#Magpie's got a death grip

[gomzdrawfr]

Uncle Simon's babysitting journey, part 2

part 1

aftermath:

[tex-treasure-chamber]

Angst drabble: Texiarty

"I, I don't know if I can ever forgive you, after-- after what you did." Tex stammered, their voice small and sharp, cutting through the thick air between themself and Jim like a poison dipped arrow aimed straight for Jim's heart. Jim didn't brace for impact, didn't think he had to, didn't think their words would hit its mark so when he suddenly felt his heart seize up, he physically recoiled like an injured magpie too weighed down with the unexpected pain to try and fly off.

Angry and quietly but deeply afraid, Jim drew himself up to loom over them. "If I do recall, I did several things that would fit the bill," he crowed, eyes wide and sharp as he searched Tex's face, "you'll have to be more specific, pet."

For a moment, the hurt and betrayal on Tex's face morphed bright and hot into sudden rage as they curled their small hands into such small shaking fists and cut their eyes up at him. "I'm not your fucking pet." They snarled.

Jim almost smiled, despite himself. Despite everything. They were so beautiful like this, shaking with barely repressed rage. The sight of it seemed to wrap itself around Jim's heart and s q u e e z e. He couldn't tell if he felt achingly alive or if he was slowly dying, but he wanted it to stop even as he reveled in the fact it all felt glorious.

"Was it the car bombs?" Jim inquired with a comically sad frown as he bent over at the waist to get into Tex's face, deeply curious as to whether or not Tex would snap and physically assault him or not and somewhat giddy to find out. "How about the fact I had my goons point lasers at your BFF and brother Dearest? Hmm?" When Tex only continued to glare darkly at him, he tapped his lips. "Okay, okay I got it- the poisoned candy. It has to be the poisoned-"

Finally, Tex reached out and made contact but like typical Tex, they didn't react to Jim like he had expected them to. Before Jim could react, Tex reached for the collar of his shirt and grabbed it, shoving him back against the wall in one fell swoop before they used their grip on his collar to drag him down to be eye-level with them.

"None of that matters! You hear me, you stupid, stupid stupid bitch?" Tex hissed vehemently. They shook him, knuckles white as they kept gripping the collar of his dress shirt. "None of that matters. I would've forgiven you all of it!" They shook him some more, their eyes glassy and red with unshed tears as they gnashed their teeth at him, their voice raising in pitch until they were practically shouting in his face and Jim, stunned into silence and absorbing every second of Tex's wrath, let them do it. "All of it! If you just hadn't faked your worthless, pathetic, death! Do you hear me, you idiot? You absolute moron? Do you?" Tex flung him away from themself, Jim's back thudding hard against the wall as Tex jerkily turned away and hugged themself tightly.

Breathless, Jim stayed against the wall, heart still squeezing tighter and tighter as he watched Tex turn their back on him as though it wasn't them who was reaching their livid hand inside his chest that very second. He didn't dare breathe as he watched them clearly debate over saying something else, something he knew was going to hurt but he wanted to hear it-- feel it-- anyway because oh he f e l t.

After a beat, they finally added in a harsh, unforgiving whisper, their back still to him, "I mourned you. I... I grieved you, despite everything." They paused and an ugly, tremulous silence filled the air and still, without turning to even spare him a glare, they added firmly, "I won't mourn you next time."

Each word hit Jim like a gunshot straight to the chest. Bam bam bam bam bam bam. Jim watched Tex walk toward the door, each footfall a nail in his coffin. The sound of the door quietly shutting behind him knocked the wind right out of him, the sound of Tex's refusal to consider him for even another moment ringing in his ears louder than if they had slammed the door behind them.

Jim dazedly stared at his watch and the cold, unfeeling, face stared back, telling him second by second the time he was wasting just standing there.

[aceof-diamonds]

Death Isn't A Mercy

The trees got denser the further you walked - at one point or another, you would have to finally admit you were lost. One hand kept a tight grip on the dagger at your side; a comfort, almost, something to keep you safe if you did happen to be stranded in this forest for the night. It was definitely something more to slash at the shrubs in the way of your path than to be used as a weapon to defend yourself - you were never one to fight - but it was still a comfort.

"That isn't going to help you much." The sudden voice from a tree that sat beside you made you flinch - something that pulled a laugh from whoever was lurking off to the side. Your grip on the dagger got tighter; knuckles turning white. There was a pause between the both of you - a moment when you swear your heart skipped a little - before you turned around. You could feel the blood drain from your face the second you turned to survey him, eyes now locked with the man who was once Astraea's infamous lover. The explosion had loosened the hands on the feral dog's leash.

Magpie looked different from the last time you saw him; he had looked more alive back then. His already pale skin now had a grey, translucent hint to it under the moonlight that slipped between the branches. His eyes were.. off - the bright blue that was once his right eye was now overtaken by an almost glowing white, similar to his hair; once blood red, now as white as death. His new demeanour held more confidence - more arrogance - as he leaned against the tree, the baseball bat held at his front.

A new variation of mismatched eyes lazily wandered over you, the smirk clear on his face.

"Someone's skittish." His smirk grew into a smile as he stepped forward, watching you as you refused to look away. "Don't worry about rushing to try and take every detail in now." He held out his arms as his smile faded. "I'm going to be the last thing you see. You'll have time to take it all in."

Shit. You knew you were dead. You were face to face with an assassin; there was a slim chance you’d make it out of this forest alive. But you couldn’t go down without a fight - maybe the brief combat training you had taken on previously could give you a chance to distract him before running. Where to actually run was another question, but… that would be something to work out with the few seconds grace you’d have.

The moment you lunged towards him, he was gone - he was definitely here in the first place, right? You caught yourself on a tree as you stumbled through the now empty space before you.

"I am still here." Your head whipped around to find him against another nearby tree, the smug expression still plastered onto his face. "You tried." He pouted, head tilting as his eyes stayed locked on you. "Want another go?" The baseball bat swung up onto his shoulder as he watched you expectantly, waiting for your next move.

You sprinted towards him once again, the movement more sudden - a plan to catch him off guard - though it still seemed to be expected. He was gone again the moment the dagger moved to slash through the air.

This time, when you steadied yourself and took a step back, your back hitting the chest of someone behind you made you freeze.

"Not good enough." His voice was low in your ear, breath causing goose bumps to rise over your body as it hit your cheek. Though that was the last thing on your mind as the bat he always kept close was hooked around your throat, crushing your windpipe under the pressure as you were pulled further into his chest.

You could feel his grin as you started struggling, slashing at anything you could. He barked out a laugh in response the moment the blade caught his arm - black blood weirdly cold against your hand as it started to steadily trickle out, a sensation your brain started to fixate on as the pressure on your throat increased and darkness started leaking into the edges of your vision.

"Maybe next time you'll do a little better." Your struggling slowly started to die down, the aimless slashing starting to get weaker as the darkness crept in further - there was no telling where you were now, trees distorted by black dots overtaking your vision, every sound distant other than the muffled thud of your dagger hitting the dirt below you. "I do doubt you will, though." His chuckle seemed far away as the pressure increased some more on your throat. And then there was nothing.

Birds gathered as your corpse dropped to the ground, curious after the sound of bones snapping echoed off the trees they resided in. Your killer - the current President of the city neighbouring you - laughed as he stood over your body, surveying his work before continuing on his way.

[applebortongenes]

Act Like You’ve Never Seen A Moggie

Chapter 2 Scars Kept Unattended 

Everything was extremely hazy… I remember the shouting of soldiers both on my side and against me. I remember hearing Viper over the radio, screaming for a medic for Sips. Who previously had been shot in the upper arm and was losing blood extremely quickly. Then quiet as the helicopter started to ascend to my rendezvous location, as quick as it went into the air the piercing light took over my scope and eyes like a flashbang then the sound around my ruptured. When I came to and looked through my scope though I saw it… The bright flames scorching the helicopter flipping in the air as it falls cascading down in a spiral. It hits the ground as the sound finally fills my ears a deafening crackle then BOOM follows in tandem. I called out on my radio but everything stayed silent. I panicked and rushed to the crash site only to find 4 corpses- I say corpses but in actuality they were only skeletons burned and charred skin attached to them. It was horrifying, borderline traumatic.. To see the group that I had been with since joining the military be murdered. In their own evacuation helicopter, then it hit me as I walked around the burning pile of ash flame metal and human remains I gathered the shark teeth from my teammates and their dog tags- though barely recognizable and sat there watching their bodies burn. My body had gone numb by the time I reached the site, all emotion was dragged out on the way down till now just a numb feeling overwhelmed my sense to where I couldn’t even see or hear the swarm of soldiers zeroing in on my location. Till I was knocked out. I remember waking up to sharp pains everywhere from my scalp to my toes. When I came to, I could feel and taste the irony liquid filling my mouth, Blood. I started to hack and cough to get the dreadful taste out of my mouth to no avail my mouth was clamped open with 4 rusted metal hooks while my hands and feet where no different my right leg having a hook driven straight through my ankle while my left going through the palm of my foot and the hooks on my hands one going through the wrist and one through the hand. ‘Show No Weakness’ a fellow who served once told me, but how do I show I am not afraid when I am being hooked like a boar they had just caught. A man in a white suit came over- I say it was white in reality it was stained. Stained with blood, I am assuming none is his own. I remember the words he said to me “You serve a pig, you shall look like one when we are through” as he flipped the rusted knife in his pocket out and tightened the grip he has on it he brought the blade to the corners of my lips slowly applying pressure. There is a camera directed at me and in the lens reflection I can see it, the hideous face I was given a giant smile coming from my lips to the middle of my ear, my nose broken, the blood pooling into my mouth. As he turned my face I could see my teeth as my cheek was fully open and exposed. I blacked out after that, not waking up till I was chained in a cage. As the man walked up to the cage he smiled wickedly “I hope you enjoy becoming food for the creatures that crawl in this desert they hunger just as we of course” and left. The sun bore into my back for days till I broke my hands to free myself, learning that I was not going to be saved was the easy part, not giving in to the willing arms of death was the hard part. I eventually got out by using the shark teeth as lock picking devices. I walked for days using cactus as a water and food source growing numb to the ache of needles being in my skin as I continue to grog my way through this wasteland. I obtained a friend on my way. A small Magpie had been left out by its family so I decided to help it, if anything it could eat me after I died for a long while. I couldn't talk anymore due to the fact of my mouth throat and lungs growing raw from the constants of sand being blown into it my tongue being split and my uvula basically dissipated since the sands brutal attacks, as I began coming up on a large wall I realized this could be my ticket out of this hell hole. I buckled down and continued to walk, though now making a much faster haste than the previous. An officer saw me and rounded me up, I don’t remember much after that though.

-- Present--

I can hear the helicopter buzz as it jerks to a soft landing as I stand and collect my things, Soldiers filing past me as I haul my Tac-50 over my shoulder and grab my duffle bag swinging it almost hitting one of the soldiers walking past me with my free hand I readjust my goggles and Mask making sure the voice modifier is on so I will be audible enough to be legible… still breathing. I walk out to be met with the face of the captain himself Captain John Price the one who had made the call to Laswell for my arrival. I noticed no other soldier walked to him all going to a variety of different areas seemingly having already been given orders. ‘Fuckin’ Robots if ya ask me’ I mumble under my breath as I walk over to Price looking up at his eyes I spot in the distance about 6 to 7 men walking towards us. “Lynx reporting Captain Price,Sir.” I let out in the best ‘I swear I am focused on this task voice I can muster. How could I pay attention though when I saw people wearing masks just like me on this team. “ Got yourself a team of mismatched bandits and roughians I see Captain.” I let out a huff as he chuckles “You yourself added now, hope it was a good flight soldier.” He starts to walk off to the group now seeing them closer as I follow Price. Two people wore masks like me though one full faced with a skull sewn on ‘wonder if its real...’, while the other having his hair out still, another sat with a ballcap on looking down at a tablet seemingly looking over notes for their next mission. Then the one with the mohawk who has been watching me like a hawk gitty to pounce on its prey or a dog with a new toy. He was the first to greet himself, his name was Soap, kind of stupid if you ask me but hey who am I to judge. Next was the second masked guy, his hair bouncing slightly as he got up from his seat to shake hands with me introducing himself as KillSwitch, K.S. for short, next was the ballcap guy who is called Gaz and 2 mexican special force operatives named Alejandro and Rudolpho otherwise called Rudy, and finally the big masked man. All he said was Ghost as he stared down at me with an intensity that screamed ‘you don't belong here’ borderline territorial, but I had gotten it enough from my brother growing up so I was fine with the look after chatting a small bit my voice and throat started to burn and I signed to Price asking if I can be brought to my room. Seeing the puzzled look on his face made me realize Laswell forgot to mention my voice. Till KS chimed in before I could get a word out “ She wants to go to her room sir, says…. Her voice hurts?” He looks puzzled as I explain it through ASL “She has a severely damaged throat that makes it difficult to talk for long periods of time, I can show her to the rooms sir I know you need to inform Laswell of her arrival.” Price nods with a sigh and hands the keys to KS as they both begin walking. They talk through sign L:‘Didn’t think anyone would know sign in this place’ K:‘yea I was taught by my neighbors, lucky you hmm’ Lynx just nods and continues walking till they reach the door. 

Log 728 ‘.141.’

New beginnings....

-Lynx

[painforcain]

Always expect the unexpected.

That was his motto. He didn't think for a single second that Raven wouldn't fight him back at some point. He was aware of his methods, and more importantly, what his methods would wake within others.

But a part of him ached to know that Raven was not to be trusted.

There were so many who wanted his power or wealth. Others just wanted to spend time with him - some characters matched his. After all, Raven was here, too. There were those who were taken against their will as well, like Myrkr. Not everyone was willing to be in his life, but he more often got what he wanted than others.

The fingers in his hair were met with a feral growl, and an animalistic instinct to bite down on the neck even harder than before. Raven wanted to help this... insignificant creature to escape. That couldn't happen. He wouldn't allow it! And as the blade was driven deeply into his throat to rip it open. That took him by surprise and before he knew it, he had lost his grip on Myrkr as his own blood spilled right inside the wound.

That was a mistake he did not calculate into the countless possibilities. Perhaps he thought Myrkr would break out on his own, and he even took it into consideration that Raven might peel him off of the boy, but to see his precious blood come in contact with the blood of a creature that visibly used otherworldly magic, well... that was an interesting turn of events.

He was choking on his blood by the time Raven put him down on his back. Myrkr collapsed on the ground, his hand on his wound, already healing it and unknowingly sealing Cain's blood in his own bloodstream. He stared at the other two - or rather, the raven haired one, performing the most gruesome act on their captor. His stomach turned when he heard the eyes pop, and the words made him want to get out of there as soon as possible; he surely misjudged Raven by the looks of it. Myrkr changed aspect, taking on the form of a magpie, and flew out through the hole on the ceiling, through the manor and out of an open window.

Cain had been grabbing at his throat first and foremost, trying to keep the wound closed so he wouldn't lose too much blood. Even this treachery wasn't enough for his mind not to panic at the thought that he wouldn't be able to tend to Raven's wounds; even if the other managed to blind him, the only thing that upset him was that he couldn't see how badly injured the dhampir was. He rapidly fell into panic, and he frantically was trying to find someone in his mind that he could trust with Raven's well-being until he himself recovered.

As he was fighting for his consciousness, he heard Raven coughed up blood, and he felt even more worried as before. Perhaps he wanted Raven to die… just not now. Not yet. Not like this. Perhaps he wanted to kill Raven himself, but he wanted to give him an honorable, wonderful death. This would be a waste. Raven, dead, now, was a waste. A loss. Cain contemplated the grief he'd feel, but it was much too painful. He let out a long, gurgling shriek at the thought. He wouldn't allow that to happen.

He calmed his frantic mind and focused. He mustered all his powers to reach the darkest, oldest being that ever existed; the one that was born right after Life itself came to be.

And as he focused, the darkness materialised in the other far corner, just opposite from Raven. It swirled and twisted until a body was formed from it. The stranger took one long look at Cain before his eyes shifted on Raven. He took a few calm steps towards him, crouched beside him, and tilted his head.

Save him, Cain begged through their own shared telepathic connection, and the stranger looked more curiously at Raven. Save him, please...

I've got him, the being replied calmly, rest.

Knowing Raven was now in safe hands, Cain finally passed out. The man calmly looked Raven over, spotted his injury, and glanced back up in the man's eyes.

"I am Hel", he whispered, "and you will be alright."

He raised his hand to place it on Raven's injury, sealing it with dark matter which prevented the dhampir from bleeding out.

Cain dragged a body down the corridor, in the darkness of the cell below his manor.

It wasn't news. He had his fair share of play with his little pet, Myrkr - a real gem this one was, quick healing, high pain tolerance, inability to fight back because he's too compassionate and too tired to do so -, and now he allowed him to rest a few hours before he'd return for him.

His other pet, though... chained to the wall, beaten from time to time, starved and dehydrated... their time would come soon. Cain smirked as he opened the cell and dropped Myrkr inside. He was barely breathing but he was at least less beaten up than last time; his ankles were broken, as well as his hands. He only had briefs on and his entire body was full of bite marks.

"How are we feeling?" Cain purred in the other pet's direction as he stopped over them with a little smirk. "Slept well?" Of course not, Myrkr had been screaming in the past four hours. "Are we hungry?"

[rubysunnday]

crashing down

Summary: When a heist goes horribly wrong, Jesper and Y/N are trapped underneath the rubble.

`A/N: looks like i’m writing for my murder children now. I have zero regrets

Jesper Fahey x platonic!reader

In hindsight, they probably shouldn’t have hung around to steal the brooch. And they probably shouldn’t have even decided to rob the place in the first instance but, hey, when someone brags about the treasures they own and tell you exactly where in their tiny, second house they were hidden, they were practically asking you to steal them.

And besides, Jesper loved a good old fashioned shoot out too much to simply run away from one. And Y/N loved her friend too much to leave him to fight on his own.

Jesper ducked behind the pillar as another bullet whizzed past his head, imbedding itself in the wall behind Y/N.

“I’m blaming you entirely, Jesper,” Y/N muttered, handing him a load pistol in exchange for his empty one. “It was your idea.”

“You’re the one who spotted the damn thing,” Jesper replied, leaning around the pillar and firing three shots, all hitting their targets. “You’re like a bloody magpie.”

“Just because I went ‘ooo, shiny item,’ doesn’t mean you have to steal it!” Y/N hissed. “Now, because of you, Kaz is probably wondering where we are and will likely murder both of us for ruining the plan.”

Something exploded from outside, the orange flames lighting up the corridor as they billowed into the sky. The men attacking them all yelled as they realised that Y/N and Jesper weren’t alone in the building. More footsteps echoed on the stairs in front of them as the rest of the guards ran outside to see what was happening. 

Jesper and Y/N shared a look. “Wylan.”

“Well, good to know that part of the plan is going to... well, plan,” Y/N replied. She looked down at the pouch of bullets she had and swore. It was empty. “Jesper,” Y/N said, hitting his leg to attract his attention, “Jesper, we’re out.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ah.” Y/N threw the pouch and looked at him. “What do we do? There’s no way we’re getting out of here with them blocking the door.”

As if proving her point, the guards began shooting again. The hail of bullets pinged around them and Y/N dove into Jesper, both of them ducking down and shielding the other. The bullets stopped for a second and Jesper moved quickly, grabbing his pistols and putting them back in their holster and yanking Y/N to her feet, pulling her around the corner and towards the back of the building.

Y/N gripped Jesper’s hand tightly as they ran down the corridor and into a side room full of crates. Jesper slammed the door shut behind them and shoved a crate up against it to block anyone trying to break in.

There was a small window high up on the wall with metal bars running across it, far too small for either one of them to be able to squeeze through.

“What plan is this? Run and hide?” Y/N exclaimed as Jesper began ripping open crates.

“Yes but hiding in the room that, hopefully, has bullets,” He muttered, tossing the paper that was protecting the contents out the crate dramatically. “HA!”

Y/N turned around and saw Jesper brandishing an open box of bullets with a huge grin on his face. She felt herself smiling too, despite the life threatening situation they were currently in.

Jesper gently handed one of his treasured pistols to Y/N, his eyes staring at her intently. She gently took the handle of it and looked up at Jesper, looking into his eyes.

“I know,” she said, nodding as she moved the pistol to her other hand and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “I know.”

It was likely the next few minutes would be their last. They were outnumbered and on their own with limited gunfire. Even if by some saintforsaken chance Inej or Nina or even Matthias turned up to rescue them, they’d probably both be riddled with bullet holes before they got to them.

“No mourners,” Jesper said softly as he let go of Y/N’s hand and spun his pistol around his finger.

“No funerals,” she replied, gripping the handle of her pistol tightly.

Jesper pushed the crate blocking the door out of the way and swung open the door, pistol drawn. 

No one was waiting for them.

Y/N matched Jesper’s frown and slowly stepped out into the corridor behind him suspicious. There was a good quiet and then there was a bad quiet.

And this was a bad quiet.

“Where -”

Y/N’s question was cut off as a large explosion rocked the entire building. She reached out and grabbed Jesper’s arm as she lost her balance and Jesper steadied her as best he could. Dust and chunks of plaster rained down around them and several paintings and expensive vases smashed onto the floor.

“That wasn’t Wylan!” Y/N exclaimed as the building stopped shaking for a moment.

“Come on!” Jesper yelled, grabbing Y/N’s hand and pulling her down the corridor towards their exit. 

Something was wrong, the entire building was empty and there was no one around. Jesper and Y/N skidded around the corner and spied the door that was their exit and put on a sudden burst of speed.

The door suddenly blew in, a cloud of dust following after it. The explosion threw Jesper and Y/N back into a wall. Y/N felt her head smack the wall and suddenly everything felt odd.

She opened her eyes and saw Jesper yelling at her but couldn’t hear him. Her eyes were ringing and everything felt distorted - like she’d had too many Kerch whiskeys. Jesper pulled her to her feet and she stumbled into him, her legs wobbling and shaking and unable to support her weight. Before either one of them could hobble out the door, another explosion occurred and the entire building began to crumble down around them.

Windows smashed, beams came crashing down and pipes burst as the building collapsed in on itself.

Y/N vaguely registered Jesper wrap his arms around her and pull her down to the ground as the building buried them alive.

Kaz checked his pocket watch again. “They’re late.”

“Yes, but Jesper’s always late,” Nina replied, trying to hide her nerves. She’d been frantically looking to the street near the house every second, waiting and hoping for Y/N’s figure to come running up to them, a flustered and excited Jesper chasing after her.

“Not when he’s with Y/N,” Inej muttered, looking behind her at the building they’d escaped from.

Kaz looked down at his watch and then up at the house again. He wasn’t about to betray just how nervous and concerned he was. But it wasn’t usual for Y/N to be running late - even if Jesper did his usual thing of causing complete and utter chaos. 

Wylan was sitting on the edge of a wall, fidgeting with a dummy bomb, his leg bouncing up and down nervously.

“They’ll be fine,” Nina said, looking at Matthias. “They’ll be fine.”

As she uttered the words, an almighty explosion rocked the alleyway they had convened in. Smoke billowed up from the building Jesper and Y/N were inside as bricks, beams and glass all crashed down on top of another in a messy symphony. The walls collapsed down like a house of cards and a nearby flock of pigeons flapped away from the chaos.

The five remaining Crows stared in silence.

Kaz felt as if he might keel over. He stared at the pile of rubble, gripping his cane tightly, the beak of the crow’s head digging into his hand through his gloves. Jesper. Y/N. Both of them were under the rubble that had once been a merchant’s second home. Someone had blown them up. 

Somehow, Matthias snapped into action first, grabbing Nina’s arm and pulling her with him, towards the pile of rubble. Wylan scrambled after them, determined to find his friends.

“Kaz, come on,” Inej said softly, hovering beside him. “We need to go look for them.”

Kaz nodded once, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched it, swallowing his emotions down. He limped after the rest of his gang, his cane clicking loudly on the cobblestones, breaking the eerie, deathly silence that had descended upon the street.

Matthias and Wylan had begun removing beams and chunks of brick from the pile, trying to find a way to get inside. Kaz wanted to help, but couldn’t bring himself to be so close to anyone, so he resorted to stay out the way, watching out for any of the Stadwatch.

Nina was trying her best to locate Jesper and Y/N but the pile of rubble was muffling any sound of their heartbeats. Well, that’s what she was telling herself. She didn’t want to even think about the other reality.

Jesper groaned loudly as he suddenly awoke. His head was pounding and he was being crushed by something heavy and wide. He blinked and the world came into view again and he realised what had happened.

A large, wooden beam was lying across his chest and he was sprawled awkwardly across piles of bricks. He could move, however. The rubble had formed a small pocket around them, the beams that had supported the roof supporting a ton of rubble above them.

Jesper carefully slid out from underneath the beam, trying not to nudge it or move it incase he took the entire thing out and crushed himself to death. He somehow slid down the rubble and further into the pocket and let out a heavy exhale as he caught his breath.

He looked around and froze as he spotted the familiar sight of Y/N’s hair and jacket from underneath what was once a door.

“Y/N!” Jesper exclaimed, clambering over bricks, keeping his head down and folding in on himself as he squeezed through a gap to get to her. “Y/N?”

Y/N lay scarily still, blood trickling down the side of her head, a splintered, heavy oak door lying across her bottom half. Her arm was flung across the bricks and her skin was littered with cuts.

Jesper shoved the door off her with a grunt, his eyes running up and down her body to see if anything was broken. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. He crawled closer and grabbed her hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and waiting.

For a moment, a long, painful moment, he felt nothing. His heart dropped and he genuinely felt as if he might be sick. She couldn’t be dead. She wasn’t allowed to die. She couldn’t die.

But then he felt a slight beat, followed by another and then another. It was slow, slower than it should be, but it was still going which meant Y/N was still alive.

Jesper forced himself to pause and breathe. They were trapped under a pile of rubble which could collapse at any moment. Y/N was unconscious and potentially dying which meant Jesper had to find a way out to safety and to the rest of the Crows. He glanced down at Y/N again, his fingers were still wrapped around her wrist, the feeling of her slow, sluggish pulse helping calm him down. She was still alive. 

Dust rained down on Jesper as he nudged a pile of bricks, seeking out the gap in the rubble that was letting the light in. There was a single ray of light shining through from somewhere - it was orange like the street lamps that dotted the streets of Ketterdam and its mere colour filled Jesper with a bizarre sense of hope. 

If the light could get in, then they could get out. 

He began by carefully moving bricks, stopping each time to make sure the beams keeping the worst of the rubble above them weren’t about to collapse. The broken glass cut into his hands and every movement sent sharp, searing pain through his head. 

But he kept going.

Jesper took a risk and moved a large piece of a door. Above him the beams groaned and buckled and a shower of dust rained down as bricks and rubble fell down. Jesper dove across Y/N, shielding her from the falling debris. 

Bricks and stones fell down but the beams stayed up, supporting the majority of the rubble and keeping their little pocket safe.

Jesper lifted himself of Y/N and grabbed her wrist, checking her pulse again and making sure her chest was still rising and falling. He reached out a hand and gently brushed off the dust and tiny pieces of debris on her face and sighed.

“Well, at least we’re both still alive,” Jesper muttered, trying to think of something positive. It’s what Y/N would do, she was always positive even if the situation was anything but positive. It drove Kaz insane.

“You could sound a little happier about that, Jes.”

Jesper jumped as Y/N’s voice, croaky and barely more than a whisper, broke his internal monologue of doom. She was looking up at him with the faintest hint of a smile on her pale, dust streaked face. 

“Thank the Saints,” Jesper muttered, dropping his head on to the top of Y/N’s head, his shoulders slumping. “I thought you were...”

Jesper trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence. Y/N, who seemed capable of reading the minds of everyone, even Kaz, grabbed his hand and squeezed it weakly.

“I feel like shit but I’m alive, Jesper,” Y/N said quietly, coughing slightly. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

Jesper looked around again, hoping the new found relief he felt at Y/N having woken up would clear his head. All he could see were wooden beams, pipes, bricks and smashed glass and no exit.

“We’re stuck, then,” Y/N said softly, noticing her friends silence. She winced as she shifted on the floor, trying to move so that she could lean against the large piece of wall behind her. Jesper noticed and came back to her side, grabbing her hand and guiding her up until she felt the wall against her back. 

“You good?” Jesper asked, his eyes full of concern, his hands clinging on to Y/N.

She nodded, her eyes shut as she felt the overwhelming wave of pain. She opened her eyes again and looked up. “If the street light is getting in,” she began turning her head with a grunt, “then there has to be a way out.”

“That’s what I thought but I can’t find a way to shift anything without risking bringing the entire building down on us.”

Y/N exhaled softly, slowly turning her head to look at the other end of the pocket they were in. They were well and truly trapped.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N frowned and turned back to face Jesper. “Why?”

“If we hadn’t gone back for that brooch and if I hadn’t -”

“Jesper.”

“ - been so determined to show off and -”

“Jesper.”

“ - we would have been at the rendezvous point in time and we wouldn’t -”

Y/N frowned as she heard the rubble shift above them. She tried to focus on the noise and her frown deepened as she realised that there were voices above them.

“Jesper, shut up a minute,” Y/N snapped, hitting him on the arm to cut off his rambling. “Listen.”

Jesper’s hurt expression at being told to be quiet quickly changed into a defensive one as he heard the rubble shifting and the indistinct sound of voices. He picked up his pistols from the ground and slowly clicked the safety off.

“Good or bad?” Y/N asked, wincing as she shifted herself onto her knees and moved behind Jesper.

“Either,” Jesper replied, his face hardening as the voices got closer. He aimed one pistol at the gap in the rubble where the sound was coming from, his other hand moving to rest on Y/N’s arm, reminding himself that she wasn’t dead, but alive.

Neither one spoke as they watched the rubble intently, bracing themselves for whoever appeared.

A head appeared in the gap and the person elegantly slid into their pocket, feet landing so silently that it could only be one person.

“Oh, Saints, Inej,” Jesper muttered, holstering his pistols and instantly relaxing. 

Y/N felt her energy and resolve disappear at the reassuring sight of Inej, all the pain and exhaustion she was feeling return. She fell to the side, barely catching herself before she smacked her head on the floor.

“Saints, Y/N,” Inej said, climbing over to her as Jesper sat Y/N up against a broken piece of concrete.

“I’m good,” she said softly, wincing. 

“And I’m a sun summoner,” Jesper replied sarcastically, disbelief written on his face at how much Y/N was playing off her injuries. 

“Can you move?” Inej asked. “It’s not far to go until you’re outside.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

She pushed herself up to her knees, gripping a wooden beam for support. The wooden beam held her weight for a moment before it collapsed to the side.

“Shit,” Jesper muttered as the entire building above them groaned loudly. 

“Go,” Inej exclaimed, guiding Y/N up and inside the gap and then shoving Jesper after her as the building came crashing down into what had been their pocket. 

Y/N kept crawling and began to panic as the darkness began to feel claustrophobic and tight and she was scared she was going to collapse in the tunnel, her vision coming and going in waves, her heart pounding.

But then someone grabbed her hand and gently pulled her out the rubble and into the open, catching her as her limbs decided to stop working, sending her crashing to the ground

“Hey, hey, you’re alright,” Matthias said, holding her up against him as she clung to his jacket, her entire body shaking.

“Thank Saints,” Y/N whispered, dropping her head onto Matthias shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened at the sudden, unexpected close contact. He’d never admit it but he had a soft spot for the girl and, after a moment of surprise, gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Y/N!” Nina exclaimed, rushing over to her as Inej and Jesper emerged from within the tunnel. “Jesper, are you two alright?”

“Well, we’re alive,” Y/N replied, smiling tiredly. “Much to Jesper’s disappointment.”

“I’m not disappointed that we’re alive,” Jesper retorted.

“You sounded disappointed,” Y/N countered back. “We survive being crushed to death by an entire building and he’s disappointed.”

“Again, I wasn’t disappointed,” Jesper grumbled.

Wylan looked between Jesper and Y/N. “Are they concussed?” He asked, genuine concern for them clear on his face.

“No. Unfortunately, that’s normal Y/N and Jesper behaviour,” Kaz replied, his cane clicking on the cobbles as he walked up to them. He looked Jesper up and down and then Y/N, his eyes running over them both. 

“We’re fine, boss,” Jesper replied, sensing Kaz’s unspoken question.

“Good,” Kaz said, nodding. “Come on, we need to move we’re behind schedule.”

And with that he limped off down the street.

Y/N let out a scoff of laughter. She was still holding onto Matthias as Nina grabbed her hand softly and began healing her. “Jesper’s the reason we’re behind.”

Jesper gasped loudly, hand flying to his chest as his mouth opened in mock horror. “How dare you! I found that brooch for you!”

“Just because I see something sparkly and go ‘ooo’ doesn’t mean you have to pick it up!” Y/N exclaimed. “You’re not a magpie!”

“The gratitude I get, I swear,” Jesper muttered, stomping off purposefully after Kaz.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment and sighed softly, Nina’s magic working its way through her system. They were a band of misfits and criminals, the dregs of society, but to her they were family.

[littleeyesofpallas]

well that OC brain worm got to me real good real quick like.... I dunno if I'll go as far as to design visuals, as I can't really draw worth beans. And besides the visuals I have in mind are kind of all just mashups of existing Bleach characters rather than anything particularly original. I did try to follow a bit of Kubo's notorious naming schema for this, taking names from various architects and artists, shuffling some syllables around, adding double consonants at random, and aiming for repeat sounds.(basically just a lot of superhero-y Clark Kent/Peter Parker/Matt Murdock/Guy Gardner-isms.)

(Not to toot my own horn here, but I'm kind of impressed with how fast I cranked these out? I honestly had nothing really going into this as far as ideas, but I just kinda channeled my inner Kubo and BAM! out they came.)

Tarabella Veron[タラベラ・バロン]

hakidasu[吐き出す]: "spit it out," Vibora[ビボラ]: "Viper"/[浮腫憎蝮]: "Bloated Hate Pit-Viper."

Fights with a pair of daggers, reverse grip to mimic snake fangs. He injects his own reishi into opponents and it fills them with revulsion and hate, driving them either into blind aggression or debilitating nausea; but if an opponent is of similarly foul temperament the effects may be minimized. Or alternatively the truly pure hearted and merciful aren't as affected.

Mudejar Mallet[ムデハー・アマッレ]

negaere[寝返れ]: "roll over," Marrano[マッラノ]: "Pig"/[穢異端獣] "Filthy Heretic Beast" ([異端者]: "heretic" lit. "different+end+person" but i replaced [者]: "person" with [獣]: "beast/animal." And negaere[寝返れ] here being a pun on both "roll around" like a pig in mud, and "turn over" like to "betray" or change sides.)

A devout Quincy, he doesn't use his sword directly. Instead he's constantly got his sword released, but he's used his Quincy powers to disassemble it into reishi to "purify" himself of his Hollow features. He can use his resurreccion fragment embedded in Quincy attacks to temporarily and to only a slight degree hollow-ize non Arrancar/Hollow opponents; creating or unlocking in them an inner hollow that vocalizes their shadow thoughts and can try to hijack their body and actions, causing a mild identity crisis.

Kristobal Kruzz[クリストバー・クルーズ]

dasshu seyo[奪取せよ]: "snatch it," Urraca[ウッラカ]: Magpie, [輝備蓄盗賊]: "Shining Stockpile Thief."

Has the ability to mimic the effects and forms of opponents' techniques, effectively "stealing" moves, and that includes other sword releases, both resurreccion and shikai/bankai. But the full power of stolen techniques is still limited by Kristobal's own raw power; i.e. stealing a more powerful opponent's techniques will only produce a weaker version of it.

Espada 1-3, I dunno if I'm entirely certain on their order just yet. Based on the "3 Poisons" of Buddhism; Ignorance, Aversion, and Greed and often represented in art as a Snake, a Pig, and a Bird. They are considered the three basic dysfunctions from which all suffering are born from. The bird is more often than not a rooster, but a thieving magpie felt like a more appropriate choice for the theme. I'll be honest the snake felt a little forced, but oh well...

Gridley Foxx[グリイドリー・フォックス]

useyo[失せよ]: "disappear"/"get out of my sight"/"scram," Callejero[カイェヘロ]: "Street(animal)s/Strays"/[流餓破片]: "vagrant hungry fragments."

Lazy and indecisive, when they want anything they split off a part of themself to create a fraccion to go do it for them. The fraccion have limited intelligence and autonomy, but can still fight on command without needing direct orders. Every fraccion they spawn makes their core form weaker, but they usually don't care. They can devour their fraccion to regain their fragmented power, devouring all the fraccion returns them to full strength.

Maximillian Eugenio[マクシミッリアン・ユーゲンニオ]

Detrivoro[デトリヴォロ]: "Detritivore"/[一人死の行進]: "One-man Death March".

Slow a dim witted, he's mostly just concerned with feeding himself and only really picks on stragglers and weaklings, not liking to fight. When threatened he goes on the defensive and is extremely skilled at blocking and just tanking attacks. His main tactic is waiting for his opponents to get tired or bored and leave him alone. When released he reveals his round pot-belly as a coiled ball of elongated repeating torso segments. He has many extra pairs of arms that can all quickly regenerate when lost. He can tear off his arms to pull duplicate zanpakutou out of them.

Bassoco Cortez[バッソコ・コルテズ]

oikabusare[覆い被され]: "hang over (them)," Zopilote[ゾピロテ]: "Vulture"/[不吉暈鳳]: "Ominous Halo KingBird."

His release form gives him giant wings and birdlike talons. He can focus his reiatsu into a halo shaped sustained cero that follow his opponents and can shrink into collars or cuffs; they can either explode or turn back into beams like normal cero on commands. His tactics are to take to the sky where he is confident he can't be touched and rain down attacks from afar.

I've actually had the name of American architect, Gridley James Fox Bryant, stuck in my brain since the last time I was making Bleach OCs back in high school... I like that when broken into Japanese phonetics is also sounds like "Greedily."

Maximillian's shtick got weirdly abstract while I was trying to find the right combination of sounds and kanji that I'd actually like. He's a millipede, which eat detritus(rotting organic matter). He is definitely number 10. Very strong but kind of a simpleton, a little like a cross between Wonderweiss and Demoura.

I don't actually know what order I want 4-10 in at all, but I kinda divided these into 3 categories: Scavengers, Cannibals, and Parasites. I dunno why but the idea struck me to make them all different sorts of what are kind of typically characterized as unsavory or "immoral" predatory behaviors when anthropomorphized. These three are all scavengers.

Rosario Cluuny[ロサリオ・クリュニー]

Mamboretá[マンッボレタ]: "PrayingMantis"/[介錯愛人]: "Beheading(as the end to seppuku) Lover."

I dont know why this one gave me such trouble. I guess it doesnt hurt to have one that's just a straight forward badass. No gimmicks or crazy powers. Just a master swordswoman with a thing for lopping off heads.

Sentina Sauvage[センチナ・ソウヴァジ]

shibaritore[搾り取れ]: "squeeze," Escorpion[エスコルピオン]: "Scorpion"/[毒鞭女王]: "Poison Whip Queen."

Her attacks stimulate pleasure as well as pain. Repeated hits create an addictive effect and enemies will begin to involuntarily throw themselves in the way of her attacks.

I was hesitant to reuse praying mantis but then I got stuck on the idea of a samurai executioner and mantis imagery. Typically a ritual suicide wouldn't just be some samurai spontaneously cutting himself open to bleed out slowly, there's a fairly elaborate set of specifications to the ceremony, among which is that there is a second samurai present to execute the offending samurai once he's successfully disemboweled himself, and put him out of his misery quickly while he has some degree of dignity. That's the specific term of "beheading" here, almost like an assisted suicide, but under extremely specific circumstances.

Also the "Squeeze" for Sentina's release call is a pun on both to physically squeeze and to "extort," like squeezing someone for cash. Plus the "Shibari" playing into BDSM ropeplay and her dominatrix gimmick.

Along with the pig, these two are the cannibals, if that wasn't clear. I didn't actually plan to make them both women, or to specifically use sexual cannibalism in both cases, but of all the ideas I had these two seemed to most fruitful. Putting both side by side like this does make me feel a little eeehhh about it though.

Paquime Miramare[パッキメ・ミラマアー]

naki shikirure[鳴き頻れ]: "Buzz (constantly)." Madre Avispa[マドレ・アビスパ]: "Mother Wasp"/[百息巻孥の屋敷]: "Mansion of 100 Enraged Children"

Because of her irregularly high spirit pressure she suffers chronic headaches and the stress has her on the constant verge of breakdown. To combat this she lets out as much energy as she can as unstable cero blasts. They ripple and shake apart from beams into bullethell-like arrays of orbs that denonate with the slightest disruption, and are prone to setting off chain reactions. The blasts render the reiatsu of enemies as unstable as hers, making it hard to maintain solid shapes of things like kidou or quincy constructs. They vibrate and jitter and buzz like bees.

Wittwer Heurtley[ヴィトヴァ・ハートリー]

kawa o yudeyo[皮を茹でよ]: "boil the skin," Gusano Redondo[グサノ・レダンド]: "Nematode(round + worm)"/[少竜火脹]: "Little Dragon Blister"

His attacks leave marks on objects and enemies. If he hits the marks with his thin garrote-like cero, they fill with reishi and begin to swell and heat and bubble and boil. The disfigurements become unwieldy as well as painful, so avoiding having the same place hit becomes increasingly difficult.

I realized too late that I had changed the bird from a cuckoo to a magpie, and lost it being part of the parasite category, as cuckoos are brood parasites. shit... now the whole thing doesn't hold up...

Anyway, the wasp here is based on parasitoid wasps that lay their eggs in their living prey with long stringer-like ovipositors so their larva can eat their way out of the living host when they hatch, rather than the more iconic black and yellow. I did realize too late that my evoking of a wasp nest imagery doesn't actually work with parasitic wasps because they don't make nests... Really dropping the ball here. woops

And Wittwer was another one that got a little weirdly obtuse. I was specifically basing it off the Dracunculus medinensis which is the cause of guinea worm disease. When drinking unfiltered freshwater, nearly microscopic waterfleas infected with guinea worm eggs can be ingested by humans, and when the worms hatch, they burrow their way through the stomach lining, through muscle tissue, and out thru the skin where they create painful inflammations that prompt the host to try and sooth the pain with cold water, in turn infecting new bodies of water. The burning sensation of this process has been likened to having hot coals pressed against the skin. The scientific name Dracunculus medinensis means "Dragon of Medea" in reference to the Greek demi-god and the two sun dragons that pull her chariot.

Anyway, I sort of wanted to take a stab at Kubo's whole "aspects of death" thing too while i was at it. But rather than his kind of weird assortment of junk I wanted to go with the "10 unwholesome roots" in buddhism, which are like the 3 poisons in that they are the root of those things which inhibit enlightenment. I definitely forgot to keep checking back as i kept going through, so the first couple fit their themes better than the rest.

Kristobal is Greed, the attachment to material things

Tarabella is Hate, the general capacity for spite and ill-will

Mudejar is actually not Delusion here, although i ascribed him as such for the 3 Poisons. He actually fits "Wrong Views" way better, as he's a Quincy convert and fanatic.

Bassoco is Conceit, arrogance pride and undue self assurance

Wittwer is Delusion, the ignorance of greater meaning

Rosario is Doubt, the indecision in determining what's right

Gridley is Torpor, laziness and dullness of mind and lack of drive

Paquime is Restlessness, the inability to be still or calm

Maxmillian is Shamelessness, the lack of a sense of disgust

Sentina is Recklessness, a lack of fear of consequence

Anyway this was a fun way to waste a snowy day. Given how much brain space I've committed to trying to unravel Kubo logic it's kind of a wonder I didn't get around to something like this sooner...

[remmysbounty]

so we’re married now… // din djarin x gn!reader

so this is a little something I wrote last night... I know I usually write female reader stuff but I realized this one has no language pointing towards a specific gender so I figured I’d have it as gender neutral... if there’s anything that references to a specific gender on here though please let me know 🥺

also, i would like to note that i did not come up with this idea myself, i originally saw this idea on one of the FMK Fandom Trope asks that the wonderful and amazing @hdlynn​ (you can find all her amazing writing at @hdlynnslibrary​ ) and i remembered it today and decided to write this little fic to go with it. Here’s her specific ask where the idea was brought up (and yes it was in response to me) so in a way I guess you can say that this fic is in honor to her and her amazing mind and spectacular writing

ENJOY ☺️

You and Din had been traveling with Grogu for quite some time when the two of you finally met the Jedi who would help Din complete his quest, yet when the Child- your child- left Din’s arms you weren’t entirely sure what to make of the situation.

Somehow, the two of you made it back onto a ship and headed to Navarro with Cara until you and Din decided to continue traveling, only this time there was no quest to fulfill, no bounty to find, merely two people who clearly love one another enjoying the time they have together.

The two of you had been dancing around your feelings for one another since before finding Grogu the first time, but it took the whole adventure that he had taken you on for the two of you to even come to terms with how you felt- and soon the two of you were no longer friends, but something more.

“Din?” You whispered softly at the man laying next to you under the cover of darkness, “where are we going next?”

You felt his hand run up and down your arm, “Cara said she found another covert, and technically as Manda’lor, I should go visit them.”

“We don’t have to though,” you ran your fingers through his curly hair tenderly, enjoying the softness of his tresses.

Din murmured something in agreement as he snuggled closer into you, “You’re right,” there was a pause, “but they are similar to my own covert, and I’m hoping they could help me find the others.”

His covert had always been a topic of contention with Din, because even though there were times of struggle between him and them, they were his only family for most of his life. You whispered a soft okay and let the two of you fall to the darkness, relishing your time in his arms before having to start your new adventure the next day.

––

It had taken a couple of days but you and Din had finally made it to this new covert. As the two of you walked off the ship that Cara had given you, it was clear from the way Din’s body loosened up that he felt very much at home… of course you weren’t sure if it was the other Mandalorians or the fact that he’d taken one of your hands from you and held it in a death grip the second the two of you stepped out.

Your eyes widened at the cacophony of colorful beskar surrounding you, merely brightened from the sun hitting them at every angle. You could hear the mother tongue being spoken with such fluidity that you only hoped one day you could make it to that level. Words that you recognized from Din’s own mouth, as well as the book that you’d been learning from reached your ears and you were ecstatic at the fact that you recognized them at all.

You’d hadn’t told Din yet about your progress in learning Mando’a, but hopefully with this new covert, you’d finally be able to show him what you learned.

The alor of this covert approached the two of you and you couldn’t help but notice at the way they avoided having you involved in the conversation- not that you minded. As you allowed yourself to admire everything around you, you couldn’t help but catch a few of the words exchanged between the alor and Din- specifically ner riduur. You knew what those two words meant, especially the second one, but you figured that Din wouldn’t have used such powerful words unless it was important.

Soon the two of you were lead to a room on the outskirts of the covert and you couldn’t help but smile at the alor as you entered. You were so busy looking at your new home for the next couple of weeks that you didn’t realize that Din was still standing at the door, his hand clenching and unclenching constantly. It was only when you finished going around in a circle that you realized what he was doing.

“Din? Why are you so nervous?” You whispered as you watched him from the other side of the room.

You didn’t need his helmet off to know what Din was feeling as the nervousness and despair came off of him like waves crashing alongside the coast.

Din mumbled something that not even the vocoder caught it only to repeat his words again, “They were going to put us in separate rooms, so I told them that- well that we got married recently.”

Your face flushed at the meaning behind Din’s words, but you weren’t surprised as you’d heard them clear as day, “I know.”

You wouldn’t have been sure that Din had heard those two words if it wasn’t for the way his helmet shot up, “You did?”

Your eyes founded safety in the floor in front of you as you nodded your head, “I’d been learning Mando’a after I found a book on the language in a marketplace on day… I- I wanted to surprise you.”

Soon the sight of the floor was replaced by a pair of black boots, and a leather glove softly cupped your cheek before bringing your face up to face a certain helmet, “That is a very nice surprise cyare, thank you.”

Your lips mouthed the words you’re welcome but you weren’t even sure if they fully came out, your eyes too busy searching the black visor in front of you for anything. Din’s helmet soon found its way to rest against yours, and that small act was enough to calm your nerves once again.

It was only under the cover of darkness where you brought up Din’s words with a simple, “so we’re married now…”

You felt Din tense before realizing that you weren’t making fun at him, instead relishing in the future that it brought you- even if for a couple of weeks, “Yes, we are.”

Your lips softly caressed Din’s body before finding their place in the crook of his neck, “Do you think one day we could be married for real?”

“How about tomorrow morning?” Din’s hands worshipped your body as he said those four words. “The sun rises somewhat late here, and we’ll get a nice view from the window.”

You smiled at the thought of being able to call Din your riduur tomorrow and actually mean it, “Tomorrow.”

––

Translations:

alor: leader, captain

ner riduur: my spouse/partner/husband/wife

cyare: beloved

––

Tin Man:  @captn-andor  @thewayofthemandalorian  @magpie-to-the-morning  @magicrowiswritingstuff  @booksmusicteaandanimals  @dinthisisthe-wayson  @littlemisspascal  @din-damn-djarin  @elysiansith @dincrypt  @ohwaitimthewriter @poesflygirl @lathyrusodorxtus @dindjarindiaries @dindjarinscape

[betawooper]

Vulture With The Magpie’s Eye (KNY)

CW: character death

Kaigaku part of my rewrite that I still enjoy, just a note that Kurobushirai is the name I came up with to be his demon name, since the worldbuilding in my au is a bit different than canon

(rbs are appreciated)

~

A vulture.

That was what he was.

Kaigaku was a carrion hunter with the magpie’s eye, keeping a safe distance from the strongest, and reaping the benefits of what their abilities could offer, diving behind at waste which the strong hunters left behind.

Also at a young age, a lesson was taught, burned into the marrow of his bones: the world was evil and unfair. Whether you were as rich as the emperor, or as poor as a dog on the streets, it's cold cruelty would not differentiate. Those who didn’t move away from its unlucky finger, those who couldn’t adapt to its capricious nature, would be slaughtered like pigs.

Kaigaku kept this lesson close as he moved from strong person to strong person, disguised himself as one of their own, reaped the benefits of their naivete, and ran when the situation got too dicey.

This cyclical routine was what his life had become, and he had no intention to stray from this path.

~

A family of orphans were the first hunters he followed. Though each one individually would die to most terrible events, there was strength in numbers, and remarkable ease in disguising himself in their midst. There were so many, Kaigaku never stuck out, and the man—the strong one, the provider—turned a blind eye to his actions.

The magatama from him was kept not out of love or remembrance, but as a trophy, a reward for successfully integrating into their little community.

And for keeping himself completely unscathed when he fell into trouble.

Kaigaku wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t heroic. If a group of hunters were heading towards danger, he would leave them behind (even if he was the one directing the danger to them). There would always be more strong yet foolish people to follow, after all.

As long as he lived...

As long as he lived...

As long as he lived...

This mantra was also kept close to his dirty little heart.

~

Kaigaku wasn’t picky. Couldn’t afford to be. He would steal candy from a baby and it's pitiful tears would never stop him from fleeing. He would even steal from the elderly when their satchel hung open at their lap, perfect for a carrion hunter to swoop by and punish them for their incompetence.

At least the old man would have been punished, had he not grabbed the vulture’s arm with a deceptively strong grip and an inhuman speed that rivaled a lightning strike.

“Stealing from a frail-looking old guy is pretty low, don’t you think?” The old man narrowed his sharp, beady eyes when Kaigaku failed to break out of his hold. “You don’t want to head down this path, kid.”

Kaigaku heard this speech countless times from people similar to him, those who thought of themselves as good and righteous, even in the face of cruelty’s unlucky finger.

He wasn’t looking forward to receiving it again.

“Got any parents? They oughta whoop your little ass for pulling this stunt...”

“No! I don’t even remember their faces! Now get your wrinkly little paw off me!”

After breaking out, normally he would have booked it. He hated these types of people the most, but his sharp ears heard wavering concern in the way he called him out to wait, his magpie eyes caught a glint of pity in the old man’s eyes, a nugget of softness poking through his tough, scarred exterior.

“Erm... wanna have some peace cake at my orchard before you continue on your way? It’s not poisoned or whatever, if you’re worried about that.”

... Another perfect hunter.

This old man was lonely. He could see it in the spaces between his lectures and long speeches about trivial things. He was so, so lonely, he would bring in ruffians and scumbags if it meant they would sit around his big table and eat peach cake for dessert.

Kaigaku, once again, found another strong person he could circle over, and reap the benefits of their foolish sympathy when the time was right. This arrangement would have been perfect, had a flimsy, whiny little sparrow named Agatsuma Zenitsu not crashed in and complicated everything.

~

Zenitsu, too, was part of the refuse of the earth, rejected by the first family that should have cared for him, and left him to rot on the streets. 

The boy was never taught what Kaigaku already knew by heart: in this world, it was kill, or be killed. Those who were weak, those who didn’t take, would be left to die nameless and worthless. 

Zenitsu was immensely lucky the world’s cruelty did not find him first, yet he whined and cried as if this golden opportunity was the worst fate that could ever befall him. This alone didn’t phase Kaigaku. He knew the world was unfair, and sooner or later, its unlucky finger would find the sparrow and turn his pitiful life into a tragedy. He would have completely deserved it for failing to be grateful.

What did piss him off was he hogged all the attention of the old man for himself, blubbering, clinging on to his haori, so Kaigaku couldn’t reap the benefits of his persistence without getting caught.

~

Kaigaku smirked when the pipsqueak’s ass hit the dirt once again. The blond-haired boy was covered in the stuff, scuffs and scrapes littering every centimeter of skin, while not even a speck of dust clung to Kaigaku’s clothes.

He faced the old man, wondering what he thought of his complete victory.

Only for him to help up Zenitsu first, pat off his clothes, and praise him for improving on his stances since last time.

There was only a small congratulations for Kaigaku.

Again.

“That’s it? How could you praise him that much when he lost? He couldn’t even land a hit on me the entire time!”

The old man threw an annoyed look at Kaigaku.

“What, jealous? I already told you that you did well and there’s nothing to improve on.” He then rolled his eyes. “Would’ve praised you more if you also actually used the most basic of Thunder Breathing’s forms, but we all can’t have what we want in this world now, can we?”

The only reason he didn’t throw the kendo stick away in outrage was the fear of blowing his cover.

~

Zenitsu was actively interfering with his efforts in gaining the old man’s trust, forcing him to share the man’s attention with the crying bastard, forced to wait even longer because the sparrow was bugging the hunter and Kaigaku could never swoop in fast enough to take what he had earned.

He needed to get rid of him and had to make sure it seemed of Zenitsu’s own volition, yet, none of Kaigaku’s vulgar words or insults ever worked. No matter how many times he beat him down in matches, or how many reminders he gave him of his pitiful nature, lack of talent, worthlessness in this world, the boy clung to the old man like glue and never let go.

This was taking too long.

After receiving the golden blade—less a trophy, more an unwanted gift—he flew off and set his magpie eyes elsewhere.

~

Never in his life had he shook like this. Not even the first Demon he’d ever encountered gave off such a powerful aura of fear, it could paralyze Kinoes with tougher wills than his. Kaigaku’s sweaty forehead bumped against the dirt when he tried his best to get it still on the ground, scarcely breathing in the presence of the warrior towering over his form.

“Lift your hands...”

He did.

“Cup them...”

He did.

Warm blood splashed into his hands from the Demon’s enclosed fist. The crimson color was the same as the Demon’s many, many eyes.

“If you wish to become my disciple, you must drink the Great One’s blood I’ve offered. You are not to spill a single drop, for if you do...”

His fear aura flared out, the temperature dropping like an incoming winter night.

“... Your torso and head shall have a sorrowful parting.”

Kaigaku gulped thickly.

While he couldn’t quite think straight, he wanted to survive. It was an instinct carved well into his core, and is what helped him all these years, what persuaded him to betray all those people, to run away when the families have found out he stole their precious heirlooms and sold them for himself, to take and take and take and leave not even a trace when he disappeared.

It damaged his pride lapping up the blood of the Demon like a stray dog, but there was a silver lining to his plight. What the Demon failed to consider was his history, his determination to persevere even when the world wished to crush him under its cruelty. Despite the piercing eyes of his, Kokushibou could not see his feathers, nor the treasures in his beak from the time he perfected his art of trickery and deception.

What the Demon was doing was training his future traitor, one who would reap the benefits of his naivete and take his place as the strongest Demon under the Great One’s command.

All Kurobushirai had to do was wait patiently.

...

The small, common bird from his past took that chance away from him again.

~

Something warm, something foreign that wasn’t his blood surged out from his head and neck and spilled, latched onto each other like strings, before snapping him back to one piece. 

It was as if it realized it broke a toy doll and regretted what it had done.

Then, a gilded hand, wrought entirely of gold, reached out to him desperately, just like those idiots with everything to lose by accepting someone who would betray them in a heartbeat if it meant he could live another day.

Out of instinct, he reached for it. This instinct came from his philosophy: no matter the damage to your ego, nothing was worse than death.

But don’t you remember?

This hand was born of the same filth as him.

This hand was the same one that killed him.

Kaigaku wrenched his hand back with a growl. “Stop trying to save me! You can’t reverse what you’ve done! Don’t think you’ve suddenly changed, because you’ll always be the same, useless nobody to me!”

The longer he fell, the darker the flames underneath him grew, until sweat beaded from his skin, and his limbs were blackened, crumbling into soot and ash. The gold that tied him back together slowly melted, yet the hand’s reach only grew more insistent and desperate.

It was trying to save him, wasn’t it? 

Why? 

To ease its own soul? 

To fix what it had broken beyond repair?

... Kaigaku could never allow that.

He would never give it the satisfaction of giving it what it wants. He wanted this to be a scourge on its heart as long as it lived, for it had made all the work Kaigaku to get to this point in his life worth nothing.

It had finally learned to take, and he wanted nothing more than to show the consequence.

Blood Demon Art: Pitch Black Voltage.

With the accursed blade, he slashed through his own neck, through the terrible gold, with dark lightning, cracking it, breaking it, the burns spreading fast across his body and face. His head fell off for a second time and Kaigaku was far too close to the hellish flames for the golden prison to keep its solid shape.

And as Kaigaku watched his first trophy unravel from his shattered neck and the golden hand disappear, being dragged back up when it wished for nothing more but to reach out again...

He laughed.

~

If you’d like to see more, check out my rewrite!

[blitheringmcgonagall]

My Gallant Lad - Part I

So I got a wonderful anon today telling me this is their favourite Lily Rescues James fic, it’s part of my canon marauders fic We Can Be Heroes. But, because it works as a stand alone, I’ll be posting it in 4  parts here. I hope you enjoy it (Lily is very BAMF here but tbh so is James). Set during First Wizarding War...

James slammed the palms of his hands down on Dumbledore’s desk.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he said, his eyes a hot mess of emotions.

“Get your oafish hands off my desk, now!” Lily said, recovering from the initial shock almost immediately with a flash of anger.

“Your desk?” James said, taking his hands off the desk, nevertheless.

“I’m using it now, yes, I need to get these mission forms finished and signed before bringing them for filing in the Room of Requirement,” Lily said, looking back at James angrily. “What the hell is your problem, Potter?”

“My problem?” James was furious. “I’ll tell you what my problem is, Evans. My problem is that my bloody wife thought it sensible to visit Walburga Black, the same woman who thinks nothing of throwing a Crucio at her children, whose husband tried to kill Sirius, who detests muggleborns, who tried to – oh fucking hell, Lily! What the absolute, ever-living fuck possessed you?”

She had never seen him so angry. She folded her arms defensively and glared back, wondering how he had found out.

“I’ll tell you exactly what possessed me, Potter,” she said coldly. “My problem is my dickhead of a husband who nearly got himself thrown into Azkaban by the Blacks, but then thought it sensible to attend a Black family funeral, and to top it all, decided to call over to chat to Orion’s heir, as you do! Do I need to explain it further? What exactly was I meant to do? Let you read the letter and let you waltz back in there so that bitch could finish you off, once and for all?”

She was standing up now, and he couldn’t quite understand how someone so slender and uncommonly kind could look so intimidating and fierce within the space of a few seconds.

“That letter was addressed to me, damn it!” James said, his voice rising with irritation. “You had no right opening my post!”

“I don’t care!” Lily said, looking more agitated and feeling guilty. “If you think I would have let you just go there, you’re even more stupid than I gave you credit for!”

“You’re a muggleborn, Evans, fucking bloody fucking…” James’ words ran out as he waved his arm about with rage. “You could have been killed, do you understand me? Killed, damn it!”

“Yes, well, so could you, at least I have more sense! Remus and I knew what we were doing!” Lily shot back, feeling angrier by the second.

“You clearly didn’t, Evans! What you did was grossly irresponsible and wilfully sly! I don’t care what you say, you could have been killed, Evans, for fuck’s sake! When I see Moony, I’m going to kill him!”

James made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and slammed his fist against the wall. Damn it, he was furious and livid and scared out of his wits and fucking sick of this shit.

“Remus didn’t have any choice, I told him I was going, and he decided to come with me, surely a safer bet! Don’t you dare drag Remus into this!” Lily said.

“Don’t you dare, ever, ever go behind my back like that again, ever, do you hear me?” he shouted.

“You can scream all you like, Potter, you don’t get to tell me what to do!” Lily said, her voice rising angrily.

“Don’t you dare act like you’re the innocent one in this Evans, for fuck’s sake!” James said.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, Potter!” Lily said. “Get out!”

Her voice was starting to wobble which made her even madder.

“You know what? Fine!” James said, gripping his wand tightly and watching as furious sparks flew from his wand tip. “If you want to tell yourself that this is my fault, if you want to lie to yourself so you can  – ugh! Lily, don’t you dare defend this!”

“I’m not listening to your ranting any longer!” Lily said, slamming the book shut and flinging her quills and parchment into her well-worn bag.

She marched past him, livid and upset and boiling with rage. They hadn’t spoken since. James had slept at his parents’ house for a while and now, with Sirius and Remus gone, James had taken to sleeping in his friends’ bedroom. He didn’t like leaving her with only Wormy for protection. They avoided each other at mealtimes. Peter had cringed and disappeared into the relative safety of his bedroom. There was simply no way he could win if he took sides. They were both still furious.

                                                        ***

“Looks like you swapped into an easy shift,” said Edgar Bones, loosening his collar and placing his cloak over his arm. “Nothing much happening, no handover.”

“Thanks,” said James curtly.

“Lily, James,” Edgar said, tipping his hat at them, sensing something was amiss but too polite to bring it up in conversation.

“Edgar,” said James.

“Bye, Edgar, see you soon,” Lily said, smiling at him half-heartedly.

“If it stays this quiet, I’m going to try going for a kip,” said Frank Longbottom, looking at the fireplace one last time and throwing a blanket over himself.

James nodded absent-mindedly, his left hand restlessly tapping on his thigh, shooting Lily fleeting glances when he knew she wasn’t watching. He hated whenever they fought, and this had been their worst row ever. The night stayed quiet, Lily dozed off on the armchair and James watched her. He was worried about her too, she looked pale and she seemed off her food for weeks now. It added to the leaden feeling of guilt he was carrying. It was his fault. He was right, he was damned well right, and he had nothing to apologise for, but he probably would. Because he knew what he was getting himself into when he married her, didn’t he? And wouldn’t he have done the exact same thing in her place, he told himself for the umpteenth time? He transfigured his jumper into a warm, thick blanket and placed it over her gently, doubling it up and kissing the top of her head tenderly. He watched the magical fairy lights on the tree twinkling merrily. He couldn’t have felt less Christmassy. He fell asleep eventually, having transfigured the rug into a scratchy blanket.

He was woken up by a loud shout emanating from the fireplace.

“You better get your sorry arses down here immediately! I’ve just intercepted intel that a couple of Death Eaters are planning an attack on a muggle school bus in the vicinity of Newcastleton!” Dedalus Diggle’s voice crackled.

“Where’s that?” said James, his voice still croaky from sleep.

“Border between England and Scotland. Dumbledore has left a special portkey in his room that means you should be able to get anywhere, immediately. Hurry! There’s nobody else around.”

“Great!” grumbled Frank, sitting up reluctantly, but shoving his feet into his shoes without hesitation. “Typical Dumbledore, never around when you need him!”

“Get some water and rations and let’s go,” Lily said, standing up and sitting back down rather suddenly.

“Alright, Evans?” James said, with a concerned frown.

“Fine, just feeling a bit sick, probably need to eat something,” she said.

“Maybe you should stay behind?” James said.

“No!” Lily said, forcing herself to stand. “It’s fine. We can’t risk it. It’s children, James!”

James nodded immediately. He wanted to apologise, but not in front of Frank.

“Dedalus, can you try and contact a few of the others in case anyone is available to join us? We’ll be with you in a jiffy,” he said.

“No can do, I’ve also had word of another attack planned in Wales, I’m trying to get in touch with Moody as we speak!”

“Got it,” said Lily, looking at Frank and James. “Don’t worry, we’re on it!”

                                                         ***

“This place gives me the creeps,” said James, peering up at the tall trees.

The air felt thick and heavy, the branches seemed to vie with each other to block out the sunlight, suffocating. Thick moss, grey and faded, clung to everything, dried twigs and branches snapped loudly beneath their feet, disturbing the numerous birds whose harsh cries filled the air, as though spying on them, he thought, watching their acrobatic flight.

“Jackdaws,” he said quietly, moving closer to Lily.

Lily gave him a quizzical look.

“That’s their call - a short, loud, ‘kya’ sound, and they have distinctive, beady white eyes,” he added.

“Is there anything you guys don’t know?” grumbled Frank, shooting James a friendly grin.

“Nope,” James grinned back.

He moved closer to Lily, protectively, feeling a threat in the fabric of the forest, ancient memories, secret and forbidding. He had transfigured the portkey into a muggle leather bracelet, insignificant and worthless to any potential Death-Eaters, which he had placed on Lily’s wrist despite her protestations.

“They must be here somewhere,” Frank whispered, holding his wand aloft. “If we just keep walking, we’ll increase the chances of them seeing us.”

“Let’s split up, I’ll hide in there,” Lily said, pointing to a decrepit, large pine, whose gnarly trunk was rotting and held space for one person. “You two get on higher ground. We can all see the road from here. If you spot anything dangerous, send your signal.”

James’ was an owl hooting, Lily’s was the snort of a frightened deer, Frank’s was the harsh screech of a magpie.

“Alright,” James said, turning to look at Lily, feeling awkward and unsure. “Take care, please.”

“You too,” Lily said, her face unreadable.

“I’m glad Alice isn’t on call today,” Frank whispered after a pause, as they moved on carefully. “We just found out she’s pregnant. Bit of a shock really. Took us ages to figure it out, despite her feeling nauseated for a couple of weeks, being off her food, feeling dizzy and tired, you name it!”

He looked excited and pleased.

“Frank!” said James. “Wow, that’s… that’s brave of you, and rather wonderful news.”

He didn’t know what to say.

He stopped short.

Took us ages to figure it out, despite her feeling nauseated for a couple of weeks, being off her food, feeling dizzy and tired, you name it!

The night of Sirius’ twentieth Birthday. They had both forgotten to cast a contraceptive charm. Could that explain…?

“Frank, I forgot something, I need to run back to Lily, go ahead!” James said.

“You okay?” Frank said, seeing James’ face turn grey.

But he was already gone.

                                                       ***

“Lily!” James said, catching his breath.

“What is it?” Lily said, wand ready to shoot.

“Lily, have you done a pregnancy charm?”

“A what?”

“To see if you’re pregnant?”

“No, why?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Understanding dawned on her.

“James,” said Lily, her green eyes searching his anxiously.

“Let me,” James whispered, taking hold of his wife’s slender wrist and turning her palm upwards, he pointed his wand tip at her pulse point. “Gravidam!”

They both watched as James’ wand tip glowed green.

“Fuck,” he said hoarsely, staring at her.

“What does that mean, James?” Lily said.

“It means… it means you’re pregnant,” James said, running a hand through his hair in agitation. “Fucking bloody fucking…”

Lily’s eyes were wide as his words sank in. As his reaction sank in. She turned away from him and swiped hastily at the tears that fell down her cheeks silently.

“We need to…” James said urgently. “Fucking Merlin… fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Lily’s voice broke as she spoke, her lower lip trembling. “I should have been more careful. I didn’t mean this to happen now, God I really didn’t mean this to… I understand if that’s how you feel, James, but I-“

“What?” James said, turning her around to face him and taking her face in his hands tenderly. “Lily, Merlin, I don’t mean –“

The screech of a magpie rent the air and they both jumped.

“Incarcerous!” numerous voices shouted, as thick ropes coiled themselves swiftly around them, James’ wand dropping to the floor.

“Expelliarmus!” a recognisable voice added, James’ wand flying through the air. “Where’s the other one’s wand?”

“Mulciber,” James said, the blood draining from his face.

“I said, where’s your wand, bitch?” Mulciber said, grabbing Lily by the throat.

“I dropped it earlier on,” Lily rasped, staring back at him defiantly. “I can’t find it.”

“Accio Lily Evans’ wand!” Mulciber ordered, pointing his wand at Lily.

Lily’s wand flew out of the thicket behind them. Mulciber leered at Lily.

“Grab hold of them and set anti-apparition wards around them! And get them to de Soulis Castle, now!” Mulciber said to the other Death-Eaters who surrounded them. “The Dark Lord will be very disappointed to find that it isn’t Sirius Black we have captured, just a useless blood-traitor and a vile mudblood. The information we received must have been incorrect.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mulciber!” James sprang forwards in fury.

“Quiet!” Mulciber said, coming right up in front of Lily and grabbing hold of her Jacket collar. “Or she gets hurt.”

James swallowed.

I tried to laugh about it Cover it all up with lies I tried to laugh about it Hiding the tears in my eyes 'Cause boys don't cry

                                                     ***

The weathered remains of the castle loomed, malevolent, as they crossed the bridge over the moat. Fragments of a tower emerged, the holes in its walls reminiscent of a skull. While the forest around it was dry and parched, wilting and unseasonably warm, as they neared the castle gates mist descended on them. The inside of the castle felt damp and cold. Much colder. Mulciber’s breath condensed in front of him as he spoke, frost clung to the corners of the walls, there were no windows in the great hall.

He had seen this room before… where?

The heavy double doors leading into the main banqueting hall swung open, and four men entered, none of their faces were masked.

“Villiers, Wilkes, Rosier, Snape,” said Mulciber, with a cold laugh. “Your very closest allies, I believe? I failed to retrieve the disowned Black heir, but I found these.”

Villiers and Wilkes giggled. Silence descended as another figure entered the room, the five men bowing immediately. Muciber pushed James and Lily forcefully and they fell forwards onto their knees. James watched as Voldemort approached slowly, with a gleeful expression. He zoned in on Snape, Snape who was watching Lily with terror on his face, before carefully schooling it into neutral.

The room.

McGonagall’s grim tones echoed in his mind.

“So, a group of Death Eaters, who appear to have captured Lily Evans, in an unidentified location?”

Divination class. His vision. He had forseen this.

“Lily,” he said quietly, speaking through his teeth. “Do you trust me to get us out?”

He was sure Voldemort could hear his heart pounding.

“If you have an idea, I’m all in,” Lily murmured, watching Voldemort as he drew nearer.

“Leave it to me,” he whispered.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and locked eyes with Severus Snape.

“Fuck you, Severus Snape! You absolute bastard! Stay the fuck away from my wife, do you hear? Don’t you dare go near her, you fucking piece of shit! I despise you, Snivellus! You fucking coward! Bastard cursed Death Eater! Stay the fuck away from her or I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” James screamed.

[comfortwriting]

Stop Crying Your Heart Out - G.W

George Weasley X reader imagine/one shot inspired by the song ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’ by Oasis

A/N: This is dedicated to those who experienced loss, whether it was in 2020 or at any other time in their life. I have PTSD and struggle with survivors guilt due to my dads passing, so if you need anyone to talk to my inbox is open, always.

About: George adapting to life after Fred’s death over the years until he becomes an old man and the reader, his girlfriend supporting him through it all.

Theme: Death, Loss, Greif, Mental Health, Recovery.

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, Self Harm and Suicidal Thoughts. Depression, Survivors Guilt, Therapy Sessions and Anti-depressants.

On May 2nd 1998, your boyfriend, George had his life changed forever. His best-friend, partner in crime, his twin brother was killed in an explosion during The Battle Of Hogwarts. 

You and the Weasleys were in pain, so much pain that it drove Molly to murder Bellatrix to save her daughter Ginny, Ron being blinded by rage and vowing to take down whichever Death Eater he came across. George couldn’t bear to be around his family anymore, he couldn’t live above the flat either. 

George fell apart completely, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he lost himself - he couldn’t turn up to the shop knowing his brother wouldn’t be there to crack a joke as soon as the door opened. You spent so many nights holding him in your arms as he cried, cursing Merlin for taking Fred away, cursing him even more for not taking him instead.

With the money you saved up you managed to buy a house, where George could felt comfortable but even then George covered every mirror in the house. 

Passing Fred a cup of water, he sat up in bed and out stretched his hand, his sleeve riding up his arm. Noticing the red lines on his wrists you knew what he had done, and your heart yet took another blow. Before you could utter another word George took the glass from you and asked you to leave the room.

Hold up Hold on Don't be scared You'll never change what's been and gone

After the first six months you were able to convince George to see a muggle therapist, you assured him he wouldn’t need to go over the details to a muggle who wouldn’t believe such a thing as wizards and witches, so he agreed and decided to get help; the flashbacks, the guilt, his panic attacks and self-harm wasn’t getting any better and you couldn’t lose him, not after all the losses you couldn’t prevent.

On the days George could sleep, he would wake up screaming, shaking and with tears in his eyes, hyperventilating, struggling to figure out where he was and what was real. 

Unfortunately, George had to go over each and every detail, his head banging, his heart pounding, his chest in agony, his body shaking; but this was the start of his journey to recovery and a certain Magpie would be with him every step of the way. Although he didn’t mention word of the wizarding world, everything else that would make him seem sane to a muggle he brought up into the air.

“After our sessions together and your evaluation, it is very clear to us that you have PTSD and Survivors Guilt, Mr Weasley. You have gone through a horrific event and you are suffering because of it, many patients who have gone through similar events in life experience such conditions and it is our job to help.” 

George shuffled in his seat, the ticking of the clock sounding like stamping feet going up and down stairs. His hands went clammy and he felt ashamed. 

“It is nothing to be ashamed of Mr Weasley, there are plenty of other out there who are living their lives day to day with PTSD. The death of your brother is not your fault and you have no reason to feel guilty, you have every right to continue living your life. You have a girlfriend, you’ve got your family, and I’m sure they will be more than understanding.”

May your smile (may your smile) Shine on (shine on) Don't be scared (don't be scared) Your destiny may keep you warm

A year on from George’s diagnosis he was taking medication prescribed from his therapist, he felt ashamed at first but you were understanding and supported him, and so did his family. He started to eat and shower more often but the mirrors still stayed covered.

George started making huge steps, he managed to leave the bedroom and go for walks outside in neighbourhood. Once a week straight after his counselling sessions, the two of you would spend the evening at the Weasley’s for dinner; George could finally look his parents and siblings in the face for the first time since his brothers death. 

Every now and then George would flash a smile at you and would laugh, although it was rare, when he did it would brighten up the world you were living in, it would patch up the injured parts of your heart. 

Stepping out into Diagon Alley, George took a deep breath and a firm grip on your hand. “It’s okay if you aren’t ready” you reminded him “we can go back home”

George pondered for a moment, his head screaming at him to go back home and to get in bed and to never come back out. Then out of nowhere a single Magpie flew past him, landing right in front of him. The beautiful little bird turned around to face him, staring at him and then flying in the direction of the shop.

George took a deep breath and swallowed hard “I’m ready” he replied and followed the bird.

'Cause all of the stars are fading away Just try not to worry, you'll see them someday Take what you need, and be on your way And stop crying your heart out

Five years on, George still woke up through the night in cold sweats, sometimes he would go for days without eating or showering but on other days he would work at the shop alongside Ron feeling Fred’s presence surrounding him; he would also spend time with his two year old son, he named after his brother who had the same mischief brewing inside of him.

The guilt didn’t eat George up the way it did before, the pain was still there - it never went away but he made room for it, learning what to do with it: improving the shop and increasing sales, spending more time with his family, going out on more adventurous date nights with you, now his wife; and finally accepting that he has every right to be alive.

George would stay up at night, worrying that he would never see Fred again, even after his own death. Late at night, he would stand in the garden, talking out to Fred as if he were stood next to him. One evening in particular, George spent hours outside, talking and laughing out loud, only to be followed by cries and wearing. 

The next morning, George and little Fred were playing in the garden, George wowing his son with magic tricks. Watching the two of them through the kitchen window drinking a cup of tea, a magpie flew into the garden, soaring around little Fred and then around George. The two of them distracted by the magnificent bird before it departed, George turned around and looked at you through the window, smiling wide. 

“That was him” he mouthed. 

“It always will be” you mouthed back. 

Get up (get up) Come on (come on) Why're you scared? (I'm not scared) You'll never change what's been and gone

“I can’t believe how fast he’s grown” you smiled, looking at your son sleeping in your husbands arms.

You walked over and sat next to them on the sofa, the warm fire making everything feel calm, still and safe. George was slowly making progress, he worked at the shop once a week and would see the rest of his family on weekends bringing his son to see his grandparents.

“He’s growing a little too fast” George whispered, stroking his sons head “I want him to stay little forever” he mumbled in a sad tone.

The two of you stood up and put your son into his bed, tucking him in, you switched on his night light and went to your own bedroom. 

Sitting on the bed next to George you placed a soft kiss on his neck and held his hand. 

“Please don’t be scared of him growing up, he’s not going anywhere.” You reassured George.

George nodded but the worries of losing his son flooded his mind. 

“D-do.. w-would you like to have more children?” George asked shyly, finally looking into your eyes.

“With you, of course I would.” You smiled at George, rubbing his cheek.

'Cause all of the stars are fading away Just try not to worry, you'll see them someday Just take what you need, and be on your way And stop crying your heart out

Ten years on, George started to see his therapist less often and his medication was on a lower dosage. He still had flashbacks and still felt guilty but for the first time, the covering was pulled off each and every mirror. He spent more time working at the shop with Ron and the Weasleys were around more often.

Your son Fred was now at Hogwarts and was making his father proud, “He’s just like his father, even more so his uncle!” you were told in letters that were sent home.

Your three daughters, especially the youngest gave George the motivation to keep going, to keep living, smiling and laughing on the days which felt like the hardest but George still couldn’t help feeling like time was going too fast and that Fred had been forgotten.

Looking in the mirror George noticed his first few strands of grey hair, his heart dropped realising that he had only seen Fred as an old man once in his life with long silver hair and a impressive beard, at the time he wouldn’t have guessed for one moment his brother wouldn’t make it to 21 - had it really been that long since his brother had been taken away from him? 

George stopped staring and searching himself in the mirror and burst into tears, wanting to hide himself away from the rest of the world.

We're all of the stars, we're fading away Just try not to worry, you'll see us some day Just take what you need, and be on your way And stop crying your heart out

Sitting in the front room surrounded by your kids and their children you cried into a tissue, unable to wrap your head around that your life long partner had passed away. Your youngest grandchild in her last year of Hogwarts walked up to you, knelt beside you and wrapped you in her arms. 

Ron, Ginny and their families were coming over to help sort out George’s affairs, they knew that you couldn’t do it alone - especially after how close you and your husband were after the death of his brother.

Washing up the pots and pans in the kitchen with your youngest daughter casting magic to do the sweeping and mopping, she pointed out of the kitchen window, amazed at the sight in front of her.

“Mum, look.” 

Looking up from your muggle distraction you almost dropped the dish in the soapy water, your mouth wide open.

Outside in the garden, two plump magpies were hopping around the garden together, searching for shiny materials. 

Deep down in your heart you knew that George was finally at peace, he was with Freddie and he wanted to let you know that he was okay and that you didn’t need to hurt for his departure.

“That's them, mum.”

Tear of happiness welled in your eyes and spilled down your now wrinkled and age spotted cheeks.

“It is.”

Stop crying your heart out Stop crying your heart out Stop crying your heart out

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Ignorance is Blitzed (Part Three)

Ron Speirs x Reader

Summary: When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initially thought.

Warnings: war-typical violence, a (literally) dashing nightmare magpie prince, potty words, angst maybe?, a few ocs but don’t get too attached bbs, a very sad attempt at witty dialogue ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If you weren’t convinced that Dike was moments from getting himself, you,  and the rest of Easy killed, you would’ve sworn that you were going to kill him yourself.

At least if you shot him, it meant that someone who actually knew what they were doing could take his place, and that meant that something like this would never happen again.

There may not be an Easy Company left to save, in a few seconds….

You, Christenson, and a few replacements had found cover behind the shell of a truck, a few yards up the field from the hay bale you knew Dike to be hiding behind. 

“What in the fuck is happening over there?” Christenson shouted, the replacements trying their best to hold cover while the two of you desperately tried to figure out a way to get somewhere more tactical to alleviate the fire currently being hailed upon all of you like some biblical plague.

“Dike’s being a pussy!” one of the replacements replied before a bullet dinged him in the helmet and he cursed pitchily. “Why isn’t anyone doing anything—?”

You could hear shouting from the hay bale, so you knew your friends over there were still alive and trying to do something.

If we stay here, we’ll die before we can even try to do something helpful.

“What’s CP doing?” you shout to the replacement on your left, grabbing his vest and pulling him down out of the line of fire. “Use you binoculars—!”

With (understandably) fumbling  hands, the young man brings the apparatus to his face and scans the tree line, cursing aloud each moment that passes and he can’t see them.

Anxious energy has you so keyed up your body is trembling, but you know that if you rush him it’ll just stress him out and make it worse.

“Good job,” you say, even though both you and he know that he hasn’t really accomplished anything yet. “I’ve got you covered, just let me know whenever—”

“Got em.”

Both you and Chistenson share a look of minute relief. So far, this was the first thing about this godforsaken day that had gone right.

At least the lot of you hadn’t been left to die.

“What do you see, Nelson?” the other replacement, Grante with an ‘E’, called as he reloaded his gun. “Does it look like they’re on the radio—?”

“Winters is coming—no, wait!”

You spot a runner for the Germans from your peripheral, and without hesitation you take aim and subdue them. 

Six months ago I would’ve shot to wound….what would my family say if they saw me now?

They’d have to talk to you first, and you weren’t sure if that would ever happen again.

“Oh, shit…..it’s your boyfriend—”

“What?!”  

You squint stupidly in the direction of the trees, seeing nothing but suddenly terrified at the prospect of having to watch Nix or Bull or Grant (or whoever else these dicks you worked with decided you were sleeping with) get killed in their stupid attempt at bravery.

Unless he means….

You watch someone burst through the smoke of a target-missing mortar blast, charging like some avenging God of War towards the hay bale shrouding Dike, Lip, Luz, and however many more of your friends were trapped behind before disappearing.

Ron Speirs, you goddamned psychopath.

“Fuck.” you bit out, turning to Christenson and getting his attention. “Any sign of I Company?”

The four of you initially had been part of a bigger group, and your aim had been to hook up along the outer fringes with some of I Company and create a perimeter from which the Nazi soldiers would be unable to escape or send for reinforcements. 

Christenson nodded. “They look like they’re waiting on us—”

“Yeah, well tell ‘em to get in line!” Grante barked unhelpfully, his voice cracking and reminding you just how young he was. “We’re waiting on us, too!”

You hear a shout of your last name, and when you look back to the hay bale you see that Ron and Lipton are waving to get your attention.

When you meet Ron’s eyes you see the fire of battle raging inside of him, and you can’t help but feel relief that Dike was no longer in charge of your fate.

Using hand signals that had been drilled into your head ever since Georgia you tell him and Lip that five of your party are down, but you have eyes on I Company and just need the okay to hook up with them.

You watched as the two men spoke to eachother, and when they turned away from you you imagined they were relaying what you’d said to Luz so he could let Sink know your intentions.

After a few moments, Speirs tells you with quick and precise motions that you are good to go— he has cover fire arranged for your group so you can dash the final 200 yards into the building you knew housed I Company.

You shoot him a thumbs up before turning to Christenson and nodding excitedly.

“Ready, kids?” you ask, and when they voice their readiness you make a dash for it, leaving the shell of protection the car provided behind and running as quickly as you could towards the bombed out farmhouse, the sound of heavy breathing letting you know that at least Christenson was right behind you.

You don’t look back, can’t look back- all that mattered right now was forward and careful and shouting “flash FLASH FLASH!”

The call of THUNDER preceded you and Christenson all but throwing yourselves through the doorway and into the arms of the five I Company men you’d arranged to meet.

“Fuck, where’ve you been?!” one of them is shouting in your face, and you glare at them qyuickly before looking to where a blood-speckled Nelson is gasping for breath in the doorway. Grante was nowhere to be seen, and one look from Nelson told you that the younger man hadn’t made it.

“The salon, getting my hair permed.” you deadpan to the rifleman, finding the CO and shaking his hand.

“Where do you want us?”

He nods and waves Christenson and Nelson over. “Just this way, ma’am….”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

“Ho-ly shit.”

You look up at the I Company CO (Parker, you remember quickly)  parts of a jammed machine gun between your legs as you desperately attempt to fix Nelson’s weapon.

“What?” you ask, fingers moving faster than your mind can keep up with as you quickly dislodge the shrapnel from the chamber of the gun and begin putting the thing back together on reflex.

You had been holding the line for the past hour, and for that hour the same question had been on everyone’s mind. “Tanks? Did we miss a runner—?”

Where the fuck is the rest of Easy? They should’ve been here by now to check in….

When the gun is reassembled, you shove it into the replacement’s hand and move to see what has Parker so excited, hoping beyond hope that you’d see the faces of your friends rushing to meet you.

To your horror, you only saw one face, and it happened to be the face of the man who made a point to be the one who woke you up each morning with a full canteen and the promise of breakfast.

Of course it’s going to be someone important to me, my…..whatever it is he is to me.

 “Where’s everybody?” Christenson shouted, an unfazed Ron breezing past him to quickly grab the ammo and sling it over his shoulder.

Ron goes straight to the CO and starts talking to him in harsh tones under his breath, yet his eyes still search the room until they find yours.

He’s okay, he’s safe and he’s here now. It’s okay.

You give him a nod before moving on to the next jammed weapon that had been shoved into your hands wordlessly by Christenson after he takes one of the German ones from a body next to him.

Fucking Dike. He’d have us fighting with slingshots and pebbles if it meant he got to stay warm at the CP. Half of us didn’t even have weapons until Bill and Babe started repossessing the Army’s shit. If we survive this, I’m going to kill Dike, I swear to God….

You fix the gun, glad it was only a minor fix that was needed this time. When you look back to Ron, he’s tightening his helmet on his head and looking back the way he had just come.

Goddamnit. Of course he’s running back into danger. He’s Ron fucking Speirs.

You shake yourself from your stupor and quickly rush over to him as he picks up the last of his things and prepares to go.

When he looks up at you, you shove the rifle you’d taken off the corpse of a German you’d come across on your last scouting mission into his hands and take his standard issued one away.

“Take this one,” you say breathlessly, as if you were the one who had been running. “It holds more rounds and shoots cleaner.”

He nods, eyes wild with adrenaline as he scans you over for any sign of injury.

“You good?” he asks, and you nod and try to shrug casually.

It’s hard, you are also nearly vibrating with adrenaline and nervous energy.

“I’d ask you the same, but clearly you’ve got a death wish, so—”

Before you can finish chastising him, his rough hands come up to grip your face and he smashes his lips to yours in a rough kiss that’s nearly bruising in its force.

Oh...OH. Oh shit!

You inhale sharply through your nose, head tilting back as he steps into you and puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezed.

You gape at him stupidly when he pulls back and feel the blood rushing to your cheeks in surprise at his boldness.

You hadn’t been kissed since long before Georgia, hadn’t wanted to be kissed or coddled or shown too much affection because in your relatively short life, you’d come to know unreserved compassion as a weakness. 

“Love is nice but it isn’t reliable. Life isn’t a fairytale, sweetheart— everything has a price.

Nothing can hurt you if you don’t let it matter in the first place….”

Well, Mom— I’m doing my best, but I just don’t know if you’re right about this one, not this time….

Ron smirks down at you with such a self-satisfied look you smack him lightly on the chest on reflex rather than due to any actual upset.

“Yell at me later.” he offers when you open your mouth to speak, and with one more quick, breath-stealing kiss he’s gone again, running into enemy fire far too casually for your liking.

When you turn to watch him go you catch Christenson staring at you, a similar expression of shock on his face.

Ok, so I didn’t dream that, that actually happened.

You have to literally shake your head in order to get through the surprise, and when you do a weird pit of anger forms in your stomach.

That fucker better live, because he can’t just do that and run off.

You square your shoulders and grab the newly repaired gun at your feet, going to the hole in the wall and shooting at anything that looks as if it may mean Ron Speirs any harm.

He rolls over a stone fence, and you can’t help but shake your head.

He’s fucking with my plans, that son of a bitch. 

“So, uh….that was—”

“Shut up, Christenson. Just…. shut up.”

You hear the hitch of a chuckle from his direction. 

“Bull will be happy—”

“Shut. The fuck. Up! Keep shooting, you damn fucking child….!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ask him how far away their backup is.”

You nod to Dick, dutifully repeating the question to the bruised and bloodied german soldier who sat before a group of you after his comrade had identified him as his superior officer.

You listen to the mumbled reply and nod. “About three hours by foot, an hour if you cut through fields.”

“Ask him for a number. How many miles? How many villages?”

You press him for specifics, but he just spits bloodily at Dick’s feet before calling him something you couldn’t fully translate (but assumed was insulting).

“I’ll take it that’s a no on getting specifics.” Nix smirked, stepping to the soldier and grabbing him bodily by the arm. “I think battalion’s gonna love you—”

You squeeze your eyes shut as Lewis leads the captured man to a truck where the others are waiting to be transported back to wherever they’d set up HQ, pinching at the pressure point at the top of the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to ease some of the pain of your stress headache.

“Headache?” Winters asks, and you instantly lower your hand and straighten up.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” 

He chuckles at that, giving you a knowing look. “I think you and I both know you could lose a limb and still insist that you’re fit for duty.”

You scoff a laugh. “I suppose it would depend on which limb…. and what duty, Sir.”

He looks at you with all the exhaustion of a first time father, and you laugh in earnest.

“Go see someone if it gets too bad.”

“Sir.” you nod.

You smile as you watch him walk away, catching up with Nixon and falling into step with the man easily.

How I got accused of screwing Nixon and Winters hasn’t, I’ll never understand….

Turning to look back at the war-torn downtown, you catch Grant’s eye and he waves you over.

By the time you get to him, you find that he isn’t alone.

Leaning against the wall beside your friend is Ron Speirs, looking far too at ease for someone who you had spotted running through enemy tanks not an hour before.

“Heard you had an exciting day!”

You freeze, eyes widening as you feel yourself blushing again. 

Shit. SHIT!

“Oh, I….um—”

“I was telling him about the car you hid behind,” Ron supplied mercifully, and you feel relief so instantly that you have to brace a hand against the side of the building in order to catch yourself.

“Oh, yes! That exciting part of my day.”

Chuck looks at you strangely for a moment, bringing a hand to your forehead and holding it there.

You roll your eyes and push his hand away, smacking at it again when he tries to repeat the action. “Charles—”

“Grant, Tab!” 

The three of you turn towards the direction of Malarkey’s voice, the man jerking his thumb back to one of the trucks.

“Got some stuff for you that just got here…”

Giving you one last look, he points his finger in your face like he’s scolding a child.

“This interrogation isn’t over, young lady—”

“Don’t you mean conversation?” Ron asks, smoke from his cigarette floating around his face like fog over a lake.

You nod your head in Ron’s direction in a sign of agreement, and Chuck moves his arm so he’s now pointing at Ron.

“Y/n and I are far past social pleasantries, and I would never insult her by lying...”

You roll your eyes and gesture in the direction Grant had been called from.

“Don’t keep Mother waiting, you know how she gets.”

You watch Grant jog over and away from sight. Ron’s fingers deftly pull your braid out from beneath your collar and smooths it down, following the length of your spine in such a way that no one else would’ve been able to see should they look over suspiciously.

“If you didn’t look like you’d just committed a crime,” he says matter-of-factly. “He probably would’ve just given you a pat on the back and moved on.”

You turn and look at him over your shoulder, the closeness of his face reminding you of how he’d held you when you thought you were dying all those months ago.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling very shy around him.

He hums, lips quirking up in a quick smile. “Well, my ‘suicidal death wish’ didn’t pan out as well as I’d hoped, so I’ll live—”

Something in your face made him stop, and with gentle hands he takes your shoulders and turns you to face him completely. You let him walk the two of you back behind the building a bit before stepping in to you again.

Like he had before, in the farmhouse after he kissed me….

You flush at the memory, and you may as well have said what was on your mind because he whispers your name in the way he does when he knows you’re overthinking things(or at least starting to).

Meeting his softened gaze, bite the inside of your cheek before speaking.

“I’m mad at you.” you say, hating the lack of conviction in your voice.

He nods, expression one of consideration as his hands come up to hold your face.

“I know.”

“Because what you did was really stupid—”

“I know—”

“And then you pull a move like that, hey” you cut yourself off when he smirks again, a chuckle in his throat when you glare at him. “Don’t you dare look so damn proud of yourself, I’m yelling at you—”

“Which move would you be referring to?” he goads, and you frown in order to hide the grin that threatens to break across your face. You shake your head in disbelief, leaning back against the side of the building.

“Oh my God.” you scoff out. “Are you teasing me right now? Ronald Speirs, you’re unbelievable”

He smiles down at you, and you let yourself smile back at him and nervously bring one of your hands up to cover his as it slides down to cup the side of your neck. 

Your smile slips as your eyes unintentionally flicker down to his lips again, remembering how they felt against your own.

Shooting a quick look to either side, you slowly raise onto your toes and give him a quick, shy peck. You can feel him grin for a split second before he kisses you deeply and far more thoroughly than you’ve ever been kissed before.

You sigh into the kiss, eyes drifting closed as you wrap your arms around his torso and fist the material of his jacket in your hands.

When you break for air you rest your cheek against his shoulder, hugging him tightly.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” you mumble, and for a moment you think he may not have caught what you said.

“If you think I’m going to let something as stupid as a bullet or a mortar stop me from coming back to you,” His lips are at your temple, and when you pull back to look at him follows you and gives you another smug grin. “you’ve got another thing coming.”

As you open your mouth to reply, the both of you hear Nixon calling your name, loudly asking people if they’ve seen you and which way you’d gone.

You both sigh, and smile at each other at the unintentional synchronization of the action.

“I think your boyfriend is looking for you.” He pulls playfully on your braid when you roll your eyes at him and gently push him away.

“I think I liked you better when you were just quiet and broody and handsome—”

Ron smiles wickedly at that, and you groan when you realized what you’d just said.

“Don’t let it get to your head-”

“Too late.” 

Ducking another quick kiss to your lips, he steps back just in time as Nixon rounds the corner, his words forgone in favor of eyeing the two of you suspiciously.

“What were you—”

“What’s up Lew?” you interrupt, trying your best to not look...what had Ron compared it to? 

Looking like you’d committed a crime….

Giving Ron a scrutinizing once over, Nix looked back to you and raised a brow.

“Dick’s wondering if you can show him how to switch one of the Kraut scopes to a rifle…”

“Sure!” you said, far too brightly. You had a feeling if you looked back at Ron he’d be smirking in unabashed amusement at your awkwardness. “Lead the way…”

With a frown and a suspicious hmph, Nix turned and began to walk in the direction from which he’d come.

You follow dutifully, giving Ron a quick smile over your shoulder as you hurried to catch up with Lewis.

Ron looked beyond pleased with himself, shooting you a quick wink before bringing another cigarette to his lips and lighting it.

“Care to explain that?” Nix asks under his breath once you catch up to him, taking your arm in his like the two of you were at some cotillion.

You smirk to yourself, rolling your lips together to hide the action.

“Nothing to explain, Nixy. Everything’s perfect….”

And for the first time in your life, you truly meant it.

OOF HERE WE ARE AGAIN! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR READING THE RAMBLINGS I THROW IN YOUR DIRECTION AND SORRY IF IT SUCKS

TAGLIST: @itswormtrain, @mrseasycompany​, @softspeirs​

[carewyncromwell]

“And at last I see the light! And it's like the fog has lifted... And at last I see the light, And it's like the sky is new! And it's warm and real and bright, And the world has somehow shifted... All at once everything is different Now that I see you...”

~ “I See the Light (cover),” by Elsie Lovelock and Kestin Howard

x~x~x~x

It’s interesting how, even when two parties know they have something special, it can still take a while before they find the right words to express how they feel and what they want. Even when Orion Amari and Carewyn Cromwell had each come to grips with their romantic feelings, it didn’t really change how many obstacles would be in the way of them living a traditional “happily-ever-after” with wedding bells and a little house of their own. Although yes, Orion felt deeply for Carewyn, as she did him, they both also greatly valued their own independence and autonomy. Carewyn and Orion didn’t even live in the same country anymore, one residing in England and the other Scotland, and their respective careers -- one at the London-based Ministry of Magic, the other for the Montrose Magpies Quidditch team -- would make it close to impossible for them to move. Merging households would be a nightmare under such circumstances...and yet, at the same time, neither Orion nor Carewyn was comfortable giving only part of their heart away. They both knew that the subject of their affection deserved everything and more from whatever partner they chose -- they just had no idea if they could be that “everything” for them, even if they wanted to.

That all changed, though, one day in December 1999, a year after the Second Wizarding War ended.

Carewyn’s feelings for Orion had not gone unnoticed by her closest friends. The lawyer’s unofficial twin and fellow “Fireball” Charlie Weasley had been almost affronted when he caught wind that Carewyn had let Orion stay the night on the futon in her living room without having made plans ahead of time -- Carewyn was a planner first and foremost and she never let Charlie crash at her place without giving her fair warning. Charlie vented his disbelief to Ben Copper and his wife Wendy @drinkyoursoupbitch, and they were both pretty shocked too. Wendy ended up following up with Carewyn later that week when she stopped by Carewyn’s office one evening for some coffee.

“On your futon, huh?” she said, her blue eyebrows raised and her lips spread into a playful smile.

Carewyn rolled her eyes up toward the skylight in her ceiling, her red lips turned up in a smile. "Charlie's that jealous about it?"

Her smile faded as she turned her focus toward her paperwork rather than look at Wendy. She wasn’t uncomfortable, of course -- she just had a lot of work to do that night before getting back home and starting dinner for herself and Erik, that was all.

“ ...Orion had had a late night, and he'd have to be back in London early the next morning. It'd be cruel to force him to go home and then lug himself and Eos out of bed so early, just to get back where he already was..."

Wendy's eyes twinkled knowingly. "Oh, of course. But still...is there something there?"

Carewyn kept her focus on the files she was sorting through, her blue eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly as she siphoned through them.

"I suppose it depends on what ‘something’ you're referring to,” she said after a moment. “If you're referring to a romantic relationship, then no, there is not." 

Was that a touch of melancholy in her eyes? Surely not. 

Wendy studied the other woman over the rim of her coffee cup as she took a long sip.

"I mean, Carey," she tapped the porcelain, considering her words carefully. Her tone shifted to a gentle sincerity, "is there an attraction there for you?"

Carewyn stopped rifling through her papers. She paused, before slowly closing her eyes and exhaling through her nose in a heavy sigh.

"...Of course there is," she admitted very softly. "I've always been fond of Orion -- I liked him pretty much immediately, and I respected him all the more, as the years went on. All I wonder is when that fondness...grew to the point that it had to plant roots. And what to do about it, now that it has..."

Wendy smiled fondly. "Well, I suppose the big question is, do you want to do anything? I mean...if you were looking for a tofu-eating Quidditch player to pine over, you certainly picked the best one."

Carewyn rested her head in her hand on her desk, her eyes falling onto the wood instead of looking up at her friend. "That's just it, Wendy, I...I do want to do something. I don't want to have to bottle this up -- I want to protect him, to take care of him and Eos, to...love him with everything I am. But..."

Her gaze moved up to the skylight too, her blue eyes deepening with more of that odd melancholy.

"...At school...when I dated Andre...I didn't know myself like I do now. I probably would've accepted a marriage, and a family, and frequent sex, at that time, not knowing any different. But now that I do know myself...know that I don't want that happy ending attached to most romances...how do I pursue a romantic relationship? How do I ask someone to date a woman who wouldn't give up her job and life for him...no matter how deep my feelings are?"

She closed her eyes, visibly hurting at this thought.

"Especially when...he's already been hurt before...when he's already had partners who tried to force him to give up everything, to please them?"

Carewyn bowed her head.

"...How can I love him the way he deserves, when I'm so selfish?"

Wendy considered her answer, her eyes drifting up to the skylight in Carewyn’s ceiling that reflected the London sky miles above them.

“They say that sacrifice is a foundation of love, and it’s true,” she said slowly, “but...sacrifice between two people who love each other is a two-way street. I love my work — you know I do. Ben knows how much I love it. But if he ever asked me to give up,” she gestured broadly, “everything...I’d do it. I wouldn’t want to, and Merlin, it would hurt like…well, more than anything in the world! But I’d do it. And…I know in my bones he would do the same for me. Hell, he’s almost died for me a few times...”

The old memories made her pause, closing her eyes briefly to try to block them out.

“Thing is…he doesn’t ask for that. He…won’t ask for it.”

Wendy looked back down at Carewyn seriously.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is...sometimes loving someone -- not just being in love, but really loving them -- means that you know you could ask them to move heaven and earth for you and they’d do it, no matter how much it’d hurt...but you won’t ask that. It’s good that you’re thinking about this now, of course -- but you don’t have to have it all figured out just yet. If you want this...don’t be afraid to let Orion in. Let him see everything you have, and everything you fear, and let him decide. Maybe he wouldn’t want you to give up everything you’ve built here for him. Maybe he would. Maybe he’d want you to meet him halfway, somehow. But…let him make that choice to love you, whatever it might look like. You’ll never know if it’s meant to be if you don’t ever ask if it could be.”

Although Carewyn didn't look Wendy in the face nearly at all as she spoke, it clearly was because she was taking in what she said and thinking hard, not because she wasn't listening. When Wendy was finished, Carewyn brought a hand up to brush her bangs out of her face, her hand sliding past her right eye as it went. Then, with a swallow, she forced herself to look Wendy in the face at last, even though her eyes were still full of so much emotion.

"...Thank you, Wendy.”

The lawyer couldn't keep eye contact very long. Soon her eyes once again almost of their own accord drifted off to the corner just over Wendy's shoulder.

"I suppose...I always have had a bad tendency, to put the bar too high for myself. Orion's never expected perfection from me, however much I expect it from myself..."

Her eyes softened noticeably.

"He’s always been happy with what he has, even while he’s reaching for something better. But I know he appreciates the work and time I put in, too...how much I care. Even when I care too much, and 'flare up like a Fire Crab.'”

She brought a hand up to try to hold in her giggling.

Wendy’s lips spread into a mischievous grin. “Hey, at least he doesn’t compare your temperament and coloring to a Billywig. But I guess it’s his way of getting back at me for calling him the Tofu King -- ”

In that moment, Ben Copper had abruptly run down the hall, skidding to a halt in the door frame of Carewyn’s office.

“Carey,” he said urgently, his face very white and grave, “the Aurors have just been sent to your street.”

Carewyn and Wendy both shot to their feet in alarm.

“What!?”

As the prosecutor for nearly all of the cases involving ex-Death Eaters, Carewyn had received a lot of recognition and praise, but she’d understandably also gotten a few anonymous death threats from people who had Death Eater sympathies. She wasn’t the only one -- quite a few other prominent members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement like Talbott and the newly hired Harry Potter got them too. This day in particular, however, a swarm of dementors -- newly banned from Azkaban by Minister Shacklebolt, in part due to their association with Lord Voldemort during the War -- had been set loose in several areas of London that contained the homes of prominent Ministry employees...including Carewyn’s. Naturally Carewyn herself was not home yet -- but her ward Erik had just returned from Hogwarts for winter break in the midst of his first year, and he as a latch-key kid was at their flat  completely alone until Carewyn got off work. 

Carewyn immediately dropped everything and rushed home as quickly as she could, Ben and Wendy in tow. When she arrived on her street corner, she found the neighborhood in chaos. The entire street was blanketed by unnatural, heavy black fog, as if it was being suffocated by a blanket made of mist and tar. Muggles were running blindly in all directions since they couldn’t see the dementors, while the Aurors who could cast Patronuses shot them at every part of the darkness they could reach. Ben, Wendy, and Carewyn immediately all cast theirs, and their dun stallion, unicorn, and Abraxan winged horse charged into the fray to help the Aurors’ other pearly white creatures in their fight. Carewyn herself was determined to find Erik and raced in the direction of her flat. As she and the Coppers drew close, however, they were startled by what they saw.

Carewyn’s Abraxan Patronus had charged to the front, flapping its wide wings in an attempt to break up the suffocating darkness. As it did so, another bright white Patronus soared through the air toward hers, gliding through the air with incredible grace and helping it beat the dementors back.

It was another Abraxan winged horse.

The second graceful Abraxan Patronus’s wings seemed to brush lightly over the wings of Carewyn’s before flying back in the direction it’d come from. Her eyes very wide, Carewyn raced after it, her own Patronus flying over her as she went. The second Abraxan Patronus ended up landing a short ways away, its wings spread protectively over two people knelt down on the ground -- a small almost-thirteen-year-old boy with curly blond hair and tears streaming down his pale face, and the Patronus’s caster, an olive-skinned man with an uneven haircut, a beard, and black eyes, dressed in harem pants, arm warmers, and loose-fitting robes.

It was Orion. And although Carewyn halted mid-step several feet away, her breath stilling in her throat, her Patronus flew down to meet Orion’s, the two Abraxans’ noses touching when they met.

Orion had known for years that his and Carewyn’s Patronuses were the same. The knowledge had surprised him, but he’d managed to keep his emotions in check at the time. Carewyn, however, didn’t do as well in containing hers -- her hands flew up to her mouth to try to suppress the choke that left her throat and although she didn’t cry, her eyes flooded with tears.

Her Patronus disappeared in a puff of white smoke as she barrelled over to them, collapsing onto her knees so she could pull Erik into her arms and hug him tightly, her face white with terror.

“Erik! Erik, thank Merlin -- ”

Erik was very pale and shaking in her arms, but he had trouble looking her in the face. His jaw was clenched hard as he clutched at Carewyn’s sleeve. Ben and Wendy rushed over too, looking just as harried.

“Erik -- kid, you okay?” asked Wendy.

Ben glanced from Erik in Carewyn’s arms to up at Orion and his Abraxan Patronus hovering over them, his brown eyes slightly narrowed. Orion’s face was just as solemn.

“I was in the area when I felt the dementors’ presence,” he explained. “I found him out here, shooting Lumos charms and Knockback Jinxes at the dementors to try to drive them away...it’s possible he may have come out to help, knowing Muggles can’t see them...”

Carewyn cradled Erik in her arms, her hands resting on his back and the back of his head protectively as she squeezed him tight and gently stroked his hair.

Leaving Erik at home alone was never an arrangement she’d liked, but he was old enough to be there at her flat without supervision, as long as he stayed inside and didn’t let anyone in. But clearly the protective enchantments she’d placed weren’t strong enough to prevent the dementors’ draining influence from creeping inside...and once Erik felt that, it was unsurprising to Carewyn that he’d wanted to do something about it. His history in dementor captivity when he was rounded up by Umbridge’s Muggle-Born Registration Commission was explanation enough.

She hadn’t done enough. She hadn’t thought that anyone would go so far as to threaten her son ward, while she wasn’t there to protect him...

Carewyn swallowed the huge, painful lump that had formed in her throat, closing her eyes tight to try to force back her tears. She had to show a brave face for Erik: he was scared enough as it was.

The image of Orion’s and her Patronuses touching noses rippled over her mind. The memory of their light, equally bright and perfectly matched, seemed to weaken the grip of the fear strangling her heart.

His Patronus was the same as hers. His soul...was the same as hers...protecting Erik when she hadn’t been there...flying to the side of hers, when it was most needed...

The memory filled her up with such courage and warmth that Carewyn thought she’d likely never struggle for ammunition to create another Patronus again.

“Erik...we need to get you inside,” the lawyer said at last, her voice coming out as a low, steadier whisper than before. “Some chocolate will help.”

Ben brought a hand onto Carewyn’s shoulder and squeezed it. “We’ll take care of things out here with the Aurors, Carey. You stay with Erik.”

Wendy glanced at Orion.

“Orion, maybe you should go with them with your Patronus...clear them a way back home, you know.”

Although her eyes and face were serious, the way her eyes flickered between Carewyn and Orion spoke volumes. Orion, his head bowing almost self-consciously, nodded. He tentatively brought an arm around Carewyn’s shoulders, his black eyes trailing over her face to down at Erik.

“Erik,” he said softly, “can you stand, little Jarvey?”

Although he wasn’t able to speak, Erik clutched onto Carewyn and Orion’s arms and used the grip to hoist himself up onto his feet. Sensing that he was still too weak and disoriented to walk on his own, Orion quickly swooped in and snaked one of his strong arms around the boy to hold him up.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. Carewyn moved to Erik’s other side and wrapped her own arm around Erik too, so that both she and Orion were supporting him. “...We’ve got you...”

Orion’s eyes met Carewyn’s over Erik’s head. The light from his Patronus reflected in their depths, making them resemble two tiny night skies flecked with stars. A perfect match for Carewyn’s, the color of which could be compared to a cloudless blue daytime sky.

((OOC: Thanks to @drinkyoursoupbitch for roleplaying that first scenario between Wendy and Carewyn with me so many months ago!! I’m so delighted I finally got to include it in this! 💙))

[bridenore]

Author rec : Femmequixotic

One of my favorite authors by far. Here are a few recs, listed in alphabetical order. I’ve read most of those stories multiple times, without any regrets.

***

All I Want For Christmas (Is For You To Stop Talking) by @femmequixogtic and @noeeon [162k]

The Niffler's Garden is the most prestigious wizarding nursery school in England and has been for the last century or more. Harry Potter's boys are both enrolled as pupils at the Garden. When he volunteers to assist with the Yule pageant, he has no idea that he'll be working closely with another parent, Draco Malfoy. Although they haven't seen each other much since their own school days, Harry faults Malfoy for not being a hands-on dad to little Scorpius. Will the intense weeks of preparation fan the fires of enmity or something else entirely?

Warnings: Background discussion of divorce, coming out, parenting, very brief mention of difficult pregnancy.

As Magic As It Gets by @femmequixotic [9k]

The last person Draco expects to see in the office of his relocation charity is Harry bloody Potter.

As soul from bodies steal by @femmequixotic [40k]

Hope may be found in the oddest of places, even in the bleakness of winter.

Black Holes and Revelations by @femmequixotic [38k]

What was meant to be an unexpected one-off in the loo of a Camden bar turns into something rather different, much to Harry and Draco's surprise.

Boom Clap (The Sound of My Heart) by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [39k]

Post-war Hogwarts has been energized by its new teaching fellows program. Where once bitter enmity divided the wizarding community, Malfoy and Potter chummily patrol hallways together whilst Granger and Zabini seek lost parts of the castle at McGonagall’s behest and Chang supervises Quidditch when not lecturing in Charms. It’s a veritable wizarding utopia and life is predictable for the first time in years. Which is, of course, when everything blows apart as the result of a drunken dare and Malfoy’s life is ruined beyond his capacity to repair it. Ever. In a million years.

Can't Get You Out of My Head by @femmequixotic [14k]

After he sees Harry Potter naked in the Auror showers once, Draco can't stop thinking about him. 

Lost In Your Arms by @femmequixotic [257k]

Three months after their brief encounter, Draco has almost forgotten about Potter--or so he tells himself. Then a Dark wizard shows up on the Auror radar and all hell breaks loose. Draco will have to choose between everything he holds dear--everything he's worked so hard for--and a few stolen moments of passion with a certain green-eyed Inspector, once his sworn enemy and now something rather different entirely. He'll make the right choice, won't he?

Who is he kidding? He'll ruin everything, as per usual. Bad choices and the name Malfoy go hand in hand.

These Secrets In Me by @femmequixotic [357k]

Auror Special Branch team seven-four-alpha--Sergeant Draco Malfoy, Constable Pansy Parkinson, and Constable Blaise Zabini led by their SIO, Inspector Harry Potter--must handle personal and political fallout from the implication of Ministry employees and Aurors in the scandal around escaped Death Eaters and a Dementor uprising at Azkaban. On top of that, their original target, Antonin Dolohov, is in the wind.

With all the ruckus, it's a good thing they have help from Unspeakable Hermione Granger, American Unspeakable, Legilimens, and Harry's recent ex, Jake Durant, Blaise's legendary necromancer grandfather, Barachiel Dee, and his potions expert mother, Olivia Zabini. What could possibly go wrong with an army of best friends, ex-lovers, and family? Especially when you add the strong-willed Parkinson clan to the mix.

Meanwhile, troubling new leads arise, taking Our Team in a surprising direction.

And Draco, still hiding his relationship with his SIO from the upper echelons of the Auror force, is definitely not falling in love with Harry Potter along the way. Not at all. Don't be ridiculous.

Dare To Think by @femmequixotic [388k]

After recent events in New York, Seven-Four-Alpha are set to return back to London. They've captured their primary target, but by no means settled their case. They've still got rogue Dementors at Azkaban, prying investigators from Luxembourg, and a far larger Death Eater threat to manage, not to mention pressure from their own higher ups. Draco is reeling from his loss, and Harry is trying to be the best boyfriend he can, which may mean not being Draco's guv any longer. Harry's uncertain what his team'll find as they press deeper in the investigation, but he knows they will all be tested, perhaps more than they can bear.

But they haven't a choice, have they? It's the bloody Death Eaters, after all, and the political integrity of Wizarding Britain and their magical allies hangs in the balance.

Set Me Free by @femmequixotic [196k] *Incomplete

Seven-Four-Alpha are back in London with available resources of the Ministry tracking their every move. Draco Malfoy remains lost, last seen in Thibodaux, Louisiana, as MACUSA was closing in. Harry is raging, barely in control of his magic, and the rest of the team are battered and unsure. Their recent failure haunts them, as does the spectre of a MACUSA-Ministry alliance under the control of the Quahog administration and its shadow puppetmaster, Aldric Yaxley. The Dementor crisis with Luxembourg is brewing in the background, as is a conflict with Rodolphus Lestrange. And that's not even mentioning the bargain Blaise struck with Death to return his cup. The team have very little energy or resources for one fight, much less several of this magnitude simultaneously.

Should they fail, though, political tyranny will grip both sides of the Atlantic and evils recently banished may return. Each of them is fighting for something they hold dear, but no victory comes without a price. Still, desperate situations call for desperate measures, and desperation appears to be all they have.

Cigarettes will kill you by @femmequixotic [3k]

He lights a cigarette across the pub, his hand cupped to his mouth as the tip sparks to life in a faint orange flare, and my breath catches.

Kiss A Boy In London Town (And Other Intimate Misadventures of A Society Whore) by @femmequixotic [36k]

There's only one cardinal sin for a whore.

Let's Dance To Joy Division by @femmequixotic [12k]

Let the love tear us apart, I've found a cure for a broken heart...

Little Talks by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [11k]

Draco's been shagging the Head Auror for months now, and he's sure it's just a fling. Until Harry asks him to a Quidditch match, that is, and things go horribly wrong.

Once upon a time, yesterday by @femmequixotic [22k]

"You've always been obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. That should probably tell you something."

Pocket Full Of Starlight (Never Let It Fade Away) by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [46k]

When Scorpius Malfoy and Jamie Potter meet at Quidditch camp, they take an instant dislike to each other. Then they discover their lives are more connected than they could possibly imagine.

Reading Malfoy by @femmequixotic [15k]

After thirteen years of hiding himself away in Muggle London, Draco Malfoy shows up again in the wizarding world--with a wickedly amusing memoir in hand. Harry doesn't want to read it. Really. He doesn't.

Sæglópur by @femmequixotic [34k]

After a difficult breakup, Draco finds himself dragged to the land of magic, law, and natural wonders where, of course, nothing goes as planned.

Says the magpie to the morning  by @femmequixotic [33k]

It's terribly bad form, sleeping with your ex when you're still half in love with the bastard.

The Silent World Within You by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [95k]

Harry only wanted Malfoy for one night, one birthday. It wasn’t meant to be anything more.

Take A Sad Song (And Make It Better) by @femmequixotic [46k]

The last thing Harry wants is to lose his kids.

Things Worth Knowing by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [164k]

After the Battle, Harry thinks he's left Hogwarts for good, but Minerva insists that all students return for an Eighth Year if they wish to sit for NEWTs in the spring, and Harry needs those NEWTs to go into the Aurors. Draco's just grateful not to be in Azkaban. Or the Manor. He's hoping he can steer clear of Potter this year and grapple with his own problems. Unfortunately for him, Potter appears to be one of those problems. And that's not even addressing the fact that Potter's got serious issues of his own, which Draco realises as he's forced to share an Eighth Year dormitory room and several classes with the Gryffindor Git. If only they can make it through the year without killing each other, it should be all right, shouldn't it?

Unkissed Kisses and Songs Never Sung by @femmequixotic [12k]

I sit silently in the shadows, staring at the tiny, pulsing ball of light that tells me my Harry's still alive.

Waiting By An Open Door by @femmequixotic and @noeeon [29k]

Draco starts following Potterwatch secretly during the War. He wishes Potter would come save him too. But that sort of thing only happens in fairy tales, and Malfoys don't get fairy tale endings, do they?

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by @femmequixotic [68k]

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends. But when Harry agrees to work with Draco to put Kingsley Shacklebolt into the Minister's office, they can't work side-by-side again every day and sleep together; that would be courting disaster. Wouldn't it?

The Weight of a Wanting Heart by @femmequixotic [11k]

After nearly two decades hidden away in the Wiltshire countryside, Draco Malfoy’s surprised to see a familiar face come into his local.

When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by @femmequixotic [22k]

A drag fairytale of New York in which Draco wears red lipstick and Potter can’t get enough.

The Years That Walk Between by @femmequixotic [15k]

Draco finds his way after the war.

***

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[roleplaycharacter1shots]

not all treasure is silver and gold

Warning(s): Dark!AU, minor character death, barely proofread

Word Count: 1270

Character(s): Aston Bradley

Summary: What if… the Bradley Company is actually a front for a black market company?

Title credit to Jack Sparrow

---

Original Scene: Aston is from a long line of art dealers. The Bradley Company specializes in their own line of artwork as well as being a mediator between galleries and artists. Their works range from paintings (moving and not) to sculptures from all eras. Naturally, Aston was surrounded by wealth and opportunity his entire life. He traveled often with his father, who was the head of it all.

Aston dreaded going to Hogwarts, as it meant that he wouldn’t get to travel with his parents. His mother urged him to focus on his studies even when he was home for the holidays, which made him envious of his cousin Thomas Hawkins, especially when the younger one attended school and still got to go away to Egypt and beyond. But, he had to be the responsible older one, and he tried to not take his jealousy out on Tom. He was secretly glad, however, when he heard that Tom had disappointed his aunt with his career choices.

But Aston always had much more important things to deal with. Even though he would rather be seeing the world, he did throw himself into his work. Charms and, surprisingly, History of Magic took his fancy because of their relationships to his family’s work. He discovered that “wanting to ask more questions” relating to his “homework” permitted Aston to meet with the Bradley Company artists and learn more about their craft. The list of names he collected from those meetings Aston continues to carry and update to show his respect for them. His mother always knew her employees by name, so he learned to follow suit. Aston’s father began grooming him to take on the position as head of the company, considering how he had no other siblings to take over after both of his parents’ passings. Most of the job unfortunately involved a lot of accounting and desk work, much to Aston’s chagrin. But, he is the heir, afterall.

Stefan Bradley succumbed to the flu of September 2012. He passed away peacefully at Bradley Hall with his family around him. A few months later, Aston began to notice that his mother was changing: the names she once could recall were harder to find, tremors in her hands, and going up the stairs required much more effort. Everly Bradley was diagnosed with dementia, further leaving Aston entirely in charge of the business very quickly. But Aston held his head high while also making sure that his mother was properly cared after in Bradley Hall.

What if…: The Bradley Company specializes in obtaining their “own line” of artwork as well as being a mediator between galleries and artists. The terms “looters” and “thieves” are not uncommon titles for the Bradley family, but they fall on deaf ears. After all, the coins that come from their spoils speak significantly louder. Their collected works range from paintings (moving and not) to sculptures from all eras.

Naturally, Aston was surrounded by wealth and opportunity his entire life. He traveled often with his father, who was one of a long line of masterminds behind it all. Aston has been invested in the business since he chose to drop out of Hogwarts when he was sixteen. His father had agreed that it was for the best, considering how it made more sense to teach his son the ways of the Bradley Company. Indeed, Aston did need to learn while he was young, ensuring his dominance after Stefan’s passing. One needed to be assertive in the black market world, preserving their reputation to keep from sinking. Now with Aston’s father being gone and leaving him as the boss of the operation, he needed to ensure that his grip was just as firm as his predecessor’s.

Aston did not hesitate. He had always possessed a hunger for more, be it Galleons or Galli. He was a magpie, scoping out anything that brought a glint to his eye. And on this day, the item that sparkled the brightest for him was just within his grasp.

“Mr. Cadbury,” Aston greeted his butler as he entered his office. He puffed lightly on his newly lit cigar as he leaned back in his chair.

“Reports have come in that they may have unearthed the temple, sir,” Mr. Cadbury said, pausing before the desk. His gloved hand reached out to hand Aston the letter that had just arrived from Greece.

A smirk perked up the corners of his lips as Aston surveyed the parchment. “Excellent,” he replied. His team had spent the last few weeks combing the country of Greece for him, working with archaeologists and locals to find the evasive Temple of Athena. According to the records, Muggles had never been able to find the temple; but this was the same for many ancient locations, some of which Aston had been able to discover. It hadn’t taken long for him to determine that the builders of the “missing” temples must have been a part of the wizarding community, pushing Muggles away from their treasures with wards.

This had opened up a lot of doors for the Bradley Company. With teams of magical individuals, temples and tombs had revealed themselves easily. George Hawkins, Tom’s father and Aston’s uncle, had demonstrated this as well with his years of exploring. Now, Aston would have full access to ancient locations that had been left untouched for centuries. This excavation with the Temple of Athena was another example of this; although the treasure that was potentially within was so much more than a profit.

“Send an owl immediately,” Aston said to his butler. “They must not touch one thing until I arrive in the morning.”

Mr. Cadbury nodded. “Very well, sir.”

Bright and early, Aston arrived at beautiful Delphi. His suit was crease-free as always, his hair slicked to the right, chin smooth and unblemished. “I’d better not find a single fingerprint anywhere inside that temple,” he called out as he strode towards the excavation site. His team immediately jumped to attention at the sound of his voice. “Adonis,” Aston said as his head archaeologist quickly approached. “Do you think we have found it?”

“I think so, sir,” Adonis answered. There was an anxious hint to his expression beneath his olive skin. “We must be very careful, sir. There are many charms cast on the stone and undoubtedly on the treasure itself.”

“I am sure,” Aston said with a nod. He snapped his fingers, summoning one of the diggers to his side. “Eseís. Beíte ston naó.” (Literal: You. Enter the temple.)

The worker looked a little apprehensive but did as he was told. He began to step through the stone entryway. Aston followed behind, stopping at the entryway while watching the other head down the stairs. The Greek was just about to descend down the final step when he suddenly stopped short. It was another moment before he collapsed.

Aston snapped his finger again, stepping aside as another worker stepped down the stairs to retrieve the body. He inspected the clearly dead Greek briefly as he was moved past. “Blunt force trauma,” he said, taking note of the wooden stake wedged into the Greek’s forehead. “Likely triggered by a trip line at the bottom of the stairs.” Aston pulled out his wand before gesturing to yet another worker. He indicated that they go first. “Come along, Adonis.”

The worker in front of him looked terrified. Aston gave him a small smile before nudging him forward. The three of them descended. Right on cue as they reached the bottom, a wooden peg zoomed out from across the space. The worker yelped in fear, but Aston’s wand stuck in his back kept him from running. He stopped moving as the projectile struck. Aston shoved the lifeless form forward, Adonis by his side as they stepped over the threshold.

“Thank you for your service,” Aston said with a small chuckle to the impaled Greek before tossing him to the side. He waved his wand, illuminating the tip to bring light to the dark temple. His eye was immediately drawn to a glint of gold in the center of the room. “Ah, yes.

“The Necklace of Harmonia.”

Aston had always believed the jewelry had existed, crafted to provide any woman with eternal youth and beauty. The Muggles thought it to be just a myth, lost in a fire hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. But then again, they also didn’t believe in witches and wizards. Aston gazed upon the two serpents molded out of gold, their jaws opened towards one another to form the clasp. Their conjoined body was lined with a rainbow of jewels, sparkling mischievously in the wandlight. Aston waved his wand again, lifting the necklace into the air off its stand to bring it closer to him and Adonis. “Beautiful,” he murmured, turning the piece in a circle. “Undoubtedly, they will have placed enchantments upon it. We will have to break those before we leave.”

Aston turned to face his associate. “Hold out your hands, Adonis.” The archaeologist blinked, face paling.

“I-I… sir -”

“Hands, Adonis.” With trembling fingers, Adonis obediently extended his arms. Aston used his wand to lower the necklace down. The minute the gold touched the Greek’s skin, smoke began to rise. Adonis’ eyes widened, a scream emanating from his throat as he watched in horror as his flesh instantly melted away. Aston’s gaze was intently focused on the Necklace of Harmonia. The jewelry was emitting a red glow, which did flicker and die once Adonis’s life force was consumed.

“Your sacrifice will not be in vain,” Aston said. He picked up the necklace, pulling it away without any problem. “Do not worry. Your family will be compensated well because of this unfortunate accident.”

Aston strode back out of the temple. As he crossed the threshold, he flicked his wand to casually slice the oncoming wooden stake behind him in half. “Mr. Cadbury!” he called once he reached the top of the stairs. The butler rushed forward, quickly shutting the Necklace of Harmonia away in a briefcase. “Please inform my mother of my return… and that I have a gift for her.”

[steppesthetic]

I don’t really have a title for this one. It’s just the end of Yamamoto Taiga’s story in season 1 of @for-peace-war ‘s japanime game. It only really works after following along with a very dense tabletop campaign. But I was proud of writing it, and got emotional doing so. So I want to show it off.

In the afternoon heat, morning glories withered. Their vines, along with bitter gourds, clogged up the window as they sneaked up the side of the inpatient wing, forcing the light to filter through with a sickly jungle glow. Summer was coming, and earlier than last year. Time kept playing its games.

Taiga realized he’d slid the yearbook much farther down his lap from where he’d begun. How many hours he had spent glaring at one glossy page, seeing the warped dents of his and his classmates’ pens better than the ink used to write the messages themselves. Between them, fresher marks, leaving deeper wells in the page. There was no space for an unbroken line, so the kanji spilled out onto the page like rent innards. The results were much less poetic than he’d hoped after the almost choreographed haphazardness of how they were written.

garden of dying Wisteria there in she Made her last dance and I saw her lips move to extoll others…? No. 

Thirty-one characters made a poem much larger than this. The copy was already bursting at the seams and could barely recall a single moment crammed into the everything he’d written back at the complex. Just reading it cheapened what he felt that night, the last day of rest before the world all fell apart. More spilled out at the fringes, in ever more isolated syllables

Longing for death is masturbation ^ ??? What the fuck is that? Chaos…? An infinite number of universes? Wishing for an enemy is murder In want of one, I turn the pen on myself.

More general, like the original, but full of hokum lecturing. The hand holding the pen that offended him so whipped back and sent it on a vicious curve to the door. He immediately regretted it. Like a weak hand bolstered by gripping a sword, his deprived shoulder began to ache miserably in the absence. Hot shame rose up his cheeks. He couldn’t see straight. He shook from the effort to repress it before it welled up into something humiliating. It only shook more tears loose.

It was always Yamamoto Taiga’s greatest fortune in life for those females of his species to find him at his weakest and least appealing. So this trend was continued even in the better world to which he had been ferried when the door opened, a quick, confident step breaching the doorway before it hesitated.

“Tate... oh.” 

Though he avoided looking, from the sound of her voice, the way she stomped in, more like an athlete than a woman, and at the very least the name she used, he knew the source immediately. And he knew she could see. With desperation he rubbed his palms into his eyes, desperate to look sick, or groggy, or like someone worsening his eye strain--which he was certainly doing. 

“Hey, Taiga, if you need me to--”

“No!”

He almost shouted it, being much too quick to correct her assumption. “Uh--no, no. Stay, if you want.”

It felt wrong to ask her to continue this uncomfortable exchange, but his request was weakly worded, and it gave her plenty of opportunity to excuse herself. Surprisingly, she didn’t take the out. She stepped closer, no doubt noticing the unhinged scrawl before him and the glossy sheen on his face. Feeling brave, he hazarded a glance up. Annoyingly there was only concern. If she resented the way a grown man cried, she wasn’t showing it. He was grateful, and furious with himself.

She took the seat next to his bed, not saying a word. He could feel her eyes on the book. This made him feel defensive, and he slapped it shut.

“I’ve… already read most of it.” Chisaka tilted her head at him. She hesitated. Taiga could see she’d been trying to hold that remark in. 

In that moment there were remarks he wanted to make, too--like the last time he saw her, she was bleeding out on his bed, or like how she was good with a gun but hers was obviously shit. But strangely enough, other remarks bubbled up. Feelings, more than memories, like he lived vicariously through another Taiga. The Taiga he imagined holding a woman for reasons beyond her being on the brink of death. The latter won out.

“Is doxing me not enough? Yuu… idols are treated better than I am, right now.”

He could see a flash of something on her face before it settled into a more impassive annoyance, as she became her cool self again. “Wha? No, I was almost last in line. You can see. I didn’t have a lot of space left to write...”

“Ah… which means you saw my... fan club.”

She didn’t take the bait. “Are you trying to be subtle? Is this subtle to you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about!” He felt a smirk and hated himself for it, but it was too strong to repress. This finally got a sigh out of her.

Chisaka closed her eyes and bowed her head, readying herself for a prayer. “Fine… congratulations on losing your virginity, Yamamoto-san. May your impending doom as a salaryman in a shrinking economy be relieved, if for a moment, by the warm touch of experienced hands in the only non-transactional comfort you will find in your adult life. I am happy for what nearly losing a knife fight, in spite of having a gun, has earned you.”

A silence followed, awkward and stunned, but Taiga did nothing to help. He could almost hear the deliberations taking place in her head, her wondering if she’d gone too far, asking herself why she’d chosen that line of attack. For his part, he was a little stunned. But as he felt the sting, there was also the sweet salve of how much effort she had to put in to fire back. He relished it like the slowly shifting green light from outside.

“Well… I was supposed to give you this.” She pulled out a notebook from her bag, flipping through the pages. “I guess your mother noticed you scribbling your little notes, but I should tell her that you’ve already made all the addendums you wanted to…?”

His hand snatched at it. He was fast; but to his cheek-warming shame, she was predictably no pushover in a tug-of-war. Even he could see where this would go if he really tried for it, but still he clung on desperately. To see a mother’s love and her child’s love for the written word converge in such a way was too much for him to handle. Besides, he was bored.

“You wouldn’t stand in the way of a mother and her only son, would you?!” 

She smirked at that. “... Hm. What were you writing?”

At that, Taiga was truly taken aback. Yuu must have noticed this, for her grip on the notebook slackened just as his did. “... Poem,” he finally said. There was little to say for it except that it existed, and yet it still nearly felt a betrayal to speak out loud.

Not given much material, she finally let go of the notebook. It was cheap and thin, and felt light as he flopped it on his lap. A thousand scenarios played in his head at once. None were realistic. All assumed she would know of what happened, of the way a woman looked at a man she was prompting to run her through, with no fear but dreadful resolve burned in her near-black eyes. Or that she was a girl from a drama or anime, or one of the more pernicious fantasies he’d spun in his head once those commercialized distractions had bored him, so full of self-denying empathy that she could read into anything she didn’t know, accept her limited place, and give him comfort. How could she know? Why should she care? And wasn’t this all so masturbatory? He wanted to remember the horrific events of a world which might as well have been some insane dream. It was unsustainable. Even thinking about abandoning those thoughts brought a fresh wave of heat to his eyes. He became vaguely aware of a voice to his right, but in front of him saw the silent horror of a 14 year old girl hearing a love poem read to her.

In that moment, he could see perfectly that he did not run away from her misunderstanding. Even then, he knew, she wouldn’t hate him or strike him for what he had shared. He saw in those eyes a vulnerability, a crack in porcelain, and something writhing underneath. Whatever he was made of (old, wadded paper mache) was breaking apart too, as he could see reflected in her. What child wouldn’t run away when presented with such terrible truth? 

The only thing to bring him back was the impression of a figure moving, and the dreadful promise that it meant. He snatched the nearest part of it he could, finding a smaller wrist in his hand. It didn’t resist him, but he clutched it like a magpie would its treasure. “--No!” 

A long pause. Yuu and Taiga both looked down to where they were stuck together. “... I’m not leaving.”

In truth, he could feel, she wasn’t. Her body warmed the space between him and the edge of the mattress. Embarrassment. Humiliation, even. If anything, he couldn’t let those feelings bring him to tears again, so he repressed them, shuddered. Every breath out felt like an exorcism, painful. After the third one he knew something of what he wanted to say next.

“It was a love poem. I wrote it for a girl in middle school. Weird, huh?” His cheeks were wet this time. His resistance didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“Writing bad poetry in middle school? No.”

“This is the funny part. At the end of all the bad things. Right towards the end. All I could think about was that poem, and the girl I read it to. She just… froze. Eyes wide as saucers. She looked--she was so scared. And I thought I’d… fucked it up somehow. So I ran. And tried to forget it. But all I could think about… was that girl, and the poem, right at the… end.”

Yuu groaned. It didn’t sound exasperated. More like she was working out a math problem, or finishing a stretch. “You mean, you were thinking of this poem when the knife maniac attacked...”

“Uh--yes,” was all he could say. What else? But there was something else. And after a retching impulse in his chest, it all came out, burning his throat as it went. “--And--and--she was so afraid. Like a deer, just frozen in front of me. I could see them in--in--in the shooting. In his eyes. She--he was just afraid, another life, and I could feel the jolt, I could feel the pain, I could feel the arms around me shudder. And you harm someone else and you think if it’s for something, and it’s meant to be, and it’s right, it should be rewarded, but it’s not. It’s simply someone suffering. And the least you can do is feel it--right? You caused it!”

The two memories merged. Both fake, both real. He ran through a mass shooter with an ancient katana. He saw Keiko before him, arms outstretched, ready to embrace him. He pulled the trigger. She was gone. He was a hero. A life lived beautifully, erased. A life squandered, made heroic. On this one action the world turned, the destruction of someone beautiful and good.

Her wrist had slipped out from his grasp, but in its place their hands were joined at the palm. She simply held it there, loosely. “... Who was the poem for?”

A final jolt. This time it felt like a relief. The last, lazy wave of the receding tide, but the furthest to reach in. She stood next to him on the bridge as they wondered, one aloud, one quietly, their luck in meeting again. “You’re never going to believe it…”

“Try me.”

A wan smile. It was almost comforting now, if it weren’t for all the pain needed to reach this point. He wiped his eyes. “Well…” He looked up at Yuu. She seemed to be gazing down with an easy calm, but unobfuscated concern, and… dread? He jerked his smile upward, apologetically.

“Well, Ka-ch… Yukimura Kazane and I have always enjoyed a… special--”

“--Hey, just remembered I need to go somewhere. Sorry!”

“--No! No! Wait! She moved out after that year. Don’t even remember her name!”

She stood up, but stopped there. He let go of her hand… but she didn’t let go of his. She sat back down on the bed.

“It’s… hard to make words out of why I thought about that poem. Even to you. But you remember the gun chat…”

She nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“I was deep in it. For a long time. I wanted to go out like a hero. Do something great, pay the ultimate price. Always about death, sacrifice. I wanted that great adventure before the world came crashing down. I craved it. And I got it. I got to live it. And the only thing I could think about… was that poem. The only good I’d ever done. Where that girl was. If she was safe. Happy. Loved. If you’d be safe. If the school... If I would survive. And now…”

There were more words, but they weren’t words. They were hardly even feelings. Hints of things that would frighten him in the future. Monsters under the bed. 

Yuu patted the mattress next to him.

“Hey, scoot over.”

“What--?”

“Just scoot over.”

He slid over to the far side of the mattress. Swinging her legs over, Yuu laid on top of the sheets. Separated, but not by much. The bed was certainly not made for two, even if neither was particularly broad. Her shoulder pressed against his. She looked straight up at the ceiling. A window A/C growled to life on the floor above.

“... You really cared about that bad poem.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You tried writing since?”

“Not… not particularly.”

“But… yes, you did.”

He looked over at her. “Explain.”

“Come on. They might as well make those conspiracy sites creative writing credit. You made up your own share of bullshit over the years. I even remember some of it.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled.

“So… share your work with the class, Yamamoto-san,” she coaxed with a nudge.

“Kay. Two things. First, it’s the last story I made up. And it involves you…”

“Of course. I’m prepared for some hiki bullshit.”

Feeling encouraged, even emboldened, he thought of something and smiled. “Do you… ever remember someone who went by Ran?”

A pause. He could feel the pillows dimple as she shook her head at the ceiling. “... No? Should…!! Wait!” She propped herself up on her elbows. “He like, tried to neg some nudes out of me. A couple years back. When I said no he’d send me these pictures of strangled birds… and… fish documentaries?! For like a year...”

He was already laughing at the thought. The difference between fantasy and reality merged again. He could no longer tell which was real. Or if they were merging into a synthesis of realities. 

Willfully, he burned the steely face of Fujiwara Keiko over this muddled memory. The dreamy face of Keiko in the garden. The doe-eyed fear of middle school Keiko in the courtyard annex. They wouldn’t be forgotten. They couldn’t. But in other things… maybe, this world could exist on its own rules. Even independent of the soul who birthed it. 

But he lost himself. One more memory would need to be said out loud before it merged. “So, when I doxed you, and we met on neutral ground…”

“When I doxed you, and we met at the Green Tea Palace…”

“--Mm, yes. Anyway. He was there. Ran, in the flesh. A living, breathing, PSIA stooge. Tracking us for years…”