you would keep things tidy and organised,’ Carnistir then said and started picking up some of the papers close to them. ‘Didn’t the Ambarussar volunteer to craft you some shelves from the wood that was left from building the watchtower in the south?’

Makalaure nodded.

‘Yes they did such a splendid job that I thought it a shame to waste such craftsmanship on me. I ordered Narendil to make sure that they’re brought to the infirmary so that the healers would have a safe place to store their medicine. I think Curvo got one as well for his tools. You know that he leaves them lying around everywhere otherwise,’ Makalure said and then he turned towards Nolofinwe and Findaráto who had listened to their exchange in silence. ‘Uncle, Findaráto, if you’d like to sit down I can only offer you the chairs by the window. You might want to remove the papers from them though…’

They did no such thing.

Makalaure looked back and forth between them and his brothers for a moment. Carnistir had proceeded to pick up some more papers from the floor, quietly fussing over how such important documents were left to fly around. Tyelkormo had stepped up to one of the windows and pulled open the curtains, allowing natural light to reach the small room.

When they had all not spoken for a while and the silence was beginning to get a little uncomfortable, Findaráto spoke for the first time:

‘Káno... where is...?’

‘Father?’ Makalaure interrupted him instantly, ‘you were expecting him here, weren't you?’

‘To be honest, yes…’, Nolofinwe pressed out. Carnistir and Tyelkormo paused in their work, exchanging meaningful glances. Makalaure sighed.

‘Well..’ he said, looking him in the eye, ‘then I'm sorry to disappoint you. Father is not available at the moment.’

‘Is he absent?’ asked Nolofinwe with a little more emphasis. Didn't they say they were going to take them to the king? Was he being made a fool of?

‘You could say that, yes.’

‘And Maitimo?’

This time Makalure remained silent for a long while. He had closed his eyes and Nolofinwe could see how the hand holding onto the papers was slightly shaking. When Findaráto looked questioningly at Carnistir and Tyelkormo both of them avoided his gaze. In the end Makalure slowly came to his feet. He handed his papers to Carnistir and then proceeded to fix his clothing so that it looked less ill-fit but still a little big on him.

As he then stood face to face with his uncle Nolofinwe could not help but notice that Makalaure was not only thinner than before but he looked tired, too tired. Whatever had happened had drained Makalaure to a point where it seemed like a miracle that he was still able to stand upright.

'Maitimo is also not available at the moment…’

‘Is he dead?’ Nolofinwe came straight to the point.

Makalaure swallowed but then he shook his head avoiding his uncle's eyes.

‘We don’t know. It… it was shortly after our arrival that we received a message from the enemy which said that he would be open to negotiate. I do not know the details, Maitimo kept them for himself but he rode out to meet with an envoy… and did not return. It was many days later that a messenger came telling us that everyone is dead and he brought a bloodied strand of Maitomos hair as evidence. I would have gone after him but he made me swear to remain behind and take care of our people.’

‘So you do not believe him dead?’

‘I would have felt it, uncle,’ Makalure answered. ‘Just like with grandfather… I didn’t feel anything like this this time around. It must mean that he still lives.’

And I am unable to help him.

He did not say this out loud but Nolofinwe could see it in his eyes. The oath Makalaure had to swear seemed to only increase the guilt he must have been feeling.

‘Káno… perhaps you should,’ Carnistir said as he balanced another stack of papers on the desk.

‘No self-pity I know,’ Makalaure answered but it did not seem like this was what Carnistr had wanted to say. Yet he straightened his back and put on a brave face. He even smiled a bit at his uncle and Findaráto, ‘If there is anything you need please tell me, I will make sure that we will spare what we can and have it delivered to your side of the lake. In the same manner I wish to apologise for not reaching out earlier. The last few days were rather troublesome…’

‘I would have to look at Turukáno's lists of supplies…’ Findaráto said and looked past Tylekormo out of the window.

‘Medicines,’ Nolofinwe said, thinking of Lalwende, who desperately needed something for her leg if she didn't want to lose it, ‘and bandages.’

Makalaure looked at Carnistir.

‘Come, cousin,’ he said to Findaráto without being prompted any further, ‘I am in charge of our supplies. We will see how best to manage the matter. Tyelko can help too. He knows about the best hunting grounds in the area and will surely be able to give you some advice.’

Makalaure watched them silently as they departed from the room and when the door closed behind Tyelkormo he turned to Nolofinwe.

'Do not apologise for your father's deeds,' Nolofinwe said before his nephew even had the opportunity to open his mouth. 'I have heard why you didn't send back the ships. I wish to hear what your father has to say in his defense and whether he feels sorry for it or not.'

'Then you will probably never get an answer,' Makalaure said gravely. He pressed his lips into a thin line and turned to the second door in this room, left to where he was standing 'Come, uncle I will show you something. Maybe then you will hear my apology.'

Nolofinw was not sure what he should expect when he followed his nephew through the door and into a barely lit hallway. The voices of Carnisti, Tyelkormo and Findaráto could be heard from down the hall, where somebody had left a door slightly ajar. Makalaure did not lead him in that direction but the opposite one and up to the next floor. Like the one downstairs this one was only sparsely lit but at least there was a window on the far end of the hallway from where silver light shone onto dark wooden planks. They made creaking noises even under the light elven footsteps. Nolofinwe flinched the first time he heard that noise.

Makalaure walked down the corridor at a quick pace, unmoved by the creaking wooden floorboards. He seemed determined to waste no time to get to their destination. Nolofinwe followed him in a similar manner once he had gotten used to the unsettling noise from below his feet.

Once they reached the window Makalaure halted and looked outside. Nolofinwe glanced over his shoulder and saw Curufinwe training with his son in the courtyard. Tyelperinquar had grown quite a bit since Nolofinwe had last seen him but even though he and Itarille were around the same age the boy looked less mature than Nolofinwe’s granddaughter. It seemed as if his childhood innocence had somehow been preserved in these wild lands.

It made jealousy boil inside him but he was quick to suppress it. Tyelperinquar had no fault in what had happened. It was a good thing that at least one child of their family was still child enough to smile and fool around. Maybe one day Itarille would find the strength and happiness to smile once more.

‘You did not bring me here only to watch your nephew train,’ it was not a question or at least it did not sound like one as the words left Nolofinwe’s mouth. He was not quite sure himself whether he had wanted the words to sound as impatient and stern as they did but they seemed to bring Makalaure out of some kind of trance he had drifted into.

‘No… of course not, uncle,’ he answered and stepped past Nolofinwe in front of the last door in this hallway.

He turned the door knob around and pushed the door open. Nolofinwe followed him inside what seemed like a private sleeping chamber. It was better lit than any other room he had seen so far in this house including Makalaure’s study, which was mostly because the curtains had been drawn back and the windows opened to let fresh air inside. Aside from a wardrobe on the left side of the door the room contained a cupboard underneath the windows, an unused desk to Nolofinwe’s right and a bed, half hidden behind a set of curtains, which Makalaure was pulling back.

Nolofinwe did not need to ask why his nephew had brought him here. He could not make out the patients face but the way Makalure sat down on their bedside and took one of the heavily bandaged hands into his with utmost care and started to stroke it gently with index and middle finger was enough to tell Nolofinwe that this was not just somebody.

‘I’m here…’ Makalaure said quietly, almost in a whisper. ‘Please forgive that I could not make it this morning. I heard that Ambarussar came to spend time with you.’

Nolofinwe carefully stepped closer to the bed until he was half behind Makalaure and could look over his nephew’s shoulder at the patient. It took him longer than it should have to realise whom he was looking at. The man's entire body, save for a few bits here and there, seemed to be wrapped in bandages and what little skin was left visible was burned and bruised and scarred. Half his face was hidden underneath some kind of paste and his eyes closed.

‘Feanáro…’ Nolofinwe whispered in shock once his voice had returned to him. Makalaure turned his head with a sad smile.

‘Father is unavailable at the moment, uncle,’ his nephew told him quietly. ‘It’s not as bad as it was at the beginning and he is slowly, ever so slowly getting better but it will take some time until he will open his eyes again. But even if he does there is no guarantee he will ever fully recover.’

Feanáro’s hand twitched in Makalaure’s hold. Makalaure turned to his father again and lowered his head ever so slightly.

‘It was only a few days ago, when you and your people arrived that he moved… it was just a twitch of his fingers no stronger than now but he moved. There… There was finally some sign of progress.’

‘How? When? Did the enemy?’

Makalaure gave him no answer but continued to absently stroke Feanáro’s hand. Nolofinwe did not press him. It seemed like this was not an easy talk to have and given the circumstances Nolofinwe was willing to accept this.

‘It was the enemy…’ Makalaure said after a while, his voice void of any emotion. ‘They had planned an ambush and even though we were able to fight them back there were many losses and many more who were gravely injured. Father had been at the front fighting against so many of them at the same time. He slew a large number of the Valaraukar - as Maitimo called them - but their commander was too strong for him. He landed a fatal blow mere minutes before we chased them off for good. At first it seemed like that monster had killed father but he kept fighting and breathing long enough for us to bring him to safety. He has been in this state ever since.’

Nolofinwe had to look away at that. He had no words, he who always knew what to say, who was known for his way with words, had none. All the anger, all the hatred that had been driving him the entire time was gone. The words he had prepared years ago, that he had memorized like a mantra, felt hollow now that there was essentially no one to address them at. He could tell them Feanáro but what use would they have? His brother could not hear him. He could not answer him or give him one of the awfully arrogant smiles.

As a child Nolofinwe had done everything to earn one of these. As a young adult he had learned to despise them. But now? Now, he would be lucky to receive a slight twitch of Feanaŕos hand. That was much more cruel than anything his brother could have said to him. It didn't compare to what his brother had done, of course, but it was pretty close.

'Do… Do you want me to pity him?'

Makalaure shock his head

'Believe me uncle I do not. He wouldn't want your pity and you know that. I wanted you to understand that the only apology you will probably ever get is my own. Will you accept it?'

'Your father wouldn't have wanted you to apologise,' Nolofinwe replied. Makalure made a low chuckling noise.

'But I want to apologise. It will not bring back the dead, it will not heal the wounded, it will not rewind the years you and your people spend on the grinding ice and it will not undo what has been done but maybe an apology can help to bring our people back together ever so slightly. We're all strangers in a strange land and as such we have no choice but to stick together. You don't have to accept me as prince regent and I will not demand to lead your people, all I want is a basis on which we can work on the way forward.'

'Very well,' Nolofinwe replied. 'I shall accept your apology… for now.'

'This is more than I would have asked for, uncle.'

They both remained at Feanáro's bedside for a while longer in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Nolofinwe avoided looking at his brother or his nephew and held his gaze fixed on the window.

A basis to work on the way forward. Makalaure had not specified what this way would look like and Nolofinwe was not sure himself. His people were bitter. They felt betrayed and abandoned and he could not blame them. He felt very much the same even after learning this truth.

All he could hope for was that his nephew's words had not been all empty. Makalaure was an excellent talker and sometimes it was hard to differentiate between honest words and acting. He did not believe that his nephew had acted but he knew that he should remain observant.

'Don't tell anyone of what I have shown you today, uncle,' Makalure asked him when they finally left the room.

'For what reason?'

'Father is in a bad state and I feel it would only worsen if he was confronted with the anger of all your people. I will bear this burden until the day of his awakening. Besides… I have reason to believe that the enemy thinks him dead and I would like for it to remain that way for as long as possible.'

'I see," Nolofinwe remarked. 'I will do as you ask but only if you inform me immediately should he wake.'

Makalure nodded seriously.

When Nolofinwe returned to his camp late in the evening to eat and maybe get some rest, still very much thinking about his brother's fate and his nephew's wish for cooperation, he was greeted with even more unsettling news.

Apparently Findekáno had vanished without a trace and only his harp in tow after being told about Maitimo's fate from Finderáto. All he had left them was a note telling them not to worry and that he would be back soon.

Nolofinwe thought of what had happened to Arakáno and prayed that his eldest son would return safely to him.

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

About Time [G.W] - Part 1

pairing: George Weasley x OC

series description: On an unexpected night out, George meets the love of his life. And then suddenly loses her. What lengths will he go to in order to find her?

word count: 2.7k

taglist: @p0gues4l @amourtentiaa (let me know if you want to be added!)

series masterlist

X

“Fred, why are we doing this? It’s utterly ridiculous.”

“Oh come on now, it’s an experience!”

“I’d hardly consider eating in the dark an experience,” George scoffed. He was flabbergasted when Fred signed them up for this “blind” dating experience. Fred never had trouble meeting women at the bar, but he kept saying he needed a change of pace.

“You never know what tonight might lead to Georgie. Maybe you’ll meet your soulmate,” Fred said as he raised his eyebrows. They walked into the chic restaurant where the lobby was dimly lit. As they checked in, the host explained that all the waiters in the restaurant were blind. All part of the “experience.” One of the waiters requested they grab onto his shoulder and a few moments later they were escorted down the stairs and behind a black curtain into complete darkness. As they walked back, the waiter explained that the idea behind the dining experience is that the total darkness enhances the other senses, creating a truly unique dining experience. As they got to table, he added that the darkness cultivates an environment to truly connect with people.

“I hate this already,” George said.

“Shh…” Fred said, as he kicked George under the table.. It was then George noticed there was movement next to them. Their dates had arrived.

“Hello ladies. I’m Fred and this here’s George.” Fred greeted.

“Oh well hello,” a voice said, “I’m Angelina.”

“Hi, I’m Molly,” said the person sitting next to George. She had a soft and earnest voice with an American accent.

“Nice to meet you, Molly’s my mother’s name actually,” George responded.

“Oh…does it…suit her?” she asked.

“I reckon it does. Although, she’s a bit sturdy so Bernard might have been a better fit.”

She laughed lightly and said, “Okay.” After a momentary pause she asked, “So have you ever been here before?”

“I haven’t.”

“Me neither. To be honest, I’m not completely sold on this concept yet. I genuinely like to be able to see my food and the people I’m eating with.”

“Exactly. Fred had twist my arm to even get me here.”

“Glad that we’re in the same boat. Not that I’m not excited to meet you or anything…” she added. “Oh, something just touched my elbow,” she whispered.

“That wasn’t me,” George quickly said.

“Well that just makes it worse! If it wasn’t you, who was it?”

“It wasn’t me…because I’m touching something else,” Fred stated.

“Yes, and you’ll stop that right away, thank you,” Angelina responded.

A waiter approached and began filling the empty glasses. George found the glass in front of him and took a big swing before realizing that the glasses had been filled with wine and he choked slightly.

“You okay there?” Molly asked him.

“That is not water,” he said. She giggled as she took a more reasonable sip from her wine glass.

“You might be onto something there. Maybe we should just get drunk,” She whispered.

George smiled and said, “Cheers to that.” He held up his glass and within seconds he felt her glass lightly tap his, which was impressive considering the complete darkness.

“So, girls, be honest. Who is more beautiful?” Fred asked. George knew he was joking, but he was partially concerned the girls wouldn’t pick up on his subtleties.

“Oh, I am,” Angelina said.

“She is,” Molly added.

“Excellent!” Fred beamed. George tried not to roll his eyes and luckily Molly interrupted his thoughts.

“So George, what do you do for a living?” she asked.

“My brother and I own a joke shop in Diagon Alley. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

“Oh no way! I walk past that shop everyday. And what made you start that?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else with my life. At school we were always coming up with inventions for pranks and we quickly realized that we could make money doing what we loved.”

“That’s amazing. And I’m assuming you went to Hogwarts?”

“You would be correct. Now what’s your story? Ilvermorny and then how’d you get here?”

“Yes, I was a Thunderbird at Ilvermorny and once I finished school I wanted to do something different, explore a little. So I moved to London and worked some odd jobs for a while and now I’m an editor at the Daily Prophet.”

“Ah, if you’re responsible for fact checking Rita Skeeter, I think you should pursue another career path.”

“Very funny,” she said, taking another sip of wine. “My area is much less controversial. I’m a sports editor.”

George’s ears perked up at that. “What’s your team?” he asked.

“Kenmare. I have family in Ireland so I was born and raised a Kestrals fan. And let me guess, you follow the…Chudley Cannons?” she said, throwing out a blind guess.

George chuckled, “Puddlemere United. Although your instincts are good, my younger brother is obsessed with the Cannons.”

“Puddlemere…that’s respectable. They’re having a good year. Been to any matches yet?”

“I’ve been meaning to, but haven’t gotten to it this season. Too busy with the shop.”

“You should go if you get the chance. They are unbelievable to watch. The Chasers are just so in sync, it’s mesmerizing.”

“Did you play at all?” he asked.

“I was a Keeper. I miss being out on the pitch. Just something about the buzz that was in the air and having your whole house out there cheering for you. No better feeling.”

George smiled, thinking about the days he spent playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. She perfectly described what it was like to play and he hadn’t realized how much he had missed the crowd calling his name whenever he took out an opponent with a bludger.

“Fred and I were Beaters. It seems like those were the best years of my life.”

“Oh don’t tell me you peaked in school. Just when I thought I had met someone interesting.”

George thought carefully about his response. “I’m happy with my life, but we’re adults now. There was something about being younger, having your whole life ahead of you and not having to worry about paying bills and making a living. I miss the simpler times.”

“I can understand that. I do miss sneaking fire whiskey into the dorms. It’s not as fun when you can just go and buy it.” He smiled at her statement, remembering his own teenage shenanigans.

“You would’ve had fun with us at Hogwarts.”

“You don’t strike me as a troublemaker, George,” she said.

He chuckled and replied, “That’s because I’m on my best behavior tonight.”

“Well that’s no fun,” Molly flirted.

Suddenly, George felt himself get nervous. He hadn’t been on a proper date in a while and he wasn’t sure how to act or what to say. He felt tense instead of his usual carefree self. He realized that he might actually like this girl.

“So…what kind of music do you like?” she asked.

“I mostly listen to rock. Recently it’s been a lot of the Weird Sisters.”

“Oh I love the Weird Sisters!” she exclaimed. “I see them every time they come to London.”

“They’re great live. They played at one of our balls in school and it was incredible.”

“That sounds amazing,” she beamed. There was movement near them as the waiter placed what George assumed was the main course in front of them.

“Looks great,” he said. Molly laughed a genuine laugh as opposed to a polite chuckle and George felt butterflies at the sound of it. He never thought he could be so attracted to a voice. Something about her seemed special. The four of them ate and sounds of silverware filled the air as they did.

“I’m still not completely sold on this experience, but I will say this meal has been delicious,” she spoke. George was racking his brain for a response that might induce some conversation when Molly added, “The company hasn’t been too bad either.”

Before he could respond, Angelina said, “I’m going to run to the loo. Mol, will you join me?”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, putting down her silverware. George was grateful for a few minutes to drum up some conversation topics as their dates vacated the table.

“How’s it going?” Fred asked him.

“Good…she seems great. I’m just rubbish at dates.”

“Well don’t sweat it. I’m going to invite Angelina back to our place after this. Maybe Molly will come too.”

“Is it really going that well over there?”

“I mean I’m not gonna marry the girl, but we’re getting along well enough.”

“Does it bother you that you don’t know what she looks like?” George asked.

“Sure, but I’ve never been one to shy away from risk.” George shook his head. Fred and George were on completely different wavelengths when it came to women. Fred was never concerned with commitment and was always living in the moment. But George was the opposite. He didn’t want to waste time on someone if it wasn’t going to turn into something meaningful.

Molly and Angelina returned to the table just as the dessert course was placed in front of them.

“I need to know…is the washroom pitch black as well?” he asked.

Molly giggled and said, “Now that would’ve solidified my opinion of this restaurant concept.”

They ate in silence for a moment when Molly asked, “So what’s your family like?”

“Big. I have five brothers and a sister.”

“Wow, and where do you fall in that mix?”

“In the middle. Fred and I are twins and then there are three brothers older than us and a younger brother and sister.”

“I’m sure you had fun growing up with such a big family.”

“I don’t think I always appreciated it when I was growing up, but now I love having such a big family.”

“That’s awesome.”

“And what about you?”

“I have two younger sisters. We grew up pretty close so it is tough to be so far from them.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”

“Since the holidays. I always come home for Christmas and usually my family will come out for a visit at some point in the spring or summer.”

“Do you ever think about moving back home?”

She paused for a moment, “No, I don’t think so. It seems like this is where I’m meant to be.”

George had finished off the glass of wine in front of him and he realized the waiter had cleared all the plates and their visionless meal was ending. He took a deep breath, wondering where this night would take them. He just wanted to see her. He wanted to look into her eyes and confirm there was a true connection between them. They all stood up from the table and Molly and George walked out as a pair toward the lobby, with Fred and Angelina in their wake.

It was quiet as George racked his brain for what to say. He couldn’t recall feeling this nervous around someone he barely knew. As they reached the curtain, he stopped her in an attempt to express his feelings. He didn’t want her thinking he was just interested in her based on her looks.

“Molly, I…erm…I just wanted to-“

“Oh George it’s okay, you don’t have to do this. I can tell when someone’s not interested in me. But thank you for making this dinner bearable.”

Before he could protest, Angelina came whizzing by in a huff. “Come on Molly,” she said grabbing Molly’s arm and leading her through the curtain. George just stood there frozen when he noticed Fred by his side.

“Well, read that one wrong,” he said.

“What the hell happened?” George asked.

“I may have whispered some sexually suggestive things to her that she did not take very well. How’d things go with you?”

“I dunno. I thought it was going well, but I may not have made a good impression.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Then go get her!” George followed his advice and slid through the curtain, excited to see Molly for the first time.

But she wasn’t there. George walked through the front door, hoping she might be outside, but the street was empty. He hung his head and kicked himself for the way he let things transpire.

“She’s gone,” George said as Fred walked through the door.

“Ah rotten luck mate. Sorry to hear it. Shall we go for a pint?”

“I think I’ll just head home,” he said. Fred nodded and they walked down the street a bit before apparating back home.

X

George couldn’t sleep that night. He kept thinking that he had missed out on something special. He replayed every minute of that night in his head, thinking about how he should’ve been more engaged in the conversation and flirted with her more. George certainly knew how to flirt and he could not figure out why he froze up with Molly.

Eventually he got up and moved to the kitchen to pour a fire whiskey. He needed something to take the edge off and numb the feeling of regret. He tried to forget about this girl but the more he did, the more he convinced himself that if he just saw her, he would know. And it wasn’t just about physical attraction, although that was certainly a part of it. He just needed to see her. The mystery was driving him crazy.

After his second glass of fire whiskey, he started to think about how he could make his hope a reality. He considered visiting the Daily Prophet and trying to find her there, but that didn’t quite feel right. He could write a letter and suggest that they meet up, but the suspense of waiting on a response would kill him. Then it suddenly hit him.

He ran into the room and started fumbling through a junk drawer, looking for one thing in particular. He started throwing aside Extendable Ears and miscellaneous Skiving Snackboxes before he finally found it. All the rummaging seemed to have woken Fred because a moment later his voice came from the doorway.

“What are you doing?” he looked half asleep, but still concerned.

“I couldn’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Molly. I just need to see her.”

“Well it seems a bit late for that now, eh?”

“No, it’s not,” George said holding up the thin gold chain that held a spinning hourglass on the end.

“Mate, that’s a terrible idea. Time isn’t to be meddled with.”

He put the time turner around his neck. “I can do this. I won’t interact with anyone. I’ll just stand outside and have a smoke while she walks out. No conversation, no nothing.”

Fred let out a deep sigh, knowing this was a losing battle. “Just don’t be stupid. And don’t get caught.” With that, he spun the time turner four times and closed his eyes. He immediately disapparated to the restaurant and hid in the alley way across the street. It was only a few moments until Angelina and Molly would leave the restaurant. George considered his options and thought it was best to stay hidden, he didn’t want to have an awkward run in with his past self.

He waited for what seemed like an eternity (but was probably only a few minutes) when the front door opened. A dark skinned woman with long braids was leading the charge, pulling the arm of another woman. She had fair skin, covered in freckles and deep brown hair that hit just below her shoulders. She was petite, probably around 5’3” and very slender. But the most striking thing about her was her smile. He heard their voices and immediately recognized the American accent that belonged to the freckled woman. Angelina was explaining what had just happened and Molly stood there, reacting with a new facial expression after every sentence. And then she laughed and George felt his heart stop. She was the one. It seemed crazy for him to think that considering he had just met her, but he knew. He watched the two of them walk down the cobblestone street as he tried to commit every detail of Molly to memory. Next came the tricky part, finding her.

[dellyduck]

A Pirate’s Life For Me

@rip-in-pieces-my-last-braincell It took me a day and a bit but I DID IT! 2.145 words, I hope you like it!

Just so you know, it has been ages since I’ve watched the movies, and this is not an official version, I just wanted to use as many characters as possible. The only characters that are mean to be in place are Kit, Della and Wildcat.

-

At some point of their long travel, even Della’s endless energy had come to an end. Donald felt relief for that at first, enjoying the rare peace and quiet in his life. However, as time passed by, the minutes being dragged at the same pace their ship calmly, quietly sailed through the fog, Donald almost wished his sister would still be running and climbing and screaming around.

The small twins were sitting side by side on a crate, eyes on the fog and ocean ahead without really paying attention to it. Donald didn’t know why or exactly when, but Della suddenly broke the silence by humming a not so unfamiliar melody. His fingers moved almost like an involuntary reflex and before the boy noticed, he was carefully playing the melody on his guitar. That was the moment Della chose to turn her humming into words.

“Drink up, me harties, yo-ho. Yo-ho, yo-ho... A pirate’s life for me. We extort, we pilfer, we filch, we sack, drink up-”

Della’s voice and Donald’s fingers where abruptly stopped when each twin had an adult hand grabbing their shoulders.

“Hush now, kids,” said the adult, in a tone of warning and looking around in agitation. “Real pirates travel in these waters, and the legends say that singing their songs is basically calling for them.”

“Wildcat!” shouted the voice with a tick Scottish accent that the kids knew very well. Their Uncle Scrooge didn’t look pleased as he approached them with his cane. “Ah would appreciate it if ye could not fill ma nephew and niece’s heads with untrue legends of the sea.”

“But they are true, Mr. McDee,” Wildcat insisted. “It’s bad luck to sing about pirates, everyone knows that.”

Donald gulped at these words, dropping his guitar at once; as if he needed more bad luck. Della, by other hand, didn’t look frightened in the slightest as the talk continued, captain Baloo breaking in to add his two cents.

“Wildcat’s not lying, Mr. McDuck, it’s common knowledge between us mans of the sea. And specially with us in the middle of this weird fog, I dunno ya but I’m not here to take risks.”

“Bah, fine,” Scrooge dismissed the topic with a hand. “If ye two are so bothered, they will stop singing.”

For Donald, his uncle didn’t need to say twice, looking forward for when the adults decided to change topics.

But Della didn’t seem ready to let go of this talk yet, “I think it’d be exciting to meet a real pirate,” she declared with her usual, innocent cheer.

Scrooge chuckled humorless, “Think again, lass.” He narrowed his eyes at the fog, as if daring the pirates who could be hiding behind it.

“Vile and dissolute creatures, all of them. Stealing without a care from those who earned their belongs fair and square.” Scrooge felt very much like spitting on the floor, but that was a habit from his old life and not a proper reaction from a governor. “If ye ask me, any person who dares to answer by the name pirate deserves the same fate: A short drop and a sudden stop.”

While Donald’s confused eyes didn’t move from their uncle’s face, Della turned her head to Baloo in search for answers. The captain hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he dropped a hand from the rudder, using it to grab the kerchief around his neck. By the way he stretched the tissue, dropping his head and letting his tongue roll off his mouth, Della quickly caught the message.

With a now frightened gasp, the girl snapped her head back forward, her wide eyes staring at the ship’s floor.

It was her reaction that made Scrooge notice his wee niblings’ faces to his last commentary. He then dropped his vexed expression for a concerned one. Oh marvelous, Hortense was going to kill him.

“Erh, but enough of pirate talks, aye? Ye kids enjoy the rest of the trip, with no singing,” he added before walking away to another part of the ship.

The twins just exchanged a look between each other, as if asking “what now?”. After a moment with no answer, Donald simply decided to jump off the crate and walk towards Baloo. Donald loved ships, boats, and the sea itself, and he was always eager to learn more about them, so it wasn’t hard for Della to imagine her brother’s plans.

Because of that, she stayed behind, looking around for something that would be of her interest. She found it when her eyes once again fell over the nets that leaded to the crow’s nest. Della had climbed it not even two hours ago, but the current boredom and the memory of the way she felt being up there were enough to make up her mind.

Della was lucky. Her parents were less strict than her friends’ about how a young lady should behave (although dresses and good manners were still a must) and her uncle didn’t give a feather if his ten-year-old niece acted boyish during their expeditions. That was how the girl got so good on activities like climbing.

Firmly grabbing the ropes, Della climbed up every step with patience, but no hesitation until she hit the middle of the net. There, she stopped. Dropping her right hand from the net, Della turned around on a complete 180°. She was facing the ocean now.

The fog turned the view way less appealing than it was a couple hours ago, but the duckling didn’t really mind. Just being up there, with wind in her hair, felling so free that it was almost like she could fly, was everything the young girl could wish for.

Della closed her eyes to breathe in deeply. But when she opened them again, her smile was quickly dropped when something through the fog caught her attention.

There was something on the water, floating.

Della needed to narrow her eyes to recognize a large wooden board. And laid on it, there was…

“A boy!” she exclaimed, starting to climb down the fastest she could, while still shouting. “Uncle Scrooge!! Baloo, Wildcat, look!”

The three men rushed to her, Scrooge grabbing her shoulders and checking his niece up and down after any wound in the instant Della was back on the ground.

“Lass, what’s the meaning-”

“A boy!” Della didn’t wait her uncle to finish, this time pointing a finger to where the floating board was. “Look, there’s a boy on the water!”

In the meantime that it took Della to climb down, the board had floated to even closer to the ship. Which allowed the three men to easily catch sight of the young, unconscious, brown-furred bear on it. Baloo’s eyes went wide, and he shouted,

“MAN OVERBOARD!”

Five more men from the crew came running to help, and with all of them working fast and together, it was a matter of seconds before the boy was out of the water and in Baloo’s arms. Della could just watch all the commotion from some steps behind, trying to get a better look, but the men were too tall and crowded to allow her any sight. She was able, however, to hear when Baloo declared,

“He’s still breathing.”

“For all the seven seas!” Della almost yelped at that sudden scream. When had Donald stopped by her side??

Nonetheless, her brother was looking even more frightened. Turning around and following his gaze, the girl could easily see why: hundreds of different types of merch floating on the water, them all coming from a ship, not so different from the one they were, crashing and burning in the middle of the ocean.

Scrooge, Baloo and Wildcat rushed to approach them and see it too, every man around trying to understand what could’ve happened there. Baloo wanted to believe in the easiest option, that merchant ships carry a lot of weaponry and somehow, accidentally, the powder was lit. But a tiny, distant voice in his mind wouldn’t let another, more scary option rest.

“P-p-pirates?” Donald gulped.

“Ah donnae know, lad, but we better be prepared for everything. Captain!” Scrooge started to command, and quickly everyone on the boat had a new role to play. Except for the little ones. “Donald, I want you to stay with me. Della-”

Scrooge cut himself off when he saw his niece wasn’t standing by her brother’s side anymore. Luckily, he just needed a quick look around to find the white duckling in a gray dress. It shouldn’t have surprised him that she was standing near their new crewmember. Scrooge walked to them, arriving just as a sailor took the boy from the ground, to take him away from the ship’s side edge.

“Della,” he called again, this time getting her attention. “I want you to accompany the boy. He will be in your charge. Take care of him.”

“Yes, Uncle Scrooge,” Della nodded, before following the sailor.

The brown cub was put to rest over the same crate the Duck twins had been sitting just some minutes ago. As she approached, Della knew she had a better chance to observe the boy now. He looked her age, maybe older for one or two years, if that much. His worn, patched up green sweater was completely soaked, and so was his fur, causing some of hair to fall over his eyes.

Gingerly as her housekeeper had taught her, Della touched his locks, gently moving them away. But no matter how gently, that disturbance alone was enough to wake the boy up with a chocked scream, grabbing her wrist with a shaking, yet strong hand.

Della sighed, trying to calm down her heart from the scare, before meeting his eyes. Petrified browns against calming light blues.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now,” she guaranteed. “My name’s Della. Della Duck.”

“Kit,” he sounded breathless, scared, and tired. “Kit Cloudkicker.”

At that new piece of information, Della smiled.

“I’ll be watching over you, Kit.”

It’s like that was all the boy needed to hear, his grasp on her wrist loosening as his body fell unconscious once again.

Della kept her promise and stayed by his side, glad that now Kit looked more asleep than dead. It was while watching him that she noticed something loose around his neck. Touching it, Della easily recognized a red kerchief. Chances were high that it was just a piece of tissue, a cheap, meaningless adornment… But what if it was something his parents gave him? A memory of his family who, if traveling on that now burning ship, were probably no long in this world?

Biting her cheek, Della carefully took the kerchief within her hands, planning to keep it safe, maybe even wash it, before giving it back to Kit when he woke up-

Any thought was frozen, her heart leaping in surprise when she saw the drawing printed on Kit’s kerchief. She had never seen it before herself, but by the stories, Della knew exactly what the drawing of the white skull meant.

“You’re a… pirate?”

“Vile and dissolute creatures, all of them,” Uncle Scrooge’s words echoed in her head, alongside everything Della had heard about the bandits of the sea. But as she looked up to the boy again, she couldn’t see it. Kit didn’t look vile; he didn’t sound vile. He was just a kid, like her and Donald.

“Did he say anything?”

Della jumped, quickly crumpling the tissue in her hand, and hiding it behind her back as she turned around to face Baloo. He was accompanied by some other men of the crew, and not so distantly, the girl could see her uncle as well. Before she could even notice there was a choice to be made, Della was already executing her decision.

“His name’s Kit Cloudkicker. That’s all I found out.”

Baloo simply nodded, not looking suspicious of anything. After the last events, it was normal that such a young girl would be a little jumpy.

“We’re gonna take him bellow, alright missy? Our doctor can treat him better there.” The captain explained.

It was Della’s turn to nod, stepping behind so Baloo could take Kit in his arms again. The girl watched as they left, knowing she should be following them, but first and foremost, she needed a better place than her closed fist to hide that kerchief.

Confirming there was no one around her, Della opened her hand and the tissue again. Her eyes meticulously scanning the red fabric as her fingers caressed the skull figure.

At this point, this day was clearly one to be remembered by Della. But when she raised her head to catch sight of another ship on the distance, the same skull figure flapping on a black flag at the mast… Those few seconds were marked in her memory like a burn.

[imagine-darksiders]

Homesick

Chapter 1 - A forgotten arrangement. 

Summary: It’s been two years since you and the Horseman ended your journey together by resurrecting the souls of your fellow humans. Since then, you’ve returned to Earth to build a new life from the ashes of a broken, old house in the city. Death has been to see you there many times, but today is the first day that one of your newer, but no less dear friend, Azrael is accompanying the Horseman for a visit. Together, the two of them arrive at your front door... They aren’t at all prepared for what they find. 

Warning: Assault, bruising, religion, whump, 

Tags: Azrael, Death, Reader, hurt/comfort, angst, parental Azrael, parental Death, protective characters, angels learning about human culture

---

“Death! Over here!”

No sooner has the Horseman stepped out of his swirling portal and emerged onto a busy, city street than he immediately hears a familiar voice calling his name.

Humans of every shape and size skirt around him as they make their way to and fro along the concrete path, some eyeing him suspiciously while others stop and openly gawk. He ignores them all, instead scanning the waves of people breaking around him until finds his quarry.

Azrael, a tall and stately Archangel and Guardian to the Well of Souls, sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the throng of humans, not least because he towers impressively over the heads of every one that passes him by. Feathery wings of blinding white gleam under the midday sun and sway like sail boats on a gentle sea, the tips of his primary feathers sweeping just millimetres above the ground. He lifts one hand to beckon the Horseman over and a long sleeve of teal silk falls down and gathers around his elbow.

Exhaling softly, Death makes his way towards the angel and tries his best not to notice the humans that scurry out of his way as if he'll strike them down should they venture too close. He notes that none of them shy away from Azrael in the same manner. Then again, he can't be too surprised. Azrael is, after all, everything that Death is not.

Charming. Amicable. Incessantly polite... Not to mention his distinct lack of a terrifying bone mask.

It's a wonder he and Death are even on speaking terms, given their differences.

Still, though the Horseman is still loathe to admit it, at least they have a few things in common – one of whom is their reason for meeting here, in the centre of a human city that had once been overrun with demons.

He finally reaches the archangel, who nods in greeting, a smile pushing at his pale cheeks. “There you are, old friend.”

“Azrael.” Death returns the gesture of mutual respect, dipping his head low. The angel may be among the only beings in Creation who'd be privy to such a cordial greeting from the eldest Nephilim. Death tends to be extremely miserly with his respect.

Sweeping a lock of long, white hair over his shoulder, Azrael chuckles and says, “ I was beginning to worry that I'd have to make the journey without you.”

“Have you missed my company that much?” Death teases.

And Azrael - all too accustomed to the Horseman's nature through millennia of practice – replies with a soft, “But of course.”

'...Oh...' Death blinks, taken aback for a moment until he notices the sly grin twitching at Azrael's lips. 'Oh, damn you.'

Even now, after so many years, the archangel knows that he'll always flounder under the same ruse. Hit him with a dose of heartfelt sincerity and the Horseman's tongue sticks straight to the roof of his mouth, every time. It's one of Azrael's favoured ways of throwing him off balance.

Letting out a rough grunt, Death points himself east and begins to march down the street, trusting that the angel will be close on his heels. Naturally, it's only a few seconds before he hears the telltale swish of Azrael's vast wings and a flash of teal sneaks into the corner of his eye.

“You know, I hate it when you do that,” Death grumbles, though he does appreciate that the angel elects to walk, rather than fly. It reminds him of a day, thousands of years ago, when he'd been in the White City on official, Charred Council business. Azrael was the only angel who had lowered himself to the ground, choosing to walk beside Death as an equal. The small yet simple action spoke volumes.

“Oh, I'm well aware,” the archangel hums casually as he follows his companion down a narrow side street that's still quite obviously in the midst of reparations. It may have been almost two years since humanity's resurrection, but there are still little pockets of the city that haven't yet been reached by construction efforts.

The fact that you're living in one such, dilapidated area doesn't sit well with the Horseman.

You were the human who stayed by his side all the way through his journey to clear War's name and bring humanity back from extinction. Hell, you were a large part of the reason why Death had even made it to the Well of Souls in the first place. And you were the one who reconciled him with Azrael,  one of his oldest frie-... allies.

You deserved a better home than the ramshackle, old house you'd settled down in. Although oddly enough, it had been your choice, for reasons unbeknownst to the Horseman. Oh, he tried to convince you to stay somewhere less... built up. Somewhere in the countryside, perhaps. Alya and Valus would have been more than happy to build you a house - all you had to do was ask...

But, you didn't ask.

And now, whenever Death visits you on Earth – an occurrence that seems to be happening more and more frequently of late – he has to pretend not to notice the gaping holes in the walls of your home, the locked door that sits ominously at the end of the first floor landing, the one you never open, no matter how often he came around for a visit. So, he doesn't bring it up, and you don't mentioned it. That's just the way it is.

Across the road, an enormous Phantom Guard perches awkwardly on a too-small bench, chatting away with a human as if the two were old friends. It takes everything in the Horseman to refrain from lurching over there and impaling the demon on Harvester's hungry blade.

Gritting his teeth, Death forces his hand up and off the weapon's handle.  

On his other side, Azrael is graciously trying to wave at every human that passes him by. To their credit, most of them flash him a quick grin in return before continuing on their way, casting backwards glances over a shoulder as if to make certain their eyes aren't deceiving them. While it is commonplace nowadays to see angels amongst the crowds of Earth, it's still exceptionally rare to see one accompanied by a fabled Horseman.

Death can't blame them for staring.

“You know, I must confess,” Azrael pipes up, smiling kindly down at an awestruck child who totters past and gapes up at him whilst her mother drags her along, “The humans have made impressive headway these past few years. Even I was not certain they'd bounce back so well, and in such a short space of time. This metropolis is unrecognisable!”

“It isn't as though they didn't have help,” Death puts and nods pointedly across the street where a woman in a yellow hardhat sits upon the shoulder of her young, maker companion. The odd couple appear to be debating the necessity of adding cement flaunching to a chimney.

“True enough,” Azrael replies, “However, you know as well as I do that their adaptability is unparalleled.”

The Horseman's lips purse and he raises his dark eyebrows, silently concurring with the angel.

He's seen firsthand how swiftly you'd acclimatised to the various realms. Any other species would take at least a century to learn how to live on a different world.

Humans have almost entirely reclaimed their broken, little planet in just two years.

But then, they don't have the luxury of time.

Death quickly shakes his head to clear it and picks up his pace.

Each time he ponders the mortality of humans, he starts to think about you and how you don't even have a century left. Admittedly, he... doesn't like to muse on that.

The Nephilim leads Azrael further down the now barren street until they come to a wall of crumbling brick, stretched around the perimeter of a building and broken up by a small, wooden gate.

“Well, I must admit, Azrael, you're right about their adaptability,” he mutters, drawing to a halt and staring up at the house that lays beyond the barrier, “Some humans will learn to live just about anywhere, if they have to.”

The angel drifts up next to him and follows his gaze, eyes growing large. “Is this-?”

“-Y/n's home.”

Azrael hesitates for several, long seconds whilst he inspects the place. Then, he utters a small, soft, “Oh.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, no. Not in the least. It's just...” Azrael trails off.

Snorting, Death risks a pat on the angel's silken sleeve. “It isn't what you expected.”

“...No. It isn't.”

Pulling his lips into a thin line, the Horseman allows his hand to slide off Azrael's arm and murmurs, “Join the club.”

Ahead of them sits an old, two storey house in a sorry state of disrepair. Shingles on the roof have come loose and fallen down into the overgrown lawn. An entire section of wall is missing from the upper floor and a large, blue tarp has been nailed haphazardly to the rafters and stretched down so that it covers up the hole. The white, exterior paint is stained nearly black with soot and a pair of window shutters creak ominously in the gentle breeze.

All in all, the whole place is utterly wretched, even by Death's standards.

He pushes at the garden gate and it swings open with a hideous screech as the hinges protest against years of rust.

“Y/n told me that'd be fixed the next time I came around,” he grumbles to himself, slinking through and stalking towards your door whilst Azrael glides slowly up the path behind him.

“Horseman?” he calls in a hushed tone as Death reaches the front steps, “You're quite certain this is the right house?”

“Given that I've found our young friend lurking within each time I've visited in the past,” the old Nephilim snaps, “Yes, I'm quite certain this is the right house.”  

Azrael's jaw clenches but he doesn't admonish Death for the decidedly curt response. “Apologies. I would never think to judge your sense of direction, old friend,” he says instead and notices that the Horseman's shoulders relax a fraction, “This just isn't what I had pictured.”

'Of course it isn't,' Death wants to scoff.

Like Azrael, he'd been picturing something different as well upon his first arrival to your home.

---

Tiny, spring flowers grow stubbornly through cracks in the pavement and refuse to wilt even as Death's shadow passes over them. He stalks up to the wooden gate, certain that he's got it wrong, that you've given him false directions on purpose as a practical joke. You can't live here - in this  old house without windows that remind him of a dead thing that's had it's eyes pecked out, with foundations only held upright by a lifetime of memories that refuse to let it collapse into ruin.

Despite everything the Universe threw your way, you - a feeble, fragile human with no real talent for survival - managed to wade through it all and come out the other side to save your species and help Death clear his brother's name.

You are a hero, deserving of a kinder, prettier ending than this.

He half turns, ready to stride back through the gate and out in search of your real home.

Then, a voice calls his name from the shoddy, white door that opens inwards to reveal a familiar face.

You're smiling down at him through red-tinted eyes. “Welcome to my humble abode!” you chirp.

Death doesn't smile back.

---

The Horseman's shaggy, black hair falls over his eyes as he lowers his head, frowning at the memory and avoiding his companion's curious gaze. If even he thinks your home is tragic, then he can only guess as to what the archangel must think. Azrael, while not at all ostentatious like many of his fellow angels, is at least used to a certain degree of grandeur.

Twisting his neck around to level a strict glare at the Old One again, Death says, “The human has been looking forward to your visit ever since arranging it last month. So, try not to let your disdain show, hmm?”

At that, the angel actually bristles and Death is satisfied to see that he can still get under Azrael's skin. “I'll have you know that I too have eagerly awaited seeing my young friend again,” he says coolly, “And I would never look upon anything of Y/n's with contempt.”

The insinuation that he would ever cause you insult or injury is an abhorrent idea to him. It had been you who stood before your own people and spoke in the archangel's defense after he was tried by the Council of Angels, who reasoned that his fate ought to be decided by the human race. They were, after all, the wounded party thanks to his involvement with the Destroyer. Death had never seen your tongue shine as silver as it had in that moment. 'Compulsory community service,' you said was an apt punishment. Even War was on board. Azrael was to help rebuild that which Abaddon had torn asunder.

The Council of Angels agreed, albeit begrudgingly, and humanity took a vote.

Thanks to you, the archangel was spared from Oblivion and Death was spared the grim duty of dragging him there himself.

Azrael has been besotted with you ever since.

Behind his mask, the Horseman's sharp, golden eyes soften around their edges. “I'm glad to hear it,” he murmurs, voice low and quiet.

Azrael is taken aback, realising that the grim and ornery Nephilim is apparently even trying to protect you from hurt feelings. Slowly, his eyebrows lift and his lips give an enigmatic quirk.

Seeing the angel's expression turn smug, Death's eyes snap back to their prior ferocity and he grumbles under his breath, earning a bright laugh from his angelic ally.

Deciding that they've wasted enough time dawdling on your front step, the Horseman reaches out and touches a few of his finger tips to the brass doorknob.

“Hold on. Aren't you going to knock first?”

Death pauses with his fist halfway closed around the knob and glances sideways at Azrael, a brow quirked underneath his bone mask. In as deadpan a tone as he can muster, he asks, “What?”

A moment later, he finds himself wishing he'd ignored his companion and just strolled on into your home.

Now, Azrael has that look on his face. The look that always serves as a prelude to some kind of lecture, or lesson. “Oh, here we go,” the Horseman mutters to himself.

“If I am not mistaken,” Azrael begins, “It is customary among humans that, before one crosses the threshold of a home, one must first announce one's arrival by knocking... or ringing, as I heard it.”

Death's eyes roll up towards the sky and he expels a rough breath. “It's Y/n,” he says deliberately, as if Azrael is missing a vital point, “We can just... go in.”

“But...” The archangel's frosty eyebrows draw together and Death just knows he's perturbed at the very idea of disrespecting you by failing to follow an 'Earth custom.' It's yet another quirk of the angel's that Death has never quite understood, but always admired - that unparalleled need to be polite.

Letting out a resigned sigh, the Horseman steps away from your door and gestures towards it with a flippant wave of his hand. “Fine. Would one care to do the honours?”

If Azrael notices he's being mocked, he doesn't show it. In an instant, the angel perks up, his pale eyes shining and the feathers on his wings lifting slightly off the bone. Death suddenly has the sneaking suspicion he'd been waiting for that question since they arrived.

“Oh, may I?”

Despite himself, the Horseman's lips try to quirk up at the corners.

Ever since his pardoning, Azrael's avid fascination with humans and their culture had flourished. After it was decreed that other species would be allowed to interact with them, the archangel had begun to inhale information at a frankly alarming rate. There wasn't a human alive who was safe from his persistent questions.

'Reading about them is one thing,' he told the Horseman once, 'But first hand experience is quite another!'

It has been.... a long time since Death last saw Azrael so happy.

With an amused shake of his head, the Horseman juts his chin at your door and Heaven's greatest scholar wastes no time moving in and lifting a slender finger towards the button you've helpfully labelled 'bell.'

For a few seconds, he merely stands there, cocking his head at the doorbell as if he were trying to work out an intricate puzzle before eventually, he glances back at the Horseman and asks, “How long do you suppose I should press it for?”

Death's face falls flat. “Azrael-”

“I've heard about these, of course. But I've never actually... What if I break it?”

“I'm sure it'll be fine,” the Nephilim huffs noisily, “However, if you hesitate much longer, Y/n will think we aren't coming at all.”

At the mention of tardiness, Azrael blinks widely and presses his fingertip to the bell at once, jolting backwards when a long, tuneful chime rings out from somewhere beyond the door.

“What a remarkable contraption!” he exclaims, casting his eyes over to check whether Death is as impressed as he is.

Death is not.

Just then, the pair of them lift their heads up at the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from the other side of your home's entrance and a muffled “Sorry, sorry! I'll be right there!”

As soon as he hears your familiar voice, Death subconsciously unclenches his jaw and some of the rigidity drains out of his shoulders. Hardly any time at all has passed since he last saw you and yet, much to his own surprise and frustration, he finds he's actually missed you.  

Saving the Earth and Humanity presented an outcome that he'd fully expected, but in the end, had never really wanted. You… left. You returned to the Earth to help your people, and although Death knew it had to happen eventually, he couldn't seem to shake away the melancholy fog that draped itself over his shoulders once you were gone. He should have felt relief, really. The ordeal was over. His brother was safe and the Charred Council destroyed.

Yet at the furthest corner of his mind, a gentle grief existed, bearing your name.

The Horseman hadn't ever missed anyone before you, and thus the feeling was as foreign as it was unsettling. He even thought he must have surely come down with some, strange affliction and ended up taking the matter to Azrael, not least for the fact that he trusted the archangel enough to keep tight-lipped about it. What he hadn't expected, however, was for the angel to let out an uncharacteristically sharp bark of laughter, spend a moment composing himself before finally smiling down at Death and informing him, 'It's not an affliction that can be cured. You simply miss your friend.'

Evidently so, given that he'd actually – dare he say – looked forward to this visit ever since you arranged it over a month ago.

'Creator,' he smirks wryly to himself as your door handle begins to turn, 'I'm far too old to be getting so soft...'

Beside him, Azrael watches the door with a smile blooming across his angular features. Unlike his grim companion, the angel isn't sheepish about his eagerness to see you again.

The door begins to swing open and for just a second, they're treated to a brief glimpse of you, half cloaked in the shadow cast by your door.

Then, without warning, your eyes bulge from their sockets and you let out a yelp of alarm, slamming the door shut once again before either of them can open their mouths and offer you a greeting. Several, long instances trickle by in which Death and the archangel merely blink at the entrance, neither entirely sure how they ought to proceed.

After wallowing in silence for a while more, the Horseman asks, “Did you read anything about human customs that might have mentioned that?”

When he garners no response, he tips his head up to peer at Azrael. Something in his stomach twists when he catches the angel's expression.

“Horseman,” he mutters carefully, turning an uneasy look onto Death, “Did you see Y/n's face?”

A shadow falls over the Nephilim's eyes but before he can reply, a tiny voice slips underneath the threshold.

“Shit! I didn't realise it was you! I wouldn't have opened -... What are you guys doing here!?”

Now, Death's timekeeping skills may not be anything to brag about. However, he's fairly certain that Azrael's are impeccably reliable. The angel wouldn't – couldn't! - have gotten the day wrong.

“Perhaps it's my old age,” Death hums sardonically, “But I could have sworn you were the one who asked us here.”

“...Was... that today?” There's a pause. Then, they hear a muffled, “Dammit...”

Azrael can't help himself. He moves closer to the door and places his palm delicately against the wood. “Y/n?” he calls, “Please, I must insist you let us in.”

Death doesn't possess a working pulse, but there's something under his skin that starts to throb with agitation at the worry in Azrael's tone.

“What's wrong?” he hisses at the angel.

Your stammered, 'N-nothing's wrong!” is lost beneath Azrael's urgent reply.

“I think Y/n's been hurt.”

Be it by intuition or sheer luck, you at least had the wit to back away from your front door, because not a second after you heard Azrael's frustratingly on point assumption, the entire thing buckles and explodes inwards with an almighty crash. It ricochets off the wall and would have probably swung shut again if Death hadn't suddenly come storming through it with Azrael keeping close to his heels.

You stand shocked in your cramped little hallway, feet glued to the carpet as the Horseman turns a raging glare on you.

The moment he sees you however, he freezes in his tracks.

Quick as a flash, one of your hands flies up to cover the left side of your face in a last ditch attempt to hide what Death has, unfortunately, already seen.

Even beneath your trembling fingers, it's hard to miss the vivid, purpling bruise that sits like an incriminating badge upon your eye. The delicate skin around it is swollen and puffed up, sealing your eyelids almost all the way shut, though a tiny sliver of iris still manages to poke stubbornly through the mess. And it really is a mess. The very edges of your bruise have begun to turn green, though the area directly over your eye remains an angry red, akin to the colour of War's cape.

You must have realised that trying to cover the damage is pointless because you defeatedly lower your hands and wring them nervously into your shirt, just to give them something to do.

The two, immortal beings in front of you remain still as statues, one with his mouth hanging open slightly, aghast, whereas the other's face is hidden by a mask of bone. You can still see his eyes though – see the storm swirling inside that golden and orange glare.

Nervously wetting your lips, you manage to draw in a breath and shakily release it. “H-Hello, Death. Azrael.”

The sound of your voice snaps the angel from his stupor first and he takes a glance at the expression on your face, rather than the bruise.

Round eyes – eye. Mouth hanging ajar and moving around words that refuse to come. Fingers twisting knots into your clothes.

You look absolutely terrified.

Covering his mouth with a hand, Azrael shakes his head slowly from side to side, looking concernedly like he's seconds away from throwing up, were that even possible given his species. The Horseman shares his companion's mounting horror, a horror that is fast turning into burning, boiling rage.

Death can't blink, he can barely even speak.

The swiftly-building, cold wave of anger crashes into his chest, yet it battles valiantly with another emotion for total dominion and Death isn't so dim that he doesn't recognise fear when he feels it so suddenly, and with no time to try and suppress it.

Not a sound betrays his movements as he steps towards you, hand outstretched and a heavy weight settling like lead in his chest because, Creator, that's – that's Y/n! That's his human, that's his friend!

He must have moved too quickly, for your good eye zeroes in on his approaching hand and you gulp loudly enough to be heard over the gentle swishing of Azrael's wings on the carpet. You don't mean to – it isn't Death you're really afraid of – but you still flinch, and that little motion hits the Horseman harder than any physical blow you could have dealt him. He doesn't stop though, instead he chases you backwards until he's near enough to slide his fingers around your wrist, preventing you from backing up even further. With no other choice, you stop and peer up at the Horseman through damp, glistening eyelashes.

Azrael is at your side a second later, although he at least isn't remaining eerily silent like Death, who exudes the same, ominous energy as the calm before a thunderstorm.

“Y/n! What in Heaven's name happened to you!?” he demands, his composure slipping away to reveal the frantic angel underneath, “Does it hurt!? Are you in pain !?”

His questions come far too rapidly and you flounder for a few seconds, opening and closing your mouth in the world's best impression of a helpless goldfish before Death abruptly hisses out a single word. Only one, but it's icy and sinister enough to silence Azrael and send a shudder through your soul.

“Who?”

All around you, the house seems to tremble with the tumultuous power behind his voice.

The grip on your wrist remains gentle yet sturdy and you know him well enough by now to understand that you won't be released until he gets an answer.

Resigned to your fate, you breath out a long, tired sigh and let your wrist go floppy in his grasp.

“It's.... a long story. Come on, I'll... I guess I'll fill you in while I get an ice pack.”

It's clear that Death's ire isn't going to recede, even with your acquiescence, but Azrael rests a gentle hand on his shoulder and after glaring at your black eye for a moment longer, the Horseman reluctantly peels his fingers away from your wrist.

Heaving a second, wearier sigh, you turn around and beckon for them to follow you down the hallway and into your kitchen.

It's a strange feeling, to have both a Nephilim and an archangel at your back, the two of them far too large to get through your doorways without having to turn slightly to one side, or fold vast, white wings nearly in half. You'd grown used to walking at Death's side, and even later, at Azrael's, following him around the White City like a starstruck toddler as he showed you all the things your species had never been privy to before.

You've never had both of them in your home, not together.

The kitchen is small and nondescript, the walls a simple, faded yellow with a small window sitting above the sink and an island dominating the centre of the room. In one corner stands a cream-coloured fridge, and it, unlike the rest of the room, has been plastered from top to bottom with polaroids and photographs, each placed with a degree of care that indicates their sentimental value. Ambling over to the fridge, you flap a hand and the stools that have been placed haphazardly around your granite island. “Have a seat,” you offer, hardly surprised when you don't hear a scrape of metal on the stone floor. Glancing back over a shoulder, you find they're both standing rigidly behind you, neither removing their gazes from the bruise on your eye.

It's a shame.

You know how badly Azrael had been looking forward to getting a real, hands-on tour of a human home. But now it seems he can't look at anything if it isn't you. The guilt sits heavy in your chest and with it, an ounce of embarrassment, not only for being caught by your two, otherworldly friends in this condition, but also for the state of your home.

You can't believe you'd forgotten they were coming today. If you'd only remembered, you could have snuck out the back door and hidden in the garden and you certainly wouldn't have a pair of slightly overdramatic immortals hovering in your kitchen right now like tightly-coiled springs, impatient to hear the tale of your injury.

As if on cue, Death, always the more restless of the duo, clears his throat rather sharply, causing you to snap out of your thoughts. Rolling your eyes, you grab the fridge door and yank it open, bending to dig around in the freezer space for a bag of peas.

“Okay,” you say at last, standing to bump the door closed with a hip before slapping the cold vegetables against your bad eye, “First of all – this isn't as bad as it looks, all right?”

It surprises you that Azrael beats Death to a skeptical snort, though the Horseman's is soon to follow.

Ignoring their doubt, you shuffle over to the island and use your free hand to drag a stool out, hopping up onto it and draping yourself heavily over the cool granite, giving a little sigh when the bag of peas finally begins to numb the pain of your black eye. “Secondly,” you add, shooting a look at the Horseman, “I don't know the people who did this and probably couldn't even recognise them now, so don't bother.” You don't even need to elaborate on what he shouldn't bother with. You know full well why the only word he's said to you so far has been 'who?'

Meanwhile, Azrael's slender fingers have curled into fists on top of the island, bone showing clear through the thinner skin of his knuckles. Aggression doesn't suit him, you note.

“Might you be able to tell us why this happened to you, then?” he implores.

From the corner of your good eye, you see Death stand a little straighter.

Exhaling softly, you lower your gaze to study the grey surface of the island, incapable of meeting their stares.

“So, you know how some humans are... let's say, more religious than others?”

The angel nods and you continue, “Well, some people didn't like the idea that what they believed in was being challenged by... you know, the truth. Anyway, a couple of zealots must have recognised me outside that park up near Tenth Street and came over, started shouting. They seemed to think the Apocalypse was 'God's plan,' and in helping Death bring humanity back from the Well of Souls, I essentially cheated them out of an eternity in Heaven.”

“But-” Azrael looks appalled. “- But surely they understand it doesn't work like that? They must have seen the... the...” Pausing, he places a finger on his chin, frowning thoughtfully. “Oh dear. What did you call it again?”

“Broadcast,” you can't help but smile.

Watching Azrael and Jamaerah try to fathom the intricacies of live television was a day you won't soon forget. Azrael kept getting far too close to the camera to try and see the 'audience' inside it and Jamaerah couldn't grasp how every single human on Earth could possibly hear the same message at the same time. The poor news producer had her work cut out for her that day. Still, the message had eventually gotten out, and those who didn't yet have a working television heard it quickly through word of mouth.

Soon, the whole world knew the story of the End War, of the Horsemen, of Heaven and Hell and the realms in between. And, they learned of you and your involvement. The news had, of course, sparked some vicious debate amongst the masses. But in the end, everyone came to accept the truth. It was hard not to, with undeniable evidence of Heaven's existence speaking directly to them. Everyone remembered too, the initial awakening, when the world gasped for breath at the exact same time as soul and body fused back together and people were wracked for just a moment by the phantom memory of unimaginable pain.

The world descended into chaos all over again. It had taken the better part of a year to reestablish global communications and get word out, helped along by Earth's new neighbours.

However, there were still those who would not – or perhaps could not – accept the truth of what had happened. Some such people are the very reason you're sitting at your kitchen island with a frozen bag of vegetables pressed over one eye.

Grimacing, you remove the peas, setting them down in front of you and glancing up to find that Azrael's pale eyes are still regarding you expectantly.

“Everybody got the message,” you shrug, “but then, some people believe in their ideas so strongly, not even solid proof will change their minds.”

“So. What. Happened?” The question comes from Death, his voice is pulled taut and strained as if he's deliberately trying to fight the urge to shout.

Snorting, you reply, “What? It isn't obvious? I tried to walk away, one of them grabbed me from behind and the other one took a swing.”

From across the island, Azrael's wings seem to double in size as the stark, white feathers rustle and distend outwards, giving him a dishevelled appearance not at all in keeping with his neat and tidy demeanour. Similarly, Death spits something in Nephilim that you don't need a translation for. Something tells you it isn't polite. Sucking in a calming breath, he bites out, “And.. When did this happen, exactly?”

“Um... earlier today. They only got the one hit in before they were chased off,” you assure him before leaning forwards and resting an elbow on the island, sending the Horseman a secretive smirk. “And you'll never guess who by.”

That, at least, distracts them both from their seething.

“Y/n,” Death sneers, “I am in no mood for guessing games. Who do I have to thank for saving the majority of my charge's face?”

“I'm not your charge anymore, Death,” you remind him, though you can't deny the warm feeling settling in your stomach at the thought that he still sees you as such, “and you're probably not gonna like who you have to thank.” You pause for nothing more than dramatic effect and you can practically see the vein in Death's neck bulge. He hates it when you do that.

Still, you suppose you've garnered enough intrigue, so you sit back, reapply the frozen peas to your face and simply tell them, “Vulgrim.”

A sudden chill sweeps down the back of your neck as Death's hands clench into tight fists at his sides. “Vulgrim,” he growls, “What is that little wretch doing so close to your home?”

“The awful merchant?” Azrael asks, a hand flying to his chest.

“The very same.”

You lift your shoulders in a shrug, arguing, “He's not so bad.”

“Y/n,” the Horseman replies, deadpan, “He's one of the most insidious, conniving little snakes in all Nine Circles of Hell. He's never known to do anyone a favour.” He spits the word like it's dirty.

It isn't as if you don't already know of Vulgrim's unsavoury practices. Which is why you find it odd that you're even bothering to defend him at all, but the fact remains, he did help you.

“Well, he certainly just did me a favour,” you declare, “Came shooting out of one of his serpent holes and threatened to eat those people's souls. They didn't stick around for long after that.”

Both angel and Horseman exchange a look.

Rolling your eyes, you add, “Look, I'm not denying it was weird. I almost thought he was a completely different demon at first. But don't worry, I'm totally fine.”

No response.

You can tell there's some kind of unspoken conversation going on between the pair of them and that you aren't really being listened to at all.

Huh. Vexing.

At last, Azrael's eyes flicker over to you and he spots the furrow of your brows. Clearing his throat, he puts on one of those gentle smiles that, in your humble opinion, fits him far better than the worried expression he's been wearing since his arrival. “With all due respect, my dear,” he says, “I'm not sure that 'fine' is how I'd put it. But, the important thing is that you're safe now.”

“Yes,” Death hums softly, “Now.”

You instantly catch the emphasis he puts on the word and let out a groan. “Oh, don't start using that tone.”

“What tone?”

“That tone!” You flap a hand at the Horseman's mask. “You had the same one when I said I was going back to Earth the first time! Listen, I'm – Azrael, don't give me that look, I just said not to worry.”

The angel jerks his gaze to the side again.

Turning back to Death, you press your lips together and inhale deeply through your nose. “I'm going to be fine. This was just one of those things. Besides, I went through way worse when I travelled with you!”

The Horseman's insides twist up at the reminder. You certainly have been through worse than a black eye, that much is true. Somehow though, that doesn't make him feel any less perturbed by this new attack on his youngest friend.

All three of you lapse into silence then,

“Sorry, Azrael,” you sigh, peering up through your lashes at the tall archangel, “This isn't how I hoped your first visit to my home would go...”

“It isn't your home that I was most eager to see,” he murmurs in that Azrael sort of way that makes your stomach buzz with warmth, “I came here to see you, Y/n.”

Biting back an 'aaw,' you hide your smile behind a hand and groan exaggeratedly, “Oh wow, has he always been this cheesy, Death?”

“For the sake of his pride, I'm going to tell you 'no.'”

Bewildered, the angel glances between the two of you, aware that he's being made fun of, but uncertain as to how. “I'm afraid I don't understand,” he says above your snickering, “How can one share the attributes of a human food item?”

His confusion only makes you laugh harder until the cheek beneath your black eye begins to throb and you're forced to quiet down. “Wow, I still have so much to teach you about humans.”

“Well,” he beams, eyes shining, “I am very keen to learn.”

As the amusement fades and your chuckles taper off into silence once more, you breathe a long sigh, smile gradually diminishing when you realise they're both staring at you again. Azrael's lips may be tilted in the corners, yet palpable concern still manages to shine through the facade. You can't bear having them look at you like that. Death is subtler, but you can tell from the way his fingernails dig cruelly into the palms of his hands that the Horseman is just barely staving off his temper. You need a distraction, and you need it now.

“In that case...” You slide off the stool and let your peas fall back down onto the island with a wet 'smack!' “What are we waiting for? I haven't lost a leg, have I? I can still show you around.”

“Are you sure you're up to that?” the angel asks, furrowing his snowy brows even further, “I believe it would be better if you rested.”

“What? Because of this?” You point at your black eye and try to grin up at him reassuringly despite how it makes the left side of your face throb, “Eh, it's just superficial damage. Now, come on! I promised you a tour, and I'm gonna give you one! I tidied my room and everything!”

The angel is about to protest, about to insist that you sit quietly and keep your head still. Then, you're smiling up at him with a face full of hope and youthful excitement and suddenly, he can't find it in him to say no.

“Very well,” he concedes with a delicate bow of his head and extends his arm, sweeping it out towards you, “Lead on, my friend.”

He doesn't expect you to reach out and grab a hold of his hand with your own and tug him out of the kitchen, chirping, “Let's go! I have like, a million things to show you! Death's already seen the whole house but I've got some more stuff done since he came here last....”

Back in the kitchen, Death's arms lay folded across his chest and he gazes after you and Azrael with a smile on his lips that threatens to turn fond if he doesn't keep it in check. He knows the angel well and if he could hazard a guess, he'd say Azrael is still getting used to human mannerisms. Other angels don't typically go around grabbing hands, after all. But judging by the delighted smile the archangel tosses at him over a shoulder, Death imagines he doesn't mind a single bit.

He still remembers the first time you'd taken his hand.

You'd been so afraid, deep in the bowels of the Psychameron, faced by an all-consuming darkness and Basileus's monstrous pet, Achidna. The darkness wasn't an old friend to you, as it was to Death. Your tiny hand had slipped into his and you wrapped it as far as you could around the length of his palm and fingers, never minding the chill that swept through your bones as it did every time you came into contact with him. There is some truth to the rumours of Death's pernicious touch, after all. Contrarily, your fingers against his skin were warm and small and he twisted his head around to look at you. Your complexion had been turned a pasty green in the light cast by the souls residing upon his chest.

Creator, you had looked so much like a frightened child.

Then, you had given Death's hand a squeeze and sent him toppling over a precipice.

For so long, he'd walked a delicate line between showing that he cares and keeping you at arms length. It, may not have been the first time he cared for another, but there in Achidna's dark cave was the first time the eldest Nephilim wasn't afraid of caring.

He wondered briefly is that was the reason humans were so feared by the Charred Council and by a lot of Creation. If a single human could humble even the most depraved being in existence with the tender warmth of friendship, then what chance did the rest of Creation have?

If Death knows Azrael half as well as he thinks he does, the angel is probably being hit by a similar tenderness right now.

As your voice retreats further down the hallway, Death shoves himself up and off the island with a grunt and traipses lazily after you. Each step he takes, he battles the urge to storm out into the city beyond and reap vengeance from every last human who's hands are still slick with your blood.

[inyourfantasyfanfics]

Arya Stark x Fem!Reader

"Breath of Fresh Air"

*SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8*

It was no easy task for Arya to leave Winterfell after she had just defeated the Night King. Many eyes were on her, after she trained so long to disappear it was slightly unsettling for so many people to seek her out. 

She gathered what she would need to survive trying to kill Cersei and spotted Sandor setting his saddle on a horse, 

'maybe the road won't be so bad with some unexpected company' the fiery girl thought to herself. 

But as Arya had spotted an old friend so had y/n and she was more than a bit saddened to see the woman she admired for so long, packing and ready to leave.

"Arya?" Y/n said quietly as if she was going to startle her long time friend. Arya's gaze fell upon y/n and for a moment she let herself feel a little bit of remorse for wanting to leave. 

"You want to leave don't you?" Y/n said with a bit more confidence trying not to let her voice give away her worry, yet her voice still failed her and she sounded a little more weak than she wanted to. 

"I'm going to kill Cersei, you know I have to." Arya stated more than said. Y/n nodded, she knew how much her friend had changed since she left for Kings landing so many years ago. So had she, y/n studied medicine becoming a makeshift nurse in the north, she had seen her share of blood throughout the years but probably not as much as her companion that stood before her. She thought for a moment before letting the next few words slip from her mouth...

"I know you do. That's why I will want to go with you." Arya paused for a moment considering it, but a wave of everything that could ever go wrong washed over her. 

She knew y/n was by no means weak, when they were children her and y/n would sword fight in the woods with sticks. Arya accidentally hit y/n square in the mouth knocking out a baby tooth. Much to Arya's worried crys y/n couldn't control her laughter even when she was bleeding from the mouth. Oh how they both got in a good deal of trouble that day..

Turning away slightly from y/n, Arya faintly smiled at the childhood memory. Her smile quickly faded and became somber. "You know I can't let you do that. I may never even come back.." Arya trailed off.

Y/n expected this answer and nodded. She had anticipated this but it secretly wouldn't really stop her. Both girls turned to each other and a familiar feeling washed over them. 

Y/n knew it was looked down upon to love another woman, many suspected she was one for the same gender due to her refusal of all men who have tried to court her in the past. She knew that she had been in love with Arya and the feeling grew once they were reunited. Contrary to y/n, Arya didn't know what to make of this feeling. It wasn't by any means what she felt for Gendry, her small crush. It was much stronger. In her Younger years she thought she was just jealous of y/n, now she was just left confused. 

Y/n moved forward and cautiously wrapped her arms above Arya's strong shoulders and lightly rested her cheek on Aryas. With a deep breath Arya wrapped her sore and aching arms from the fight only days earlier, around her confusing childhood friend.

Y/n pulled away as she felt her eyes start to burn with tears. Quickly she turned to the door and paused at the frame to utter a "Be safe, please." Y/n felt her heart ache and her stomach churning as she walked away.

The night after Arya left Y/n snuck a horse out of Winterfell and set course for Kings Landing. Y/n knew deep down she just had to follow after Arya or she may regret it for the rest of her days.  

It was a harsh ride but once y/n got to Kings Landing the gates were closed she mentally cursed heavier than the men of the night's watch. She saw the dragon and heard the faint yells of confused men and women on the other side of the wall. soon enough she didn't feel so horrible as the bells rang

this could mean peace, Arya wouldn't have to risk her life if she already hadn't, the thought gave y/n a little bit of hope but the feeling soon died where it arose and only got worse as Denarys’s dragon roared and blasts of fire erupted over the wall, the girl turned her horse and rode from the wall till she made her way onto a small hill to get a better feel for what could possibly be happening and to get a sense of the new danger that may be arising.

What felt like hours y/n could only see the city crumble with fire from a distance. Smaller spots erupted with green flames. She felt her mouth dry and her eyes stung once she blinked; she had been staring for long enough for it to hurt. Her body felt numb as she clamered off her horse.. she could only hear screams, horrific screams of children calling out for their mothers and vise versa, the pained screams of men being stabbed, slashed and possibly much worse. innocence being burned alive was apparent through the stench and horrific screams. This is what filled y/n's senses, slowly but frantically the gates were thrown open and the people of King's Landing poured out, but they were only small amounts of people compared to the vast population of King's Landing. Y/n's legs started moving without her fully acknowledging it, she rushed into the crowd of bloody, burned and dirt covered crowds. As more filed out of the gates. She rushed to many people's aid, y/n carried basic medical supplies with her from the trip to Kings Landing. But despite her efforts she saw many die as she searched for something, anything that could possibly help.

Sweaty, clothes covered in blood and out of breath, y/n stood and slowly walked towards the quieting city gates she saw northern soldiers and Dothraki exit the city looking just as bad as the citizens who survived. They lined themselves a ways out of the city. Y/n's heart pounded and hurt as her eyes frantically searched for Arya, but had no avail.  

Arya who had just seen the worst of it all, slowly rode out of the city on a surviving horse her lungs burned and eyes were fogged and dirt and blood covered her whole body, she was aching and in massive pain, suffering from many head traumas, but somehow she lived. And this was something she had never expected. Although she didn't get to kill Cersei herself she knew that the so called queen could have never survived the fall of Kings Landing. So she made her way out of the city.

Still outside of the walls Y/n was gaining more anxiety by the minute as her eyes locked with Jon's, concern grown in both of their faces, they made there way to each other

'What are you doing here??'

'Where is Arya??'

Both of them said simultaneously

"Arya is here?" Jon said with more worry in his voice than before. Y/n's stomach dropped, her chest heaved as she ran a shaky hand through her disheveled hair, and looked around catching glimpse of a figure covered in greyish white ash. Without completely thinking she ran towards them leaving a more than worried Jon behind her

"Arya!" Y/n called rather breathlessly as the stress of laboring hours took a toll on her. Hearing her name being called through the ringing of Arya's ears she looked to the source and a welling of to many emotions spilled over once her eyes locked on to Y/ns distressed figure running to her in the distance, and she stumbled off of her horse trying to run yet limping at the same time suddenly everything made sense to her, she loved y/n she felt nothing but breathtaking relief, pain, grief and...love.

The two met practically falling into each other on contact. Both landing their knees y/n broke down and let her tears that had been held back for so long fall, Arya breathing so heavily was desperately holding onto the girl she loved for so long like she would somehow disappear. After everything holding on to y/n was like, a much desired and needed.. Spark? Fire? She couldn't think of the right words for the experience but she didn't care.

The weeks that followed the two didn't really need to say that they loved each other. both knew exactly how each other felt the moment they embraced outside Kings Landing. Y/n knew once Arya said she wanted to sail west that there would be no debating on whether she would stay behind. Arya didn't try to either, both were inseparable.

On the ship ready to set sail Arya looked to Y/n who was looking out at sea next to her. 

"Don't stare too hard you might knock me off the boat" y/n said jokingly with a small chuckle looking back at Arya who then smiled a genuine smile, leaning in their lips connected. It didn't feel like fireworks or anything super extravagant but no less important, as they kissed Arya finally found the words to describe the feeling she had after Kings Landing, y/n was like...

A breath of fresh air.

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #11

Orion Amari x MC

 A/N: Okay, now this is a long one, I hope you don’t mind. I had split this up into three parts to make things shorter but I just hated the way it turned out so much. So now you just have to endure an almost 5.5 k attempt of mine to describe feelings. Oh God. Sorry in advance. If anyone is interested in what the song the Weird Sisters are playing sounds like, I image it being something like Don’t Cry from Guns ‘n’ Roses. I actually like to think they sound a lot like them.

Thanks for the heads up @kc-needs-coffee

Warning: Use of alcohol (my characters do like a good drink, don’t they)  

 Word Count: ~ 5.400 (don’t hit me please)

______________________________________________________________ 

Chapter 11: Let Me Take You Dancing

The days leading up to the concert had gotten colder still. Everything was covered in a thick layer of rime, sparkling in the light of the pale November sun. Even the Black Lake had frozen over for the first time in years. The students daring enough to go for a round of ice skating soon told hushed stories of giant tentacles pushing against the ice from beneath the water, knocking heedless students off their feet.  

Not particularly eager to get back out into the freezing cold, Lizzie and Charlie had dallied at Hagrid’s perfectly cosy hut far too long. As they were racing back towards the castle, the sun was already hanging low in the sky, their breaths forming in misty clouds in front of their faces.

They found the hallways completely deserted. Almost everyone besides those who had to stay behind at school had already gone to the village. Lizzie risked a quick glance at the giant clockwork above the castle gate while they were hurrying past it. The concert was due to start in less than an hour.

Sure enough, when she skittered into the Hufflepuff Common Room it was empty besides a handful of first years playing a game of cards. Lizzie continued towards her dormitory and found it devoid of her friends. Only the floor, covered in clothes pulled from various drawers, bore witness of the four girls having gotten ready to go out before.

Lizzie waded through the colourful assortment, picking up the odd piece of clothing belonging to her. She found what she had been looking for displayed on her bed. As always, Andre had delivered the outfit he’d made for her just in time. Lizzie ran her hand over the soft fabrics, her eyes lingering on the black heeled boots resting neatly beside the trunk in front of her bed.

She sighed as she picked the precariously high heels up for closer inspection and grimaced at the thought of squeezing into them. She had told Andre she was not used to heels that high when he had suggested wearing some to her in the first place. But apparently, Lizzie’s ability to walk without support was a worthy sacrifice to see the picture he’d had in mind come to life.

After a quick shower to get some warmth back into her body, Lizzie twisted her hair into a ponytail and got changed. She observed herself in the floor length mirror next to the entrance door. Although she severely lacked stability while doing anything more than standing, she had to admit Andre had once again outdone himself.

After she had stalwartly refused to make her appearance in a short dress in the middle of winter, he had opted for an off-white shirt made of a floaty material Lizzie wasn’t familiar with. It reminded her of silk, but it had a thicker feel to it. It fit her body in all the right places while the loose sleeves allowed her to move freely. The boat neckline ran deeper than what she would have normally worn, exposing a fair bit of her shoulders. Thankfully, it lacked any glitzy details that would have distracted from its impeccable fit. It’s simpleness complemented the black leggings made of soft faux leather that clung tightly to her legs. Combined with the boots Andre had given her, they greatly elongated her legs, making her appear much taller than she actually was.

Lizzie picked out some silver earrings and a matching necklace while contemplating the thick black cardigan still lying on her bed. Making up her mind, she dug into her drawer until she had found what she had been looking for. Holding her old Weird Sisters jacket up in triumph, she dusted it off before shrugging it on.

Andre would probably hate it, but Myron, the lead singer of the band, had given a jacket like hers to a handful of friends back in the early days of the band. If she didn’t wear it now, she wouldn’t know when.

Posing in front of the mirror, she presented herself to Mouse, who was eyeing her lazily from the bed she had made herself out of Skye’s favourite hoodie.

“How do I look?” she asked her four-legged companion.

Mouse seemed to examine her for a moment before she let go off the string she had been chewing on, opening her mouth into the widest yawn Lizzie had ever seen. She shook her head and started kneading the sweater with her outstretched claws.

“Don’t get all enthusiastic on me,” Lizzie muttered. She walked over to the cat to give her scratch behind the ears when her heel caught on one of the dresses on the floor. With a little shriek, Lizzie toppled, gripping the post of Skye’s bed for dear life.

As attractive as those boots made her feel, there was no way she would get into Hogsmeade without breaking both her legs first.

Decidedly more careful she grabbed her coat and walked out of her Common Room, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floor. Charlie, Andre and his date, a pale blond girl with a bored look on her face, were already waiting for her.

Lizzie opened her mouth to thank Andre for his effort, but before she could utter a single word, he pointed his finger at her, looking completely horrified.

“What, in the name of all that is fashionable, is this?”

Andre rushed over and tugged at her ponytail painfully. “I explicitly told you not to do that.”

With an exasperate sigh he got his wand out. He muttered “Evanesco” and the hairband holding Lizzies hair out of her face vanished, her brown curls falling down over her shoulders. He observed the result contentedly. “Now you look fabulous.”

Lizzie shot Andre a glum look. Since she had cut her hair the front bits constantly fell into her face, a sensation she had grown to hate. Out of habit, her hand went to her head to swipe it back when Andre pointed his wand at her face.

“Do not touch it,” he warned her, accentuating every word with a flick of his wand.

Lizzie glanced at Charlie for support, who hadn’t bothered changing at all. He gave her the tiniest shrug. Andre bossing her around showed just how nervous he was.

“May I change my shoes, though?” she dared to ask timidly. Moral support or not, she couldn’t fathom walking all the way to the village in those death traps. The concert would long be over by the time they arrived.

Andre was having none of it, though. “No, you may not.”

She made a face. “Why not? They hurt. Charlie is even wearing the same clothes as before,” she complained.

“Because Charlie is basically a troll.”

Despite herself and her increasingly numb toes, Lizzie had to giggle at this swipe at her friend.

“And besides, you are friends with Skye Parkin; you should be used to pain.”

Both Charlie and Lizzie were laughing at this point, while Andre’s date resorted to smiling politely, not sure what exactly was going on.

As the four of them finally set off, Lizzie linked arms with Charlie for support, letting Andre and Claire get ahead of them. When they were out of earshot, she quickly pointed her wand at her feet. Her heels vanished, turning her boots into infinitely more comfortable flats. She winced as the blood came rushing back into her toes.

Charlie shot her a lopsided grin. “I wondered how long you would last in those.”

He picked up his pace now that Lizzie was able to keep up with him. They would need to hurry to get to The Three Broomsticks in time.

“Come on, they won’t wait for us and I fancy something to drink. We’re going to be just in time to be fashionably late.”

 *

Orion couldn’t remember when he had last felt so out of focus.

The main room of The Three Broomsticks was packed to the brim with people laughing, chatting or swaying to the sound of the music. The constant buzz of noise and the little amount of space unnerved him. His eyes were restlessly sweeping over the crowd while he repeatedly loosened and tightened his grip on the glass in his hands.

He was no stranger to social gatherings of course. Lizzie was an avid supporter of the Hufflepuff pre- and post-match parties; after she had convinced Skye to attend several times, it hadn’t taken long before the rest of the team had followed suit. While Orion preferred to focus on his inner balance before a match, he had come to enjoy socialising with the people of his House after returning from the pitch.

But this was something else. The parties in their Common Room consisted mainly of Hufflepuffs and the odd student from another House who had snuck in. Today, it seemed like almost the entire school had crammed themselves into the tiny pub.

Orion shifted against the wall he was leaning against. No, he really couldn’t say he was enjoying himself. He was thoroughly regretting giving in to Skye’s prodding and coming here in the first place.

Skye herself was standing a bit to the side with Penny, her eyes fixed on the Ravenclaws sat at a table a few feet to their right.

Judging from the angry waving of Skye’s hands, Orion guessed she was complaining about Rath, who looked about as comfortable as he was, breathing the same air as her. He was not intent on joining their conversation. His energy was unsettled enough without the negativity Skye was emitting.

Next to him, McNully was observing the same table out of the corner of his eyes. Ever since the girls had sat down, his friend just wouldn’t quit talking.

His ceaseless chattering was accentuated by wide, dramatic gestures. He was obviously trying to catch the attention of the table’s occupants. Orion wished he would just pluck up the courage to get over there and start a conversation with someone who would actually listen to him. He, for one, surely wasn’t.

Orion felt the trace of a headache building inside his throbbing temples. He absolutely hadn’t imagined coming here to be as exasperating.

The other girls in their company weren’t exactly inviting to converse with either. Tonks had left them to find her friend Tulip as soon as they had arrived; he could spot the two of them hanging about the bar, surreptitiously glancing at the huge barrel with butterbeer behind the counter. Orion made a mental note to not drink anything from it anymore.

Rowan just sat quietly at their own table, her drink clutched in her hands, shooting him a timid glance now and again. Orion probably should have made an effort to go and talk to her to ease her awkwardness, but he wasn’t in the mood for hollow chatter. How could he lift someone’s anxiousness while fighting the same sentiments himself?

It was a shame Lizzie wasn’t here yet. He found himself watching the entrance from time to time, looking forward to her finally showing up. Contrary to most of the group gathered around him, he felt like she was the only one he could actually have an agreeable conversation with. Usually, McNully would have been the exception, but his nervous jabbering was increasingly grinding on Orion’s nerves.

He decided to end his torment prematurely; bending down towards his friend, who was just elaborating on the different noise levels of a rock concert and a professional Quidditch match, Orion inclined his head towards the Ravenclaws whose attention McNully was so desperately trying to catch.

“It seems you have quite the admirer,” he shouted into McNully’s ear with a smirk. He was nodding into the direction of a certain redhead, who had been looking towards them way too often for it to be coincidental.

Much to his amusement, McNully paled visibly. His hand went to his head, unconsciously checking his hair. He had made sure it was meticulously styled for the occasion. “Are you sure?”

Orion hummed in confirmation. “Absolutely. She has been looking at you for some time now. Why don’t you get over and say hello?”

McNully nestled with his tie. “I don’t know, mate. According to my statistics- “

“Forget the statistics; they are only numbers representing the odds. And sometimes, the universe is set to defy chance,” he interrupted him.

Without giving his friend a chance to back out, he raised his glass towards the girls at the table, drawing their attention. Smiling broadly, the girl in question raised her own drink in response. She exchanged some words with her friends, before leaving her table and heading over to them.

Orion had left McNully had little choice but to play along. He clapped him on the back as his now silenced friend gulped visibly, once again checking his hair. Leaving them to their own, he pushed through the crowd towards the bar. Although he had to move deeper into the mass of people, he was thankful for a moment to himself.      

He had just settled at a corner of the counter, when he spotted Lizzie sitting at a table at the far end of the room. Apparently, she and her friends had arrived while he had been busy getting McNully set up.

She was deeply engaged in conversation with Charlie Weasley and his brother Bill. To his surprise, she had decided to wear her hair open for a change. Her brown curls draped around her slender shoulders, contrasting nicely with the white shirt she was wearing. As if unfamiliar with the feel of her hair loose around her face, she raised her hand to her head ever so often, combing through it with her fingers.

Orion watched lost in thought as Lizzie threw her head back in laughter at some joke Charlie had probably made. He felt his mood sinking again. So much for a chance at a decent conversation.

As if sensing someone looking at her, Lizzie turned her head, her eyes scanning the room and meeting his after a moment. A radiant smile spread on her face as she discovered him at the bar all by himself. She exchanged a few quick words with the Weasley brothers, then grabbed her drink and left her friends to themselves.

Orion’s spirits immediately lifted, he felt his mouth curve into a smile as he saw her approaching. She was weaving through the dense mass of students gracefully, but just as she was about to pass the last row of people in front of the bar, she suddenly got caught on someone’s foot, stumbling the rest of the way.

Orion quickly reached out to catch her from falling, but the impact send her tumbling into him instead.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Lizzie straightened herself up, her face burning red.

“Don’t worry, you know I’m good at catching things,” Orion heard himself answer. He cringed inwardly at the horrendous joke he’d just made. What on Earth had that been about?

Luckily, Lizzie didn’t seem to have noticed. She looked around the room for other familiar faces. “This place is packed! I’d have never thought so many people would come. Where are the others?”

Before he could reply though, Penny came rushing towards them out of nowhere, virtually jumping on Lizzie’s back in excitement.

“Lizzie, there you are! What took you so long?!” she shouted to be heard over the music.

The band was playing a song with a considerably picked up pace by now. “Come on, let’s get dancing!”

Lizzie had just enough time to give him an apologetic shrug before the blond girl whisked her away and onto the dancefloor.

 *

By the time the next three songs were over, Lizzie was breathless from jumping around with Penny and singing along to the music at the top of their lungs.

“Now it is time for your feet to catch a break, my friends,” Myron Wagtail, lead singer of the Weird Sisters, breathed into his microphone with his raspy voice. “This next song is for our sweethearts.”

As the dancefloor emptied of enthusiastic dancers and couples began to fill their places, Penny and Lizzie started making their way back to the bar. Lizzie’s throat was sore from singing, begging for a sip of water.

When they had almost reached Orion, Lizzie caught sight of someone making their way towards them. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realised it was Everett. He was smiling confidently, his intense gaze fixed on her.

Her mind racing, Lizzie set her eyes onto Orion. Without thinking on it any further, she stepped forward and grabbed his arm, dragging off him off his stool and back to the dancefloor.

She saw him raising his eyebrows at her in confusion. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Shamelessly using my knight in shining armour a second time, I’d say.”

Upon seeing her already taken, Everett was backing up again, chagrin written all over his face.

It was only now that she got aware of Orion still standing in front of her, both of them now surrounded by couples swaying to the sound of the music. Lizzie felt the heat rising to her face; she clearly hadn’t thought as far ahead.

To her surprise, however, Orion extended his arm, offering her his hand. Confused, she took it and he pulled her closer to him, his other hand coming to rest on her waist.

“If you dragged me here for whatever reason, we could as well go with the flow,” he smirked. Lizzie blushed even further, unable to think of a witty remark. She decided to just let it go and do as Orion had suggested. Concentrate on the song; go with the flow. She felt herself relax.

Orion was an excellent dancer, she’d have to give him that. He was leading her through the music confidently, making sure they weren’t colliding with other couples strewn across the dancefloor. Even now, the crowd was much thicker than she had anticipated.

Noticing the confused sideway glances some of their peers shot them, she chuckled. She stepped closer to Orion, standing on her tiptoes so she could shout into his ear over the music. “Seems like we’re attracting quite the attention,” she laughed lightly.

He only smirked as he slowly spun her around. Her fingertips tingled as their hands reconnected and despite herself, she felt her smile grow even wider. She tried to relax her already hurting cheeks, but she was simply enjoying herself too much.

Trying to distract herself from the tension she felt surging through her body from where Orion’s hand rested on her waist, Lizzie tossed her head in a futile attempt to get her unruly hair out of her face. Without giving it another thought, Orion lifted his hand, carefully tucking away the rogue strand that had been bugging her. The back of his hand accidentally brushed her cheek and Lizzie instinctively leaned into his touch, her heartbeat picking up pace. The thought of resting her head on his chest crossed her mind for a split second. Bewilderment mixed into the buzz she felt coursing through her veins. What was wrong with her?

“I’m surprised you chose to wear your hair like that,” Orion commented absentmindedly, apparently unaware of the indefinable mix of emotions he had just inflicted on her. “I thought you hated having it in your face.”

Eager to set her mind to something else, she concentrated on her answer. “It wasn’t exactly my choice. Andre forced this mess on me, and I’m rather annoyed by it.”

Orion furrowed his brow. “You should not let others dictate your appearance, especially if you don’t feel like yourself.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before the corner of his mouth quirked up into a small smile, something sparking at the back of his dark eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I think you look beautiful.”

Lizzie felt her cheeks blush dark red, while her heart suddenly seemed to skip several beats. Totally dumbfounded by his unexpected compliment, her mind raced for something even remotely clever to answer without looking like he had caught her unaware. Which he completely had. Her throat went even drier than before, while she still struggled for an answer.

She was spared further embarrassment, by Myron breathing a dreamy “Thank you” up on stage before the music picked up again. Still smiling, Orion let go off her hand as the rest of the crowd came flooding back on the dancefloor.

Suddenly surrounded by people again, Lizzie’s attention was thankfully diverted from the awkwardness of the situation. Dark eyes sparkling with amusement, Orion gave her a small wink before retreating back to his seat at the bar.

 *

Although Lizzie tried her best to immerse herself in the pounding rhythm of the music, there was no way she could concentrate anymore. Tapping Penny on the shoulder, she screamed into her ear that she needed to get a breather. Her friend immediately made to accompany her, but Lizzie signalled her to stay. She wanted a moment to herself.

She desperately needed to sort her racing thoughts. Penny was usually a formidable person to ask for advice, but Lizzie preferred to get her mind in order on her own.

As soon as Penny’s attention had turned from her, it was all Lizzie could do not to run for the exit of The Three Broomsticks. She shut the door firmly behind her, cutting off the noise of the music and the dense crowd.

The cold air hit her heated body like a torrent of icy water. She contemplated slipping inside again to get her coat but ultimately decided against it. The quietness of the sleepy wizard village was a stark contrast to the raging concert going on inside the pub and Lizzie could feel her head clearing already.

Shivering, she wrapped her thin jacket tighter around her body and sat down on a wooden bench to the side of the building. The music reaching her ears from here was muffled, but she could still make out the familiar tunes.

Humming along to the melody under her breath, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cold stone wall behind her. Now, sitting outside in the crisp air of the winter evening, the whole situation from before seemed completely surreal. A dipping feeling was building inside her stomach, reminding her of the nerves she usually felt right before a Quidditch match.

If it wasn’t for the tingling she could still feel in her fingertips from when Orion had touched her, she almost would have believed it had been a fever dream. The sensation was spreading rapidly into every part of her body the more she thought about it. How rough his hand had felt, calloused from the many years he had dedicated to playing Quidditch; his hold had been gentle though, prompting her to follow his movements without even a second thought.

Lizzie covered her eyes with both her hands. Her thoughts were running wild and she tried in vain to reign them in by taking slow and deliberate breaths. It was a technique Orion had taught her way back in her first season, when she had been a nervous wreck before her first match.

She let out a small cry of frustration as she realised how Orion had entered her mind again without being invited.

“You cold, snowflake?”

The sound of the familiar voice startled Lizzie from her thoughts with force. Jolting upright, she almost slid off the cold wood of the bench, only catching herself at the last moment.

“Don’t you dare scare me like that ever again,” she huffed, scrambling back into a more dignified position than lying half on the frozen ground.

Charlie only raised an eyebrow, a badly contained grin showing on his freckled face. Much to her relief, her black coat was hanging over his arm, while his other hand juggled two steaming mugs of mulled cider.

Lizzie shuffled over to made room for him on the bench. She took her coat off Charlie and shrugged it on, only now realising how cold she had actually been. As he handed her one of the warm mugs, she gratefully wrapped both her hands around it. The stinging in her palms as the blood came rushing back into them made her grimace, but it also helped clear her head properly.

“How did you know I was out here?” she asked her red-haired friend who had slumped down beside her.

Charlie took a moment to blow against his cider before taking a tentative sip, instantly wincing as he found it still too hot to drink. “How could I not? You practically fled the room after dancing with Amari; you almost knocked me out in fact.”

Startled, Lizzie blinked at Charlie. She hadn’t even noticed him.

She blew against her own cup before raising it to her lips. The sweet cider almost burned the tip of her tongue, but the warmth it spread from her stomach felt divine against the bitter cold.

Lizzie sighed, her breath forming as a cloud before her face.

“So you saw us dancing?”

“Are you kidding?” Charlie tried for another sip, more successful this time. “I think pretty much everyone saw. I mean, both of you have been on the Quidditch team for years now; people know you. I bet it’s quite the buzz already.” His laugh died in his throat when he saw her miserable expression.

Lizzie hung her head, her fears confirmed. Of course the people around them would have seen them, but she had hoped for the crowd having been too thick for anyone else to notice.

Her mind briefly flickered to Rowan. It was the first time since arriving at Hogsmeade she thought about what she had promised to her friend. This was certainly not what she had thought would happen, when she had dragged Orion onto the dancefloor just to get rid of Everett.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping on their warming drinks, Charlie allowing his friend to process the information he’d just given her.

“So, do you have a thing for him?” Charlie eventually asked her cautiously. When he saw her wince uncomfortably, he added a teasing “Do I need to be jealous of Orion Amari, of all people?” in a futile attempt to lift the mood.

Lizzie didn’t feel like bantering though. To drive her point home, she gave Charlie a pointed look, eyebrows quirked up, until he stopped laughing at her plight. Contemplating his original question, shook her head thoughtfully.

“I’ve no idea; I don’t know what happened in there.” She started drumming her fingertips against the rapidly cooling glass. “I never even thought of him other than a friend,” she mumbled more to herself, if anything.

Charlie silently watched her. He couldn’t recall a time when he had seen his otherwise confident friend as thoroughly rattled as in this moment.

“I don’t know if it helps, but the two of you would make quite the couple. The sparks flying between you could have been breathed by a Hungarian Horn Tail, from what I’ve seen.”

Judging by Lizzie’s unmoving expression, he feared he had chosen entirely the wrong way to cheer her up once again. But to his relief, a trace of the Lizzie he knew glinted in her eyes a moment later.

She playfully shoved at him, the cider in his hands almost slopping out of the mug and over his hands.

“What do you even know, Weasley?” She rolled her eyes at him, but wasn’t quick enough to hide the smile spreading on her face.

“Not much, I guess. Remember, according to Andre, I’m secretly a ginger troll.” He made a funny face what was probably supposed to be his personification of a troll. Beaming at successfully making her giggle, Charlie got up off the bench and offered Lizzie his hand. Accepting it, he pulled her up into a standing position.

His face grew serious, eyes flicking towards the fogged windows of The Three Broomsticks for a moment.

“Speaking of Andre, I’d better go see how he’s doing. I left him in a pretty state when I went after you.”

Lizzie tilted her head in confusion. “Why?”

Charlie sighed. “He got dumped pretty much as soon as we got here,” he elaborated. “Turned out his sweetheart was just after a pretty dress made especially for her. Andre found her snogging a guy from her year when he got back with drinks for them.

Despite her messy state of mind, Lizzie’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Are you serious?”

She slammed her mug down onto the windowsill of the pub, turning all her confusion into righteous outrage at the foul treatment of her friend.

“Where is that sneaky twat? I’m going to punch that smug little face of hers!”

Hurriedly getting rid of his own mug, it was all Charlie could do to restrain the furious girl.

“Woah, calm down, that’s helping no one!”

“But she can’t just go and treat someone as lovely as Andre like that!” Lizzie tried to wiggle past Charlie, who looped his arms around her until her sudden flare of temper seemed to wear off.

Not entirely sure if it was a good idea, Charlie carefully let go off her, relieved she didn’t immediately use her regained freedom to storm back into the building and start a bar fight.

“I agree, sunshine; but hear me out: I can get you out of detention for a lot of things with my prefect bonus. Hitting another girl probably isn’t one of them though.”

Just to be sure, he put his hands on Lizzie’s shoulder and turned her around, marching her a few steps away from the entrance door.

“Tell you what, I’m going to go get Andre and then we’ll just head back to the castle together, alright? No hitting, no violence.”

Lizzie was still grumbling indignantly under her breath, but agreed after a moment.  

As soon as Charlie had vanished inside however, Lizzie turned on her heels, marching along the main road at full speed. She hoped to be well out of sight before Charlie had located Andre and convinced him to leave .

She knew he would be furious with her for returning to the castle alone, and rightly so. The light was completely gone by now and the road back to the castle led through a stretch of forest for a good part. Although well lit, it was an unspoken agreement that neither of them was to go alone.

But she was in no mood for company. Neither did she want to comfort a heartbroken Andre, nor did she have a mind for Charlie’s jokes trying to cheer them up. She needed to get herself under control before seeing her friends. Seeing Rowan.

Seeing Orion.

She picked up her pace, walking as fast as she could without actually breaking into a run, her breath soon becoming heavier.

What a fine mess she’d manoeuvred herself into. Try as she might, she couldn’t deny the fluttery feeling still rising in her stomach even now when she thought back on dancing with Orion, how good his hand had felt on her waist and how badly she had wanted to rake her fingers through his long, jet black hair.

Lizzie forced her mind to stop with all the willpower she had to muster.

No. This was Orion Amari she was thinking about in an absolute inappropriate manner. Her friend, her teammate and her team captain. The guy her best friend wanted Lizzie to set her up with.

She came to an abrupt halt next one of the wrought-iron lampposts lighting the way and kicked a heap of frozen leaves out of pure frustration. It didn’t soothe her agitation in the slightest. Suddenly feeling deflated, she leaned her forehead against the cold metal post and closed her eyes to shut out everything but her own thoughts.

She would not do this to Rowan.  

She just couldn’t. Rowan was her friend. Lizzie had promised her to help.

A sudden cold drop on her neck made her shiver inadvertently, quickly followed by another and another. Lizzie opened her eyes again and lifted her face to the dark sky. Despite her inner turmoil, she felt a wondrous smile steal on her face as she gazed up into the darkness, all sorrow forgotten.

It had finally started snowing.