#. * ( this anger : a somber & patient thing ` muse i .

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villainsicle | Part 11

Comfort! It is happening soon! I promise.

After speaking about Villain, Counselor and Hero both enact their plans to find out more about their mysterious captive. Meanwhile, Medic learns from the past.

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

@literally-just-kirby​

@teachunks

@daydreamed-snippets-2nd-blog

@sunflower1000

@lightdrinker

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, conditioned whumpee, drugging, dehumanization, restraints, muzzles, choke chains, collars, pet whump (kinda), conditioning, forced sedation, just an absolutely unhealthy amount of caffeine, blood mention, injury mention, fire mention

“Humans are naturally very fearful things.”

The person in the video, the edges of their face and hair fuzzy with pixel artifacts, spoke. They had an odd grin on their face-- the sort of a news reporter. A trained smile. A very well-trained smile.

Behind them, the setting of the presentation had changed. In lieu of white tile, the floor and ceiling and walls between them glittered with black rubber. The void was broken only by a brightly colored fire extinguisher, leaned against a wall.

“As a species, we’re prey as much as we are predators. Assets are no different. They’re human too, after all. Human enough.”

At the presenter’s side, their Asset wavered. Though the action was represented with little more than a handful of pixels, it was hard not to notice the trembling of their jaw as they struggled to pant, to gasp for breath, yet meeting only the unyielding metal of the muzzle.

Unyielding yet safe, Medic mused. Control without injury. Restraint without damage.

“It’s that fear that allows our program to work as well as it does.” Somehow, that faux smile widened. “Training an Asset is simple. Fear breeds obedience. Once your Asset fears you, once they know that you are, indisputably, in control, then the training process may as well be complete.”

Without so much as a glance away from the camera, the presenter yanked upon their Asset’s leash, sending them stumbling closer as they struggled not to trip over their own feet. Their knees looked to be a moment from buckling. Deftly placing their finger between the device’s prongs, the presenter grabbed hold of the Asset’s collar, forcing their head skywards. The tiny, nearly microscopic puncture wounds upon their neck’s skin was revealed, if only for a moment.

“This Asset is relatively new to our program. They’ve previously harmed another handler. But no history, no matter how bad, can prevent an Asset from being trained. It just means you need to put in a little more effort. A little more fear. A little more control.

I understand fully the skepticism surrounding this program. You, too, may be skeptical that such a program as this can function. But I assure you, it can. This Asset has a long history of violence, attempted escapes, facility damage, and the like. Most would consider them a lost cause. Untrainable.

No one is untrainable.

Before this, they have not been taught a single command. But no one is untrainable.”

For a moment, they turned from the camera-- the first time they had done so. Medic couldn’t help but wonder whether the red-tinged pixels on their neck were from a wound, or simply from a glitch of the file.

The presenter loosened their grip of their prey, just slightly, letting go of their collar, yet still keeping hold on the leash where it attached to the choke chain.

“Sedeo.”

With a sharp, startling pull on their neck, the Asset found themself practically thrown to their knees. The movement was abrupt, such that the pixels representing it blurred and lagged.

The swiftness was followed by silence. The presenter backed away, their prey struggling to their feet. From behind them, where their hands sat straining and folded, Medic could have sworn to have seen a few frames of flame and smoke.

If the presenter noticed, they paid no heed. Once their Asset had recovered, again, they spoke. Again, they ordered.

“Sedeo.”

Their Asset sputtered a moment, backing away as far as their restraint would allow.

The word was repeated, once more. It came as a snap, a whip strike in the air.

“Sedeo!”

At the same moment, the presenter’s hand moved to a loop on their belt, where some indistinguishable object hang.

In a stumbling panic, the Asset dropped to their knees, head bowed. Jaw trembling.

The predator smiled, that plastered, trained grin, as they turned back to the camera. Their trainee still sat, panting and whimpering. A single pixel of red ran down the back of their neck.

“It’s a simple process, really. I assure you this: No one is untrainable.” With the last sentence, their tone took an odd, almost somber dip, before it picked up again with just as much speed. “I’ll see you all in the next video, then! Good luck!”

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The base awoke at 7.

It was like a creature, in its own proper respects, rising slowly, legs stiff as it shook its fur. In the hallways of the quarters, a dozen separate alarm tones could be heard, followed by a dozen bleary eyes blinking. Not long after, the whir of coffee machines would begin, awaking those who had neglected to awake to their morning alarm.

Generally, Counselor awoke before the rest of the creature’s parts. They considered themself an early riser, awaking as the sun did, and oftentimes even before that. Today, however, was an exception to the rule. They had stayed up far too late past midnight to even consider arising at 6. After their alarm buzzed for a few minutes, it gave up.

They did not rise until the knock on their door sounded.

It was hushed in volume and nervous in tone. They had no need to ask who was on the other side.

“Just a minute.” They practically whispered in reply.

That was, about, exactly how long it took for them to rush to prepare themself. In exactly 62 seconds, they emerged into the quarters hallway. Hero was nearly knocked over by the door, saved only by stumbling backwards at the right time.

“Are you ready, then?” Hero raised a brow. Counselor had no clue how they managed to appear so calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” They shrugged.

“Please don’t let Medic murder you.”

“Yeah I’ll- I’ll try that.”

And with that, they went-- Counselor left, Hero right.

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Attempting to find any individual person in the Resistance’s base was, in most senses of the word, an impossibility. Unlike a needle in a haystack, those in the building were constantly moving about, weaving through the maze of hallways and corridors. It was more like finding a grain of rice in the ocean, than anything. Counselor knew that better than anyone else.

Medic, however, was never a problem to find.

Officially, the base’s medical wing opened its operations at 7, meaning that Medic would be there at 6, or 5, or whatever godawful hour they had decided to wake up at. Regardless of when they arrived, though, they would always be there. Always in that little corner of the building. New recruits often asked if that was where they slept.

Some nights, it was.

Thus, that was where Counselor was headed. They couldn’t quite ignore the tension they held in their shoulders, but they did their best not to display it.

The medical wing was a minuscule thing, tucked away near the center of the structure, with only a single room capable of housing a patient overnight, and another designed for exams.

Counselor pushed open the door that led to the wing, wincing at the creak of steel. They half expected Medic to be on the other side, but they weren’t. All that was there were two closed doors.

On instinct as much as logic, they moved to the first one-- the exam room. It was where the doctor spent most of their day, dealing with everything from horrific injuries to someone, somehow managing to consume a rock.

The motion sensing light clicked on as they opened the door, illuminating only an empty exam table and scattered equipment.

Already, it wasn’t a good sign.

Nerves already turning up a notch, Counselor backed up, moving to the second door. The hospital room. With a deep breath, they unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The room was dark, lit only by the glow of monitors. Their beeping was accented by the steady rhythm of Villain’s shallow snoring.

Counselor had been so distracted by the captive that they only then noticed the fact that Medic was not here, either.

There was no other part of the medical wing. It was tiny, and it wasn’t like the doctor did much else. Maybe they were just making coffee. Or in the bathroom, maybe?

Rationale running through their head, Counselor backed out of the room. They closed the door as quietly as they could, turned, and nearly slammed into Medic. The steaming hot coffee in their hand made Counselor grateful that it had only been a near collision. They took a step back, giving comfortable distance between the two of them.

For a split second, it seemed almost as though Medic didn’t notice them-- their bleary eyes too focused upon the coffee in their mug. A moment later, though, they looked up.

Their gazes locked. There was no anger or hostility in the action, not that Counselor could tell. Yet, there was a tenseness to it. With a dawning sense of dread, they remembered their encounter from the day before.

But, they’d already come this far.

“Hey.” They began. The second their lips moved to form the word, they knew it sounded stupid.

“...Hey.”

“Uh... Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Um-”

“Is there something I can help you with?” Medic blinked, before turning, briefly, to see the door that Counselor was standing in front of. “Are you... Seriously?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to talk.”

“Again, why?”

“Well... I’m sure that you know that I’m in charge of the well-being of everyone living and working here. That includes you. And you look exhausted, everyone has noticed.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your glasses are on upside-down.”

Medic blinked for a moment, before fixing the error.

“That doesn’t discount the fact that people here need medical care.”

“I know it doesn’t. But I also know that you don’t have any appointments until this afternoon.”

“I have a patient to take care of.”

“Mhm. I know, that’s what I’m offering to help you with. How about you go back to sleep, and I can deal with Villain today.”

Medic grimaced.

“They need... very specialized care. It’s the kind of thing that needs to be under a doctor’s supervision.”

“I took a bullet out of your arm in Tampa.” Counselor raised a brow. “I think I can handle it.”

“It’s complicated. I don’t have time to explain.”

“I think I can feed someone Secobarbital just fine, actually.”

That seemed to awake Medic, at least partially, from their half-asleep trance. They looked up.

“How the hell did you-”

“The Head of Facilities isn’t exactly too cagey about inventory.” Counselor smiled, as sweetly and smugly as they could possibly manage. They’d noticed the discrepancy in their medicine stocks the night prior, when checking in on their supply of blankets.

“It‘s... It’s to help them sleep. That’s all.”

“And that’s why you gave them enough to incapacitate a horse?”

Medic bit their lower lip.

“And what are you going to do about it, exactly?”

“Well, I do have my daily check-in with Leader...”

“They won’t care. They know Villain is dangerous. Sedation is completely justified.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that they’d be mad. But if you’re having to sedate your patients... maybe that means you could use some extra help around here. Someone to help with Villain. Someone who’s been looking into their files since the day they came here.”

The longer they spoke, the more Medic’s eyes narrowed.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Either you let me help, or I get Leader to assign me to do so. It’s a zero sum game. But with the first way, they won’t know that you’re misusing our medical supplies.”

“You’re not seriously doing this?”

“Oh, I seriously am.”

For a moment, they stood like that. Medic gripped the coffee cup in their hand with such force that Counselor was surprised that the handle did not simply shatter. After what felt like a nerve-wracking eternity, however, Medic gave their answer:

“Fine. Damn it all to hell.”

“Great!” Again, that smile leapt to Counselor’s countenance. “Sleep well. Oh, and, when you get up, you might want to make some new coffee. Yours might have been swapped out for decaf when you weren’t looking.”

Medic looked to be about to smash something.

“Thanks.” They growled in response.

Counselor couldn’t help but grin, ear to ear, as they turned to enter Villain’s hospital room.

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The knock on the door to Leader’s office came at a rather rare moment in their day-- one of the few moments in which they were alone, not in some meeting or mediating some argument. It had been almost peaceful.

Of course, that peace had to dissolve as soon as the knock sounded. They look up from their desk.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Hero.”

“Hero?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to talk, quick.”

“Uh... Alright. Come on in.”

As the door opened, they quickly combed their hair down with their fingers. It still looked like quite the mess, though, when Hero entered. They gestured for them to sit in the chair across, which they did.

Leader did their best to compose themself on such short notice. They had yet to fully awake, but they sat up straight in their chair, arms on the desk before them. A proper leader, as best as they could manage to be one.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“You uh, you know how Counselor spent like, hours yesterday looking over those files?”

“Yeah? Did they ever go to sleep, even?”

“Eventually, yeah. But I promised that if they got some rest, I’d talk to you.”

“About Villain?”

“Mhm.”

Hero couldn’t help but feel bad about saying it, but it was the truth. Trying to lie to Leader would only sow distrust, which was far from the top of their priorities.

“Anything in specific?” Leader took a drink of a soda. Hero sipped their coffee. “I know they’ve been obsessing over the whole thing but... If I had some kind of magic solution, I’d have told you a long time ago.”

“Their backstory. That’s what they mainly wanted to know about, as far as I could tell. I mean, we all know that they appeared and started doing... villain stuff like six months ago. But besides that?” They made a ring with their fingers. “Zilch. We figured that maybe you’d know something more.”

“Why would you think that?”

As much as Hero wanted to point out how Leader looked about to faint whenever they so much as looked at Villain--Hero had never seen it themself, but had heard enough secondhand-- they knew that that wouldn’t end well.

“Back at Organization, I mean, you were kinda the head of records and stuff, right? We just figured, maybe you’d remember something...”

“I... I hate letting you down.” Even with their sympathetic voice, Hero couldn’t help but see Leader bite their lip. “I know that six months ago, they started attacking various locations around the continent.”

“Do you think they work for Supervillain? For Organization.”

“We all did, at some point. I mean, that’s how we got our powers. Right now, though? It’s... Not a possibility we can reasonably pass up. They don’t exactly act like Supervillain’s other agents, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“What about back when you did work for Organization? Do you remember anything? Anything at all?”

“No.” Leader shook their head. “I’m sorry, but I’m just as in the dark as you.”

Hero nodded, though they noted with frustration the beads of sweat gathering on Leader’s forehead.

“Okay. Thank you.”

They stood, sliding the chair back. They didn’t so much as make eye contact with Leader as they turned, heading for the door.

“Wait.”

Hero turned. The droplets of sweat had started to fall-- combining with the gathering of tears beading in Leader’s eyes. They blinked them away as quickly as they formed.

“Catch.”

Leader reached into, of all things, a pencil holder on their desk, producing a finger-sized piece of machinery. A flash drive. With far too little grace, they threw it, with Hero catching it like an umpire would. Before they left, they glanced at the device, noting with a slight pang of nervousness the text written upon it:

“Property of Organization.”

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The hospital room seemed darker the second time Counselor walked through its door. This time, however, they quickly flicked on the light switch as they let the door close itself behind them. They made no move to lock it. Despite what Medic seemed to think, Villain was their patient. Not their prisoner.

The pale villain seemed to blend into the blank white sheets on which they lay. Counselor noticed with a pang of worry the padded restraints, securing their wrists to the bed frame. They could hardly even walk. It seemed unnecessary at best, cruel at worst.

One day. They couldn’t fix everything, but they had one day. One day to help as much as they could.

With footsteps as soft as they could make them, they approached Villain’s bedside, a gentle hand laid upon their shoulder gently attempting to shake them awake.

They had one day. They’d start with a bath.

[glassworkspiderlilies]

the earth shudders at the tower asunder (2/4)

Genshin Impact | Lumine & Venti (+ Mondstadt Chapter Cast) | AO3 Summary: Lumine arrives in Mondstadt and becomes willingly entangled in its affairs. Notes: Chapter 2 of the primordial!travelers AU, approx 7.5k words. Follows the events of the prologue. :)

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They look at her oddly, these knights of Favonius.

Lumine supposes she can understand why; in the months she had been alone, struggling to gather the bits of herself together enough so that she could start moving and find Aether, she has grown…very quiet. Lumine had never been loud to begin with, but…her control over herself is tenuous at best now, and the more she speaks, the more she feels as though she will crumble. So she doesn’t, or as little as she can.

She suspects she looks as fragile as she feels.

Paimon, bless her soul, is chatty enough for the two of them. She picks up where Lumine falters, which is often, and her manner is so cheerful and innocent that Lumine is able to feel marginally more grounded as she is integrated back into civilization.

(She is so grateful for Paimon; she doesn’t think the fairy will understand just how much.)

Are you a new ally…or a new storm?

Kaeya had asked this, when Lumine had descended safely from the sky after Stormterror’s winds had whipped her upwards after finally setting foot in Mondstadt—and could Amber understand too, how grateful Lumine was to receive the glider and feel the delight of being in the skies once again?—but she didn’t have an answer to give him. She is neither; she merely is.

The true question is what he will deem her.

I understand the anguish of being separated from family, he’d said too, and she had met his eye and softly asked, do you?

It had not been asked derisively, but as a true, honest question, because she wanted to know if he could understand the cavernous emptiness inside of her. It would be a relief if he did.

But his eye had widened slightly, and he said nothing more. His gaze had only grown a little more piercing after that.

Even know, he is watching her with more scrutiny than the others.

“Lumine? You’re spacing out again,” Paimon says, floating in front of her to draw her attention.

Lumine blinks, and she touches her own cheek, as if she is returning from far away and assuring herself she is still corporeal.  

“I’m sorry,” she says, and Kaeya’s lips lift in a smile.

“Were you distracted by my good looks?” he teases, “I must say, receiving such attention from the Hero of Mondstadt isn’t so bad.”

She blinks at him, tilting her head a little in thought. She is no hero, and as for Kaeya’s looks…

“A pretty man can be no secret,” she says absently, “But secrets are what you’re made out of nonetheless, isn’t it?”

A silence.

But then Lisa and Jean chuckle, the latter hiding it behind her hand, while Amber puts her hands on her hips and grins.

“Wow, you’ve just met him and you’re spot on!” Amber says cheerily, “It’s true, Kaeya’s always up to something.”

“It’s part of what makes him one of our most excellent knights,” Jean adds, with a smile.

“Hey now, she never said it was a bad thing,” Kaeya says, but there is a deeper curiosity about him as he looks back at Lumine. “But enough about me—let’s move on, shall we? Will our esteemed traveler sojourn in Mondstadt while we put word out for her brother, and lend us her aid?”

Lumine looks at him, then Jean, who inclines her head in question.

She stares at her for a long time, caught up, suddenly, by wisps of memory. She cannot recall them clearly, but she thinks about sweet faces turning malicious, and the scent of iron.

“Lumine,” Paimon prods gently, once more.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, then focuses on Jean again. “My help. Will you accept the responsibility of taking it?”

Jean’s eyebrows rise, perplexed at the wording, but reaches out her hand resolutely.

“I will,” she says, voice firm, and Lumine graces her with a faint smile before pressing her fingers against Jean’s in the briefest of handshakes.

“So be it,” Lumine murmurs.

The four Favonius knights exchange significant looks, and Lumine excuses herself to let them speak without her.

Paimon bounces excitedly when they are outside, her eyes glistening, already used to Lumine’s odd way of speaking and finding nothing of note remiss.

“Let’s get this done and have the Sticky Honey Roast Amber promised!!” she exclaims, and Lumine smiles.

Simple pleasures and small goals—yes, she can handle these. Paimon is with her, and those knights…they’ve accepted responsibility for the price of her aid.

(But what price is that? She no longer quite remembers, and wonders about the pooling uneasiness inside of her.)

.

The bard feels like home.

Each pluck of his lyre soothes her; she closes her eyes and for the moments that the notes sweeten the air, she feels like she is back in the early days with Aether, running through fields and collecting flowers at their leisure. Before…before everything (everything?), when they were together and playing around without a care in the world.

Their separation already feels like eons, though surely it cannot be that long.

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she opens them. The melody changes then, and the tone of the bard’s voice shifts to a deeper, more somber tone, drawing attention for a dramatic ballad.

He tells a story, of friendship between fair bard and curious dragon, and the tragedy that split them apart: a desperate war with a price perhaps too high to pay, venomous blood inducing a long slumber, the denouncement that followed once the dragon awoke…and the damning absence of the only voice that could reach him thereafter.

Lumine’s tears do fall then while the bard ends his tale, sweeps a bow, and scans his eyes over his audience. He looks startled when he meets her dewy gaze, and almost wary when Paimon leads their approach. Lumine wipes the wetness on her cheeks away with a brush of both hands, and the bard tilts his head in slight recognition.

“I can’t say I’ve never had anyone cry at my performances,” he says, running his fingers over the strings aimlessly, “But I confess I was surprised to see you weep so openly while everyone else was quite dry-eyed.”

“I was lost in thought,” Lumine admits, “But your tale too was…sad.”

The bard looks at her with a faint smile, plucking out a simple melody, and something in her stirs at the tune. His gaze is open and curious as he looks between her and Paimon.

“I know you, don’t I? You were the ones that scared Dvalin away.”

“Dvalin…?” Paimons wonders, and as she and the bard argue over names, Lumine studies the boy.

“The dragon. He is your friend,” Lumine says, and Paimon looks startled. “You were speaking to him, when we interfered.”

The bard smiles.

“That you did, and the price to pay was not a pretty one,” he says, but offers nothing more.

“Your song, too, was about him,” she continues, but the bard continues to smile in silence. “Your name?”

“Venti the bard. Three time winner of ‘Most Popular Bard of Mondstadt,’ to be precise. What is it you need from me?”

“That is not your real name,” Lumine muses, sure of this somehow as she ignores the question, and Venti raises an intrigued brow.

There is a second where his gaze sharpens, but Paimon interrupts impatiently.

“Nevermind that, Lumine, show him!” the fairy insists, and Lumine obediently brings out the red crystal—though it is no longer red.

Venti looks surprised at the sight of its blue glow; his face grows soft, and sad as he speaks once more to Dvalin’s anguish. He puts another red crystal into her hands with a request for purification, and Lumine stares at the tear resting atop her palm.

Lisa had said it stung, when the first one had been brought to her—hurt even to come close. But it simply sits heavy in Lumine’s hand, and she can feel the pain and sorrow contained in it. Filled with impurities, Lisa had said of the crystal, but while the power has been twisted, the emotions are not. The strength of it pulses red, and Lumine—Lumine understands.

Her fingers close around the tear, she closes her eyes, and she sighs.

Come back. Come back to me, back home.

She hears Paimon and Venti gasp, and when she opens her eyes and hand again, the crystal glows a calming blue.

Venti’s eyes are wide and luminous as he stares at her.

“You…” he begins, eyebrows furrowing a little as he puzzles something out. “…Really do have some wonderful abilities. Someone like you is going to end up getting written into a bard’s poem.”

He hums a few rough lines, but Lumine is faraway again. Songs and poems dedicated to her, once upon a time…there were things like that, weren’t there?

“Anyway…even if Dvalin is not taken down, his life will still wither away in the breeze…he’ll burn himself out in the flames of anger.”

Lumine blinks, coming back to the present. A breeze blows through the square, and though the bard isn’t playing, she hears a faint keening melody.

“Save him,” she says, looking up at the sky, voice distant, and Venti smiles.

“I’ve a plan,” he says, “So one must be going. You’re coming too, right? To the symbol of Mondstadt’s Hero.”

“Hey! What makes you so sure we’re just gonna follow you around like that?” Paimon pouts at the presumption, and Venti inclines his head.

“Didn’t you come looking for me in the first place? And, somebody did interrupt me when I was trying to communicate with Davlin,” he says, running his fingers across his lyre again, “And now I’ve got the same poison running through my veins for the trouble.”

Paimon wilts a little, letting out a soft “oooogh…” at his argument, then floats back up again once she fully processes what he’s said, her eyes wide.

“Wait—poison?!”

“Yes, so one must be going,” Venti repeats patiently, then dashes off this time without looking back.

Paimon and Lumine look at each other, and follow.

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“Your presence seems to help quite a bit,” Venti greets amicably, as Lumine and Paimon come to stand beside him underneath the great tree.

Lumine blinks at him, then holds out her hand. Venti blinks back, then grins.

“That’s not necessary, but if you insist…”

He takes her hand, and they stare up at the tree together.

“I’d like to know more about the God of Anemo,” she tells him, and he looks at her, eyes wide.

“Barbatos? He already disappeared from Mondstadt a long time ago. Liyue and Inazuma’s gods are still present, but it has been many a moon since Mondstadt saw theirs.”

Lumine looks at him now too, her face impassive.

“Do not lie to me,” she says.

It is said gently, not at all unkindly, but Venti’s eyes widen again marginally as he observes her. There is a faint power in her words, like an old talisman whose ability has faded, but is still recognizable as an object that once held it.

“It’s not a lie,” Venti smiles, tilting his head inquisitively as he lets her hand go, “…Merely carefully worded.”

Lumine repeats what he said in her mind carefully, and concedes to this truth. She smiles faintly back, then takes back his hand to his amusement, and looks up again at the tree.

“What do you need us to do?” she asks, and Venti laughs delightedly at this free offering of help.

“You could come with me to claim a certain Lyre de Himmel,” he says.

“Isn’t that stealing?” Paimons queries, and Venti grins at her.

“Not quite. I said claim, did I not?”

Paimon grumbles at him, but Lumine squeezes his hand gently before letting go.

“Will it save him?” she asks, and Venti inclines his head.

“It might,” he says, but she isn’t looking at him anymore, eyes turned to the blue sky instead.

“Then let’s go,” she murmurs, and Venti wonders just who or what it is she’s really looking to save.

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Events swirl around her without abandon. She becomes more and more entangled in Mondstadt’s affairs, but she doesn’t begrudge it, either, willingly letting herself be swept up in them. There’s a pull, a want to right the wrongs that have been done—and she is somewhat afraid of the outcome, because she cannot control the results that could be devastating, but she does want to try.  

(Why is that, she wonders. Is it pity? No. But she likes the smiles on everyone’s faces, feels glad to have offered her help when their relief shows. She may be without her powers, but this, too, is a kind of power as well, is it not?)

It feels very mortal, to want to try. Even if she herself is not human, the feeling is…warm.

They sit in Angel’s Share, after the fiasco with the Fatui stealing the lyre and having to explain the situation to Diluc and Jean. Having failed at pilfering alcohol, Venti—whom they all now know specifically as Barbatos himself—wheedles a very patient Diluc for wine. Jean has her hands folded and brows furrowed in thought over a glass of Berry & Mint Burst as they all consider their next step on retrieving the lyre.

Paimon, meanwhile, sucks up apple juice at an alarming rate.

Diluc eventually slides a glass of grape juice towards Lumine, who sits without a drink for some time whilst lost in thought. She looks up at him, mildly surprised at the gesture. He raises a brow at her but says nothing, so she also says nothing before sliding it closer to herself and taking a sip.

The flavor blooms in her mouth; it is sweet and slightly tart, full-bodied and bursting with life. She smiles, and Diluc looks satisfied.

“What a shame you’re underage!” Venti exclaims when he notices, swirling a glass of dandelion wine that he has somehow managed to procure. “You’re really missing out on Angel Share’s finest.”

Lumine takes another sip of juice, not breaking eye contact.

“Underage?” she murmurs, trying to think back. It’s no use; she and her brother had never measured time by proper mortal standards. “Is…that how I look to you?”

Everyone stares.  

“…And how old are you, Traveler?” Jean asks politely, and Lumine shakes her head at the question.

“I can’t remember,” she murmurs, and Paimon hmphs before the situation becomes too awkward.

“What’s the big deal? Paimon doesn’t know how old she is, either! And anyway, wine is gross! It’s all weird and sour…Paimon doesn’t think Lumine is missing out at all!”

Lumine smiles.

“An order of fried radish balls for Paimon,” she says to a Diluc, who motions to a waitress, and the fairy cheers.

“Yesss! You’re the best, Lumine!”

But the other three continue to stare, though Diluc returns to polishing glasses, and Venti sips his wine thoughtfully as he scrutinizes her.

“Could you be another Archon, somehow?” he muses, tilting his glass towards her, “But if you were a god, it’d be strange that I couldn’t tell. And yet…I hesitate to say you feel...hm…normal. But not abnormal, either?”

“I’m not a god,” Lumine demurs, “I’m just…me.”

Venti laughs, and Jean smiles and nods in approval.

“I’ll drink to that,” Venti says, gently clinking his glass against hers and following his words.

But his eyes remain thoughtful, and wondering.

.

Diluc and Jean are looking at her oddly again when she purifies the remaining crystals they have gathered, amazed and pleased with the results, yet also curious.

Lumine says nothing, for she can no longer speak to what she is, anyway.

They infuse the Lyre de Himmel with the tears’ powers, and make their way to Starsnatch Cliff. Lumine shivers as they approach, reminded of the aching, lonely days beneath its tall crags, and Paimon plops herself on top of Lumine’s head comfortingly. She reaches up for the fairy’s small hand, and feels a little better at the touch.

The view atop the cliff, however, is unfailingly beautiful, and Paimon voices her thoughts in awe.

“Lovely for a fated reunion, isn’t it?” Venti grins. He breathes in deep as he stands at the tip of the cliff, just short of dangerously close to falling. “Well—we must be prepared for a fight.”

Always for a fight, Lumine thinks with an ache in her chest, but everyone seems to be rather optimistic, regardless.

Venti takes his position, and begins his melody.

The notes are crisp in the cool air, and she recognizes the same song he had played in Mondstadt’s square when they had first spoken to him. But so too can she tell that what he plays now is different, the music infused with a particular quality that only the God of Anemo can achieve. A tale of friendship and wonder…like the first time, she can feel the tears welling up in her eyes, the emptiness inside her even more present in the face of this performance.

Before Venti’s song can break her, Dvalin surges up from underneath the cliff, the ensuing wind nearly too strong for them to withstand as they attempt to shield themselves with their hands. Only the bard stands undisturbed by the violent wind.

Home, home, come home—

“You have come…what has been done…cannot be undone…”

Lumine’s heart aches at the sound of the dragon’s voice. She watches as Dvalin slowly descends, and dragon and bard finally confront each other.

“Then why do I see sadness in your eyes?” Venti counters, his voice carrying clear despite the wind, “Sadness that speaks of your yearning for this song…”

For a moment, the dragon’s glowing eyes grow less harsh as he hesitates.

“They’re communicating…” Jean murmurs in fascination, and Lumine turns to her for a brief, damning second.

An arrow flies true. The Holy Lyre is shot from Veti’s pale hands, the instrument’s arm shattering further as it hits the ground, strings snapping with strident, discordant twangs.

“No! Tone-Deaf Bard!” Paimon shrieks with concern as they all rush to his aid.

An Abyss Mage floats from behind Dvalin’s neck tauntingly, its poisonous voice rooting its lies.

“Do not be fooled by him, dear dragon…he left you to rot alone. Now he attempts to deceive you once more!”

“No!” Venti cries out, and Lumine’s heart cracks at the desperation in his voice, “Listen to me!”

“Barbatos…” Dvalin breathes, wavering as if unsure.

But not unsure enough. Too many years between them, and too many years under the influence of the dark blood that taints him.

“Let your wrath fester! Mondstadt has already turned its back on you!” the Abyss Mage screeches, and Dvalin roars in anger.

Lumine acts, summoning her sword. Diluc and Jean’s eyes widen as she throws it with terrifying speed—but she misses the Mage by a breadth, and Lumine clicks her tongue as her blade returns to her hands. The Mage cackles at the miss, and Dvalin loops the air before rushing forward.

“You! You planned this all along, to have me slain?!”

He does not yet attack, only intimidates. But he is so close. His maw is open, the wind is strong, and even Venti stands helpless without any tools to reach his friend.

“The time has come for the dragon to serve its true master!” the Mage shrieks, waving its staff with glee, and Lumine—Lumine walks forward.

“Silence,” she commands, seething at the Mage’s arrogant tone.

And for a second, the world stands still.

“You serve no master,” Lumine says, reaching for the dragon’s jaws. Her voice is soothing, calm, almost akin to the quality of Venti’s music. “And if you do, it is of your own choosing. Who is it you wish to listen to? Whose voice is it you want to hear? Where is it you want to go home to?”

Dvalin closes his maw, and she lays a hand on his snout. He growls loud and low, but Lumine stares into his eyes, and for a second, she feels the energy shift.

Not enough.

The Abyss Mage shakes itself out of its stupor; despite its confusion at what transpired in that brief moment, it still knows what it must do. It mounts Dvalin’s back, digging its staff into his flesh; the dragon cries out, his howl metallic in his pain. Lumine feels someone jerk her back by her dress with astonishing speed; she stumbles to the ground hard as the dragon lunges and narrowly misses hitting her.

“Bewail your pathetic selves and watch the world tremble with fear!” the Mage yells, and Dvalin pulls back from the cliff and nearly blows them all away before flying off.  

Lumine watches him get smaller and smaller in the distance from the ground, and Diluc peeks down at her from overhead.

“What the hell was that?” he says, surprised, and Lumine looks up at him then down at her hands.

“You almost succeeded,” Venti says wistfully, and somewhat pityingly, as he comes to stand beside her.

“Simply astonishing,” Jean adds, her tone wondering.

Paimon says nothing, but floats into Lumine’s lap.

“Are you okay?” Paimon asks, and Lumine’s face crumples as she hugs her tight, burying her face into the fairy’s hair.

Paimon makes a soft noise.

Lumine feels a hand sit gently on her shoulder. She lifts to face to meet Venti’s understanding gaze; she isn’t crying, but her eyes burn. The others gather behind him, looking at her with kindness on their faces too.

“…What next?” Diluc finally says, tone businesslike, and Lumine turns to look at him again.  

He is resolute, as are the others as she meets each gaze, and so she steels herself. Next, she thinks. We must keep going.

Venti offers her his hand to help her rise from the ground.

She takes it.

.

“Are you ready to take to the skies, Traveler?”

Lumine tears her eyes away from swirl of clouds and fog she sees through the hole in the roof of Stormterror’s Lair, her eyes glittering with a savage light. Despite the challenge of the impending fight, the thought of flying unencumbered again like she used to be able to fills her with joy. Venti raises an eyebrow at her expression.

“I confess that was not the reaction I was expecting,” he says with some humor, and Lumine gives him a wry smile.

“Flight,” she says shortly, turning away, “I miss it. But yes. I am ready.”

They have too little time to spare for conversation, but Venti squirrels that bit of information away for later. The plan is simple; the bard and Traveler will bring Dvalin down from the high skies, and then Diluc and Jean will join the fight where they can from the platforms at the Lair’s tallest point. Paimon awaits on the sidelines where it is safe, prepared to shout warnings or throw potions.

“Let’s go, then,” Venti says, and both the air around him and the tips of his braids glow green as he strums his usual lyre. “May the thousands of years of wind that have blown through Mondstadt go with you.”

Wind bursts forth underneath them; Venti spins upward and Lumine opens the wings of her glider, and the two are airborne—high, high, higher until they are well into and above the clouds.  

While Venti concentrates on channeling the Anemo energy for her, Lumine aims the power at the poisonous blood clots they’ve identified on Dvalin’s back from their vantage point.

Dvalin screeches when the second one shatters, staggering in the air before recovering and descending down to his lair. Venti and Lumine drop after him, the bard ensuring that their landing is safe; Diluc and Jean come to their sides as they stare down the center of the tower from the platforms. Fog swirls violently, a tornado of energy shooting up and blowing their group back before Dvalin reveals himself by dispersing it from the center with a few violent beats of his wings.

He roars, harsh and grating and anguished, and the fight begins in earnest.

“Now we can fight Dvalin on equal grounds,” Venti winks, though Lumine can still see the concern creasing his brow. His lyre glows green in his hands then rematerializes as a bow, the arrow that he nocks bright with Anemo energy. “The grandest bard is here to help!”

A smile ghosts Lumine’s lips at his persistent cheer despite the gravity of the situation.

Diluc and Jean take their positions while Venti fires off his arrows with remarkable speed and precision at the weak spots in Dvalin’s armor. Lumine is no archer, but she picks her shots and throws her sword with as much precision as she can, attempting to control the trajectory. She senses the surprise from the others as they watch her do so—Paimon had remarked before that watching this summoning ability of Lumine’s never got tiring, and it seems to hold true for the others too—but she must use what she has at her disposal, and she is in no danger of losing her weapon.

Periodically, Dvalin lands on the stone and lunges, scattering the team before the sword-wielders close in. Diluc’s bright fire singes the air, while Jean’s cool breeze heals their accumulating wounds.

It’s slow going, the battle. Dvalin peels away from the platform after some time and howls, white-hot energy irradiating the sky before dropping and fissuring the stones around them.

“Watch your step!” Venti cautions, and spreads his arms to bring up a wind current.

Diluc and Jean flounder a little as they surge up; they have their own gliders too, of course, but they are not able to maneuver so effortlessly in the air so suddenly. Lumine grips Diluc by the arms as they fly, while Paimon darts close and assists Jean to the next platform. They narrowly miss a swipe from the dragon’s teeth as they do so; and Venti lets out a deceptively airy laugh at their close brush with instantaneous death.  

“Lucky for us, huh?” he says, and Diluc shoots him a nasty glare before nodding his thanks at Lumine’s aid.

“His armor’s almost cracked!” Paimon shouts, pressing potions into their hands before floating back to safety, “Go, go!”

Venti and Lumine aim true, and with their next hits, Dvalin collapses onto the platform entirely.

“Aim for that blood clot on his neck!” Venti shouts, and the three swordmasters scramble up the dragon’s neck as the bard aims his next arrow.

Six hits, seven, eight, quadrupled by their combined attacks—it feels too long, but the last crystal finally, finally shatters.

Their relief is short lived.

Dvalin rears, thrashing from side to side as the three hold on for dear life. The wound underneath begins to glow purple, tendrils of murky light spidering out to the rest of his body.

“What’s happening?!” Jean shouts in alarm.

“The wound,” Diluc grits out as he nearly slips, “It’s festering.”

“A curse,” Lumine says quietly, “Venti had said the Order had cursed the wounds.”

The bard in question shoots up from the platform, maneuvering expertly as he avoids getting slammed by Dvalin’s head. He joins them on the neck, as close to the wound as he possibly can, hovering a hand over it. His palm glows green, but the light disappears rapidly; he tries again with the same result—then a third, and fourth with no difference—and the look in his eyes is both desperate and ashamed.

He is not strong enough.

There is no second chance. At this stage, if the Abyss Order cannot control Dvalin, their magic will kill him.

Dvalin screeches, and even to those who do not understand his words, it is a sound of only pain and anguish as the evil light pulses. The brilliant blue of Dvalin’s scales begins to turn dark and muddy as the curse takes and takes, and Venti lets out a choked cry.

It’s that sound—so crystalline, so pure in its unhappiness and helplessness—that kindles something inside of her. She feels herself rushing through the years, back, back, back—

(“And us? What is there to challenge us?”

“Each other?”)

Lumine thinks of her brother, her conversation with him long ago, when gods aplenty had come to test their mettle against them to no avail.

(“Bewail your pathetic selves and watch the world tremble with fear!”)

Lumine remembers the Abyss Mage’s parting words, gritting her teeth at the swell of anger that crashes against her ribcage.

What challenge?

You are not Aether.

What world, trembling with fear?

Lumine grabs Venti’s hand, who startles at her touch; his braids go green, and she holds her other hand aloft, positioning her fingers—

“You are not the one who tells me what to do,” she hisses, and plunges her hand into the wound.

The others watch with wide eyes and open mouths; it lasts only a few heartbeats, the brutality of the moment. Lumine digs deeper and then rips something out of the wound and crushes it in her palm; the purple light recedes, then fades, any remainder of the coagulated blood along Dvalin’s body shattering into dust.

For that brief moment, they all forget where they are as they stare, Lumine’s eyes glowing with a faint golden light as she blows the offending residue from her hand, the particles sparkling white before disappearing.

Then Dvalin thrashes once more, the four falling from his body and rolling back onto the platform with the assistance of a carefully timed breeze from Venti; the dragon screeches, body seizing for a second—and at that moment, the proper color starts coming back into his scales—before plummeting down, down, down…

None of them have time to react further before the stone underneath them begins to crumble, and all of them instinctively reach for purchase before they plunge. The debris rains down all around them, and the storm-heavy air of the Lair grows more oppressive with the fall of its occupant, weighing them down so much that not even Paimon can remain afloat.

Whatever Lumine manifested earlier is no more, and does not help her here. A scream bubbles in her throat as she drops; she is not used to falling, not like this, and the nightmares so especially prevalent from her days under Starsnatch Cliff come bubbling to the surface. Fear clouds her mind and she squeezes her eyes shut—

And she hits something hard, but warm.

She opens her eyes to the blue sky, wings beating solid around her, and it takes a moment to realize that she and the others rest safely on Dvalin’s back.

Diluc and Jean look a little shaken but recover quickly, awe at their location taking over. Paimon crawls forward to hold Lumine’s hand, far more distressed at their sudden descent.  

And Venti—Venti smiles gently as he sprawls at the base of Dvalin’s neck.

“It’s been awhile since we last flew like this together, huh?” he murmurs, and the dragon lets out a low rumble.

“Why…why did you not ask me to protect you…like the last time?”

“Me not wanting you to listen to the Abyss Order doesn’t mean you have to listen to me,” the bard chuckles, “Can freedom, mandated by the god of such, really be considered freedom at all?”

Lumine blinks at the question, and Dvalin does not answer, or at least does not do so now.

“It has indeed been a long time…Barbatos…”

Venti smiles.

“Welcome back, old friend,” he says.

The sky is a brilliant, brilliant blue, the view even more breathtaking from the back of a dragon. Venti looks remarkably relaxed, a smile lifting his lips, and after a moment, he begins to sing. Even unaccompanied, his voice is beautiful and pure, and Dvalin’s body illuminates with Anemo energy as the bard graces him with power once more.

“We really did it,” Diluc says wryly, as they soar through the air, and Jean chuckles.

“I believed we would,” she replies confidently, looking to Lumine.

Lumine’s lips crack into a smile, and then she laughs, perhaps a little hysterically, before realizing that tears are rolling down her face. She touches them with surprise, baffled by her own reaction; she hurts just as much as she feels exultation.

“I’m glad,” she mutters, unable to say anything else.

She looks to Venti, who lifts his head just enough to give her a blinding smile as he continues to sing.

This time, when she laughs again, the pressure in her chest is lighter.  

Now go, with my blessing…

.

The air blows cleaner and sweeter when the curse upon Dvalin is broken and the much of the poison purified from his body.

Still, there is much to clean up upon their return to Mondstadt. Venti and Dvalin fly elsewhere for a while to catch up. Diluc returns to his own affairs. Jean handles the politics and diplomatic relations back in town, and Amber takes care of a mounting hilichurl invasion. Somewhere along the way, Kaeya has unearthed intelligence of the Abyss Order, enough to learn that there is now a Prince who heads the organization.  

Amidst all this, not a single sighting of Aether despite numerous flyers and questions. The days following the fall of Stormterror and the return of Dvalin are busy for the others, though Lumine is free to come and go as she pleases.

In the end, she spends much of it with fair bard and curious dragon.

Dvalin comes to land every so often by the Hero’s Tree, curling around its base. Lumine approaches him slowly at first, but he already seems quite used to her presence—as perhaps one might, if they had another’s hand dug into their very flesh before. In any case, Venti would vouch for her. She and the bard lean against the dragon’s side, and both Dvalin and Venti sigh contentedly at the purity her presence seems to add.

“You…” Dvalin says, turning his head to sniff Lumine’s hair. “You feel…familiar…and yet, your powers are not that of I’ve seen…”

Venti plucks at his lyre, humming in agreement. She had taken…no, channeled was perhaps the better word, for what she did during the battle. She had channeled his powers, but there had also been some of her own present, of course. It had been a startling feeling, yet not strictly unpleasant.

“Not an Archon, and supposedly not a god, but just you. And yet…you are not mortal, are you?”

Lumine says nothing for a while, but Venti seems content to wait.

“No,” she says, “But I cannot answer the question you are not asking.”

He laughs.

“Well of course not, for how will you know what I am asking?” he says, and she gives him a pointed look which makes him laugh again. “Come, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Lumine, Traveler of Worlds?”

She blinks at him, leaning forward a little.

“Me?”

“Isn’t that what I said? Your favorite flowers, favorite foods? Or…what you do if you can’t sleep, or what you like to do if it rains?”

She leans back again, and reaches over to pat Dvalin’s neck absentmindedly. He makes a pleased sound, then stops abruptly as if such a thing is beneath him.

“I like all flowers,” she finally begins, “And all foods. There’s nothing in particular I do if I cannot sleep…I sleep as I need to and wake as I need to. There is nothing in particular I do if it rains, either.”

“Tough crowd,” Venti murmurs, but doesn’t seem deterred. “Alright, then, how about your brother? What about him?”

“Aether? Hmmm…” Lumine tilts her head, thinking, but answers far more readily. “He likes all flowers, too, but…I think he’d be particularly fond of the lamp grass and windwheel asters here. If he cannot sleep, or if he is bothered, he flies. If it rains, he flies then, too.”

“Sounds like he likes to fly, then,” Venti says, and Lumine smiles.

“We both do, but Aether…Aether liked the acrobatics. He liked tricks. And the thrill of plummeting. He was not afraid of falling.”

Venti plucks his lyre, debating on what to say next. How interesting that she can hardly speak of herself, yet so much of her brother. He wonders if she knows what it is she does.

“How would you describe yourself, O Hero of Mondstadt?” he asks, and she furrows her brows.

“Not a hero,” she replies, “And just what is it that you hope to achieve from these questions?”

“Oh, humor a bard,” he grins, and she sighs.

“Aether was better at speaking, I think,” she begins again. “I am not so angry as he. But he accepts more than I do. The sun, the flowers, the air. Isn’t that enough to live for? That was his answer, when I asked why we were here. He won many arguments with his simple, easy logic. I queried more than he, perhaps. He was more…relaxed, about forgiveness. And I was not so ready to love things as Aether was; for me, it was pity that came first.”

Venti strums a tune as she speaks, half-composing as he changes chords based on her answers.

“Do you know—when asked to speak of yourself, you tell me of Aether first, and define yourself by what he is not?”

Lumine tilts her head.

“Is that so strange, when we were born together, and have spent our lives in each other’s company?”

Venti inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“And yet…is it so strange to define yourself in other ways?” He doesn’t expect her answer, however, for the question is…too difficult for her to do so at present. “I should like to meet your brother, and hear what he says about you.”  

Lumine watches as a crystalfly comes close, and opens her palm for it to land. It hovers only for a moment, and she closes her fist the moment it flies off.

She leans back again and closes her eyes, folding her hands in her lap as she lets her mind wander. Eventually she opens her eyes again, looking up at the tree, her brows furrowed in thought.

“Can freedom mandated by the god of freedom be considered freedom at all? I am still considering the answer to the question you asked of Dvalin.”

The dragon peers at her at the mention of his name.

“I chose,” he rumbles, “If I chose to choose….that is an answer…”

Lumine considers this. Venti smiles and draws his fingers across the strings loudly, then begins a new song.

She leans back and listens, feeling at peace.

.

She curses how weak she’s become when Signora plunges her fist into Venti and steals his precious core.

Lumine screams; the sight evokes a distant memory that she cannot recall clearly, but she is terrified suddenly of Venti disappearing entirely. He had not been lying before when he called himself the weakest of the Seven; his powers were just enough to provide aid in the fight against Dvalin, and are no match against the freezing ice the Harbinger had trapped him in.

(And her own…where? Where was it now?)

“At last, Mondstadt’s rodent ruler in the flesh. Scurrying through the streets, looking for leftovers…Mondstadt calls this a god?” Signora had drawled, gripping Venti’s face and turning it to and fro.

“Resident rodent beats invasive vermin,” Venti spat, and Lumine could have commended his cheek if not for the additional violence it brought against him.

His body falls to the ground, and Lumine is relieved that his body does not disintegrate into the air. He taunts Signora once more before she kicks him unconscious, and Lumine lunges forward despite her captors’ vice grip.

“We have what we came for,” Signora says, the core’s green glow disappearing as her fingers close around it. “Leave nothing for our dear Favonian friends to find.”

Sharp pressure strings at the back of the neck, and Lumine too topples to the ground. Before her vision fades, she reaches out; the scene is familiar, too familiar. Black and red at the pinpoint of her vision, her hand reaching for what has been stolen…

She had told Venti that it was Aether who was more prone to anger, but as she watches Signora walk away, the last thing she feels is rage.

.

After the Deaconess Barbara’s healing (and a hurried word of gratitude), Lumine makes a mad dash for the Tree, skidding through the streets with fervor.

The moment she spots Venti underneath its branches, she nearly tackles him as she wraps her arms around him for a second, then holds him at arm’s length to inspect him.

“What did she do to you?” Lumine demands, and Venti blinks at her in astonishment at this rare display of such intense emotion.

“Your concern is touching, but your actual touch is quite bruising at present,” he says, and Lumine lets go immediately with a frown. He smiles. “A bit down on my luck nowadays, aren’t I?”

“What was it she took from you?” Paimon repeats, “That…gnosis of yours?”

Venti inclines his head, looking at Lumine, who also waits for his answer with creased brows.

“Perhaps something like a god, and yet unknowing of gnoses…how curious,” he murmurs, but answers Paimin’s question anyway.

Without his gnosis, he has lost much of his elemental powers, but not all of it, and can still subsist. Lumine stores the information he is willing to share with them away; gnoses, Celestica, Visions, allogenes, the Tsaritsa and her Harbingers, a catastrophe from 500 years ago...there is so much she does not know—or remember.

But when Venti suggests her next destination as Liyue, she does realize that it is time to go. She has grown to like Mondstadt and the air that Venti has encouraged; already she is a little wistful, but she will not stop searching for Aether.

Venti smiles at her expression, and when he speaks again, there is a different quality to his voice.

“Traveler,” he says, and as Lumine breathes in the air is both sharp and sweet, “As you set off once again, remember that the journey itself has meaning. The birds of Teyvat, the songs and the cities, the Tsaritsa, her Fatui and the monsters…they are all part of your journey. The destination is not everything. So before you reach the end, keep your eyes open. Use the chance to take in the world around you.”

She feels…guilt. She has lived a long, long time, and there are things she has purposefully let go, as well as things she has not.

“Yes, Barbatos,” she whispers, and Venti’s eyes are just a little sad.

“Right! That’s enough of the Anemo Archon’s admonishments. Back to Venti time!” he exclaims, eyes brightening as he claps his hands together. “Say—we’ve become a great team during this time, don’t you think? Once you find your brother…how would you like to become one of the new Four Winds?”

Lumine blinks at him, then lets out a small laugh, much to both Paimon and Venti’s surprise.

“Perhaps,” she says, and Paimon makes a doubtful noise.

“You don’t seem too into it, Lumine…but if it means free food, you can consider Paimon!” she exclaims, turning to the bard with an excited wiggle.

Venti lets out an insincere chuckle, rubbing the back of his head, and Lumine covers more laughter with her hand while Paimon pouts.

“Thank you, Venti,” Lumine says, and he gives her a sweeping bow.

“Well then, best be off to Liyue,” he says with a wink, “If the descension ritual you fail to tally, then another year you must dally.

When he straightens again, however, she cannot quite tell which identity he is speaking with.

“And go,” he says, “With my blessing.”

Regardless, Lumine sweeps a returning bow. But before she leaves him, she holds out her hand, and after a moment, a cecelia shimmers into her palm. Venti blinks, and in another second she is tucking it behind his ear.

He laughs delightedly at the gift, and she smiles at him before making her way back to Mondstadt.

“Well then, shall we go too?” Venti asks, and surges up to where Dvalin is waiting.  

.

They watch from above later as she leaves the town after making her goodbyes.

“The winds are changing at quite the rapid pace,” Venti murmurs to his friend.

Dvalin rumbles low in agreement.

“She smells of sorrow, and of age-old memory…” Dvalin says, and Venti furrows his brows.

“Yes, it’s very curious, isn’t it? I can only think that she too is a god. And yet…of what, and where?”

Neither have an answer.

.

Rain begins to fall, a couple hours after she’s left Mondstadt.

Lumine stops on the road, looking up at the grey sky, closing her eyes for a moment and letting the drops plop onto her face.

“We should look for shelter!” Paimon exclaims, putting her hands over her head, and Lumine considers it.

Instead, she puts out her hand, and an umbrella manifests in it. She opens it, the blue-green fabric patterned with dandelions, and rests the handle on her shoulder.

“I’ll keep going,” she says quietly, “But I’ll not ask you to stay out.”

Paimon looks at her, then also takes shelter under the umbrella.

“No, I’ll stay,” she says, “Paimon is your guide!

Lumine smiles faintly, and the two continue onwards.

After a while, she begins to hum softly, absently. The tune rises and falls, and speaks to the wind, and traveling through worlds. Paimon eventually comes to rest on her shoulder, hanging sleepily.

“What’s that song?” she murmurs, already dozing off, “It’s nice.”

Lumine stops abruptly, blinking, the notes dissipating like wisps of smoke.

“…I’m not sure,” she says softly, with a slight frown as she resumes walking. “I seem to have already forgotten it.”

[keycarried]

hm

[yeleltaan]

Poppy, Violet, Willow, Zinna

BOTANICAL HEADCANONS | not accepting

///Very long answer, so putting it under read more!

poppy :   what comforts your muse ?

Most if not all of Cayin’s stress and concerns are things his human side experiences. Despite the fact that his eldritch nature allows him to see and understand what most cannot, and allows him to observe reality from a higher perspective that encompasses a bigger picture, that half of himself is also very primitive and straightforward in its train of thought. After a long period of infiltration, specially one that actually presents a threat to him, returning to the shadows and resting in the quiet, vast darkness is very soothing for him. And allowing his more contemplative human mind to sleep when he’s feeling somber can be relieving.

The nostalgia, or simply yearning depending on how connected you believe Cayin to be to the man that he was made from, for the joys of grounded life, from the simplest overlooked sensations to his interest in various forms of art (theatre being his favorite) can be the source of melancholic thoughts from time to time. Clinging to these things can lead to lament, “needlessly” as other creatures of the cosmos might claim, but he can also find great joy in them. Having someone close who engages with him in those activities regularly can be a strong source of comfort so long as they continue to do it, as well as developing said bonds, though it comes at the risk that one day that friendship might stand in the way of his job.

It’s also worth noting that at times his mission will lead him to places where his connection to his master is partially severed, requiring him to hide and make preparations in order to communicate with him properly. Needless to say he feels much more comfortable once he’s back in Yig’s area of influence.

violet :   how does your muse respond to betrayal ?

It depends on the intensity of this betrayal and what Cayin was doing at the time it occurred.

Taking advantage of Cayin when he doesn’t have a concrete task , has one but it’s of low importance or has one that involves him pretending to be a fairly ordinary individual will not cause you much trouble. To some degree, being wounded superficially (or more significantly, but in a way that it’s only a small setback for him) or made a fool after someone pretends to be his ally can be beneficial to him as it makes him seem less of a threat, less of an important player in a play. He won’t fall for it again, he’ll be wary and probably won’t display as much kindness towards you, but he most likely won’t be bitter about it and won’t seek any form of retribution.

If you were very close, he will feel disappointed and make sure that you know it. Still he won’t be angry, probably sad but he knows to expect some people like this in life. Diplomacy will still be possible, Cayin is professional about his duties and he will still heed your word. He might, however, be notably less polite and imbue his words with cutting sarcasm. He will speak more plainly about what he doesn’t like about you, about what he considers to be your failures, whenever he disagrees with your judgement. Not gratuitously, not out of nowhere, only if it’s relevant to the conversation, but without sugarcoating it. Forgiveness is still possible however, though it depends on how understandable he finds your betrayal judging by your circumstances at the time. Much more likely if one of his tasks inconvenienced you significantly (not in response to what you did) and you still wanted to restore your friendship, in a bit of a “now we’re more or less even” mentality.

This all pertains to betraying him, on his own, when it doesn’t affect Yig much. But he will not tolerate the same when Yig is involved.

If he’s acting as Yig’s representative, it’s not just disrespecting the messenger. Cayin will demand the respect befitting his master and he will not be nearly as patient or forgiving as he would be if this only involved him. Yig is a Great Old One- and one implied to be a great significance among that group despite his obscurity in written material, as for example the old civilization of K'n-yan venerated him and Cthulhu as the two main gods. Cayin may be humble about his position and often refer himself as little more than an errand boy, but he will make no pretensions of modesty when he represents his master. Wronging Yig is deeply dangerous, he’s mentioned to be more benevolent than most of his kind but he’s also very vindictive, he won’t forget a slight against him and his agent will be the one to ensure that you either compensate him or face punishment.

A similar case applies when Yig’s children are harmed. Reptiles of any kind, many may go unavenged in their great numbers (and hunting out of necessity is less likely to provoke his ire) but if Cayin witnesses it or knows you’ve harmed them he will be angrier than if he were the victim. And once again, if Yig is furious, Cayin will be the one to let you know.

Another important fact to mention: Autumn is the season during which Yig falls into a ravenous hunger and frenzy, and Cayin is also affected by this to a lesser extent. During this time Cayin is most likely at work 24/7, and if he’s not already making his way to settle things with someone that provoked Yig’s anger, he’ll be looking for the next most deserving option. There is no reasoning with him during this time. He will retain some patience if you mean a lot to him or if you are deeply important to Yig, but even then it’s not safe at all.

willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ?

Despite what I’ve mentioned in the first question, Cayin isn’t someone who generally feels strong sadness often. If anything, it’s jarring how... emotionally detached he feels from things at times, and sometimes that’s a bigger problem for him than any form of sorrow. Since the moment Yig revealed himself to him he hasn’t felt vulnerable, at least not much. When he feels that way, it’s usually because of self-doubts surrounding his humanity. First threads generally take place at a point in time when he hasn’t had the chance to really mourn someone- he’s had to cut some ties with people he’s felt a connection to and that’s a shame, a bit sad, but he knew that would happen and he carries on with his life. I do think, however, that there will be people he will be very sad to have to let go of, specially if they met in a situation that was very out of the ordinary and that caused Cayin to resonate more strongly with this person. Even worse, if he might have to hurt them.

How he handles it is more or less what’s described in the first question, sometimes it involves retreating into his eldritch life where he won’t think about the things that sadden him, other times he entertains himself with activities or seeks to lift his spirits by meeting a friend that still remains. He might seek to speak with someone about something vaguely relating to what made him so sad without outright mentioning it. He also often goes on walks and goes to places he finds peaceful and pretty, though that doesn’t necessarily help him, it’s just what he feels like doing.

zinnia :   how has the loss of fallen comrades and/or loved ones affected your muse ?   has it taught them anything or given them any new perspectives ?

This is a tricky question: Cayin, since his first conscious moments as a new being, has not experienced great loss. Perhaps one could count the old life he once sought to learn more about, and maybe even go back to, as something he lost but he doesn’t care for it anymore. He’s become very disinterested in whoever that man used to be and anyone who had any connection to him.

He will feel pity and sadness for reptiles he sees suffer, but... the ties of family between Yig and his many children are interesting. They can be somewhat impersonal in a way. Think of a wild animal without much emotional range or depth, that will defend its offspring with its life and show sadness at the loss of them, but not quite deal with the trauma that would suppose for a human being or some of the more intelligent and emotional animals. A part of ruthless nature, how many reptiles are there in the world? How many die in just a few moments, some unnecessarily others as a necessary part of the cycle of life? How deep and personal is the relationship of a being so large, long-lived and busy (though with a very keen eye and capacity to spread his attention) with those countless little animals of varying levels of expressiveness and sentience? Yig’s care for them goes further than what I have described, but it’s still an aspect of it that remains.

In the end, I don’t think he’s learned anything from it yet. But I do think that if he were to develop a very strong bond with someone that could seriously impact his perspective. Regardless of how well he handles it, I think Cayin would be surprised to see just how human he still is, and how much he cares for people deep down.

[fanficimagery]

Imagine being the one person the group turns to when Damon goes into a rage.

Damon X Reader

Stefan ducked out the front door, cringing when yet another glass was shattered. Damon had been throwing a tantrum for the last half hour all because some she-wolf played him. And if that wasn't bad enough, the wolf had the audacity to name drop Katherine and mention he was more fun than she had anticipated. While the compliment would have normally inflated his ego, he couldn't help the anger that came knowing full well the she-wolf was an old acquaintance of that bitch Katherine.

Climbing into his car and starting the engine, Stefan then pulled out his phone and skimmed through his contacts. Finding the one he was looking for, he tapped on it before putting the phone on speaker and settling it in his lap while driving away from the boarding house.

"Come on, Y/N. Pick up," he mutters as the phone rings and rings.

"Hey, sorry I couldn't pick up your call. I'm not even sure why you're calling to begin with. Who still calls? Text, people. Text!" *Beep!*

"Answer your phone, Y/N. Apparently you're an unreliable texter and an unreliable person who answers their phone! Call me as soon as you get this. I need help with Damon." Stefan ends the call and tosses his phone into the passenger seat, he then focusing his attention on the road. He's not sure where he's going, but he has a few pretty good ideas of where to start looking.

The Mystic Grill is empty of who he's looking for, as is Town Square, Bonnie's house, and Elena's house. Funnily enough, none of the girls of their particular friend group could be found at any of those places either which left Caroline's house as his last hope. Fortunately for Stefan, he can hear all four girls talking and laughing the moment he cuts the engine to his car outside Caroline’s house and listens in.

As he walks up to the front door of Caroline's home, he can easily see through the large door window. Then knocking on the door, he patiently waits until someone answers. Something heavy thunks, the girls cackle, and then a disheveled Elena appears around the corner as she hurries to answer the door once she sees who it is.

"Stefan! Hey, Stefan," she greets a little too cheery. "What's going on?"

"I'm, uh, I'm looking for Y/N," he says, eyes narrowing at her glassy gaze. "Are you drunk?"

Elena giggles. "Ohhh, it's the fun police," she teases as she reaches forward and pokes him in the chest. "Come on, Stefan, it's a celebration! Y/N dumped that loser she was dating and we decided to have some fun."

He sighs. "That's nice and all, but I really need Y/N’s help. Damon's throwing a tantrum."

Elena seems to slightly sober at his words, she knowing full well in her inebriated state that Damon throwing a tantrum was not a good thing. "Oh. Well why didn't you start with that? Come on, lets go get Y/N."

In the other room, you and Bonnie are swiping through the photos on your phones to see which ones you're going to post all over social media, and giggling over the stupid ones that seem to have been captured.

"Which ones-"

"All of them," you interrupt the witch, snorting at one picture of Caroline who was picking her teeth in the mirror. The phone is suddenly swiped from your hand and you whirl around. "Hey!"

"Don't hey me, missy," Caroline says. "You are not posting every single picture to your Facebook. We are not immature high school children anymore who think it's cool to show everyone how blasted you are."

"Speak for yourself, Care-Bear. We might not be teenagers anymore, but I am prone to immaturity every now and then."

"To being immature! Woo!" Bonnie whoops.

"You didn't tell me it was this bad," someone suddenly muses.

Your eyes light up as you see who's speaking. "Hero hair!"

"God you really are my brother's best friend."

"Damon? Damon's here!"

"No." Stefan's gaze darts up and down your form. "What are- what are you wearing?" He chuckles.

Glancing down, you smooth your hands over the blue and purple material of your outfit. "It's an adult onesie. I’m Sully from Monster's Inc." 

A white sock suddenly hits Stefan in the chest and Caroline groans. "Not again."

"23-19. We have a 23-19!" You shout as you and Bonnie erupt in hysterical giggles. 

Elena, too, is caught up in the humor of the act, so Caroline turns her attention on Stefan. "They've been doing this since the buzz hit."

"Where did Bonnie even produce the sock from?" He asks, doing his best to keep from laughing and encouraging the girls’ antics.

Caroline shakes her head. "I have no idea. She just keeps pulling them out from all over the place. I have a strong suspicion she and Y/N stashed them all over my house after the onesie came out."

"As amusing as this is, I need to get Y/N to the boarding house asap. Damon's tearing up the house."

The blonde vampire inhales sharply. "Okay. You take Y/N and I'll keep the other two here. Y/N is the only one who Damon will listen to and while he'll probably find drunk!Y/N hilarious, he'll be annoyed with the other two and it’ll only make his mood worse." 

The mood between Caroline and Stefan is somber, but a sock suddenly hits Caroline on the side of the head. Stefan’s lips twitch.

"23-19!"

Caroline smiles tightly, eyes narrowing on Stefan as his eyes glitter in amusement. "Take her before I crush all her dreams and rip that damn onesie to pieces."

Sitting in the passenger seat of Stefan's car, you're kept quiet by the nuggets and fries you made him purchase you. He was under the presumption that food would do you some good, but he hadn't counted on you exchanging your soda out for more alcohol when he stopped by to fill up his car's gas tank. You knew he had a strong suspicion of what you did, but he happily let your slurp away as long as you didn't bother him.

Getting to the boarding house, you happily climb out and rush towards the front door. Stefan sighs as he follows after you.

"Damon!" You shout as soon as you enter the house. "Damon, get your tantrum-throwing ass out here. Front and center, Dracula!" Before you can exit the foyer, the air around you shifts and Damon is suddenly standing a few feet in front of you. Even in your inebriated state you can tell he's pissed off, his tells being the set of his jaw and coldness of his eyes. 

His gaze narrows on you before sweeping up and down, and when he meets your gaze again it turns into a staring contest. His head tilts to the side and your lips twitch, you then having to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. When you see the black veins beneath his eyes slither momentarily, you lose your battle with your laughter and break down into giggles.

Damon sighs and then rolls his eyes, his lips faintly pulling into a smile of his own. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Don't ask-" But a sock hits Damon in the face and this time it's Stefan's turn to sigh as he trails off.

"23-19!"

"Who the hell gave her alcohol?" Damon then growls.

You beam at your friend, skipping over to him and hooking your arm through his. "Uh-oh. The fun police is in town."

Damon frowns. "I am not the fun police."

"Says Mr. Vampire with a stick stuck up his butt all because his latest conquest name dropped a dead skank's name." Damon pouts and you drag him towards the living room to plop him down on the sofa next to you. "Seriously, man, get over it already."

"I don't like you when you're drunk. You're too blunt."

"But I thought you liked blunt?"

"Yeah, but not when I’m the one being addressed over my bullshit." As Damon stares at you, you take the chance to poke him in his cheek, giggling all the while.

"So are we good here?" Stefan drawls from the doorway. "You're not going to go murder innocent bystanders?"

Damon rolls his eyes as he swats at your hand, he then glancing at his brother. "I was never going to go on a murder spree. I just needed to let off a little steam."

"Mhm. Well Y/N is here now. Talk about.. whatever it is you guys talk about. Apparently Y/N broke up with her boyfriend and the girls were celebrating. I need to go help Caroline with the other two."

As Stefan leaves, Damon glances towards you. "Seriously? You finally ditched that dick?"

"Yep. I actually don't know why I stayed with him for so long. He didn't even like my friends. Especially you. I think he was threatened."

Damon's eyes glitter. "Of course he was. Have you seen me?"

You slowly smirk as you eye him up and down, your eyes then widening as you gasp. "Damon! Lets take pictures in very compromising positions and post them on Facebook. The ex who shall not be named will hate it!"

"Not dressed like that."

Gasping in mock outrage, you point a finger in his face. "Don't harsh on my onesie, Salvatore."

"Yeah, yeah. Lets go up to my room and you can put on one of my shirts. We'll sex you up and sit you in my lap. That should piss off the ex."

From scowling to elated, you jump up and pull Damon to his feet. "This is why you're my best friend! Hurry up, Day. Move your ass!"

He groans as he follows after you. "I forgot how hot you are when you're bossy."

"Mhm. Flirt when I'm sober. You won't make any progress in the current state I'm in."

"Fair enough."

[mrs-pissoff]

Your eyes (part 2)

Part 1 here

Pairing: Reader (she/her) x Thane Krios

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mass Effect or its characters.

A/N: This will be a long one. I’m just verbose and love a slower burn. I have no idea how long this story will end up being, but hopefully I can finish it before my muse dies. I can tell she’s getting tired already.

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She retreated to her room hastily after the encounter, and if she wasn't feeling sleepless before, now she was definitely sure she wasn't going to get even a minute of restful sleep. It was all so surreal and his words rang in her mind endlessly.

You intrigue me.

Sitting down onto her bed a heavy sight escaped her lips. She wanted to understand why Thane of all people would say something like this, and to her. Someone who was less than kind to him. He didn’t seem to be the kind of man who’d say such things easily. The thought of him messing with her did cross her mind, but he surely has much better things to do than to get back at her in such a juvenile manner.

The need to remember and analyze her interactions with the drell overwhelmed her. She must have missed something that led to this moment. Surely she has.

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The last time they spoke was a few weeks ago, when he got word of what his son was about to do. The mission only required Shepard and Thane in the end, plus the cooperation of Captain Bailey and C-Sec, but she was still around while they gathered information on Kolyat's target and the person who ordered the hit. She was patiently listening from the sidelines, waiting for the pair to finish talking to Mouse.

She knew very little of Thane and his life. She never bothered to ask. ‘Assassins are not very complicated’, she thought. Meet contact, acquire target, fulfill contract by murder. Easy enough for someone who has the stomach to kill just about anyone regardless of their moral standing. Apparently, Thane was one such man and somehow that didn't make him appear in a more favorable light at all. Of course she was missing many of the pieces here. For example she never knew he had a son until yesterday. Someone was forgiving enough to love a man who kills without distinction if he's told to do so. The world was truly strange.

In hindsight her words seem awfully skewed now. Shepard had told her a few things about him since then, not that she cared to know any of it previously. It may have been better not to learn those things, but it was probably an attempt at trying to diffuse the situation by making her understand Thane's point of view a bit more. Not that it needed diffusing in the first place, it would never deteriorate further. She was done with that conversation, and with him. He was part of the team, and as such had to be tolerated, but that was the extent to what she could do for him. Nevertheless, Shepard, ever the peacekeeper, was relentless and in the end she learned certain things about him. Like how he was raised by the hanar and trained as an assassin from a young age, and how this was pretty much all he knew of the world around him. Seemed like an awfully meaningless life to her, having others make all the decisions for you as if you lacked free will, and being used as a tool. According to Shepard, Thane even referred to himself as such. It's hard to believe that anyone would think of living such a life as great honor. Senseless, all of it. Willingly giving away children to be trained as assassins, stripping them of the opportunity of a healthy and happy childhood. A fate like that can lead to no fully functional adult and Thane is a prime example of that. Life scars us all in different ways.

She knows these things now, but back then, at that moment when she first snapped at him, she didn't. These major differences in their culture flew right by her head and she never bothered to look deeper into why exactly Thane would do the things he had done. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Just because she knows, doesn't mean she has to accept it as well. It's just easier to understand now. But that day? That day when he admitted to abandoning his own son, who was now about to ruin his own life, Thane just looked like a dying coward with a filthy conscience, ready to save face. A man hopelessly scrambling to lighten his soul before the end. She thought his reasons were selfish and wanted to let him know how much of a hypocrite he was, how he failed to calculate the consequences of his negligence which culminated in this unfortunate situation. For the first time since joining the Normandy crew, she abandoned her cautious and reserved manner and let her words flow freely without filter. Words that were meant to tear at him. And she didn’t even understand why.

Shepard had just told him it was not his fault, and like a saint, he said he had to hold himself accountable. That was the last push, she couldn't stay silent any longer.

"How hypocritical of you. Leaving your son behind only to return now. Must have been one long journey finding that backbone." Her voice was low but bitter. She didn't want passersby to notice the conversation, but she wanted him to hear every word. Of course she wouldn't support his son's decision, but it was clear to her now where it was coming from. They never mentioned the possible motive during the debriefing on the shuttle, for good reason it seems.

"He faces a dark path." That much was evident, she wasn't debating it.

"If only he had a good example to follow, huh?" She felt her mood sink further as she faced him, and her tone mirrored that clearly. It was dripping with venom. And Shepard of all people told him just a few seconds ago how it wasn't his fault. There was no one left who was more at fault than Thane. No one.

"I left to protect him. To make sure that he would never be pursued by the people who killed his mother." A sound argument at first glance, but severely flawed at the second. At least he seemed to think it was the right choice, as his answer held a hint of resistance.

"You leaving isn't the biggest and only problem. It's the fact you never returned until now." Her jaw was clenched now and her eyes fixed on the male. His gaze was distant, almost as if a thick mist was obscuring his view. Perhaps she caught him off guard but his silence only angered her more and not waiting for a reply, she continued.

"Has it ever occurred to you that your son would have a different idea of why you left? Have you even stopped to think how it must have felt to him to lose not only a mother, but a father as well? Have you put so little faith in him that you've never considered returning to explain everything to him? You were fine leaving him in the dark all these years, but now that he's doing the only thing he can to understand you better, you decide to return!" Her voice was louder by the end than she would've liked, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. There was no need to draw too much attention to themselves. She wasn't even sure why she felt so affected, both Thane and his son were strangers to her. She couldn't even attach a face to the latter, as she's never met him. But here she was, getting worked up over something that wasn't even her concern.

She took one more breath and glanced at Shepard, half-expecting the Commander to step in and say something in Thane's favor like before. Instead she met Shepard's surprised eyes as they darted cautiously between Thane and her. There would be no fighting, no, Shepard didn't need to worry about that, but she would still bury Thane with her words. "It's almost as if the only reason you're here now is to clear your conscience."

"I wanted him to choose a different future, away from all the suffering I've caused. For him to live a better life than what I could have given him." His voice was almost too quiet to hear, his tone somber and remorseful. Her eyes met his once more.

"And so you decided to cause more suffering by leaving and never returning? So he could only guess why you left? Maybe even feel unwanted or responsible for it? You never gave him the chance to understand your reasons, you never asked him what he wanted and what would have made him happy. You weren't even there when he needed you the most! You hid like a gutless coward instead and would have died knowing that you were unworthy of being called a father!" There was little keeping her volume in check now as she hissed the last words, running out of breath as she finished.

The few concerned glances of the people around them made her snap out of her frenzy. Suddenly she felt more self-conscious than before. She glanced around uneasily before turning back to Thane one last time, careful not to be too loud this time.

"It may not be obvious to you, but it's certainly not rocket science either. Your son may have accidentally found the only way to successfully draw your attention to himself. Just think about how sad this is. Had he not decided to go through with this, you'd have never come here at all. It may not be his end goal to meet you, but I'm sure he hopes to gain an understanding of you at least. For his sake, I hope you can intervene in time and provide him solace. He deserved better."

There was nothing else she could or wanted to say. She felt drained of nearly all emotion, save for a drop of guilt. She didn't even know what she felt guilty for, it was certainly not for Thane. No. You reap what you sow, right? Right. She felt somewhat sorry for Shepard for having to witness this conversation, sure, but that wasn't it either. Perhaps it was the fact that she'd never shown so much of herself so publicly. A selfish reason, but who wants to make a fool of themselves in front of a crowd? Especially knowing how this whole issue had nothing to do with her. If only she managed to take her own advice and mind her business and stew about it alone, when no one was looking. She needed to leave. And right now. She looked up at Shepard, almost begging the Commander with her eyes to break the deafening silence and thankfully, Shepard delivered.

"Come on, we're wasting time. Let's go back to Bailey."

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She spent the rest of the time sitting on a bench not too far from Bailey's office where Shepard and Thane conducted their impromptu interrogation. The waiting was killing her, sitting alone and overthinking her previous outburst wasn't proving very productive. She needed to sleep, or cry, or both. Anything to purge her system.

The pained expression of Thane also haunted her more than she'd like to admit. The man made many mistakes, and paid for most of them. Now it was a possibility that he'd lose the only thing left that he may have held dear to his heart. It really wasn't her place to lash out at him. Of course Shepard's coddling of him also rubbed her the wrong way, for more reasons than one. So, so selfish. The thought of ruining an innocent child's hopes and future still sent her fuming though. Why are children always the ones who have to suffer the most? It was never fair, never. They'd have to carry the burden, be molded by it and grow up with it. If they were lucky, they'd become healthy adults who'll know better than to inflict the same on their own children. If not, then regardless of the reason, they could be tempted to follow a bad example, like Kolyat.

She snapped out of her thoughts when she saw Shepard return, Thane and another drell, his son, being escorted behind her by Bailey and his men. She didn't even realize they moved on from the interrogation. Just how much time has passed?

Thane and Kolyat were led into a separate room, while Shepard and Bailey discussed whatever happened and may come next. She breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes met Shepard's. They were all alive and seemingly well at the very least.

Bailey and the Commander continued talking for what seemed like an agonizingly long time before Shepard joined her. She spoke before the Commander could.

"Reunited at last. Did it go well?"

"Better than expected. We arrived before Kolyat could fulfill the contract. Bailey offered to provide a room for the two of them to catch up and... sort things out. They've been in there for a while now, we'll leave once they're done."

She listened but was somehow still distracted by how easily Shepard could solve problems. Attempted assassination, finding a ship that was lost a decade ago and saving its surviving crew, infiltrating a known criminal's home to steal something, and the list goes on and on. It never ceased to amaze her how Shepard managed to succeed at nearly everything. No wonder people put so much hope into them. But the Hero of the Citadel was still just one soldier and no matter how solid someone is under fire, the pressure of defeating yet another great threat, possibly relating to the reapers, could break anyone regardless of strength, training or experience. It's hard to believe she was a skeptic first.

Time sure proved her wrong.

Realizing that she's been staring blankly out of her head without acknowledging what was said, she nodded. "That's good, they probably have a lot to talk about. And Thane must have a lot of explaining to do." She regretted saying that immediately, fearing that Shepard may misunderstand it. She didn't mean any harm with this statement, not this time at least.

Luckily, before any more could be said, Bailey waved the two of them over, signaling that the family reunion has just ended. They could get ready to leave now. At last.

A silent shuttle ride later they arrived back to the Normandy and departed the Citadel.

The day finally ended, and not a moment too soon.

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I contemplated posting this, I’m not very happy with it, but I don’t know how to rewrite it. Oh well :/

Also, I’m very passionate about parents fucking up their own children (my personal experience is probably coloring my perception on this topic) and it bothered me how we can’t really call Thane out on his shit. I wish we could.

[blossom-hwa]

Magic in Your Fingers |1| - JOHNNY

Sorry for the long wait for literally... everything. I’M SORRY I’ve been super busy and then all the inspo for this monstrous fic came along and school’s about to start again and I’m just a little overwhelmed

I hope you enjoy!

ALSO ALL OF YOU SHOULD WATCH FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM AS WELL AS CRIMES OF GRINDELWALD

This chapter covers up until the end of the first movie :) no spoilers for CoG yet

Pairing: Johnny x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Fantastic Beasts!au,Harry Potter!au

Triggers: some violence, death, but nothing graphic

Word Count: 5.7k

He makes you feel like you have magic in your fingers.

NCT Masterlist

“Stop pulling my hair!” you snap through gritted teeth, trying to make sure no one hears except the boy you’re berating. You literally just learned his name through the Sorting Ceremony - who knows why he’s pulling your hair like you’ve known him forever.

There’s a small giggle, then the pulling stops. You huff angrily, turning your attention back to the wand ceremony, where a boy - Elias? - takes his wand for the first time. His amazement and wonder is palpable through the hall, and you shiver in excitement, anger gone.

“Goldstein, Porpentina!”

A slight, serious-looking girl stands up amidst the giggles that follow her name. You yourself have to hide a slight look of bemusement, because Porpentina is a strange name. However, you’ve been teased more than once for your own name, so you keep your mouth shut.

“Goldstein, Queenie!”

Twins, probably. You watch closely as she is selected by her wand, and a small shower of silver sparks erupts from its end as she picks it up for the first time. “Whoa,” you whisper.

Students go up, one after another, to claim their wands, and you begin to get bored. Your last name is towards the end of the alphabet.

Why does my last name have to be so close to the end of the alphabet… Why…

“Seo, John!”

Your face twists as you clap mechanically. Your scalp tingles, reminding you that he’s the one who was pulling your hair.

You don’t pay attention to his wand ceremony. Instead, you wonder what your own wand will be like.

“L/N, Y/N!”

You stumble upright, pale and nervous. It seems to take an eternity to reach the selection of wands, but you finally reach it, staring up at the massive array.

“Which one then, my dear?” the old wizard wonders aloud. “You chose Pukwudgie over Horned Serpent… hm, not many would make that choice. Let’s see. Strong ideals, perhaps...” He suddenly peers into your face and it takes all of your willpower not to stumble back. A gentle smile spreads across his lips. “I see great potential within you, my dear, I haven’t been wrong yet. Try this one.” He plucks a wand off of the array and extends it to you. “Willow and phoenix feather, eleven inches, slightly yielding.”

You take it carefully, unsure how exactly to hold it, unsure if it is the wand for you. However, you need not worry, for a shower of pale blue sparks erupts from its end and a warm sensation fills your arm, leaving you to gape in shock and wonder.

For the first time, you have experienced what it is truly like to have magic in your fingers.

Applause sounds and you walk back to your seat, staring open-mouthed at your new wand. You sit down mindlessly, still feeling the warmth that surged up your arm.

Then a foot kicks your seat and you scowl.

“John Seo, I’m going to kill you,” you mutter under your breath.

Only the faintest snicker tells you he heard.

. . . . .

“I’m better at potions than you.”

“I’m better at charms than you.”

“I’m better at transfiguration.”

“I’m better at flying.”

“I’m better at -”

“Oh, would you two just give it a break?!” Tina finally yells, slamming her head on the table. You share a glance with Johnny, then look away immediately.

It wouldn’t do to share secret glances with the boy you swear you hate with your life.

“Why’s Tina trying to die?” Queenie asks, sliding into the seat next to yours. “Did you two annoy her again?”

“Johnny was being annoying.” You shove a piece of bacon into your mouth angrily. “Tell him to leave me alone.”

“Can’t,” Johnny sings. “You’re too eye-catching, I can’t look away.”

It takes a second for that to sink in, and then you pretend to dry-heave onto your plate. “What the f-”

“Language!” Tina hisses, looking around for Professor McIntyre. “McIntyre will kill you if he hears you curse again!”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just a word,” you mutter.

“How’d you get sorted into Pukwudgie, again?” Johnny muses. “I thought we were supposed to rule with the heart and all. Be healers and stuff. Why didn’t you choose Horned Serpent?”

“And how come you got sorted into Pukwudgie?” you snap. “With your annoying jerk behavior and all?”

“Shut up,” Queenie intones, throwing bits of toast at you. “Why don’t you two just date already?”

Spluttering, choking on bacon, and curses ensue, and it takes a detention from McIntyre, who’s passing by, to calm you all down.

“Date him?” you sputter angrily to Tina and Queenie as you walk to potions. “Who’d date a dirtwad like him?”

Both give you sidelong glances but nothing more.

. . . . .

Leaves and branches scrape at your cheeks and arms as you race through the woods, tears streaming down your face and stinging the cuts that litter your skin. Professor Boot’s somber words echo through your brain over and over again, audible even over your ragged gasps for breath.

- - -

Professor Boot peeks into Transfiguration, where Knox is lecturing. “May I see Miss L/N for a moment please?” he asks, looking uncharacteristically serious.

“Of course,” Professor Knox replies. “Take your things, dear, class is almost over anyway.” You stand up, collecting your things. Queenie looks at you, bemused, but you shrug a little. You’re just as in the dark as she is.

“Miss Y/N, I’m sorry.” Your charms professor puts a hand on your shoulder. “But your mother died in an accident at the hospital.”

You blink. Then you blink again.

“An unstable patient got ahold of his wand,” Professor Boot continues, “and he killed your mother.”

You blink yet again.

“Miss Y/N, I’m sorry for your loss. I know how empty these words must seem…” Professor Boot continues for a little bit, but you hear nothing.

He killed your mother.

I’m sorry for your loss.

He killed your mother.

I’m sorry for your loss.

He killed your mother. I’m sorry for your loss. He killed your mother. I’m sorry for your loss. He killed your mother i’m sorry for your loss he killed your mother i’m sorry for your loss he killed i’m sorry for your loss your mother kill mother loss sorry he killed mother loss i’m sorry loss mother killed -

- - -

You don’t know how you broke away from Boot, how you came to be running through the woods like this, bag banging against your back, cloak flapping in the wind, wand handle leaving imprints in your hand from you clenching it so hard. All you know is that your mother is dead and that the pain from your stinging cuts and the exertion from running are the only things that are making you feel alive.

Finally, you collapse, gasping. For a while you simply lie there, allowing blood to dribble down your face and arms as Boot’s words continue to bounce against the walls of your mind.

Slowly, you become aware of your surroundings. A small pond lies a few feet away from your collapsed body. The grass is soft and slightly dewy. The sun is still up. You check your watch. It’s almost four. Hissing, you pull yourself into sitting position. You fling your backpack to the side.

And that’s that state you’re in when he finds you. How he finds you, you don’t know. You’ve cried and screamed your throat out, and you’re sure your voice will be gone tomorrow. Maybe he followed the sound of you tearing yourself apart.

Doesn’t matter. When he first calls your name, softly, you almost don’t hear him. You do, though, and before he knows it, you’ve whipped around and pointed your wand at him. Not that it would’ve helped you much, though. Your eyes are too puffy to be of much use, and your hand is shaking badly.

“Whoa!” Johnny puts his hands up. “It’s just me.”

Your wand drops out of your trembling hand. Blankly, you stare at it until Johnny steps forward to pick it up. He carefully extends it toward you.

“Thanks.” Your voice sounds disgusting and croaky. You take back your wand.

“Everyone… everyone’s looking for you,” Johnny says. “If you don’t mind me asking… I mean, I know we haven’t always been on the best terms, but… what happened?”

A soft breeze blows, stinging the cuts that litter your skin. You swallow.

“My mom is dead.”

Johnny sucks in a breath sharply, eyes immediately turning somber. “Sit down,” he says softly. “We’re not going back just yet.”

Your legs just give out beneath you and you huddle on the soft grass. Johnny sits down next to you, placing a tentative hand over yours. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

A few seconds pass. You shake your head, then nod, then shake your head again. “Sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be.” Johnny rubs his thumb in soothing circles on your hand. “It’s fine.”

Silence envelops the two of you. As time passes, the sun starts to go down, and Johnny stands up. “We should go now,” he says. “We don’t want to be here when the sun’s down.” You nod shakily and take his proffered hand, pulling yourself up. Without a word, Johnny takes your bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“Why… are you being so nice?” you ask after a few moments of silence. “I’m grateful, but I always just thought that, you know, we hated each other.”

Johnny hums a little. “I don’t think it was hate. More like stupid childish bickering.” A small smile tilts up your lips. “I guess.”

“As for why I’m suddenly being nice,” Johnny continues, “my mom is a No-Maj. She found out about my dad and I being wizards and my dad tried to hide her knowledge. MACUSA found out though, and they Obliviated her pretty badly. So she’s kind of insane. I basically don’t have a mother anymore. Dad spent some time in prison for that.”

Suddenly, you’re sorry you asked. You tell him that.

“Don’t be. Most people know. I’m surprised you didn’t.” His trademark smirk makes a tiny appearance on his lips. “Do you seriously live in a hole?”

You scowl, swatting his arm. “Shut up.”

Johnny just laughs. The rest of the trip back to school is made in silence, but as you sit in the headmistress’s office, waiting for your father, you realize that Johnny really made you feel better.

Maybe he isn’t as bad as you thought.

. . . . .

A frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you reread the definition for the fifth time, unable to absorb the information because nothing seems to be going through your brain. You’ve been stuck on the same page for at least ten minutes, but nothing is sinking in.

“You’ve been staring at that page for a long time,” a voice remarks, and then someone sits down in front of you.

You don’t deign to reply to John Seo. Instead, you read the definition a sixth time.

“I think you need a break,” he says, leaning over to peer into your eyes.

“And I think you need to leave,” you snap, leaning back.

For a few seconds, you simply stare into each other’s eyes, neither one refusing to back down. The book lies open between you, now forgotten.

“Come on, Y/N,” Johnny finally says, flipping the book shut. The irritated sound in your throat dies away when he comes around the table to drag you off of your chair. Only when you’re at the library entrance do you finally manage an indignant “Hey!”

“What do you mean, ‘hey?’?” Johnny snaps, looking at you with the biggest “are you dumb?” look on his face. “You stared at that page for fifteen minutes with a spacey look on your face! You need a break!”

Wind whistles through the library as the school entry door slams shut. The breeze that curls around your faces makes you realize how close you are.

“I…” You swallow.

What do I say?

Johnny’s hand is still on your wrist. You look down, then yank your hand away, cheeks hot.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll… stop studying. For the rest of the day.” You swallow hard again, looking directly away from Johnny.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, “look at me. Why have you been avoiding me for the past few weeks? I thought we were just about to get over you hating me and me hating you?”

Yeah. Things weren’t supposed to happen like this, like in one of those stupid romance books your roommate Mary always reads. Girl’s parent dies, boy who’s supposed to hate her comforts her, and boom, crush. 

Ew.

You sigh, still resolutely looking down.

“What did I do this time?” Johnny wonders out loud.

“It’s not something you did!” you finally snap. “It’s just me, I’m being dumb, and now bye!” And then like the idiot you are, you dash out of the school.

- - -

Three hours. You kill three hours in the surrounding woods. You could have spent them studying, but no, your emotions took over and now three hours later, you’re walking back to the school, dreading your next interaction with the boy who you’re sure you have a crush on.

“Who’d date a dirtwad like him?” you remember saying in your second year. Now it’s your fifth year and you can’t believe how much everything’s changed.

Not least your feelings for the idiot who pulled your hair that first day at the Sorting and Wand Ceremonies.

Sighing, you head into the library again to grab your forgotten stuff. Head bowed and eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, you enter the main hall again.

“Why are feelings so tiring?” you mumble.

“So Queenie says you’ve been avoiding me because you like me.”

You shriek, stumbling backwards.

Johnny just rolls his eyes, reaching out to grab your wrist. “Don’t try to escape, Y/N,” he says, half of a smirk on his lips.

Damn!

You sigh loudly, shivering as the door opens again to let in a couple students and a cold gust of wind. “Yes, okay? I have a stupid crush on you! Now leave me alone, you can laugh all you want with your stupid friends, just let me go!”

Johnny’s grip is like iron. He won’t budge.

“Who said I was going to laugh?” he asks. “Who said I didn’t like you back?”

“Please don’t lie to me to make me feel better,” you say miserably.

“I’m not lying!” Johnny exclaims. “I swear! Give me Amortentia and I’ll tell you it literally smells like you!”

You blink owlishly. “… What?”

Johnny blushes red. “Too much information,” he mutters. “But seriously, Y/N, I like you too, and if you could please stop running away from me all the time, I would love to take you on a date the next time we’re allowed out of school.”

It takes a good minute for you to stutter out an “Okay, uh, yes,” before bolting out of the hall. Queenie can tell what happened literally a half second after you slip into the seat next to her and she squeals loud enough for the entire dining hall to hear.

You don’t see Johnny for the rest of the day, but when you enter Potions the next day, there’s a note on your desk with the date and time for your first date. Refusing to look in his direction, you slip the slip of paper into your cloak before accidentally locking eyes with him across the room. He blushes hard but has the audacity to give you a wink.

At the end of your date, Johnny grabs your hand and entangles his fingers in yours. A shiver shoots up your arm. Your fingers tingle like Johnny has infused them with some sort of magic.

For the second time in your life, you feel a rush of power race up your arm, the same rush that accompanied your first wave of your wand at the Wand Ceremony. That feeling of having magic at your fingertips. Magic in your fingers.

“‘Who’d date a dirtwad like John Seo?’” Queenie smirks as you finally turn in for the night after two hours of recounting every single detail of the date. 

You. You’d date a dirtwad like John Seo, because the boy has an infuriatingly sweet heart when he isn’t being a total idiot.

After all, he makes you feel like you have magic in your fingers.

. . . . .

“Let’s see, Miss L/N,” Professor Knox says, flipping through a file. “I don’t need these files to say that you are an outstanding student, my dear.”

You smile shyly. “Thank you, Professor.”

“I knew you had potential that first day,” he smiles back, eyes flickering to the sleeve where you keep your wand. You smile more widely, remembering the wand ceremony.

“At any rate, my dear, we’re here for your career consultation.” The professor nudges his glasses up slightly. “I see you have maintained good grades in all your courses, lowest grade was an A for acceptable in History of Magic… have you ever thought of becoming an auror, Miss L/N?”

You shrug a little uncomfortably. The thought has come up and multiple people have commented on your compatibility with the job, but for some reason, it just never really appealed to you. You tell your professor that.

Knox hums a little, looking slightly put-out. “Then may I ask, what are you planning to do?”

He doesn’t seem very excited at your ideas, but he smiles politely and conducts you out of the office with gentility. Still, you swear you hear him mutter something along the lines of “wasted potential” as the door closes. With a sigh, you make your way to the dining hall.

“Just had your career consultation with Knox?” Queenie asks as you slump down next to her at the table. You nod.

“So what are you planning to do after Ilvermorny? You stupid Occlumens, I can never read you,” Queenie complains good naturedly, bumping your shoulder.

You shrug a little. “Knox suggested I go for being an auror. I’ve got really high grades in Transfiguration, Potions, DADA, and Charms, and apparently Runes and Arithmancy are a lot of help in that field too.”

Queenie squints. “But that’s not what you want, is it?” she probes.

A tiny smile lifts the corners of your lips. “Yeah. I was thinking about opening… like an apothecary, I guess? But more like a potions shop, because that’s what I’m good at. Probably mostly healing potions, but truth potions too, and other stuff. I want to experiment a little.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

You yelp, glaring at the boy who’s currently piling his plate with food. “Johnny!”

“What? I complimented it, said it was a good idea.” He shoves a potato into his mouth. “Count me in.”

Queenie squeals as you look at him in surprise. “Seriously?” you squeak. “I thought… I don’t know, I thought you wanted to be a healer!”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” Johnny motions to you, swallowing the potato. “I can help with the healing potions, and we could keep part of the place open as a sort of clinic.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Tina says, sliding in next to Queenie. You sigh. “What is it with you people and turning up out of nowhere?!”

Ignoring your question, Tina looks sidelong at Johnny. “Look, Y/N, if your boyfriend is willing to do it, seize the chance and go for it. I think it’s a really good idea.”

You smile stupidly again as Johnny lifts your hand up to his lips, pressing a light, exaggeratedly elegant kiss. “Anything for you, milady,” he says in a terrible English accent.

Laughter follows and the subject changes, but that night in bed, as you lie awake thinking, you have a feeling you can actually make your dream come to life.

. . . . .

“Johnny! Where did you put the asphodel?” you yell, rummaging through the cabinets. “I can’t find it!”

“Second cupboard to the right!” Johnny shouts back. You smile with triumph as you pull out a bag of the dried plant before going back to the boiling potion.

Smoke fills the small room and you put on a mask to avoid inhaling it. You see a figure stumble inside, then immediately begin coughing.

“Johnny?”

“Merlin, that smells terrible,” Johnny hacks, backing out of the room. “Finish up, then you can help me with this stupid Felix Felicis.”

Smoke wafts around you and you can smell it even through your mask. “You’re attempting that again?” you ask, voice muffled. “Why do you want it again?”

“Luck is always good to have!” Johnny yells, already halfway down the hall.

Rolling your eyes good-naturedly, you finish up the potion and leave it to brew before heading towards Johnny’s study. Just as you take a step in that direction, though, the storefront bell rings, and you change direction.

“Customer, Johnny, I’ll come back in a minute!” you shout. The magic wall ripples as you step through into the actual shop, all smiles and ready to help. Once you see the customer, though, you stop short.

“Tina?” you gasp. “It’s been so long - what are you -”

“No time for questions,” Tina says abruptly, shoving a portly man towards you. “Mr. Scamander here -” she indicates a tall man looking awkwardly around the shop - “brought in a suitcase full of magical creatures and this No-Maj here got a bite from a…”

“A murtlap,” the so-called Mr. Scamander supplies helpfully.

You bite back your questions just as Johnny comes in through the wall. “Y/N - oh, Tina! Who’re they?”

“Later,” you say, half-dragging the portly man over to your boyfriend. “Murtlap bite on his neck.”

It takes a few minutes to sort out the trouble, and then the No-Maj is sleeping on a nearby couch. You look at the two newcomers with a little trepidation. “Would you like some tea? Or coffee?” you ask awkwardly.

Tina nods tiredly. “Coffee would be lovely.”

Johnny makes small talk with Tina as you lift the tea tray over on the tip of your wand. “Coffee’s for you, Tina,” you say, handing her the mug. “I don’t know what you like, Mr.… Scamander, but judging from your accent I assume you’re British.” You hand him another mug. “Forgive me for assuming you prefer tea over coffee.”

“Oh, um, no,” he answers twitchily. He accepts the mug carefully. “Thank you very much.”

Once seated, you get right to the point. “So why exactly do you guys have a No-Maj with you? And why, Mr. Scamander, pray tell, do you have a suitcase full of magical creatures with you in New York?”

Maybe this Mr. Scamander guy hears the sarcasm in your voice, but if he does, he doesn’t show it. Still looking into his mug, he says, “I came to New York to buy some more creatures off of a smuggler. And… ah, some of the creatures got loose.”

“He and Mr. Scamander got their suitcases mixed up, so when he opened the case, the murtlap jumped out and attacked him. That’s how most of the creatures got loose,” Tina says, finishing her coffee. She stands, giving you an apologetic look. “If that’s all, I think Mr. Scamander and I need to pay a little visit to MACUSA after we Obliviate the No-Maj.”

Johnny noticeably tenses at the mention of Obliviating. You squeeze his hand lightly. “You’re not going to try and see… the president, right?” you ask.

“… No?”

The length of the pause is a little too long to be convincing. You stand up, grasping Tina’s hand in yours. “Tina, be careful,” you caution. “You don’t want to lower your rank further.”

A frown settles on Tina’s face but she nods. “Yeah.”

“See you around, then. And if you have any other injuries, don’t hesitate to come here.” You look over at the other man. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Scamander. We won’t tell anyone about your, ah, missing creatures.” You smirk a little. “If you need help rounding them up, we would be glad to be of assistance.”

Mr. Scamander nods slightly, giving you the tiniest of smiles before looking away. John wakes up the No-Maj, and the odd trio exits the shop and disappears from view.

“It’s so stupid that we have to Obliviate the No-Majs!” Johnny bursts out.

“I know.” You swallow. He leans his head onto your shoulder childishly, allowing you to stroke his hair. “I know.”

“I hate it,” he whispers like a small, forlorn child. “So much.” He sounds like he has tears in his eyes.

“I know, John, I know.” You press a small kiss to the tip of his nose.

“What if he goes insane, just like Mom did?” Johnny mumbles. “What if he’s scarred for life, like Mom? What if Tina or Queenie or even that Scamander guy have to go to prison for it?”

You kiss his temple. “That won’t happen, John,” you murmur. “I don’t think the No-Maj knows enough to go insane if they try to Obliviate him. They’re smart. They’ll handle it. And if things go south, we can help too. Promise.”

The two of you stay like that for the next couple of hours until you finally decide that things need to get done. You rouse yourself, coaxing Johnny to come and attempt to finish his half-abandoned Felix Felicis.

Later that night, you wake up to Johnny crying into his pillow. You sleepily kiss his tears away, brushing away his apologies for waking you up and holding him close to your chest before the two of you fall asleep again.

. . . . .

“Y/N! John!” Queenie bursts into the shop, dragging a familiar man and a familiar suitcase behind her.

You rush out into the front, Johnny close behind. “What’s happening?” you ask. “Why’s everything so dark outside?” You take a second look at the man and blanch. “And why are you with that No-Maj?”

“The Obscurial is loose,” Queenie says tightly. She drops the suitcase, gently pushing the man onto a couch, before looking at you. “He’s wrecking everything. Tina and Newt went in to try and save him, but they need help. And I have to take care of Jacob.”

Johnny nods, grabbing your hand. “Where are they?” he asks, pulling out his wand.

“A few streets from MACUSA,” Queenie says. “Can Jacob stay here?”

“Of course -”

“I’m coming!” Jacob snaps. “I’m not leaving Newt and Tina alone!”

“Who’s Newt?” you ask.

“Mr. Scamander. Now go!” Queenie shoos you out the door, and with a twirl, you and Johnny apparate away.

Outside MACUSA, everything is a mess. No-Majs are screaming, fires are burning, and a mass of what looks like black strings is swirling around. Percival Graves stands, shouting up at the Obscurus, but you can’t make out what he’s saying. You look around wildly, finally spotting Mr. Scamander - no, Newt - what kind of name is Newt? - crouching behind a fallen carriage.

“There!” you yell, running towards him. Johnny shouts in warning, and you only just manage to duck and roll before a piece of wood flies right where your head was. The two of you duck behind a pile of rubble.

“Y/N?” someone gasps.

You get up, panting. “Tina!”

Tina looks over at Newt, who yells something about a Salem boy being the Obscurial.

“He’s not a child!” Tina yells back.

“His - his power must be so strong he’s - he’s somehow managed to survive!”

Johnny looks at you. The Obscurial? he mouths, looking terrified. You nod.

“Newt,” Tina shouts, “Save him!”

Newt apparates, leaving Tina alone. “Mr. Graves!” she yells.

“Oh, no,” you mutter, looking up at Johnny. You take off towards your friend and he quickly follows behind, arriving just in time to help block a flash of light.

“Tina,” he growls, “you’re always turning up when you’re least wanted, and with… friends.” He sneers, deflecting a bright blue flash.

Three wizards on one. It should be easy, but Graves’ power seems endless. It’s all you can do to shield yourself from his spells, yet you continue dancing around him, trying relentlessly to find an open spot.

Then with a wave of his hand, a car flies into the air, aiming right for Tina.

Johnny tackles her, rolling onto the ground as the car arcs over your heads and smashes into the ground. He gets up, gasping, and holds out a hand for her. You pull yourself up. “Tina!”

She stands up just in time to see Graves apparate away.

You swear loudly. “Where did he go?”

“MACUSA,” Tina pants. “Come on!”

Taking Johnny’s hands, you apparate just in time to see the Congress aurors sealing off the building as No-Maj reporters take pictures. You roll undetected through an unsealed patch, Johnny and Tina close behind. “Where to now?” you whisper, trying to blend in with the other aurors.

A swirling black mass suddenly erupts from the ground, sending brick and stone into the air, before slamming back under the streets.

Johnny bites his lip. “Underground?”

“The subway,” Tina whispers. “Come on!”

The three of you burst into the subway, running along the tracks. Brick and stone and wood bits are everywhere and the dust makes it hard to see, but Tina seems to know where she’s going and you blindly follow her footsteps, gripping Johnny’s hand all the way.

You hear Tina’s muffled voice. “Don’t raise your wands,” she warns. You lower yours uncertainly, seeing Johnny do the same.

Finally, she slows to a stop. “Credence! NO!” she yells.

The Obscurial’s name?

As though in a trance, you listen to Tina’s voice coaxing the Obscurial, unable to tear your eyes away from the swirling black. Newt chimes in at one point, encouraging Tina. For a moment, you see a boy’s face within the black mass.

Then Graves begins speaking. His voice, so authoritative and calming before, is now full of thinly veiled rage. Your grip tightens on Johnny’s hand. Tina’s voice counters his, her soothing voice contrasting with his grating words.

But it is too late. The aurors come, shoving you and Johnny to the side, before raising their wands in unison. Tina tries to stop them, as does Graves, but then a thousand bursts of light tear into the Obscurial and silence pervades the subway as bits of black, feathery and light, float to the ground.

“Fools,” Graves whispers. “Fools, all of you.”

The president, Seraphina Picquery steps up. “The Obscurial was killed on my orders, Mr. Graves,” she returns icily.

You sidle over to Newt and Tina, eyes flickering between Graves and Picquery as their exchange continues.

“He was responsible for the death of a No-Maj,” Picquery says tightly. “He has risked exposure of our community. He has broken one of our most sacred laws -”

“A law,” Graves interrupts, scoffing, “that has us scuttling like rats in the gutter, a law that demands that we conceal our true nature, a law that directs us to cower in fear lest we risk discovery.” Graves breathes a sigh, as though disappointed with you all. “I ask you, Madame President, I ask all of you, who does this law protect?” He looks around, his powerful gaze transfixing the crowd. “Us… or them…?”

The short pause that follows is filled with charged tension. Your wand hand twitches.

“I refuse to bow down any longer.”

Then he begins to walk away.

Why do Graves’ words actually seem to make sense? You pinch yourself hard, reminding yourself that the laws are in place for protection. Integration will come, but not the way Graves seems to suggest.

Not through violence.

You look up at Johnny, who seems entranced by Graves’ words. A sickening feeling fills your stomach and you squeeze his hand harder, trying to bring him back.

Not now, not now… please don’t be influenced by him…

It works - Johnny starts, jolted out of his daze, and looks down at you with a tight smile.

“Aurors,” Picquery says, “I’d like you to relieve Mr. Graves of his wand. And escort him back.”

A glowing shield appears in front of Graves, preventing further movement and bathing the subway in a pale light. He turns slowly, as though resigned.

Then he begins to duel.

In all your life, you have never seen such a duel. Graves singlehandedly holds his ground against a crowd of aurors, those who have trained for years for this moment. As Johnny tries to pull you behind him, you have to remind yourself that Graves also went through that training.

He is terrifying.

Then a streak of blue flashes past, so quickly you aren’t sure you saw it right, and you see Newt crouching down a few feet away.

“One of Scamander’s creatures!” Johnny gasps, gazing on in amazement as Graves is dragged backwards by something attached to his back.

“Accio!” Tina yells, catching Graves’ wand. She and Newt stand and walk over slowly.

“Revelio,” Newt whispers, waving his wand at Graves’ face. You watch in horror as dark hair gives way to blond, as brown eyes change into mismatched orbs, as tan skin pales to white.

You gasp. “Grindelwald,” you whisper.

Johnny’s grip on your hand tightens.

The silence in the tunnel is enough that you can hear Grindelwald’s words. “Do you think you can hold me?” he asks lightly, almost as though amused.

Picquery’s mouth curves into a cold smile. “We’ll do our best,” she whispers, “Mr. Grindelwald.”

As the dark wizard is lifted up and marched away, his eyes find yours. You shudder when you meet his unsettling gaze. His mismatched eyes twinkle dangerously, and you swallow hard.

Grindelwald looks away, his gaze shifting upwards. You look up to see Johnny trapped in the dark wizard’s gaze. They hold eye contact for one, two, three excruciating seconds before the aurors drag him away.

Despite the chill running down your spine, you walk over to Tina, who’s embracing Queenie. “When did you get here?” you ask when Queenie turns around, giving her a big hug before repeating the gesture with Tina. She doesn’t have time to answer, though, as her attention is drawn by the large suitcase that Jacob is holding.

In the midst of the conversations that follow, something rustles in your ear and you turn instinctively, eyes widening at what you see.

“Credence,” you whisper.

A wisp of black flutters to the sky.

[enigmatist17]

A Look Into What Was (GCBC)

I have decided to place a link to the ArchiveOfOurOwn version I have posted, in case this wall of text is too big.

My other parts are there as well.

Unsurprising to those who had been there, Good Cop and Bad Cop retreated after the disastrous encounter with Business. They couldn’t stand being possibly spotted by their former boss, afraid that he would just drag them into Octan and finish the job. Daniel ended up taking control most of the time, Liam having panic attacks with seemingly no trigger.

Ring….ring….ring....ring… “Hello?” Emmet yawned, slightly annoyed he was getting a phone call at one in the darn morning. “Emmet? I-It’s me, Daniel...I-I don’t have wee Benny’s number, and ye were the first I thought of to call.” Daniel sounded exhausted and concerned. Emmet sat up and reached for the light, barely making out what he said through the slurring of words. “Hey, it’s alright Daniel. Is everything okay? Do you want me to call Benny?” “Aye...we’re at the park, t-the one near the city limits…” “Okay, stay right there.” Daniel merely sighed, before hanging up. Emmet cursed and threw on a jacket over his pj’s, calling Benny on his way out the door. The Master Builder’s arrived in record time, the cop’s car haphazardly parked in the darkest corner. “Oh man, they never do that,” Benny muttered in worry, he and Emmet scanning the area. Their eyes landed on a lone figure, who was shaking as they looked at the large pond that spanned the middle of the park. Benny was the first to reach them, the floating man gently placing a hand on the officer's shoulder. The darkness made it hard to see which cop was currently gazing at the dark waters. “Daniel?” Emmet asked softly, leaning forward to see which glasses were currently displayed. “No…” Liam shook his head slightly, his usual gruff voice sounding tired. Benny felt his right hand, which had been right beside Bad Cop’s left hand, be squeezed tightly. The astronaut gently squeezed back, floating just a little closer as Liam leaned into him. “Daniel is...he’s sleeping.” “He sounded scared earlier...what happened?” Emmet asked, the sincerity in his voice making Liam stiffen. “I tried, I really did,” Liam began, his voice cracking on the word tried. “To keep him from knowing, from remembering…” “Remembering what?” Benny asked, he and Emmet patiently awaiting a response. “What he did to him...to us.” Liam spit out the word like poison, grateful he had Benny’s hand to hold. It made him feel somewhat grounded like he wasn’t going to lose himself to whatever demons there could be lurking in the shadows.  “Danny doesn’ remember that day, a-and since he...I-I wasn’ doing my best to keep it from him…” “Keeping what?” Both Master Builders could see that Liam had been holding whatever happened in that Relic Room in. Liam took a shaky breath, knowing his brother wanted more details. “...I kragled our parents,” Liam flinched almost immediately after the words left his mouth, hearing a shocked sigh from his brother. “Danny...Danny wouldn’t do it. I kept beggin’ him ta stop, ta not anger B-Bus-him. He didn’...and he just smiled. Just…smiled that goddamn smile o’ his.” Benny could feel him starting to shake, gently lowering with Bad Cop as he motioned for him to sit on the grass. Emmet looked like he was going to be sick, watching as Benny held the cops close to him. Liam leaned against Benny, trying so desperately to stop his incoming panic attack. He wasn’t weak, he couldn’t be weak in front of Benny, or Emmet, or anyone. ”Liam, yer not weak.” Daniel tried to comfort his brother, Liam closing his eyes as he felt the calming emotion wash over him. “I was.” He spoke aloud, the shaking dying off thankfully. “I tried to fight him...but he had those damn bots. I remember yer screams Danny, I remember you fightin’ and tryin’ to stand the pain. Then...ye were gone.” The world seemingly went silent at those words, the distant city sounds fading into nothingness. He couldn’t describe how...empty he had felt, how utterly alone he had been. Daniel took over before Liam could be ill, looking at the other two with a helpless look. “I want ta help him so bad...but I don’t know how.” He confessed, Benny, looking uneasy as Emmet gave him a quizzical look. “Can’t Master Builders go into each other's minds?” “Some can...I don’t know how to do it.” He frowned. “I remember what Vitruvius and Lucy did to get into my mind...maybe we can give it a try?” Emmet said carefully. “I don’t know...we could mess up things if we’re not careful.” Benny mused, glancing over at Daniel. He had hugged his legs close to him, shoulders slumped as he stared at the ground. “...let’s do it.” Emmet nodded and instructed Benny to place his hands on Daniel’s temple, having Benny kneel behind Daniel. “Just stay really still, ok?” Emmet smiled at the slightly confused officer, who nodded as Emmet began to chant. At first, it seemed to do nothing, but then Daniel’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, slumping against Benny. The astronaut stayed upright, floating slightly as his eyes also closed. It was...peaceful. Opening his eyes, Benny looked around as the cop’s mindscape formed around him. The outline of the countryside, something he had only seen from space, came into being. But, something was wrong, something Benny couldn’t place as he floated aimlessly up a large hill before him. Rising above the crest of the hill, his eyes went wide at the scene before him. In the middle of a seemingly endless valley was a cottage. It was rather homey and quaint, save for a large black wall right down the middle of the house. From his view, Benny could see what looked like Daniel standing on one side, saying something to the figure on the other. The other figure was crouched on the ground, hands over his face. Spreading out from around him were jagged cracks, which seemed to be slowly climbing around the house and destroying it. “Liam?” Benny’s voice appeared to be much louder than he thought, gaining both men's attention in an instant. In the blink of an eye, Benny was hovering a few feet above Liam. He hadn’t moved, slate grey eyes looking bright with unshed tears. Benny had never seen his eyes, reaching out with one hand towards Liam’s face. “It’s okay…” “It’s not.” He sounded nothing like his usual commanding self. No, he sounded like someone who had given up, someone who felt as if they were truly alone. The second Benny’s hand touched Liam’s face, the world around them dissolved, leaving Benny to fall, and fall, and fall until he hit the ground with a groan. Slowly getting to his feet, his heart began to race as he recognized the room he was now in. The Relic Room. Lord Business, in his suit that had killed countless and inspired terror, was holding a large staff, which separated into two pieces as he leered down beneath him. Benny could see Bad Cop struggling against the very robots that were under his command, begging and pleading to Lord Business. The man only laughed, watching as the acidic liquid from one of the artifacts was poured into a large container. Benny felt frozen in terror as he watched Good Cop forced into control, a defiant look on his face until his head was half-submerged into the liquid. The screams echoed, Benny hearing the cops parents cry out in horror as they were submerged over and over, sometimes shocked with the other artifact.   Lord Business just laughed until Good Cop stopped moving. Benny watched as Liam, half-aware and in so much agony Benny swore his heart would stop, kragled his parents with a somber look. The world dissolved again, Benny closing his eyes as he fell once more for what seemed an eternity. When he landed, the first thing he heard was...nothing. Opening his eyes, Benny looked on in horror. He was in the valley from earlier, but this time...half of it was gone like it had been just torn away. “DANNY! DANNY PLEASE ANSWER ME! DON’T LEAVE ME! I NEED YOU!” Bad Cop was pacing the edge of the abyss, screaming for his brother, who was seemingly gone. “I NEED YOU DANNY, I CAN’T DO THIS ALONE! PLEASE COME BACK!” Benny knew he wouldn’t receive an answer, his heart racing once more as Liam became more and more desperate. Benny could feel what Liam was at that moment, and the overwhelming loneliness was reminding Benny of something he had buried deep inside his own mind. He wanted to call out, to hold him and tell him everything would be alright, but he couldn’t speak or move, as something seemed to grab a hold of him. The astronaut felt as if he was being pulled away, closing his eyes as he faded into unconsciousness. When he opened his eyes, Benny knew he was back in his own mind, in the real world. It was morning now, the man confused as he looked up at the orange sky. “Benny?” A face came into view, round-rimmed glasses framing a face that showed nothing but concern. “Daniel?” He asked, sounding as if he had just woken up from a long sleep. “What happened?" “Emmet had to pull ye out,” He began to explain, gently tucking a stray hair out of Benny’s eyes. “Ye were startin’ ta have a panic attack, and he was worried.” “I saw it...everything.” Daniel nodded sadly, having seen what the astronaut had the moment he had touched his brothers face. “Oh geez...you poor guys…” “We were stupid.” Daniel sighed, helping Benny sit up carefully. Emmet was nowhere to be found, the two laying on one of the hills that dotted the park. Wincing at the slight crick in his neck, Benny glanced over to the other. “He manipulated you.” The words came from nowhere, yet Benny seemed to know why they did. “I-I...I saw flashes, felt some other things...when I was falling.” “Aye. He told us that we were gonna help the world, that we would get rid of crime. By the time we figured it out, he was already threatenin’ our folks. It doesn’t fix what we’ve done...but Liam needs ta know he can’t blame himself.” “Can I talk to him?” The shades came down before he was even finished, Benny feeling a moment of terror as Liam glared at him. It lasted but a moment, Liam reaching out to crush Benny in a tight hug, burying his face into the surprised man's shoulders. “Don’t ye dare scare me again like that!” He growled, Benny unable to help from smiling at his outburst. “There’s the grumpy Liam I know.” Liam drew back with a glare, only making Benny smile. Looking at his face, Benny reached forward and gently took ahold of his glasses. “I want to see your eyes again.” “W-What?” Both brothers were a bit taken aback, freezing as Benny pulled them off with ease. The mismatched eyes looked at him, Benny tilting his head slightly before grinning. “I like them, they suit you guys.” Benny watched as a slight red tint crossed their cheeks, unsure of who was staring at him. The cops reached forwards and took back their glasses, still looking at Benny was they ran their left thumb over the lenses. “Yer the first, besides Mum and Da, ta see us without our glasses.” Benny couldn’t tell who was speaking, it was as if the brothers spoke with one voice. “It’s a shame, you have such beautiful eyes,” Benny replied, refusing to break the gaze they both held. The brothers frowned, before placing them back on, with Daniel in control. Getting to his feet, Daniel looked out across the rising sun with a contemplative look. “We’re not worth you.” Was all he said, before walking away, leaving Benny to watch with a saddened face.

[limpblotter]

Okay this is gonna sound stupid as all hell, but how about Merle trying to prank John with a joke akin to Bofa or a Matterbaby during a parley session?

“Remember Merle, less talky about how it can kill us andmore talky how we kill it ok?” Lup patted old man Merle as he gently took offhis nurse’s hat from the top of his head and placed it on the counter. Everyoneusually watched as Merle set off to do his treacherous parley routine. Well,everyone but Davenport who was the most against it. He had no use for their onhand cleric to be dead in the middle of the year when the hunger was constantlyon their tail.

Perhaps if the parley did more than just have Merle get somebasic info about John and die; he would be on board but just to watch Merledie? No, Davenport stayed in his cockpit and simply waited until the madness ofthis parley routine would end.

“Him” Merle muttered under his breath as he got to his favoritespot in the common area.

Lup arched an eyebrow at Merle, “what did you say ya’ olcoot?” she chuckled having missed what he said as he grumbled under his beard.

“Him, the hunger is a him…and his name is John.” Merlecorrected Lup gently. Lup stared down at Merle for a long moment, she turned toTaako and Magnus who exchanged worried looks with each other before Taakowondered over and knelt down to meet Merle’s eye level more or less.

“Hey…Merle…” Taako began thinking through his words with alittle more care than Lup who seemed to have actually grown a little…angry,letting Merle’s words skin in. “When you’re in there…whoever you’re talking to,uh-uh its not real…ya know that right?” He maintained eye contact with Merle. “Thatthing, isn’t a person and …I’m sure when you talk to him he seems uh-um, legitand shit but he’s totally playing you dog. Like, remember he’s just one big,black goo thing voring worlds left and right—“

“He’s not some dude you’re playing shuffle board with Merle,that’s what Taako is getting at.” Lup bit back making Merle flinch a bit. “He’sa terrible, horrible thing and the faster we get enough intel off him thesooner we can stop sending you in there to die.” Lup’s anger was slowly beingmedicated by Barry who had crossed the room and placed a calming hand on hershoulder.

Taako watched as his sister had her small fit. They were allanxious about their dear daddy Merle going toe to toe with the big bad. “Just…uh…justknow you…can’t save everyone, Merle…he might…he might not be …”

With a small chuckle, Merle looked himself from Taako’s gazeand got into his parley position. He closed his eyes and within a second only asmoke outline remained where Merle’s body had been. And now, the team waitedpatiently.

Parley wasn’t a hard spell for Merle once he got it. Butthis time around it took him a little longer to mentally commit. It botheredhim, it bothered him he saw John as a person but that was who he was. Merle hada seen John’s face, had seen his apprehension turn to curiosity, and yes…Johnwas out to kill them but there was something very human about John still. Therewas something living enough to make Merle, a man who believed in life and allof its miracles, to want to save that human piece of John.

When Merle arrived to the Parley room, he found John wassitting there slightly saddened. The face changed when Merle appeared in thechair. “You were late, I was afraid you might have died before you uh—well visitedme.”

“No” Merle smiled, “folks have me under lock and key sothese sessions happen without a hitch.”

“Shame” John mused, “I’m not really offering you anythingworth dying for.” It almost sounded happy talking about Merle’s inevitabledeath at the end of the Parley session. He reached for the chess board when henoticed something. His eyes watched Merle’s face almost gaze over without asmile or anything and it …unsettled John. Huh, to think he still had room tofeel that.

“I don’t mind dying here, John.” Merle forced a smile afterrealizing he had gone so long in his own thoughts. Had he been…humanizing Johnmore than he should? Was he really blinded by the fact John had a face, a name,and a somewhat range of emotion?

John slowly began setting up the pieces to the chess board.When something that alarmed both him and Merle came out of his mouth. “Merle,are you…alright?” John asked with casualness as though he had long had thiscapacity to care for another living thing. It could be…because Merle was thefirst living thing he had the chance to meet face to face in a space were Johnwas John.

“Oh yeah, yea sure!” Merle beamed up at John.

“You seem …strange. Which is …well I don’t like it.”

There was a small pause between them as Merle twiddled hisfingers, watching the pieces of their game begin to move. “John can I ask you aquestion now?” Merle needed to know. He needed to know if John had any humanityleft in him. If then he could be more precise in his demise and less…somber bythe idea.

“I suppose…if it changes your state and regulates your mood properly.Go ahead.”

“Would you want to see bofa?”

John arched a brow and it took no more than a few secondsfor him to realize he had no idea what that word meant. “Depends, will this “bofa”help me obtain the light of creation?”

“No.” Merle admitted not to John’s surprise but the secondbit that came after did take him back. “But Bofa deez nuts into creation.” Headded with two fingerguns.

After that, there was nothing but silence. John stared downat Merle with a blackness that matched his suit, that matched his hair, thatmatched the hunger. The longer he was silent the more Merle began to sweat thatthis parley was going to end particularly short now. He winced as John slowlyrose his hand and waited for the fires to consume and kill him.

Instead Merle heard the small tap of a piece moving on theboard, he looked up and caught a small smile forming on John’s face. His mouthopen as if a laugh or a chuckle should have been placed there but no noiseescaped. There was though, a smile, an earnest smile.

A human smile.

[tap-dat-agent]

Who Knew? - Merlahad Fic By Me

Part 2 // Part 3

“John Denver.”

“What?”

Eggsy sensed Harry enter the room but couldn’t stop the tears just yet. What they had lost had finally gotten to him more so now than when he and Merlin had a sob in the tunnels under Kingsman.

“Sorry,” he whimpered, wiping at his eyes with aggression. “I got caught up for sec.”

“Might I join you?”

Eggsy watched the older man close the door behind him, draw nearer from the darkness, but he quickly glanced away to hide the red of his eyes in the light of a crackling fire. He snorted and blinked profusely, ignoring the weight of Harry’s presence as he sat in the empty armchair situated next to him.

“It’s alright,” Harry said, his voice a cultured utility of reassurance, and Eggsy almost believed him.

“No, it bloody fucking isn’t,” Eggsy said, dragging a hand down his face in the hopes of ridding all evidence of weeping. “I’m just…coping, I guess. We get to mourn now, right?” Eggsy slouched over, desperate for the heat of the fire to consume him. “Only after we save the world, yeah?”

“…Did Merlin tell you that?”

Eggsy shrugged, staring down at the floor, the mere mention of Merlin’s name causing the corners of his eyes to burn with a familiar prickly sensation. It wasn’t rare for him to cry. He cried epically, all the time, but the traumatic experience of growing up with a dick of a stepdad who liked to punch him in the gut and smack him about whenever he dared to shed a tear had trained him to hold back the waterworks in front anyone who wasn’t Mum.

That changed when Tilde came into his life, his newly-wedded wife, one of the only people he trusted enough with his feelings.

Then there was Harry who, given his resurrected status, remained to Eggsy a walking, talking, false sense of security, a constant reminder that all that was good in his life could easily be taken away just like that. Harry moved to rise and Eggsy felt a sudden pang of panic that he might leave.

“I believe the occasion demands a stiff drink, don’t you agree?” Harry mused, a trying but somber pep in his tone. “No offense to our American brethren but I’ve been looking forward to indulging in a fuller body only on offer at Kingsman.”

Kingsman…Eggsy couldn’t remember when last he hadn’t felt ache in his chest at anyone mentioning Kingsman.

Kingsman had just started to feel familiar, like his mates, like his mum and his sis. Apart from the professional zeal, the demands of duty, the Machiavellian façade, there was among them a common core of modern model gentlemen-like sensibilities about honor, bravery, and camaraderie that made the organization more like brothers-in-arms, like family, offering the kind of devotion and respect Eggsy had lived his whole life longing for but never got in an unstable home round a fuck-all stepfather.

“Cheers,” Harry quipped, handing him a two finger, neat, of an aged single malt Scotch whisky, before situating himself back down with a Scotch glass of his own in hand. “To life of holy matrimony,” he said, raising his glass in Eggsy’s direction, but Eggsy kept his own glass clutched in both hands, too despondent to drink to his own wedded bliss. “Alright, then. To the fact that, despite all odds, we have reached a full week of active duty, unscathed, secured in our finances, and at no loss for work.”

Eggsy watched in his peripheral as the glass in Harry’s hand inched its way toward the older man’s thin-lipped mug before its contents disappeared in one fell swoop.

“Right well,” Harry set the now empty glass down on an empty coaster on the small end table between them. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question was that then, Harry?”

“Did Merlin tell you not to mourn…not to show any emotion or feelings, or some other hogwash like that, until after we’ve fought the good fight and saved the world?”

“Yeah, he did,” Eggsy barked out, beside himself with grief. “What fucking of it?”

Harry remained unfazed by the outburst. He was the ever so patient and understanding parental figure Eggsy was too old to have or want at this point and yet there he sat, cross-legged, watching and waiting for Eggsy to rediscover some semblance of composure.

“Yeah, he did,” Eggsy repeated, an apology laced in the lowered tone of his voice. “Shit lotta good that did, too. After we went into Doomsday protocol, yeah, we got steaming pissed on a full bottle of Stateman’s straight bourbon.” Eggsy smiled at the memory, his eyes wandering to the Scotch in his hands. “We balled like dickheads, goin’ on and on about losing Kingsman, and Merlin insisted it was his fault but it wasn’t. It was my fault. It was. I let that Charlie fuck back in and now Roxy’s dead, my mate Brandon, J.B. …”

Fuck, Eggsy thought, and the lure of the clear caramel-colored liquid at his disposal finally overcame him. He downed it without a second thought, basking in the smooth burn it left in his throat. His eyes watered because the shit was truly strong and not at all because he couldn’t stop crying about all the good people in his life who were no more.

“That’s what he said.”

Eggsy all but slammed his now empty Scotch glass against the surface of the end table.

“What an absurd thing to say to someone who’s grieving.”

“Fuck no?”

“The man had cultivated quite the stony veneer, over the years.”

“Merlin grieved, alright? Kingsman keep their shit together but he fuckin’ grieved—that’s how it was,” Eggsy insisted, suddenly on the defensive. He glared at Harry, the older man’s unwavering one-eyed stare an aggravating sight. “Or did you forget? We had the mission.”

“Incapable of having a little cry while simultaneously doing what is necessary, are we?”

“Why are you riding this, man? We kept our head in the game, alright? Isn’t that what a good little soldier does? Fuck off, there’s nothing absurd about it.”

“Of course, there is,” Harry insisted himself, looking off into the fire. “I should know. Who do you bloody well think told him that?”

Eggsy didn’t know what to say to that but, at a loss for words already, he simply stared into the flames that danced in the fireplace before them. The snug room drew quiet and nothingness pounded in his ears. In the heat of their exchange, Eggsy had managed to replace tears with anger and do away with thoughts of loss and self-loathing.

Now he felt nothing.

“John Denver.”

“What?”

“I knew who his favorite singer was,” Harry said, as if it were the most blatant thing in the world, like that was at all what either of them had been on about. “I knew everything about that man.”

Eggsy looked over to Harry, his curiosity piqued, the drift of Harry’s voice sounding with some semblance of pain that Eggsy had never been privy to before now. Harry’s one visible eyes glazed over with certain memories, glistening in the light of the fire, and Eggsy found himself all ears to the regret lingering at the tip of Harry’s tongue.

“His favorite colour is green, like the sprawling Highlands of his motherland. He’s three years younger than I and yet held a place in the same year at boarding school. I was inconsolably miffed to find some young pleb had outdone my top marks and so I went to confront him. We ended up having it out like two common blokes outside a pub in Moss Side of Manchester.” A small but strange smile withered across Harry’s face. “We subsequently settled on an acquaintanceship.”

Eggsy eyed Harry with rapt attention. “Go on.”

“He had a flare for the dramatic, though, you wouldn’t know it at first glance. Before gadgetry it was painting—a technological genius and he wanted to be an artist. Then I enlisted, obligated by a sense of duty, but then he enlisted because I did. Kingsman had him on their radar before they ever gave me a fleeting consideration. We somehow managed to succeed in our respective candidacies and remained happily unforthcoming on how we knew each other. Mother…”

Harry fell silent, his dance down memory lane having stumbled upon a subject clearly hitting too close to home. Eggsy would swear he stopped breathing, in that moment, in fear of disturbing the aura of the man’s confessional state. Eggsy could barely get him to divulge a request when making a lunch run, so close to the chest did Harry play his cards. The only other time Eggsy had ever heard Harry mention his mum had been shortly after discovering he was still alive, when he told Merlin he wanted to see her.

Merlin knew his mum, Eggsy realized.

“Mother adored him,” Harry eventually carried on, “and he her. She took a disliking to me, in the advance stages of her condition. Confused me with my father. I asked him to look after her, when I was off on missions for an indefinite amount of time, and he relished in the excuse to spend more time with her. When she finally succumbed to her illness,” Harry paused again, lowering his gaze to the expanse of his immaculate apparel, and Eggsy waited on his every word, “it devastated him.”

The silence of Harry’s sadness felt like a sucker punch to Eggsy’s face.

“I was a coward. I was cruel. He needed me and I…I wasn’t there for him. I told him I didn’t want him, didn’t need him, and he adapted in time. I told him not to mourn, because I hadn’t. I swept it under the rug, insisted on the mission. We can feel when we’ve saved the world but the world is never truly saved, is it?”

“Harry?”

“I killed him,” Harry said, staring pitifully into the fire, a helpless but resolute inflection about him. “I’m the reason he’s dead.”

“That ain’t fucking true and you know it,” Eggsy urged. “I killed ‘im. Okay? Not you, me. He pushed me off that mine, not you.”

“He saved you because he knew that’s what I wanted.”

“What, for the mission?”

“I should think,” Harry breathed, sulking, and Eggsy shared in his angst. “I lied, Eggsy, before… Alone was not all I had. Alone was not all I ever was. I had him, Eggsy. I had him and I took that for granted. I miss her... I never told him that. I should have told him that. Why didn’t I tell him that? There was so much more I could have said…”

Silence again.

Eggsy fixated on the fire, afraid to look over. There were no sobs, no whimpers, not even the slightest movement of distress. Harry was ever the epitome of nobility, the kind of posh, yuppie, high class wanker Eggsy used to despise mainly because posh, yuppie, high class wankers usually despised him. Not Harry, though.

Harry treated him better than anyone.

Eggsy looked to his senior colleague, summoning the balls to acknowledge a grief beyond his own, the single tear trailing down Harry’s eye remaining unfettered in its descent. Harry’s face screwed up only slightly as he fought back the full extent of his emotions, and Eggsy didn’t press him for more than that.

In fact, Eggsy found himself doing one better. He clambered out of his chair to stand behind Harry and, before losing his nerves, wrapped his arms around the older man faster than he gathered Harry could protest. He latched on, unwilling to let go, burying his chin against the backrest for good measure.

Harry said nothing but didn’t push him away and, eventually, Eggsy felt the older man relax into the embrace. Eggsy had practice with consoling his mum on what used to be a daily, wrapping her up in his arms to relieve her of all her anxiety and grief and hopelessness. Of all Eggsy’s skillsets, both the bad and the good, looking out for the people he cared for was the only one that ever truly mattered to him.

They stayed like that for what felt like ages until Eggsy’s phone went off.

“It’s Whiskey,” he said.

“Any idea what she might want?”

“No clue,” Eggsy admitted, staring at his phone’s screen in surprise. “I’ll take this, yeah, and then will get right proper shitfaced.”

“I wager I should pass on the offer,” Harry lamented and, just like that, Harry sounded contained again. “I had a full bottle, already, before joining you.”

“You what?” Eggsy raised his phone to his ear. “Galahad.”

“Galahad,” Whiskey greeted, her voice urgent. “I’ve got news for Kingsman and it’s a bit shocking.”

“We’re all ears,” Eggsy assured her, placing her on speaker. “What’s up?”

“Galahad, we found him.”

“Found who?”

“On our last sweep of Poppy’s hideout, we discovered a secret lair among the temple ruins and he was there.”

“Who was there?”

“Merlin,” Whiskey said, getting to the fucking point. “He’s alive.”

Eggsy looked to Harry, the alarm and disbelief and hope in his eye as he unwittingly clutched the back of his seat fucking heartbreaking.

Eggsy’s gaping mouth grew dry.

“Fuck me, Whiskey.”

“Uh, no thank you,” Whiskey said, in polite dismissal. “Tequila’s on his way. We’ll have you guys back in Kentucky by this time tomorrow.”

“We’ll be ready,” Eggsy said, looking to Harry with careful consideration.

“Let’s go,” Harry said, rising to his feet, and the two shared a determined nod.

[webcricket]

Nudge Theory

Characters: CastielXReader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 1465 (Act IV - Part I)

A/N: A five act mini-series. The reader and Castiel must work together to solve the curious case of the missing Winchesters. Fluff, smut, and a plot for kicks. Whatever happened to Sam and Dean Winchester anyway? Act IV is conveyed from the brothers’ perspective – their whereabouts and mischievous plotting revealed as the tables are unexpectedly turned. Action-packed fluff-filled conclusion coming your way next week!

Completed Series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/162181272535/nudge-theory-masterlist

(X)

Nudge [verb] –

·       “Coax or gently encourage someone to do something.”

Act IV - Part I

“Y/N sounded pissed,” Dean snickered, tone not at all apologetic for the wild goose chase he and Sam sent you running on for the last couple of days. Driving up to the motel you and the angel were staying in, he set the Impala’s parking brake and smoothly released the clutch.

“Yeah, well Cas didn’t sound too pleased either,” Sam pointed out, groping blindly for his bag in the backseat, “you of all people know he hates being dicked around with. Well-meaning intentions aside, that’s exactly what happened here.”

“And there’s the real beauty of it Sammy,” Dean grasped his brother by the shoulder, “their shared anger will bring them even closer together. Real bonding material! Besides, how many times has Cas up and disappeared for days or weeks without so much as a word? No way in hell I’m feeling guilty about this one time, especially if it means he gets past this whole Debbie Downer shtick he’s been hung up on lately.”

“Right Dean. How totally selfless of you,” Sam smiled incredulously, shaking his head at his brother’s hair-brained scheming as he exited the car into the breezy night air. The metallic clatter of an ice bucket buffeted about the asphalt parking lot by the wind momentarily caught his attention. He dismissed it as a trivial detail.

Dean could barely contain the triumphant swagger threatening to burst forth from his person at any moment in the form of a victory dance, his green eyes flashing firework sparks in the pale artificial light as he hopped the small decorative fence in front of your motel door.

Setting you and Cas up to work a case together as a pre-text for meeting and falling hopelessly in love had been his idea. He’d known you for a good long while, appreciating your spunky but patient personality (spunky, but patient enough to endure his goofy shenanigans with a laugh and flat-out ignore any advances he made). He’d called you in on a few cases here and there over the years, keeping in touch with enough regularity to know you were still single and a little bit lonely as most hunters of your indomitable ilk tended to be. He also remembered your keen interest in hearing detailed accounts of his friend Cas, so much so you asked after the angel you’d never laid eyes upon every occasion you and Dean spoke, with Dean more than obliging in recounting (and frequently exaggerating) their unbelievable adventures – expounding Cas’ virtues like he was some fairy-tale prince for you to pine after. A supremely competent wingman, Dean laid the groundwork for your amorous inclinations toward the angel long before he knew what he was laying the groundwork for.

One caseless evening, teetering at the precipice of drunken insentience over a half-empty bottle of whisky with his mopey angelic friend planted dejectedly across the table droning on and on about bees or failure or some such nonsense to Dean’s disinterested ears, Dean’s inebriated mind divined the genius idea that you and Cas would be perfect for one another. Lord knew Cas needed someone spunky to inject some fun into his existence and show him the lighter side of life, someone patient and willing to listen to his endlessly odd meandering contemplations, to deal with his lack of hobbies beyond shadowing the brothers and the increasingly annoying 24/7 angels-don’t-require-sleep pacing of the bunker halls. Sure, Cas was family, but even family had its limits.

Cas likely would have brushed off Dean’s idea with nary a second thought, except for once Dean managed to kept his notoriously bombastic mouth shut. Sort of – he’d passed out, a thin string of spittle flowing over silent loose lips and cascading across the freckled back of his hand to pool on the table. Cas noted Dean did some of his most sincere listening whilst peaceably unconscious – mostly because the lack of voluntary muscle control severely hindered his ability to roll his eyes at the angel’s absurdly random musings.

Unlike Dean’s typical drunken theories, the notion of hooking you and Cas up still seemed absolutely brilliant when he awoke the next morning, head throbbing, cheek stuck to hand in turn stuck to table. Luckily, the first person he laid eyes on and enthusiastically spilled the proverbial beans to was his brother. Over a greasy diner breakfast to absorb whatever alcohol still circulated in Dean’s system and to avoid Cas’ innocently snooping angelic ears, Sam agreed to go along with the plan, primarily because Dean clearly wasn’t going to drop it any time soon and it was the fastest way to shut him up about it. Sam argued one caveat. He knew neither you or Cas would go along willingly on a traditional blind date. He also knew his brother would be unable to function in any kind of a normal and not overtly meddlesome capacity if you all simply worked a case together as an introduction. No, you had to be gently nudged in the right direction, free will and all being of utmost import – you and Cas had to choose each other, or at the very least have the illusion of choice.

Constructing a believable farce of a case (the best lies are based on truths – what better truth than a real case), setting the stage (leaving just enough clues in the bunker and bread crumbs in town to pique your interest and persistent concern), pulling the strings (ensuring you and Cas would both be at their beck and call at the same time and be compelled to help), and getting the logistics of the charade in place (easy-peasy when your late father, John Winchester, is something of a minor celebrity in the incredibly small town of Clifton Springs, NY where he saved the life of a perpetually grateful mayor’s son and his betrothed 13 years prior – all the folks in town practically tripping over each other to play their part in the strange production) – that was all 100% Sam Winchester. Yet despite Sam’s innumerable contributions without which none of this would have happened, and because the effort appeared to have been a resounding success based on Dean’s earlier phone call to Cas wherein he learned you and the angel evidently had gotten to know each other as intimately as possible, Dean Winchester intended to take full responsibility as match-maker extraordinaire.

Stationed before the motel door, fist poised to knock, Dean squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, donning a somber expression as he prepared to bask humbly in the glory of your everlasting gratitude.

Rolling his eyes, thoroughly done with the drama, Sam reached a lanky arm around his brother and thwacked a knuckle on the door – the door swung ominously inward without resistance.

Satisfaction stolen, Dean glowered at his brother before stepping jauntily across the threshold into the darkened room.

Intuiting something amiss, Sam’s bag dropped to the ground with a dull thud, his fingers instinctively reaching for and withdrawing the knife tucked discreetly inside his brown corduroy jacket. “Dean,” he warned in a hushed tone, yanking his brother stumbling backward by the coat collar.

“What?!” Dean whined, swatting Sam’s hand aside, ego too puffed up to recognize the blatant signs of a violent struggle before him.

“Dean, seriously?” Sam snorted, setting his jaw in the harsh manner that sufficed to belay both his worry and derision. He flicked the switch by the door, shedding further light on the situation.

Dean dispassionately examined the room – focus gliding over the unmade bed, overturned chairs and busted table, smashed picture frame, and random spattering of vivid red viscous fluid on the dingy carpet and multiple walls. He shrugged, snorting in retort, “Like I said, what?”

Sam’s square jaw threatened to dislocate just then under the gnashing force of teeth required to bite his tongue.

“Look, they’re just trying to get back at us,” Dean strode forward, picking up a snapped bloodied stump of table leg, using the pointed sliver of crimson painted wood to motion grandiosely around the room, “play us at our own game. The whole thing’s obviously staged.”

Wits undamped by over-inflated ego, Sam’s eyes alit on a wrinkled piece of pale beige toned mottled oddly familiar point of something vaguely flesh-like protruding out beneath the disjointed bed. Closer examination revealed the thing to be a crudely severed finger. And judging from the knobby rheumatic knuckles and age spots decorating the amputated bit, the severed finger of someone apparently elderly in years.

Dean could find no feasible way to explain this detached digit away as part of an elaborate payback hoax. You and Cas were indeed missing – really, actually, genuinely, and concerningly missing. Fortunately for everyone involved, Dean retains the remarkable ability to transition from jester to bad-ass hunter faster than anyone else in the known universe.

Continue Reading Act IV - Part II:

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