#also he's hardly taller than mist

[imissthefire]

the mystery of is soren short or is everyone else just freakishly tall?

[philliam-writes]

on that tree i'll carve our names (01)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem! Hufflepuff Reader; Sebastian Sallow x Male MC

Synopsis: You have never believed or trusted in Prophecy, not with the way you were brought up. Paying attention to Prophecy is like tossing real diamonds in the air mixed with shards of broken glass. The grab is rarely worth the injury. But when the new fifth year arrives, so do trouble and mischief, and you're inadvertently thrust into adventures and secrets too grand to deal with by yourself. Yet with hardships come friendships, and while you learn to trust the new student with your life, you're less keen on trusting the cunning Sallow boy or the quiet Gaunt heir. Still waters run deep, as they say, and you can't shake off the feeling something dark hides at the bottom of those white-veiled unseeing eyes.

content: canon divergence, fighting prophecy, enemies to friends, reluctant soulmates, platonic soulmates, slow burn, basically HL but Reader isn't MC, angst, hurt and comfort, Sebastian and Reader can't stand each other (until much later), they're all mean, because they're starving for love, will love and kill for each other, dark(ish) ominis, satisfying female rage, also Quidditch because screw Black

notes: [02]

words: 5.9k

a/n: this is so self-indulgent, i don't even know if i'll keep this up. but right now i need to get this out of my system, so here is tragic platonic soulmates with delicious slow burn for borth of them and my favourite slytherin boys. hope you enjoy!

01: hawthorn makes the heart burn

The new student has been at Hogwarts for only a week, and already you cannot stand him.

It’s got nothing to do with the fact that he is a Slytherin. You have never been a fan of the sorting system, because even if it is partly at fault for sticking kids into boxes and teaching them to think in categories, the students surely don’t make it better living by these stereotypes. Not all Slytherins are bad people, just like not all Gryffindors are brave; not every Ravenclaw is a genius, and not every Hufflepuff is a saint, e.g.: You.

“You’re joking! Three Sickles and fifteen Knuts for a Pocket Sneakscope? That’s way too expensive!”

Lifting your eyes from the list of gadgets you need to buy on your next trip to Hogsmeade, you raise an eyebrow at the second-year Ravenclaw boy. He’s taller than most of his fellow housemates, shows signs of a long, hawkish nose and has pimples scattered on his cheeks like a Leaping Toadstool Cap. You can’t really remember his name. Freddy or Fred or August, maybe.

This early in the morning before classes start, the air is especially thick with the smell of late-summer: sweet buddleia in full bloom, the rich green leaves of trees as they sway gently in the wind. Mist hangs low in the valley and over the Great Lake, a milky curtain hiding its resident gently poking long tentacles into the warm sun. The castle is only slowly waking up after a short night—the last grace of long summer days approaching their end as October draws closer.

A beautiful landscape you can hardly enjoy with the second-year’s whiny voice buzzing around your head like an annoying mosquito.

“Look, you wanted a Pocket Sneakscope, I got it for you,” you say and unhitch yourself from the cool stone pillar, one of many holding up the roof of the Viaduct Courtyard’s passageway. “It’s not my fault the underground path is infested with spiders.”

Damned Weasley could have warned you though. You have been using the secret passage under the humpbacked, one-eyed witch leading to the cellar of Honeydukes since your second year when you spied Garreth Weasley sneak through it, and since then you both agreed on staying out of each other’s way as long as nobody rats out the secret passageway to the faculty. He gets to obtain whatever he needs for his weird concoctions, and you get to continue your little business of providing first and second years whatever they want from Hogsmeade since they can’t go themselves yet—all for a certain price. It makes trips to Hogsmeade easier when you can’t use your broom, though the occasional acid spit launched your way is less favourable than the breathtaking view of Hogwarts towering majestically as the sun sets, throwing the whole castle in stark, black contrast against the warm, orange sky.

“Unless you want someone else to get you stuff from Hogsmeade,” you continue with a shrug. “Good luck finding them though.” You move to put the Sneakscope back into your pocket, barely managing to keep on a neutral expression when Freddy or Fred or August, maybe, gasps as though you have reached into the Ravenclaw’s house point hourglass, grabbed a handful sapphires and chucked them at the Headmaster.

“It’s just—it’s just a whole Sickle more than I can spend this month!” he protests, but judging by the quiver of his voice he’ll eat out of your hand in no time.

You give your brightest smile. “Not my problem.”

The Ravenclaw-boy fumes, but when you hold out your hand, he slaps the coins into your open palm, his pale face blotched red with fury.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” You hand over his Pocket Sneakscope and watch him stamp off towards the double doors leading inside the entrance hall. He stops with a small, pale hand on the bronze doorknob, turns around as by his touch alone the doors squeal open with the magic that recognises students entering. “You are the worst Hufflepuff at this school!” he shouts and quickly dashes inside.

You don’t know why he felt the need to point it out. It’s not as though people don’t know who you are: the Hufflepuff who burnt down the left greenhouse in her second year when trying Incendio after agreeing to a bet; the Hufflepuff who broke a Ravenclaw’s nose because said Ravenclaw accused her of cheating in Defence Against the Dark Arts; the Hufflepuff who smoked Silverweed in a corner under the Great Staircase in her third year to see if it would yield any relaxing effects; the Hufflepuff who actually cheated on her very first exam in History of Magic—all in all the Hufflepuff who really should have been sorted into Slytherin on her first day, according to everybody else. Except the Slytherins have no love left for you because you wear yellow.

It is a wonder you have not been expelled yet, surely to do with the fact that despite it all, one student outshines your delinquent record. Your grades are passable, neither at the very top nor bottom, though you do have a knack for quickly learning spells and charms. What keeps you in somewhat good grace is being the Beater for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team—and what a Beater you are: ruthless and quick with strong arms. Maybe not as fast as Slytherin’s Captain on a broom, but you feel comfortable enough up in the air. All your problems seem so much smaller when you soar through the sky. Speaking of Quidditch, a Gryffindor second-year asked you to get a fake Snitch to practice for the team’s try-outs. Hopefully the Spintwitches Sporting Needs opens within in the next week; you’re in need of a new broomstick servicing kit, preferably before practice starts.

You move towards the Great Hall before they clear out breakfast. You did ask Javi to save up some Pumpkin Pastries for you, but he’s been in a foul mood since yesterday because Peeves destroyed a bust in the Astronomy Tower and he had to take the brunt of it. But while you’re crossing the courtyard, you notice a shadow standing under a wide archway, tall and sinewy, though body shapes are usually hard to guess under the loose, floaty school robes. Yet you know that despite looking lanky, this boy is nimble and quick, and his presence is utterly unappreciated—that is how the circle closes; the reason why you can’t stand him.

Even from this distance, you can make out Callum St. Jude’s pale grey eyes—they stand stark against his unruly map of ink-black hair. Paired with skin pale as moonlight, he looks like one of Hogwarts’s residual ghosts.

You feel your face turn into a scowl. It seems that no matter where you are these days, he is lurking nearby. At first you thought he was spying on you to check out the competition for tonight’s Crossing Wands duel. It is the finale after all. But when you had confronted him about it, catching him on his way down to the Slytherin dungeons in the Grand Staircase after your shared Charms class, he had considered you with a blank expression. “Who are you?” he’d asked, looking down at you from a few steps above.

Behind him, trailing him like a shadow since day one, Sebastian Sallow had sniggered. “Seems like you already have admirers,” he’d said with his insufferable haughty voice. “Though that Hufflepuff is more trouble than she’s worth.”

You were about to show him trouble, face hot with shame, when Javi hauled you up, hands under your armpits, and carried you away as if you were a sack of potatoes. “You can’t get detention now, it’s still the first week,” Javi had said mildly.

At least it would have been worth it. It would have been so satisfying to blast that cocky grin off Sallow’s face, to silence St. Jude’s little mocking huff. You firmly believe St. Jude is suffering from the worst ailment to date: Main Character Syndrome.

The symptoms have been evident since his first day: joining Hogwarts as a fifth-year, arriving late to the Sorting Ceremony due to a dragon attack, besting Sallow on his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson (though you can hardly criticise him knocking Sallow down a peg) and mastering every new spell and charm as though it is as easy as breathing. Just last week, he fought off a grown troll and defended Hogsmeade, and now the whole school doesn’t shut up about it.

It is with eager anticipation that you await tonight’s Crossed Wands’s finale. Your fingers practically itch to draw your wand and Flipendo him just to juggle him around a little and wipe that blank expression off his face. He is beautiful, you hate to admit, feeling a sour taste in the back of your throat, but he’s using that face in all the wrong ways. He has the sort of face they’d probably frame in a museum, the kind that’s unbelievably pretty, but unattainable.

“Preying upon second years this early?” St. Jude tuts. “It seems there really is no rest for the wicked.”

“Looks as though I am already punished for it,” you grumble. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

St. Jude cocks his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “Interesting way to talk to someone you fancy.”

“I do not,” you press out between gritted teeth, shouldering past him as he steps into the entrance hall first, “fancy you.” You hope the Thunderbrew potion will be the first you’ll learn in Potions class. Watching St. Jude getting struck by lightning would lighten your mood considerably.

“For someone who pretends not to be interested in me,” he continues, ignoring you, “I see you around an awful lot.”

You consider tripping him as you two ascend the stairs. “Yes, that seems to be the very problem.”

“Won’t make me take it easy on you tonight though.” Since he is nowhere near a gentleman, he doesn’t hold the door open for you and it almost slams in your face. “I always duel to win.”

“I hope you don’t mind spending the next couple of days in the hospital wing.” You bump into his shoulder, hard, when you finally enter the Great Hall and immediately aim for the Hufflepuff table to the far right of the hall without another glance at him.

The hall is buzzing with students, the air filled with the tasty smell of crispy bacon, grilled leak, slightly burnt toast with melting butter on top. It isn’t as crowded as at lunch or dinner time—most students tend to skip breakfast to either sleep in after a long study night or use the hour before classes to finish assignments and homework.

The ceiling shows a clear blue sky with thin clouds drifting past lazily. You slide in the free seat next to your fellow Beater near the front of the table. Javier García is shoving scrambled eggs into his mouth, his bright brown eyes fixed on the Daily Prophet. In your first year, you didn’t pay much attention to him. If you look up Hufflepuff Student in any dictionary, it will show Javi’s face—a hard-working, loyal individual that always reminds you of a golden retriever until he steps on the field and turns into a pit bull from a fighting ring. Every summer he returns to his muggle family where he helps tending to the crops and fields, evident in his arms the size of tree trunks used to heavy lifting. Perfect for hitting Bludgers at opponents and slamming them off their brooms.

You pour yourself coffee and begin spooning slabs of apple-cinnamon-oatmeal into a bowl.

“Ranrok’s Loyalists have put up more camps around the Hogwarts highlands,” Javi says, mouth half-full. “It looks like they’re moving closer towards Hogwarts.”

“Why would they come to Hogwarts? There’s nothing here.”

“The castle has tons of secrets still uncovered. Why wouldn’t they try and get inside?”

“As if they’d manage to get through the defences. Hogwarts is impenetrable.” You take a long sip from your cup, hoping the caffeine kicks in fast. “No one’s going to get inside. Forget about the goblins. Did you see the Quidditch board? Our first game this season is against Gryffindor.”

Javi groans. “I hate their Seeker. Too small to hit with a Bludger, too quick to slam off the broom. We might as well throw in the towel.”

“Don’t let Captain hear that or she’ll turn you into a fox and wear you as a collar.” The Hufflepuff’s Quidditch Captain, Mary J. Lockwood, is sweet in pretty much every aspect except when it comes to Quidditch, and she never hesitates making you take the brunt of it. You’ve stopped counting how often she’d condemned you to run laps around the field as punishment for talking back or disrupting practice.

You finish breakfast and quickly drop by the common room to get your parchments and books for Divination class, hoping it will let time pass quickly until evening. But while staring for roughly an hour into the lazily swirling fog inside a crystal ball without an answer to how this year’s Quidditch season will end, time seemed to move slower than a snail. After dozing off twice and woken up by Adeleide Oakes’s pointy elbow to your ribs before Professor Onai could notice, the class finally ends.

Next up is Herbology and after that you’ve got two free periods until lunch and then end the day with double Potions. It’s a slow day for a Wednesday, and you can’t wait until practice starts in October to give you some change from sitting for hours in the library and going through dusty old tomes or watch the first and second-years getting roped up into playing Gobstones in the common room by the older students, filling it with the putrid smell of its foul liquid. You just enjoy being outdoors more. Which is why Herbology is somewhat fun, even if you and Javi prefer to pass time by betting on who can stick their finger closest to a Chinese Chomping Cabbage, earning a scornful side glance from Leander Prewett.

You promised Samantha Dale and Nellie Oggspire to work on the assigned group project for the essay on Ghouls for DADA during your free period, but when you’re about to set out to the Great Hall to grab a few snacks before going through the list of books you’ll need from the library, Professor Garlick appears before you suddenly as though sprouting from the ground like a flower.

“Oh, delightful, my dear, there you are!” she beams. Small brown parcels flutter around her head like butterflies. “Here is the delivery for Mr. Ollivander, if you’d be so kind and bring them to him now.”

Just in case, you look behind you. Nobody there on the stairs leading up to the central hall. Even Javi has made himself scarce already. She really is talking to you.

“Why me, Professor?” Someone must have hit you with Obliviate. You can’t remember having agreed to any favour for her.

“Oh? Frederick Gustave told me you would offer! Quite an attentive, nice boy! He will grow into a splendid Ravenclaw student one day!” Frederick Gustave? In Ravenclaw? You don’t know anyone called Frederick or Gustave or—the thought strikes you like lightning. Freddy, Fred or August. “All you need to do is bring these little parcels to Mr. Ollivander in Hogsmeade. These are magically nourished woods he has requested, and I am quite eager to see the results for myself.”

With a flick of her wand the parcels change course and begin to circle around your head before you can even begin to explain that this is a huge misunderstanding. She pats your cheek affectionately and twirls around, descending the stairs back to her flowery domain.

Javi is waiting for you at the top of the stairs, ignoring your scowl as he whistles the tune of The School of Jolly Dogs. His face lights up. “Since you’re heading to Hogsmeade, can you bring me some white Chocolate Frogs? Mine hopped out of the window last night because Arty forgot to close it.”

You answer with a rude hand gesture and stomp out of the hall, heading for where you keep your brooms stashed in the Hufflepuff locker room.

~ ⋆｡°✩ ~

The flight to Hogsmeade takes longer than usual. Every time you move too fast, the parcels begin to cry and whine like little abandoned ducklings until they catch up to you. Other than that, it is a beautiful morning as the sun keeps dipping in and out between wispy smears of clouds on the wide blue canvas. The tiny, homey town is alive with witches and wizards scurrying around to get their errands done. The novelty and excitement from visiting Hogsmeade in your third-year has worn off after two years, but it’s still a nice change from the dark school corridors and unending spiralling stair cases.

You leave your broom leaning next to the entrance of Mr. Ollivander’s shop. This shouldn’t take more than five minutes, darting in and out; you’re pretty sure you’ll be quicker than a Niffler digging through a pile of Galleons.

The door swings open easily. It has been five years since you last set foot into the small, cramped shop, yet nothing has changed and suddenly you feel as though you’re eleven again, entering for the first time. It smells of polished wood and something burnt underneath like a misplaced Incendio. Nearly every wall is stacked high with countless wands up to the ceiling, waiting to choose their witch or wizard. Back then you felt very small as a first year, anxious and excited to finally attend Hogwarts and get your own wand—the very first object that truly belonged to you and was not one of your older sisters’ hand-me-downs.

From the back of the shop you hear heavy knocks and a shrill screeching sound that makes you want to put your hands to your ears. Just like five years ago, you reach for the bronze bell on the counter but before your fingers can touch it, it lifts on its own and jingles beautifully. The knocking immediately stops, followed by a last dull clatter and then Mr. Ollivander emerges from the back room, dusting himself off.

He looks at you over the rim of his golden glasses, and a small smile spreads on his face as recognition dawns. The wide counter flap squeaks open when he swishes his wand to step through.

“Ah, the Hawthorn girl,” he says in greeting, quickly closing the space between you and taking your hands in his; you feel every wrinkle against your palm, every patch of rough skin from decades of work as he squeezes your hands. “I have hoped that I would see you soon.”

The question mark must be evident on your face, for Mr. Ollivander explains, “I remember every student and wand I paired, and you my dear, I remember the day five years ago when you came to my shop and your wand found you. Spiral, twelve inches, and a phoenix feather core. Unyielding. But what makes your wand so special is the wood it is made of. Hawthorn makes such a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death.” He chuckles to himself, blinking as if lost in a memory; not noticing how tense you are and the way your uneasy smile curls downward. As though you could forget what the hawthorn means. But instead of allowing your mother’s voice inside your head and poisoning your heart, you square your shoulders and pull your hands away from Mr. Ollivander’s grasp.

“Delivery from Professor Garlick,” you say with a faux cheery voice. It seems only then does Mr. Ollivander notice the parcels still fluttering around your head.

“Ah, yes, yes! Allow me.” He points his wand at the parcels, then to his back room and they float through the shop in rank and file, all in proper order. “And here of course, the payment.” Mr. Ollivander hurries behind the counter, and produces a heavy pouch that he hands over to you. It jangles handsomely when you take it from him.

“Well then, I wish you a nice da—”

“Tell me, dear, have you met him?”

Feet already pointed towards the entrance, you turn your body halfway back. “Met who, sir?”

Mr. Ollivander looks up from the account books he’s been writing in. Something glints in his eyes, but maybe it’s just the reflection on his glasses. “Why, the Blackthorn boy of course.”

You rack your brain for anyone you know who’s called Blackthorn but come up empty. “I’m afraid I have not made any acquaintance like that, sir.”

The wandmaker’s eyes are calm, a sparkling blue of sunlight lancing off a stream. “I see,” he says. “Well, my part of this was fulfilled when I matched your wants with you. Everything else is up to you.” He gives you a little secret smile, then goes back to his ledger, the conversation clearly over even though you have dozens of questions swirling in your head.

Back out on Lower High Street, you have been released of the fluttering parcels and instead Mr. Ollivander’s words torment your mind. You can feel a memory hiding behind a thick fog, blurry and barely visible but its presence heavy and lurking like a ghost.

Wasn’t there something he had told you five years ago? When he had presented your wand to you, still resting in its narrow satin casket. You were too excited to pay him any mind—it had sounded too much like one of your mother’s stories; like an augury or worse even, a prophecy—when he had told you about a cursed kingdom, two brothers, and a hawthorn and blackthorn tree. Why listen to old fairy tales when the real adventure—Hogwarts—was waiting for you?

Besides, if by ‘Blackthorn boy’ he meant someone with a blackthorn wand, finding that person would be nearly impossible. And why would you look for him in the first place? Superstitions and divinations have no place in your life. Not after how it had dictated your childhood with a cold iron fist.

The trip back to Hogwarts is significantly faster without having to look after enchanted parcels behaving like newborn Fwoopers. With what happened at Mr. Ollivander’s, you completely forgot to drop by Honeydukes for Javi, which makes him look like a kicked puppy for the rest of the day.

You manage to start your essay for the group project, although you don’t get nowhere near where you wanted to be before the match. Lunch is a blur of tasty shepherd’s pie and grilled mushroom skewers with a small handful of students passing where you sit to wish you good luck, pattung your shoulder hard enough you almost choke on your pumpkin juice. Others send you little notes with crude drawings showing St. Jude zapping you with a spell and losing tonight’s duel. The messages are charmed to head dive into your cup and plate, splattering mashed potatoes on your uniform.

Adeleide plucks a nervously flapping piece of paper out of your meal and unfolds it. “At least they’re creative,” she notices mildly.

You throw a wary glance at the note. “That doesn’t even look like me.”

“I don’t know.” Javi slurps loudly from his cup. “They got your scowl right.”

Double Potions after lunch flies by for a change. Your Wiggenweld Potion tends to be a tad bluer than Professor Sharp’s apple green concoction bubbling at the front table for reference, but you have a hard time focusing when your mind is already occupied with how tonight’s duel might go.

You have a handful favourite spells that you’ve practised long enough they come as easy to you as breathing. But from what you have seen during the last Crossed Wands duels where St. Jude has participated, he seems to have a natural gift for duelling. You’ve heard he competed alongside Sallow in his first duel, but every after he’s been on his own and you’ve seen the battered and bruised leftover competitors limping out of the Clock Tower. You don’t plan to follow in their footsteps.

When evening falls on the castle and the long, narrow corridors awake with dim candlelight, you follow the throng of hooded students hurrying towards the Clock Tower after dinner. The excitement ripples through the lines of people like a physical force, alive and rearing when the first students file into the Clock Tower and find a seat close to the walls and away from accidental stray spells.

You spot Lucan Brattleby surrounded by a handful Hufflepuff and Slytherin students. Javi is among them, and when you draw closer you notice the ledger in Lucan’s hand and the Sickles being passed between him and Javi.

Javi startles when you step next to him like a Mooncalf facing an oncoming card. “Hiya,” he says in the very familiar voice that sounds a lot like him hoping you won’t be mad.

You raise an eyebrow. “Placing bets?” Your eyes linger on the page as you scan the names on the chart on your side. Only a few names—Leander, who’s been especially snappy since he lost against St. Jude in the semifinals, a handful other Gryffindors, one or two Ravenclaws and the rest are students from your house. On St. Jude’s column, Lucan has started to write the names as tiny as possible to fit them all on the page. Javi’s is amongst them. He ducks away from your scrutinising gaze. “He slew a fully-grown troll last week!” he pleads his case. So much for the infamous Hufflepuff loyalty. “I’ll invite you to Honyedukes after and pay whatever you want from the win.”

“Whatever.” You turn away to get ready, walking into a hard, solid body.

Callum St. Jude steadies you before you can stumble. “Easy there.” His smile slices white. “Am I already sweeping you off your feet? We haven’t even started yet.”

You shrug his hand off your arm. “The only sweeping happening today is when I wipe the floor with you, St. Jude.”

He hums thoughtfully. “We’ll see.”

You stare daggers at his back as he retreats to his side of the hall, welcomed by other Slytherin students who pat his back and ruffle his unruly jet-black hair as though he is the fifth year’s Champion already. He doesn’t linger around them for too long, and instead retreats to a far corner where Sallow is already waiting for him. What an annoying duo.

Tugging your black robe off, you begin to stretch your limbs. For today’s occasions you’ve chosen to wear a simple shirt with ribbon uniform tucked into your plaid trousers. More mobility, less fabric flapping around. A tie or a blazer would allow too much surface for a nasty Accio. From the last duels you’ve watched, you know St. Jude is as sharp as a whip, and he uses everything in his so far meagre arsenal of spells to win.

You’ll need to keep all your wits about you. If he, and the majority assembled under the giant swinging pendulum today, underestimate you, it will be your pleasure to remind them what vicious creatures badgers are. And that they devour snakes.

When you turn, St. Jude is already standing ready, his wand raised. He’s shrugged out of his robes as well and pulled off his tie, following your example. Gone is the hint of the cocky smile he always wears, so infuriating and inviting to punch. Now he is serious, his face an impassive mask that betrays nothing but you have seen it change within a heartbeat before knocking an opponent out with a savage blast of his wand. Like a snake, waiting and watching, until it strikes viciously and sinks its venomous fangs into your skin.

“Attention!” Lucan Brattleby hops in the centre, his arms raised. “Wizards and witches! Welcome to the fifth year’s Crossed Wands Championship Round!” He lets the audience get the whistling and bellowing out of their system before he introduces both parties. “Competitors, let’s get started!”

He quickly dashes out of the way—rightly so, for St. Jude’s opening move is always a lightning-quick Levioso, just like Professor Hecat taught him. You dodge the spell and hear it disperse against the wall behind you, feeling the sparks nip your skin.

“Accio!” You whip your wand towards you, only able to catch St. Jude by the cuff of his white sleeve as he evades with a side-step. But it’s enough to unbalance him as his arm is pulled in your direction and he retaliates by using the moment to blast a few Basic Casts your way which you block by well-timed Protegos.

The crowd’s cheers disappears into background noise as you and St. Jude continue your tense dance of attack and parry; a step forward, another step back, his Incendio is answered by your Glacius; since he prefers fire you do him the pleasure of casting Confringo which forces him to dive to the side. Your spell blasts the wooden weapon rack behind him into splinters and pieces, showering the Slytherins sitting beside it with glowing embers.

“Come on, new guy, give her a proper Slytherin treatment!” one of them yells. St. Jude doesn’t let himself get distracted, not even by the instructions of his fellow housemates or the quips from your side of the room. His eyes are pinning you like a butterfly on a corkboard, following your every step. They are frighteningly bright, you have the feeling that no move will go past him.

From behind you, you pull a large crate from under the buttocks of two Gryffindors with Accio, ignoring their protests when in the last second you fling it bodily towards St. Jude with Depulso. You’ve been working on the right timing for this for a long time—people usually don’t expect to be thrown at with things instead of spells. It hurls through the hall, and to your utter astonishment St. Jude blocks it in the last second with a flying object of his own—a practice dummy.

But where was the spell? You didn’t see him cast one when he hurled that dummy through the air.

At your puzzled expression, St. Jude grins at you, his smile so sudden and jarring as a thunderclap. You narrow your eyes. There’s something growing in the pit of your stomach, rearing its ugly head and snapping sharp, volatile teeth. Basic Casts don’t feel enough, and every vicious Diffindo St. Jude parries or dodges in the last moment. His retaliation is a fiery Incendio after Incendio—you’d think after this time one of you would grow weaker, lose focus, but the heat flaring your way and the flames licking up your uniform feel anything but harmless or tame.

Sweat runs down your temples, along your cheeks, down your neck. Your wand feels hot in your hand, but you grip it tighter, knuckles white. Your lungs feel tight in your chest, but you breathe in stronger, eyes wide. That rage that always lives inside you rears. It is an almost physical pain, like nails against flesh; like teeth against bars. That unwanted animal is starving, it wants nothing more than to get out and you’re surprised nobody else can hear it howling.

“Not as quick or cunning as that Sallow boy, but her spells pack a mean punch,” they say about you. You couldn’t best Sallow, and now there is this new contender and you refuse, refuse to slide down to number three; always coming in last, always pushed aside. You snarl at St. Jude as though trying to wrap your teeth around the world.

The air crackles with magic. Faintly, you hear an echo of a familiar voice. “Do not be surprised at your wand’s ability to perceive your intentions—particularly in a moment of need.”

It seems your wand shares your taste for violence—you can feel that this is the best Expulso you have executed since you taught yourself the spell in year four. You swing your arm, wand scorching hot in your hand—vibrating even—and hurl the Blasting Spell at St. Jude.

You can see his mouth move as he speaks a spell, blue sparks fly from the tip of his wand and then crackling lightning intercepts your attack. Through the sparks and bolts you see St. Jude’s puzzled expression—now is the chance to strike. A surprised opponent is a weak opponent; you swing your arm back—your arm is stuck.

From the tip of your wand a wiry crimson light crackles across the room, connected to St. Jude’s wand. When you try pulling back again, an invisible force lurches you forward, forcing your arm up until the thin light grows stronger, redder like spilt blood. Your arm shakes with the feeling of wrongness crawling up your arm, a kernel of god-awful flavour that has you biting your bottom lip. You feel an awareness. No. More than awareness, more sentient than that. It is recognition.

The point of your wand, shining a blazing white, shakes with the effort of you trying to pull back; shakes from whatever magic is transpiring between you two. On the other side, St. Jude has his free hand around his other wrist, trying to lower his wand, his face as white as a wall. To no avail.

The magic spreading from your wand through your body is like curious, warm fingers touching up along your arm, curling around your shoulder, settling against your cheek. They wander lower and splay across your chest, then sink through your ribs. Close around your heart. Squeeze.

The world explodes.

The magical blast sends you flying. Your teeth clang together as you slam on your back. Pain radiates through your body. Black dots dance before your eyes and blur your vision as you’re struggling for air.

A hushed silence has settled inside the Clock Tower. You shake your head, your free hand rising to your chest where you still feel a sharp twinge. Gingerly, you pick yourself up, carefully feeling for injuries. The whole room is a mess as though a wild Graphorn has ravaged inside and destroyed most of the furnishings. When your eyes lock with St. Jude’s across the room, your heart beats in your throat, making it hard to breathe.

Mirroring you, one hand is pressed against his chest, the other holds his wand in a vice-grip as though his life depends on it. You see him shudder helplessly, as if it were winter and he has gone outside without gloves and caught a terrible chill. His eyes meet yours, then drop to your wand. His lips mouth a single word, and you stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreading slowly through your limbs.

And all of a sudden, you remember very clearly one thing Mr. Ollivander had told you all those years ago.

Once your paths cross, your fates will be irrevocably connected, growing together like the roots of old trees. Your wands have come from the same seed. There is no doubt that you fill find him.

Your Blackthorn boy.

A/N: If anyone is interested in this story, I can make a taglist :) Would also appreciate any sort of feedback, or just hitting the little heart so show me you enjoyed it

[dirtymist]

▄

Upon standing within one meter of the perilous figure, Val was able to anatomize his appearance. The man was short, though taller than Val, with unkempt black hair. He regarded Val with slitted green eyes and furrowed brows. Although Val Dei did not sense any hostility, the currents of reiatsu emanating from the man were intimidating in their intensity.

Ulquiorra Cifer—Val recognized the name, although he couldn't connect it with a specific face. This man was likely telling the truth, as there were only two other Espada whose appearances he did not recognize, and their descriptions hardly resembled the man before him.

"…Lord Ulquiorra. I believe this marks our first encounter. I am Val Dei Omar, Arrancar Diecenueve."

Val's words echoed oddly, as if they were being spoken through a vase. A more detailed examination would reveal that his voice was not produced by vocal cords, but instead by an augmented whistle. This whistle lingered longer than his spoken words, creating an unusual punctuation within his speech. His expressions also seemed augmented, not as though they were meant to conceal, but as if movement at all was unnatural for the Orange haired man.

"I am not new to Los Noches; however, I am quite lost. Would you happen to know the location of the nearest arterial hall?"

Val retracted the majority of his mist into himself. Although Ulquiorra was unaware of Val's abilities, he was concerned about making a poor impression. What criteria would the Cuarta Espada use to define a good impression? Val Dei had no idea, but he was certain that it did not involve itchy black mist gumming up his nostrils

▄

"Hm. What a strange feeling.."

Ulquiorra could be found roaming around aimlessly within the halls of las noches. He had completed all of his tasks for the evening. He didn't understand why he was just walking around doing nothing instead of going back to his corridors.. he believed he was experiencing.. an emotion.. for the first time. Said emotion being boredom. He had never experienced this before, and it caught him greatly off guard.

"What do I even do about this?"

He asked to nobody in particular, hearing his own voice echo for miles.

[wallwriterstuff]

Our Dearest Moments ||Alec Volturi x Reader||

Warnings: None, this is nice and fluffy

Words: 2964

Summary: A request for @royalvolturisblog    Forever is a long time to live, an occasionally a little reflection upon who we are and how we got here is needed to maintain our sanity, and decided some very important answers to equally as important questions.

Sometimes, life is not all we expect it to be. Sometimes, life is cruel. Sometimes, life is disappointing. For me? I can safely say it’s none of these things. My life had always been easy, the best of everything and wanting for nothing. As doting as he was, my father had spoilt me rotten and never let me work hard for anything, never given me life skills that most normal people would need to live a functioning, adult existence. Why would I need them? Money was not a problem for my family nor would it ever be, so why go to the hassle of building a life where a nine to five job sapped the life from me when I could, quite sustainably, simply enjoy my life to its fullest at my loving father’s expense? Why make your child work if there was no need? I would not settle for a subpar life as nothing in my life had ever been less than luxurious.

That was my life in a nutshell. It was flat screen TVs in a ginormous bedroom which would have fit some people’s houses inside it, four poster beds and every new games console, every makeup palette fresh off the manufacturers line and vacations to the most remote and lavish corners of the Earth. I never even had to ask for some of it, my father simply expected I would want things and provided them without request – as those of guilt soul are wont to do.

“Well? What do you say?” Alec asked, his lips pressing the gentlest of kisses against my shoulder. I hummed, leaning back against him.

“Forgive me, I was hardly listening to a word you said, my mind is…elsewhere.” I admitted. Alec squeezed my hips, arms widening around my waist to tighten his hold on me.

“You’re ignoring me now? How very rude. I thought we were passed this.” He chided, though his tone was more playful than scolding.

“Call it introspection.” I sighed. Alec chuckled.

“Introspection? Now that sounds dangerous. I happen to like you as you are, if you haven’t noticed.” He teased, pressing a kiss to my temple. I turned in his arms with a smile. He stood a little taller than I did but I didn’t mind; it always gave me the best angle of the soft curve of his jawline, the fullness of his lips that didn’t like to stray from my own for too long. It also gave me the perfect excuse to nestle my head against his collarbone, escape those all seeing crimson eyes of his. Alec had seen right through me from the very start.

“I happen to know, you inform me every day…you sap.” I smiled a little as he lifted a hand to play with my hair.

“Then why decide to be introspective? What is there to reflect on? What would you wish to change?” he questioned.

“I already have changed,” I pointed out, lifting my hand to play with his coven crest, “I actually work for a living now.” Alec actually laughed at that, pulling back to feign shock.

“You? Spoilt? I would never have guessed.” he teased. He wasn’t wrong. Even now my room was lavish, silks and fine fabrics and luxuries filling every corner, but at least this time I had worked for it. Being a part of the Volturi was a privilege in itself but it required hard work, it required proving your worth and working for the greater good of your species. It was rather odd, how I had turned my entire life philosophy around in the span of a few centuries. Maybe it was Alec, making me humbler and wiser. Perhaps I owed some of it to Vladimir and Stefan, who had taught me to fight for what I wanted rather than throw money at it. I could still remember that fateful day, though faces and names were murky now in my ‘old age’.

Samuel and Scott were two boys I had craved the presence of a lot in my human days, though I couldn’t honestly tell you why anymore. Perhaps it was the familiarity of money, or the comfort that came from knowing someone of your status and experience walked alongside you and understood your world view, but they were the closest friends I had for a long time. What was better than going on vacation with your friends at the closing of exam season? Rome had been beautiful, the sights enamouring and the food…I suppose it was okay – my tastebuds had changed since then. I could still vividly recall the kind of heat I wasn’t accustomed to back home, and the dazzling brightness of the sunlight that spotted my vision and made my ever blurry human memories seem even worse quality somehow. I also remembered laughter, and warmth, the kind of warmth that flooded your soul and felt like a good hug on the worst of days. It was strange, the things that stayed with you.

Then there was too much warmth. The process to immortalise one’s body came at the cost of burning the eternal soul till only a shell was left behind, petrified and cold. That was how Stefan put it at least in his usual, grim way. The memories of my time with them had most certainly been the most vivid, since I was very much a vampire by then and I could remember every little glance, every change in the tone of their voice. Those days….those days were full of anger. My doting father taken from me, my best friends none the wiser as to where I had gone and yet never once pleading on the news for my safe return as most others did for their loved ones. Through time and trial and error, Vladimir and Stefan had shown me that I had actually lost nothing in this life, only gained. I was stronger, swifter, better than any human version of myself could ever be.

Then came the gift.

It had been purely accidental at first. Another boy taken in by Stefan only to be turned (in what I would later find out was an attempt at raising a small army) was similarly gifted. He had the quite remarkable ability to make anything he touched smaller or larger, depending on what he wished it to look like, and unintentionally I had taken his gift to use for myself. He hadn’t stayed much longer after that, Vladimir and Stefan reluctant to let him part but allowing it – only because they knew the Volturi would send the Guard after an unruly newborn causing havoc. Why should they need him when they had me? They had been the ones to train my gift, an enhanced trait from my human life they had said – as I had taken what I wanted then I could do so now with startling efficiency. By the time Alec had arrived I had not truly gotten it under control, hence my confrontation with Jane.

It turns out the unruly newborn had been smarter than we thought, and the Masters’ had dispensed the Guard to see about this gifted vampire the Romanian’s had collected. At this point it had been months since we’d even seen the boy, years since Vladimir and Stefan had stolen me from Rome’s streets on one of their daring missions taking them close to Volturi territory. My gift had made me indispensable to them, though I like to believe that on some level they cared for me as a person, given all the gifts and birthday celebrations they had indulged in for me. There had been trips and movie nights all at my request, and affectionate gestures such as hugs and chaste kisses to my forehead that had lulled me into the false sense of security that I was where I ought to be.

“Your mind keeps wondering. I happen to be trying to ask you a very important question.” Alec was sounding a tad frustrated with me now and my eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m sorry, really, I just…do you ever have one of those days where you feel like you can’t escape thinking about the past? Thinking about the things that led you to this moment?” I sighed. It was perhaps a tad dramatic, perhaps even silly of me to be this distracted by such errant thoughts, but they wouldn’t leave me be. Alec stared at me for a long moment, and then he tucked a lock of stray hair behind my ear and swept me off of my feet to seat us on the sofa before our fireplace. Draped across his lap as I was, he had made me his sole focus and gave me his undivided attention now.

“I can’t say I do, so explain it to me. What are you thinking of in particular?” he questioned. My head tilted slightly, the briefest of smiles tugging at my lips.

“Demetri fixing up his nose the day we met.” I giggled. Alec snorted, eyes rolling.

“Vladimir did hit him rather hard.” He agreed. The commotion hadn’t much bothered me, my head buried too deep in my book to really be bothered by such trivial things, but then he had screamed. It was a blood-curdling kind of scream, the sort you heard in slasher movies when the victim is disposed of. It was the first time I had seen Jane’s gift in action, and the only time since I had stolen it. I had only meant to shove the menacing little blonde away from the man I had grown to see as a second father, only to accidentally set her own gift on her. She had crumpled like a straw doll, screaming all the while, and anyone else who came at me went down the same way.

Felix, Demetri and Jane just writhed on the stone floor while I tried and failed to keep Alec at bay, the mate bond I had unknowingly just set with him the moment we locked eyes preventing me from hurting him and vice versa. His mist had danced at the edges of my feet as he gave me more warnings than I was sure was customary of a Guard with his reputation until I managed to calm the raging inferno in my own mind, and douse the flames in theirs.

“Then you misted me.” I recalled, scowling at him slightly. Alec looked amused.

“You were getting rather violent,” he pointed out, “I’d merely suggested an even trade, their lives for you accompanying us to Volterra, and poor Demetri lost his nose a second time that day.” I could still recall the crunch of his skin beneath my knuckles as I vowed to never let them take me anywhere, and now two centuries on I couldn’t bear the thought of being anywhere other than in Alec’s lap. His hand skimmed my arm as I dropped my head on his shoulder.

“You think he would forgive me for that by now.” I said. Alec chuckled and kissed my forehead.

“Not in a million years, his ego is more fragile than his nose.” He murmured against my skin. I hadn’t been happy for a very long time after that. Dragged away from my home against my will and told it was all for a mate bond I hadn’t been ready to accept. I was cruel, very cruel, and I called Alec all sorts of filthy names. Neither him nor Jane had ever really done me wrong, yet still I rarely addressed them as anything other than ‘witch’ or ‘terrors 1 and 2’. I spent the majority of my days avoiding as many people as I could really, though I found Marcus to be quite calming and consequently ended up with the Masters’ more often than not. It was with their encouragement I ended up confronting my two-arch nemesis, their gentle prodding that had led me into Alec’s arms in the end.

“God I’m sure your mother would weep if she could see you now!”

“She did! She wept and pleaded with the villagers tying us to the stake until they caved her head in with stones. How about yours?”

I cringed slightly, the memory as fresh as if it had been just yesterday. Jane had looked ready to roast me that day, while Alec had cut me down to size with his words. Their mother’s fate, their deaths, they were nothing such of tragic incidents that should never have occurred, not to these two. It had triggered a memory I had thought had faded as most other human memories had, though I could see no eyes in the soft, familiar features of my mother’s face given I couldn’t remember the colour of them. She had been reaching for me in my dreams for years, that single bloodied hand protruding from the wreckage of a car only I had escaped from haunted me to this day. How far I had strayed from the woman she would have wanted me to become.

“How could you forgive me?” I asked finally. Alec raised his eyebrows.

“For punching Demetri in the face? Quite easily. I found it entertaining.” He answered.

“Not for that! For…everything else. I was nothing short of difficult and downright cruel to you.” I reminded him. Alec tilted his head, quietly making a noise of understanding. It wasn’t so long ago Alec had asked me to marry him, at least, five years didn’t seem all that long for a vampire. He shifted till I was facing him, straddling his lap and chest to chest with our noses almost touching.

“I forgave you because I loved you, even then. I didn’t see cruelty, I saw hurt that never truly healed. Our scarred hearts were made for one another, even if you weren’t ready to accept it.” He murmured.

“But all those awful names I called you…” I sighed, closing my eyes as shame ate away at my insides. Alec chuckled.

“Some were quite inventive, I’ll give you that,” he said wryly, “Y/N…you replaced every bad memory with a good one. The time you gifted me that bookmark because you knew how much I loved to read? The memory of our first walk in the Garden’s together where you taught me all about gardening and when the best time of year to plant certain flowers was. Our first kiss, the first time you held my hand even. You made the effort to make it right.” He kissed my nose sweetly before capturing my lips with his. His every kiss had been intoxicating since our very first one, the sweet taste of his mouth on mine addictive, the way his lips moved a hypnotic dance I could forever get lost in performing with him over and over. When we parted I pressed my forehead to his.

“I do love you, you know.” I swore. Alec flashed me a smile.

“I know, you impossible little brat,” he teased, tugging my hair lightly, “Now will you please listen to what I’ve been so desperately trying to ask you all day now?” My eyes rolled, but I nodded.

“Make it worth my while, baby.” I teased.

“Don’t, you know I hate when you call me that,” he warned, though his lips twitched upwards, “Y/N, my impossibly stubborn, talented little beauty. I’ve never been in doubt you love me, and I hope I’ve never given you reason to doubt that I love you just as much. You challenge and enrage me daily, yet you are also my greatest comfort and strength when I need you to be. So stop being so bloody awkward and marry me already!”

“That wasn’t a question.” I pointed out, eyebrows raising. Alec groaned exasperatedly, his head falling back against the back of the sofa. My head tilted slightly.

If my day of reflection had done anything, it was show me how far I had come. I was no longer the same spoiled little girl I had once been. I had become a protector of our kind, and my journey with Alec had humbled my tongue. I was perhaps wiser, far kinder. I had not felt worthy of the mantle before but seeing him beneath me now, my love so ardent in his affection and persistent in his showing of it, I realised I had no need to be afraid – I had proven my worth to Alec tenfold. Gripping his chin, I forced him to look at me. He looked rather frustrated.

“This is the modern era Alec,” I scolded, “I will never say yes to your proposal.”

“But-“

“Because you are going to be saying yes to mine. Marry me, Alec.” I didn’t ask, more stated it. I knew he wouldn’t say no. With another exasperated groan he shook his head.

“You do make me work for it don’t you? So long as I slip a ring on your finger I really don’t care who asks who. Fine, I’ll marry you.” He leaned in but I pressed a single finger to his lips, preventing him from kissing me. His eyebrows arched into his hairline, almost as if to say ‘what now?’.

“It’ll be a Winter wedding.” I decided. A brief smile flashed his lips upwards.

“Spring.” He retorted.

“And the bridesmaids will wear emerald green.” I continued.

“Peach.” He countered, his smile growing as I pulled my finger from his lips.

“Oh and I want diamonds Alec, they’re a girls best friend.” I grinned, our noses brushing now.

“You’ll get a cereal box ring and be happy with it for all the waiting you’ve made me do.” He huffed. I didn’t get to protest, not when he smothered my mouth with his own, both of us laughing as we let the past be and looked forward to our future instead.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 28

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 5.7k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act four ➻ part three

​​​​

“Mingi had an episode in the mess hall.”

“Captain–” Seonghwa swivels to call Hongjoong forward, but the captain has already stood up and made his way over to the door. He comes to a halt not far behind Seonghwa, eyes trained on San and no one else. There’s only silence for several moments, and you aren’t sure what to make of it until Hongjoong dares to speak.

“Lieutenant, I want the crew here in less than five minutes.”

“All the crew?” Seonghwa inquires. Hongjoong pauses, inhaling a breath so deep that you can see the way his chest puffs a bit.

“Minus Mingi,” he responds after a breath of hesitation. Seonghwa nods and steps around you, no doubt trying to get to the comms station outside. He pauses next to you though, and you shift to look at him at the same time that he glances down at you. His lips part, and words are on his tongue, yet they are words that never reach your ears because Hongjoong speaks again before he has the chance. “Seonghwa.”

The tone is firm enough to cause Seonghwa to move again, and he leaves your side to escape the room. It leaves you with the bitter taste of curiosity on the back of your tongue, wondering what he intended to say and what was on his mind for the past week and why he couldn’t at least visit you once.

“If it’s what you want, let’s do this once more. And if it’s time that you need, I can be as patient as you need me to be. Whatever it is you want this to be… whatever it is you need me to be… I’ll do it for you.”

Unless his definition of patience somehow became avoidance, you cannot figure out where this sudden change came from or why it’s happening. You have better and more important things to worry about for the time being though. Your woes surrounding Seonghwa will have to wait for another time because Hongjoong is clearing his throat again and look between you and San with expectant eyes. He somehow bears even darker circles than Seonghwa did, but even with the exhaustion on his features, he seems as awake and alert as ever.

“I’ll ask for a deeper explanation once the others are here but…” Hongjoong trails off, voice dying before he can finish the thought.

“Everyone is still in one piece, yes,” San finishes. His presumption must be accurate because Hongjoong fully exhales the breath he’s been holding in since before Seonghwa left.

“Anyone hurt?”

“Wooyoung sliced his hand open, but that was unrelated.” Hongjoong opens his mouth again less than a second later, but San beats him to it once more. “Mingi is okay as well, as is everyone else as far as I’m aware. When they left, that was the case.”

A whooshing sound echoes through the room, and Hongjoong stands up a bit straighter as Seonghwa steps back into the office, looking a bit more somber than before. You twist to watch him enter. He isn’t alone this time either; Jongho is the first to enter behind him, followed by Wooyoung and Yeosang, who has his hand wrapped tight around Wooyoung’s, and finally Yunho walks in with his head dipped to his chest. Seeing him in such a state of disarray is disconcerting, to say the least, and painful nonetheless. You can hardly look away from the blossoming bruises over his neck, ones that are splotchy and red right now.

Hongjoong doesn’t wait for everyone to file in and line up before unleashing his barrage of questions, but his impatience doesn’t surprise you in the slightest.

“What happened? What was the trigger? How long did it take to get under control? Did you have to use force to stop him, or was he able to overcome it on his own?”

No one responds right away. You can’t recall a time when the air has ever been so still and quiet. It would be disconcerting if you did not know the reason behind it, but that much is obvious considering what went down in the mess hall less than two hours ago. Then Wooyoung starts speaking, or at least tries to when –

“I triggered him,” Yunho cuts in, lifting his head for the first time and looking Hongjoong directly in the eye. “I brought up – I mentioned Kebos on accident.” Wooyoung’s eyes grow to an impossible width, and he seems to be half a breath from countering Yunho’s false confession, but yet again, the taller man doesn’t give him a chance. “And I panicked a bit too much without realizing how it would affect him. It trigg – I triggered the episode.”

“You know better, Yunho,” Hongjoong replies, tone barely above a whisper. It holds no contempt or anger; frankly, all you can hear is the interlacing confusion in his words, as though he can’t believe that Yunho of all people would make such a mistake. He wouldn’t be wrong to think so in any case, but it’s still something you don’t understand in the slightest. Yunho swallows around nothing, and his tongue darts out to moisten his thin lips before retreating back into his mouth.

“I messed up.” Yunho drops his eyes to the floor. His shoulders begin to sag bit by bit, and you aren’t even sure he’s doing it intentionally with the pace his body moves at. Jongho takes the chances to divert the subject, stepping forward just enough to draw Hongjoong’s attention off Yunho.

“It didn’t take more than ten minutes to get everything under control. He didn’t have a bad episode. I would say it was a more mild one, but he did hurt Yunho in the process. No force needed to stop him; however, I was able to talk him down and bring him back in one piece.”

Hongjoong releases a deep sigh, bringing a hand up to rub at his forehead, then he turns on his heel and moves back towards his desk. Seonghwa is quick to follow; he steps around you and San to draw closer to the captain. His hand ghosts over your back as he goes, and for a moment, you think you imagined the sensation, but Seonghwa confirms its presence when he glances back at you.

“How is Wooyoung’s injury?” Hongjoong inquires after a long bout of silence.

“Recovering. He’ll be fine: more shaken up than anything else. It caught him – all of us off-guard,” Yunho explains. He doesn’t lift his gaze from the floor. The way his shoulders slump forward is a clear sign of his guilt towards the situation, but he opts not to voice any further grievances or explanations. Hongjoong hums in reply before shifting his gaze to Jongho.

“And how is Mingi?”

“Upset. He says I should have used a gun and ended it there. I talked him down from a worse episode than this one though, so… baby steps.”

“Baby steps,” Hongjoong echoes, lips barely moving.

“Progress is progress, Captain,” Jongho speaks up again, tone a bit louder than before. “That’s better than nothing.”

“You’re right… Could’ve afforded faster progress though, but I suppose we don’t have a say in that matter.”

“We should discuss the mission,” Seonghwa whispers when silence envelops the room again. “While everyone is present.”

“Right, yes, the mission. The plan is –” Hongjoong slips around the backside of his desk, motioning down at the mess of papers atop it “–information gathering. That’s all. We’ve been going back and forth on what the plan would be exactly for the past week, and the agreem–conclusion was that it’s best to gather intel where we can and leave.” Hongjoong seems to want to say something more. His gaze flits over to where Seonghwa now stands close to his desk, but he doesn’t add to his thoughts, merely sending a somewhat annoyed stare at the back of his lieutenant’s head.

“We will have a lot more luck if that’s the case,” Seonghwa says without looking back at Hongjoong. “Gathering the intel and leaving the planet before the military can sniff us out, or before something worse happens.” You know Seonghwa is looking to you for some sort of reaction to the mention of the military, but you manage to conceal your expression long enough for his gaze to pass onto someone else.

“I have settled an agreement with Vladimir. We will be meeting in three days to discuss my questions and the information I’m after, and once our conversation comes to a close, he will name his price. The meeting place is at the arena during one of his matches.”

“Isn’t that a bit…?” San cuts it but trails off before he can finish the thought. The hesitation makes sense, as does the confusion about the situation. You can’t imagine Hongjoong would easily agree to such a dangerous agreement. Should Vladimir request something Hongjoong doesn’t want to give, then what? Would he ask for a Siren? Information about them? Maybe he would just ask for you and be done with it because of the bounty on your head. Or perhaps he would opt to take all of you and collect a lifetime’s worth of money. There are too many ‘if’s and ‘maybe’s. The lack of certainties in this plan already is concerning, to say the least.

“We have worked a few things out through our previous chats. Monetary compensation only, and nothing else.” Hongjoong dispels your concerns in an instant with those words, and you find yourself exhaling a breath of relief. San’s eyes dart over to you, concern glistening over his dark orbs before he returns to staring forward. “Seonghwa and Yeosang will be at my side throughout the whole meeting. I will not be allowed to keep an earpiece or a wristband on my being throughout the meeting, but both Seonghwa and Yeosang will have them. Seonghwa will serve as a broadcast for the conversation, and you all will be able to hear every word being said. It is also a failsafe in the event that… and we hope this won’t be an issue, but a failsafe for if things turn south. Understand so far?”

A myriad of nods and murmurs of approval greet Hongjoong, his eyes shifting from person to person until he reaches Seonghwa.

“Good, now — we will also have a right-wing team. Since this meeting is happening inside the arena, we will need teams to move through both wings of the stadium. The right team will consist of Yunho, Wooyoung, and Y/N.” The plans for that haven’t changed in the past week, but the way Seonghwa presses his lips tighter together is more than enough evidence to tell you that it was a lost battle on his part. He isn’t the first to protest the arrangement though – it’s Yeosang who steps forward, arm pulling away from Wooyoung’s as he draws closer to Hongjoong.

“That team doesn’t have a strong enough defense. If something were to happen, they would be at a tactical disadvantage. And you know that I do–”

“Hear the rest of the plan first, Yeosang,” Hongjoong counters. “You’ll understand the logic behind it once I finish.” Yeosang’s lips fall shut, teeth almost clattering together as he snaps them together, and he lets Wooyoung tug his sleeve to pull him back to his original place. “As I was saying, the right-wing team will consist of those three with the main purpose of being scouts. Just meant to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary, whether that be soldiers, snipers, or generally suspicious things. Now, for the left team, the purpose will be similar but not the same. Jongho, you’ll lead the team. San and Mingi will follow.”

What follows is a jumbled mess of words that makes little sense in your mind, but you manage to pick out a few words here and there.

“Mingi?”

“Hongjoong, that’s–”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Quiet,” Hongjoong orders, lifting one hand above his head just a bit. Silence falls over the room without hesitation, and all the voices die into nothingness as Hongjoong lifts his chin to stare out over his crew. “I am well aware that there are many concerns to take into account in this decision. It is not set in stone yet, and most certainly not something I’m confident in doing knowing that he had an episode not too long ago–”

“Yeah, not too long ago as in less than two hours ago!” Jongho snaps. Hongjoong meets his fiery gaze with one that contains equal heat, barely flinching as the Berserker hurls the words his way.

“You know better than anyone what the risks are, Jongho. As does Yunho. So enlighten us a bit, and explain what those risks are.” Hongjoong clenches his fists against the desk. Jongho doesn’t answer right away; his lips stutter and mouth meaningless words that never reach the air. The captain turns to Yunho next, eyes searching and demanding an answer that still doesn’t come. “If it can be avoided, I would like to know. But leaving Mingi on the ship alone is the last thing I want to do.”

“Then let me stay behind with him,” Yunho insists, but the words hold no confidence or certainty.

“That’s not an option, Yunho. We have to have a right-wing team, and I cannot send Wooyoung and Y/N alone.”

“Scrap the left team and keep me on the ship with Mingi then!” Jongho takes a quick step forward. For a second, his red eyes flash with a barely contained rage, and out the corner of your eye, you see Seonghwa discreetly lower a hand to the holster residing on his right thigh. “San and Y/N can take the left-wing, and Yunho and Wooyoung can take the right.”

“Oh? And leave Yunho and Wooyoung without any defense whatsoever? How is that a good plan, Jongho?” Hongjoong chastises. Jongho seems to at least see the logic in those words, shoulders losing some of their tension as he withdraws from Hongjoong’s desk a bit.

“There are too many… I don’t even know where to begin with the list of bad things that could happen if you bring Mingi into that arena,” he murmurs with his gaze glued to the floor.

“Risks! Then what are the damn risks?” Hongjoong slams a fist against the table, eyes narrowing on Yunho and Jongho where they stand near your side. Yunho purses his lips and shakes his head, an evident lack of knowledge concerning what Hongjoong asks. Jongho, however, avoids Hongjoong’s stare like it’s a plague spread by sight. “Jongho, give me an answer. Best case scenario?”

“Best case scenario is that Mingi goes fucking psycho,” Jongho relents, giving an answer to Hongjoong’s desperate questions at last. “And I somehow manage to quell him before something worse happens.”

“And worst?”

“Worst is that he goes fucking psycho and kills me, which means the none of you have a way to stop him without killing him.”

The odds aren’t pretty in the slightest. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. Hongjoong doesn’t seem to be backing down though; he still seems adamant about bringing Mingi along despite the risks. The captain sinks to his chair without a word, hands pressed hard against his temples.

“Yunho, give me something. Anything.” Hongjoong’s tone is nothing short of desperate. On your left, Seonghwa grinds his teeth together and avoids looking at Hongjoong.

“I have an… idea,” Yunho starts, tone barely above a whisper. It isn’t hard to see that he’s hesitant and nervous about whatever it is he’s thinking. Again, you find yourself wallowing in shock. First, Hongjoong’s brash and bold facade falling away, and now Yunho’s arrogant and know-it-all attitude?

“Yunho.” Desperation doesn’t sound pretty falling from Hongjoong’s lips. You’ve decided that much.

“I don’t think I could carry it out in good conscience. It’s a bit – well, it’s unethical.”

“Jeong Yunho, I could care less about ethics right now. But if you don’t hurry up and spit it out, I will have no qualms with putting your head through a wall.” The threat falls on deaf ears, and Yunho doesn’t seem daunted by Hongjoong’s words in the slightest. Still, he heaves a deep breath and continues to speak.

“There’s a way to, uh, accelerate a hard reset. I’ve been looking into it over the past few days since Y/N told me what the military did to her. According to my research, the military uses a serum – injected into the arm once – then sends several electric pulses to the brain. They often add a narcotic given orally so that the patient doesn’t feel any pain throughout the process.” Yunho’s gaze shifts over to you. “It effectively wipes the memory of the patient.” The gleam in his eyes is almost expectant, like he’s waiting for you to have some sort of reaction. And you do.

Strong arms yanking you forward, fingers closed around your bicep. Weak cries for help and attempts to pull away. A cold chair against your back, then the touch of rough leather straps coming over your wrists and ankles. Writhing and kicking to get out of the chair, only to be hit across the temple with a sharp jab. A stab of a needle, a syringe going into your skin, a strange blue liquid being pushed into you. Warmth, then the feeling of your blood turning to ice. Your mouth forced open and something being shoved deep inside. Red. So much red. Hands coming down on your head. Then – nothing.

You don’t realize what’s going on around you until several sets of eyes snap to focus on you. Frankly, you think that you’re handling the trauma quite well. Still on your feet, at least even if you can’t think thanks to the rush of blood in your ears. You imagine that you even manage a tight-lipped smile in Yunho’s direction – an assurance that you are just fine. That was a minor miscalculation, as it turns out, and all of a sudden, San’s hand is on the back of your neck, cradling your head when your knees buckle and you nearly fall to the ground. It’s embarrassing more than anything else, especially with the heat of Hongjoong’s stare on you and your determination to not be weak in front of him. You seem to be proving anything but the fact that you’re strong.

San’s touch is too much. It sears your skin, fills your head and overwhelms you in seconds, and you do hit the ground this time, although it only consists of your knees hitting the metal underneath you. San chases you, hands seeking purchase on your waist and shoulder, but you swat the offending limbs away before he can touch you. It reminds you too much of that dark room, the hands closing around your temples, and the cold liquid filling your veins until you could feel nothing else. The memory that has been buried for years and years coming forward again, stronger than ever before. Your head feels as though it’s being split open with a dull knife, but you can’t even manage to cry out from the pain.

“I’m fine,” you hiss out between gritted teeth. San’s hands remain close though, ready to make contact if need be. Seonghwa has angled his body in your direction, and his brows are so closely knit that you can hardly see the skin between them. He doesn’t move though, staying as far away as he is without making any effort to come closer. Hongjoong barely bats a lash in your direction.

“Will he have a similar reaction?”

Yunho’s gaze flits between you and Hongjoong, mouth hanging open and failing to produce words for what feels like hours.

“H-He – possibly. Yes, he might,” he manages after some time. “In the event we discuss it. I… Y/N went years without remembering what happened, though. He could remember nothing depending on how effective the process is.”

“How quickly can you complete the procedure?” Hongjoong’s tone has grown cold and emotionless, face as rigid as a statue. You would believe that he’s an Elitist at that moment if you didn’t know better.

“Hongjoong, you – you can’t be seriously considering this,” Seonghwa stammers.

“How long will it take, Healer?”

Yunho presses his lips together.

“I should be able to complete the procedure in no more than an hour. All Mingi needs to do is have ample time to recover physically. Maybe a day at most. I – I would need the serum they use. I can’t make it myself.”

“That can be arranged. We can find a source and dispatch a team to collect it within a day.”

“Hongjoong–”

“You can’t be serious about this,” Jongho growls, stepping forward once more, but this time he doesn’t stop until he hits the edge of the desk. His hand darts out and snatches the collar of Hongjoong’s shirt. Seonghwa lunges into action, hand gliding over the table before rising up to press against Jongho’s neck. There’s a glimmer of silver, and it’s only then when you notice the blade in Seonghwa’s hand, one that is digging into Jongho’s skin without relent.

“Yunho, we’ll have what you need within a day,” Hongjoong continues without so much as batting a lash at Jongho’s aggression. “You should be prepared to conduct the procedure day after tomorrow, and that will give you enough time to finish it and help Mingi recover for the mission the next day. You all are dismissed for the time being.”

No one moves despite the order. If Hongjoong is surprised or angered by that, he doesn’t let it show on his expression.

“If you do this, I won’t forgive you,” Jongho hisses. His knuckles go white from the pressure of his clenched fist.

“Don’t be mistaken, Jongho. I don’t need your forgiveness for anything I do.” Seonghwa’s hand twitches, and the blade drags over Jongho’s skin. A few droplets of blood glide down to the hilt of the knife. “Should my decisions upset you that deeply, then you are welcome to leave the crew as you see fit.”

Jongho jerks backward, hand falling down to his side, and from where you kneel on the ground, you can clearly see the anguish that paints his expression. His chest heaves a bit from the deep breaths he’s gasping in, but words fail him for several moments. The whole situation unfolding before you feels like a fever dream, something so surreal and confusing and painful, but somehow that only gets worse. You couldn’t describe the pain that blossoms in your chest when Jongho utters his next words if you wanted to; all you know is that it’s such a tangible pain that you feel it through your whole body.

“Then I’ll pack my things and be gone in the morning.” A startled and choked sob bursts from Wooyoung’s lips, and his hand reaches up to clap over his mouth just as quickly. He attempts to hide himself from view before anyone can see the evidence of his distress. It’s useless, of course, but no one is about to tell him that. Yeosang extends a silent offer of support, arms wrapping around Wooyoung’s waist and pulling him into a tight embrace as the other quietly cries against him. Hongjoong’s gaze flits over to watch the exchange.

“So be it.” Hongjoong’s words are tight, strained, and almost thick. However, he doesn’t try to stop Jongho, and when the Berserker turns around to leave the room, Hongjoong merely watches him go. Yunho rushes to follow the man out, calling out his name too late.

“Hong–” Seonghwa doesn’t get to finish his thought as the captain levels him with a glare so intense that you have to look away.

“Yeosang, San, and Y/N. Return tomorrow at seven in the morning. You’ll be the team going to get the serum for Yunho.” You push up to stand up straight once more, San’s hand lingering near your back in case you fall again.

“Understood, Captain,” Yeosang replies over Wooyoung’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything more than that; instead, he guides the man in his arms to the door with gentle hands and pushes. Once the door snaps shut behind them, the cracks in Hongjoong’s resolve begin to show. He exhales a staggered and shaky sigh, head dipping down until he stares at the wood under him with empty eyes.

“Don’t give me that look, San,” he mutters after a few seconds of stagnant silence.

“Sorry, Captain. I’m–” San inhales sharply and blinks up at the ceiling before he continues the thought “–You once told me that even when there seems to only be one way out, there is always another option. I hope you remember that.”

You move when San does, not wanting to stay in the room any longer than you have to, and neither Hongjoong or Seonghwa try to stop you from going. Stepping back onto the bridge is like breathing fresh air after being trapped inside for too long. There’s an immediate break in the tension, and reality seeps through your skin in that moment.

“He’s not… he’s not serious, is he?” You ask, tone so hushed that you aren’t sure San hears it at first. All San can do is release a dry laugh.

“Which one are you talking about?” You aren’t even sure that you could answer that. San tilts his head from side to side, releasing a small hum as he leads the way off the bridge. You fall into step with him without complaint, content with going wherever he goes as long as it’s away from Hongjoong’s quarters. “Jongho is dead serious. He would never let any harm come to Mingi, and if he had it in him, I’m sure he would go against Hongjoong’s orders. I think – I think he sees leaving as his only option. The only way he knows how to get Hongjoong to see reason and think straight, or… yeah. I think he’s being serious, but Hongjoong? Not at all. He’s not thinking straight, too little sleep obviously but also too caught up in something in his head. I’ve seen him like this before, making bad and irrational decisions out of desperation. He’ll get over it.”

“How long will that take?”

“Hopefully less than two days?”

“You don’t sound confident,” you say through a weak smile.

“I’m not.” San glances over at you, eyes glistening with an emotion you can’t read. However, you don’t have time to dwell on it or wonder what it is because he continues speaking without dwelling on the subject for long. “If this does work out the way Hongjoong wants it to, then we’ll be going on yet another dangerous mission, huh?”

“Not as dangerous as the last, I hope,” you murmur back.

“I fear that… more than I would like to admit. A repeat of what happened last time we were on an official mission. I don’t think I can go through that again.” San pauses, and his tongue darts out to drag over his lips. “Seeing you in the position again — t-that’s hard to think about. Any of the crew in that position for that matter.” You aren’t sure what compels you, but you reach down to catch hold of his hand, pulling it closer to you and lacing your fingers through his without saying anything for a few moments. When you do muster the strength to speak, your voice comes out as nothing more than a whisper.

“We’ll be more careful this time. Better prepared too.”

“Seonghwa must be rubbing off on you,” San chuckles. “You sound just like him.” The words catch your off-guard, and you pull your hand back in an instant thanks to the surprise. You don’t know what expression crosses your features, but San sees it and devolves into a small panic because of it. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t – I didn’t mean to overstep. If you–”

“No, no, it’s okay. I just w-wasn’t expecting that,” you interject, equally as rushed and frantic. It serves to calm San down some though, and that’s all you can ask for at this point in time. “You’re not overstepping.”

“Then would it be too much to ask if everything is alright between the two of you?” San’s question isn’t inherently nosey or prying, merely a genuine question about the state of your relationship with Seonghwa, but you aren’t even sure how to answer that yourself. It isn’t a relationship – a romantic one, that is – but it surely can’t be described as nothing more than a friendship or a work relationship because friends or coworkers don’t necessarily behave the way the two of you do. The lack of a label on it helped up until this point. Now you feel as though you’re swimming in a deep ocean with no life vest.

“We’re… on break?”

“Now look who doesn’t sound confident,” San teases. The smile that stretches his lips offers a moderate amount of comfort, and you find yourself returning it with one of your own without thinking.

“He’s patient and giving to a fault almost, and I — it makes me feel guilty because I can’t give the same in return. So… on break.”

“Hm, well, if I may be so bold as to offer some sort of advice?”

“Be as bold as you want, by all means.”

“In any type of relationship, there is give and take whether you are aware of it or not. You may not feel like you are giving as much as he is, but the guilt you feel towards it is more than enough to show that you aren’t intrinsically a bad person or someone who just wants to take. Some people show affection and love through giving. It’s hard not to want to give back in return, but at some point, it all becomes a matter of perspective. Receiving love, letting someone give you that, allowing yourself to accept those things – I guarantee that the other person sees that, appreciates it, and feels your affection through it. Especially when you’ve gone through things that would otherwise hinder your desire and ability to let people into your heart.” San’s gaze is almost too warm and soft on your skin, and chills go through your spine because of it despite the warmth.

“I-I… you’re t-too bold, Choi San,” you stutter as you try to wrangle your scrambling thoughts before they slip too far away from you.

“But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Which one?” San hums, moving to tap his chin, and you swing a fist at his arm. “Sorry, sorry! It was a joke! Please don’t hurt me!”

“As much as I hate to admit it: yes, you’re right. Those sorts of emotions are something I’ve never put much value or care into because of my line of work. When I did, it was something I didn’t value enough until they were gone. So I suppose that part of me doesn’t know how to do it right.”

“Well, is that something you would want one day? Someone – a person and a family or the like?”

“I’ve never thought about it that way.”

“Never seen people as a necessity? Moreso just constants in your life? Things that come and go without influence or intention?”

“Stop reading my mind,” you grumble, turning your cheek in the opposite direction so you don’t have to suffer looking at San’s everpresent grin. “Yes, I think I would like to have that someday. When this is all over, and I can rest without constantly looking over my shoulder or worrying that something bad might happen.”

“Hm, do you think that’s a possibility?” You barely notice that you and San have stopped moving. You’re suddenly standing still in the corridor, side by side but now facing each other head-on, and San continues peering at you with those same perceptive eyes.

“I think… I think I would only have that peace when I’m dead.” San’s smile falters and shifts into a pursed frown.

“You’ll find that peace one day, Y/N. I’m certain of it. Because if even I can be worthy and deserving of having that chance at happiness, then you can too.” His words almost put a spell over you, and you find yourself stuck to the spot, unable to budge even an inch. San reaches up and cups your face with his hands, letting his grin return and tug one side of his lips up. You follow the movements with your hands as well, not with the intent to pull him away but merely to let your fingers rest against his wrists as he holds you gently. “We’ll get there,” he whispers.

“O-Okay,” you respond with a series of shaky nods. Slowly but surely, San moves closer to yours, lips pressing against your forehead so softly that the feeling of the kiss ghosts over you in less than a second. He pulls back with a sigh, not asking for anything more than that, then extends a hand in your direction. It takes a moment for it to process, but you place your own in his once it dawns on you.

“Come on. I guess we better go say our goodbyes to Jongho.”

✧✧✧ a/n: gah yall have no idea how much I missed this ;-; I'm so happy to be writing something that isn’t smut KLFJSDKLFJL i needed this break from kinktober and I'm so happy that this is the chapter I got to write because whewie she’s a big one and she’s intense!! I hope you guys enjoy tho pls let me know what you think >-<

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[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Not Yet Ready.”

Hope you guys enjoy the story for today!

Dr Umbra set down the holo pad on the table with a grunt and turned to look at the human sitting across from her at the table. She hadn’t worked with many humans, so the way its eyes hovered over her was enough to make her squirm in her seat nervously. If she could have hazarded a guess, she would have said it looked hungry, ready to crawl across the table and take a bite from her, but she shook off the thought and set the holo-pad down on the table.

Outside, the glassy planet swirled and undulated below them, the ground most obscured by thick wafting vapors of red, blue and green. On occasion large swaths of the ground would be uncovered giving them a distant view of barren landscape dotted with black spires, before being plunged back into the mist again.

This human wasn’t likely to do that.

“And this is your account of what happened, nothing left out.”

“The human memory isn’t exactly reliable, but that is what I remember.” The human said sitting back in his chair. In comparison to her, he was a very large creature, maybe two feet taller than she was with creamy skin and light tawny hair. His eye though, was an unsettling shade of bright green that felt unnatural in this lightning. All around them the other scientists murmured in surprise and consternation, not really sure what to make of the human’s account.

One of the other Tesraki scientists stood, “It might have been telepathic, like the starborn, and used some sort of mental manipulation to make you feel the way you feel. I would not be entirely surprised, though how something could have survived for so long without access to nutrients or other Stimuli, I do not know.”

Their only Vrul scientist, aside from Dr. Krill stood, “There is only one way to sort this out. We analyze his memory directly.” He said pointing to the machine o nthe other side of the room, calmly sitting on a side table and waiting to be utilized.

Dr Umbra turned to look at the human, “Are you willing?”

“Whatever you need.” He glanced at the machine, “However, I must warn you, I don’t think…. What I remember is something that machine will be capable of capturing.”

The Vrul waved a hand, blowing him off slightly as he stood and walked over to the other side of the room.

The group of scientists bunched together, gathering around as Admiral Vir took his seat in the chair, and allowed the Vrul to fix the nodes of the machine to his head. Dr. Krill stood close by both sets of arms crossed over his chest.

Dr. Umbra glanced at him repeatedly unnerved by the strange way in which he stood, arms crossed, leaning on two set of feet more than the others, his head cocked unnaturally to the side for a Vrul. Even the way he moved was unsettling, but she supposed that is what tended to happen to you when you spent too much time with humans. He may have written the book on the humanization phenomenon, but that clearly didn’t make him immune to it.

The projector was set up to face an empty wall, and the science crew gathered around.

The human leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

The picture that was brought up before them was obscured in red. The memory boosting capabilities of the machine projected the image in sharp relief against the wall, in almost cinematic quality. Seeing through a human’s eyes was rather disorienting, such a narrow field of view but with such sharp edges. The fog swirled around him as he explored through the strange monolithic city, until, at some point, he did fall through the wall and into the dark room shining with little red bulbs.

The memories had been sharp up until this point, but as soon as he came into the room where the strange contraption was described… suddenly the memory went hazy. When his eyes were focused on the thing before him, the memory was blurry and confused, constantly moving pieces of the object as if it couldn’t decide where to put them. It was like trying to watch a very old computer render an object that was to complex, until the brain gave them a watered down version of the object that was nothing more than a ball of twisting shapes without any texture or refinement.

All around them the crowd muttered in nervous surprise.

Sitting before them, the human breathed deeply.

On the screen, he reached out a hand…. And his fingers made contact with the strange alien contraption.

The screen before them went blank, and they staired at it for a long moment. 

Dr. Krill rose from his seat, just as the human spasmed. His back arched and his head was thrown back violently. His eyes were open now but were focused on nothing. His hands were clenched into claws, before them the screen erupted into light and dark. At first blinding white light and then a sudden collapse before thousands of stars whirling past in spiral arrays. The image flickered and faded and twisted and blinked.

The human seized again violently tipping himself over and onto the floor.

“STOP the machine!” Someone called 

Smoke erupted from the power source of the contraption as all the circuits started to smoke. The image in front of them had degraded into nothing more than pixels of light and dark swirling around in a confusing mass of chaos.

Then the lights on the entire ship began to shutter and blink.

A lightbulb burst nearby.

Everyone yelled, startled and dove under the nearest table. 

The human was on the ground still locked in a horrible rictus, back arched hands balled into claws feet on the floor knees somewhat bent, pink foam dusted the corners of his mouth.

Dr. Krill raced forward and ripped the nodes from his head in one foul swoop.

They came off with a loud popping noise leaving behind tiny circles of red on the human’s skin, but as soon as it was gone the smoking died away and the human slumped back to the ground.

Then the room went dark.

They could hear it, surprised and startled cries from around the ship as the entire electrical circuit went out. Someone turned on a pocket light, giving Dr. Krill just enough room to examine the human, who now lay unresponsive on the floor in front of them.

The lights blinked back on a few minutes later as the secondary generator pulled power from the fusion core. The lights were slightly dimmer to alert the staff that something had gone wrong with the main power grid.

So it was in that eerie yellow light they watched as the human slowly came back to himself. He looked groggy and confused his single eye distant as he sat up to look at them, and when he did the entire room stepped back in fear. No one could have said exactly why, but when the human opened his mouth it was not his voice that emanated from inside.

You Are Not Ready

The entire room staggered to their knees as the booming voice shook the very ship rattling the glass in the observation deck, and causing spidering cracks to appear on the surfaces of some of the holopads.

Every last human aboard that ship was brought to their knees, hands over their ears,and every last alien went completely prone passed out on the spot.

No one knew how long they laid there, but when the awoke, most of the humans were still crouched on the floor, their hands over their heads. They stood slowly, looking around the room.

Admiral Vir was lying on his back unresponsive, and no amount of prodding or nudging could get him to wake up.

The lights overhead were constantly in a state of flickering.

“What in the hell was that.”  Someone muttered

Off down a long dark corridor, someone would find Conn in a similar state of unresponsiveness as he floated, unmoving in the hallway.

***

Admiral Vir received an MRI, CT and  and EEG from the groggy and somewhat confused medical department before he finally started to come too. He groaned and rolled to his side as a couple of the doctors stepped in to steady him.

He lookd up and around in confusion at the people staring down at him in concern.

“Is everything alright….. What happened.”

“I….. we aren’t entirely sure, how dod ou feel?”

He reached up a hand to rub at his head, “I…. I’,m not sure…. I…. I can’t remember.”

They waited.

“The last thing I remember was the science team arriving and then…. nothing .”

It was hard to describe what he felt, it was like his entire mind and body were soar. It was similar to the feeling he might have gotten after a particularly difficult test during the academy, but magnified tenfold. It was so bad that he could barely string two words together the mental exhaustion was that profound. And that wasn’t counting the physical soreness, in his throat,and his chest, and his lungs and his entire abdominal cavity and all the muscles therein.

He felt as if….. As if…..

well ….

As if someone had worn him like a glove.

That was hardly something he bet that the others would understand, so he didn’t mention it, and lay back on the bed eyes closed. No one distrubed him when he slept for a continuous seventy two hours afterwards. In the end Dr. krill couldn’t decide if he had been in a coma or not.

As for the electrical components of the ship, many of the major circuits had been fried and required replacing, and the entire power box  on the first interface ahd to be replaced. Everyone else aboard the ship, no matter their shift or their history of sleep disorders, slept for just over ten hours solidly and without waking up.

The nonhumans were also affected. Those of them that were capable of sleeping slept almost as long as the humans did, and those that were not, like the Vrul saw a significant drop in their energy and IQ quotients for the remaining ten hours as if their cortical zones were trying to reboot themselves.

Below them, that red planet continued to swirl and undulate, seeming peaceful though somehow dangerou.

Like a predator lying in wait.

The group of them tried to decide if they should even continue their scientific venture. Clearly something was going on that none of them quite understood. Perhaps it was something they were better off leaving alone, but whatever it was….. One thing was for certain.

Something strange was going on.

When one of the scientists tried to pull out a recording of what had happened, the electronics inside his camera was completely fried.

There was no physical evidence that what happened to them had happened, aside from a collective memory muddled and confused that took up about an hour of time for all of them. Once everything was back to normal it was almost impossible to believe that anything happened at all.

The Admiral awoke after his seventy two hours bright and cheerful as if nothing had happened still not remembering anything that had taken place, and below them, the planet continued to swirl with its strange and unusual mist.

***

Admiral Vir supervised the loading of the shuttles, watching as a near ton of scientific equipment was moved into the back of the shuttle. His hands were resting on his hips, though he could hardly feel anything through the gloves of his space suit: white this time and emblazoned with the GA scientific symbol.

One of the other science officers passed by carrying a crate, and paused long enough to set it down on the metal floor rolling his shoulders inside the space suit, “So we are still going along with this?”

“I hardly see that we have any other choice.”

“Whatever that was, it ook our our entire ship with just a memory. This is one of those times I think it might be best not to poke the bear.”

Admiral Vir nodded, “I am inclined to agree with you to some degree, however,” he motioned to the assorted aliens as they supervised the loading of the shuttle, “They plan to go with or without us, and I would rather not leave them unprotected.”

“No chance we can talk them out of it?”

Adam shook his head, “I don’t think that is going to be possible.” He turned to look at the other man, and seeing the dour expression on his face, he smiled and perked up patting the man on the back, “Besides, nothing is going to happen to us,  you want to know why?”

“Why sir.”

“Because we are just too pretty to die.”

“You’re quoting a movie I haven't seen, aren't you?”

“You know me too well.” He turned back to the door crossing his arms over his chest as Dr. krill came to join them.

“I am with our friend here. I think what you are doing is very very stupid.”

Adam raised his hands in mild offense, “You know what to be quite fair, THIS time it isn’t me. I tried to talk them out of it, but they say then need to go down and study it. I take no responsibility for the stupid decisions being made right now, none at all.”

“You could order them to stop.”

“No I can’t I am in charge of the GA’s Military fleet, not their scientists.”

Krill grunted, “You know, despite this being there Idea, I somehow get the impression that you are the one who is going to suffer for it.”

He scratched his head, “Things do seem to happen like that don’t they.”

“Don’t touch anything weird.”

“Well I think I  have proven incapable of keeping that kind of promise. However, I promise I will TRY not to touch anything that I shouldn’t.”

Krill sighed, “I guess that is the most that we can hope for.”

“I am bringing some marines along with us and hopefully that will be enough to keep everyone safe. I am having them briefed quickly on the methods of data collection that the scientists are going to be using, mostly so they don’t get in the way.” hge held up a hand as Krill opened his mouth, “And YES I have been briefed as well, and do not plan on getting in the way of the smart people while they do their work.”

The scientist glanced at hm as he spoke, “Don’t you have a degree in like…. Orbital physics or something.”

Adam rested a hand on the other man’s shoulder, “I actually have what might be the equivalent of a Ph.D in flight mechanics, and that does include orbital physics. However, I will be the first to admit that those facts aren't because I am naturally intelligent, I just worked really hard in the academy, and somehow it paid off. So next time you want someone who can calculate the flight trajectory of a rocket by hand, I am your guy, but when it comes to studying weird rocks…. I have no idea what I am doing.”

He glanced back at his assembled marines, circling the group of aliens as their protection detail, and not for the first time in so many months he wished that Sunny was here.

He would feel a lot better if he knew she was watching his back. 

[moawrites]

The Last Fox-King || Patreon Update

Here, in its nascent form, are the first two chapters of a project that I've been really having fun writing lately! It even features fun things like blanks in the place of names/holidays/places that I haven't settled on yet! I thought that it might be kind of neat to show how I go back and fill in details like that later on in story development :D

I'd maybe describe this one as following an 'enemies to married to lovers' trope

One

In the early morning light, the forest took on an unusually soft, alluring air, so unlike the mirk and menace that crept through the trees in the nighttime. It was in these moments that Annis dared to stand at the top of the hill overlooking the road down to the forest, her hands tucked in her apron. She was never able to linger for very long; there was always the risk that she’d be spotted and scolded for wandering out of the castle unaccompanied, but it was a risk that she took with ever-increasing frequency.

A young woman of fairly respectable breeding wasn’t meant to possess such a profound sense of curiosity in the forbidden, and Annis had always prided herself in being fairly respectable. She was lucky, she knew, to have ended up in Elden Keep, living a life of comfort and security. With no family left to speak of, and no prospects whatsoever, keeping in the lord and lady’s good graces was a matter of utmost importance.

In fact, when at all possible, Annis preferred to avoid their notice entirely.

The mountain that rose from the far reaches of the forest looked imposing as always, swathed in a constant fog that seemed to drown out the greenery below every night. They said in the village that spirits skulked down from the mountain under the cover of the mist to find human souls to steal, but she hardly considered such superstitions credible. It was far more likely, in her opinion, that the Greenwoods held bandits and outlaws who preferred the cover of dark, and had crafted such tall tales to keep everyone else far away.

If that were the case, then it certainly seemed to have worked. Every inhabitant of Elden Keep and the village nearby seemed to avoid venturing there alone at all costs, save for Sir Ostig, who claimed that the best hunting for miles around was to be done in the forest. Of course, as Sir Ostig also maintained that he’d lost his hand to a woman wearing a wolf’s skin that he’d encountered in the forest one night, Annis found his claims a bit suspect.

Realizing that she’d managed to linger far longer than she’d intended, Annis turned on her heel and hurried back to the castle. If she was lucky, today might be the day that Matron finally excused her from her duties early enough that she might sneak away to explore the village. Nearly four months in Elden Keep, and she’d hardly had a moment alone in all that time.

“You are out early this morning, May Annis.”

She tensed, but was only the boy Todd, leaning against his stave in the shadow of the gateway. Annis drew herself up to her full height; she was only a bit taller than him, but she hoped to be imposing. “I do hope that you are not the only guard on patrol, else we are all surely doomed.”

“Your words wound, my lady.” Todd stepped closer, a cheeky grin on his face. “I do not believe that Lord Gereld would be happy to hear that his fosterling is prowling about unsupervised.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Annis replied primly, dusting off her skirts. “I have only been taking in some fresh morning air in the courtyard.”

Todd looked at her for a moment, then turned back towards the open gate. “Do you often dream about the forest?”

“What was that?”

“You might want to ask old Madge for a charm, if you are.” He tapped a little wooden bead tied around his neck. “Helps me. Well enough, at least.”

“Madge the potter? Isn’t she mad?”

Todd snorted. “Mad as can be, I expect, but you and I can hardly talk, lady, if we are hearing the call of the Greenwood.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Annis replied primly, and then she gathered her skirts and hurried back to the castle, the prickling sensation of his bright green eyes following her.

Patrons can continue reading on Patreon! 🦊

[kbandtrash]

The Heir and the Library of Secrets (SKZ Royal AU)(Part 7)

~Megan~

Masterlist

Y/N hardly lived, having to work and care for her two brothers. The heir lived in constant fear that he would be killed before becoming king. But secrets are told, old and new faces find their way close, and the lives they had known start unraveling.

Felix/Changbin x Reader

Word count: 1k

Part 1

At first, he thought he was awake. But the heir stood on nothing, hanging uselessly in midair. Looking at what stretched beneath him made his stomach churn nervously. “A maze?” he wondered aloud. His voice was engulfed in the thick air, leaving his voice to sound only in his own head.

The maze was foggy, the ground almost invisible from above. Its tall hedges not only grew wildly, but also shifted and shook as if it would collapse at any moment. Felix searched his memories for an answer as to what the maze was—and that’s what made him remember.

It was the Maze of Memories. Why could he see it so clearly, though he was dreaming? And why was he seeing it all, if he had never been there in the first place? He could feel his jaw hanging open, but continued to stare in awe.

“Are you enjoying the view?” a voice called from inside his head. Felix frantically turned his head to examine the space around him, and his body dropped.

He was falling, but the wind whipping harshly around him didn’t chill him. He was afraid, definitely, but nothing his dream-state body did reached his physical senses. When he was sure he would wake up before hitting the ground, like most dreams of the sort, he stood firmly on the ground, surrounded by fog.

“What’s happening?” he asked warily, unsure whether the earlier voice heard him now. “Why am I here?” The last word finally escaped his lips, no longer in his head. A man emerged from the mist in front of the heir, face unrecognizable.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said with curiosity. “No one has visited here for about a year, in a dream. What do you come for?”

Felix was taken aback; he didn't know anything about this place except that it was a secret—and one he had never seen with his own eyes.

Then he thought back to why he was dreaming in the first place, and why he was asleep.

Right. He had been attacked! The realization made his dream-body shiver.

“I think it has something to do with me being attacked.”

The man took a sharp intake of breath. “Attacked?”

Felix pursed his lips. Could he trust this man? Even if this was simply a dream… something told the heir that it was more than that.

“Never mind,” he said, hardening his composure and becoming even more closed off. After all, magic was possible, and banned, so if this was a purposeful interaction Felix was most likely in danger.

The man, face still blurry, sighed. “Alright. If you intend to waste my time, you may leave this place.”

Felix felt a tug in his wrists and began to be pulled away. He resisted at first, calling out, “But I still don't know why I'm here!” He didn't care right then that this man could be untrustworthy. He needed to know.

The voice following his own sounded inside his head, quietly: “I advise you to return once you figure out why you came. Do not return otherwise.”

And then he wasn’t dreaming.

--

“He's alive.”

“He's alive?”

Felix began to hear things again, after what felt like a long time in silence.

He twitched what he could feel: his lips.

“He's alive!”

“Is he awake?”

His fingers were next, and then his toes, and then at last his eyes fluttered open.

“Felix!” a voice cried out.

Why couldn't he recognize it? Who was Felix?

He searched what he could see, and found a tall, black-haired boy standing over him with wide eyes.

Hyunjin, right.

“You're okay!” his brother said again, a relieved smile stretching across his full lips. Then he turned to shout, “He’s conscious!”

“What?” Jisung screeched from behind the taller prince. “Felix!”

Now Jisung loomed over the heir, a large, squirrel-like smile showing off his teeth.

“You,” Felix tried to say, ending up croaking it. His chest suddenly felt pressured and he could hardly speak. “You look… like a squirrel,” he finally gasped out, ending his phrase with a small, painful giggle.

“Don't speak if it hurts!” Minho demanded, pushing his younger brothers away. Then he assisted Felix in sitting up, putting a few pillows behind him.

His chest was screaming in agony, but he ignored it for the time being. He wanted to be able to see more than just the ceiling. After leaning back into the soft cushions, he felt okay, though the pain was still dancing.

“Ow,” he finally said.

“Yeah,” Minho agreed, nodding and sitting next to him. “At least you're alive, though, right?”

“I guess,” he managed. Why did it hurt so much to speak?

“It's because your lungs were damaged and got used to your calm breathing in your sleep,” Minho said, as if he had read the heir’s mind. “When you speak, you breathe differently and it requires more strength than it can give right now.”

“Oh.”

“You were unconscious for about two days,” the older prince said suddenly.

Felix wanted to shout in shock, but he ended up cringing in pain.

“You're alive. The patrol caught one of the culprits, but they killed themself before we could get them to talk. Jisung and Hyunjin cried for the first few hours because they were so worried.”

No remarks were made, and Felix looked around for his aforementioned brothers, but found that they were no longer in the room.

The room stayed silent for a while, something that would've been impossible if the two missing were present. After a moment of thinking, Felix recalled his dream. The strange thing was, it felt like a memory. How? the heir wondered.

“Hey,” the heir said quietly, trying to keep his breathing even, “do you know anything about magic?”

Minho turned to his step-brother and perked an eyebrow in curiosity. “Why do you ask?”

“No real reason…” Felix tried to say, but was cut off.

“There's a reason, I can tell.”

The heir hastily began to speak, “It's just—” but he began to cough painfully and his hands shook. After a few moments, he was left gasping for breath but the older prince sat still, emotionless, beside him.

Minho frowned. “Felix,” he said with a stern tone, “I can't force you to tell me what you're thinking, but I don't want you to be curious about magic.”

All Felix could do was watch his stepbrother get up calmly and leave the room.

Part 8

[hysterialevi]

Eitr | Chapter 2

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

FORANGAL CASTLE, WEDENSCIRE

MORNING

Hurrying down the steps of the castle as her dress frolicked around her legs, Lady Edlynne rushed to catch up with her brothers before they could scurry off into town without her, and leave her at the mercy of Bishop Hundwerth once again.

Apparently, the head chef of the castle was in need of some trout for the meal she had planned for this evening, but instead of relying on one of her servants like she normally did, the ealdorman’s sons had offered to fetch it for her, and were preparing to leave from the main gate.

Unfortunately for Edlynne however, her name had been left out of their festivities as per usual, and thus left the girl at a disadvantage considering how she only learned of their plans mere moments ago.

But this time, she was not willing to stay back as she normally did. The dreary walls of the castle had caged her in for far too long already, and with Hundwerth constantly hammering his piety in her ears, the young noblewoman was in desperate need of some fresh air.

Jogging up to the main gate, Edlynne found her brothers conversing at the stable as they readied their horses for the journey ahead, giving them a light snack to start off the new day.

Her twin brother, Joseph, was currently sat on top of a rather wobbly looking fence with an apple in his hand, but seemed to fare alright thanks to his lean frame. He was only a boy of sixteen years and hardly stood any taller than his sister, but even then, some still considered him to be particularly scrawny for a nobleman.

As for their elder brother, Edric, his appearance was more akin to that of a soldier than a lord. Despite not even being thirty years of age yet, the young man already had his fair share of battle scars and sported a rough beard, giving him a much more weathered temperament than his father probably would’ve liked.

He constantly carried a sword around with him and armored himself with a black gambeson, but still made sure that the cross hanging from his neck was visible underneath the collar of his cape.

Both of them were a welcome sight to see after Edlynne’s many days of being trapped in the castle, but with the absence of their eldest brother Gareth looming over them like a stormy cloud, she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sadness suddenly gripping at her heart.

“Joseph, Edric!” She exclaimed, running up to them. “Wait!”

The two boys turned their heads towards her, clearly surprised to see her face this morning.

“Sister,” Joseph greeted, “I didn’t expect to see you here today. It’s been ages since I last saw you out in the sun. Will you be joining us in town?”

Edlynne sighed out of annoyance. “God, I hope so. Bishop Hundwerth hasn’t dared take his eyes off me ever since I spoke of my interest in the Danes’ religion. He fears that their influence will corrupt me.”

Edric chuckled at that. “You thinking of converting to paganism, Edlynne?”

“Hardly,” she denied. “I will always be a Christian at heart, but I do not think it is wrong to have an interest in other religions either. How can we expect to resolve the conflict in our shire if we will not even attempt to understand our enemies?”

Joseph took a bite out of his apple. “Well, some people would consider that to be heresy.”

Edlynne crossed her arms. “Some people would see us at war for another century.”

The eldest threw a grin at his brother. “You hear that, Joseph? Wise beyond her years, this one. We should give her a seat next to father.”

Edlynne smiled in response. “You jest, but I’ll have you know that father has sought my counsel in the past. He spoke to me last night, in fact. Though... it’s not very often he actually listens to me, I’ll admit.”

Joseph hopped off the fence. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure he doesn’t hear of your fascination with the Danes. You know of his feelings for them.”

The girl’s expression drooped with sorrow. “Yes, I do. He’s changed so much ever since... well, you know.”

Falling into a state of heartache, the young woman quickly snapped out of her grief when she realized how she had dampened the mood and forced herself to push her thoughts aside, not wanting them to overtake her again. 

“But... let us not dwell on that. You two have a busy day ahead of you, and my chances of getting any fresh air dwindle with every minute Hundwerth isn’t near me. So let’s get going.”

Edric climbed on top of his horse, taking hold of the reins. “Alright. Edlynne, you go with Joseph. I’ll take my own mount. We’ll ride the path west of here, and cut through the woods into Agenbury. It’ll take longer, but the main roads are laden with soldiers nowadays. I’d rather not weave my way through them.”

Taking a seat behind her brother as he plopped himself onto the saddle, Edlynne wrapped her arms around Joseph’s waist and held him tightly as the three of them began trotting through the main gate, bidding the castle farewell.

It was a bright morning today, blotted with only a few clouds. The sun shone freely throughout the sky despite the residue from the recent storm, and thanks to the rain that poured on Wedenscire the previous night, a fresh layer of mist hung over the land, catching the light in a fashion that was worthy of paintings.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Edlynne remarked. “And also much colder than I remember. Though, that’s probably due to the storm. Still, it’s nice to be outside of the castle walls again. I can’t recall the last time father allowed me to leave. Thank you both for letting me come with you.”

“Of course,” Joseph replied. “I fear that Edric and I were also in need of some time away from Forangal. That’s why we volunteered to help Nelda. The poor old woman’s practically locked herself in the larder this morning, trying to prepare this meal for us.”

“How is Nelda?” Edlynne asked. “I’ve not spoken to her in ages.”

“Oh, you know her,” Joseph said sarcastically. “Cranky, old bat as usual. Still the same woman that used to chase us around the castle after we’d steal the treats when we were children.”

Edric butted in. “And then blame me for it.”

Joseph laughed at that. “Do you remember that one time Edlynne and I brought in that stray cat from the streets? And we accidentally left it alone in the kitchens? The wretched animal had buried its face in a meal she was making for father, and sent it spilling all over to the floor. I thought Nelda was going to butcher us all that day -- cat included.”

“Oh, don’t remind me. She dragged the two of you fools over to me later that day and shouted with a fury so hot that I could’ve sworn I saw flames on her breath. Gareth had to calm her down whilst we ended up cleaning the kitchen.”

Edlynne smiled at the memory. “Gareth always had a way with Nelda. He knew how to ease her temper.”

“Indeed,” Joseph said. “Though, I think he had that effect on everyone. Something about him always brought peace to other peoples’ hearts. He knew how to unify them in times of division, and comfort them in times of war.” 

A morose sigh escaped the sullen boy. “Things will... not be the same without him around. I know it’s been over a month since he died, but... I fear the wounds are still fresh.”

“Aye.” Edric agreed quietly. “He was a good brother to us all. And an even better friend. It was a tragic loss, the day he died. I think father’s taken the brunt of it.”

A sudden thought crossed the man’s mind. “Edlynne, you said you spoke with him last night?”

The girl nodded. “I did.”

“And... how did he seem? Did he seem better to you?”

Edlynne stuttered, unsure of how to describe their encounter. “I... I don’t know, to be honest. He appeared to be doing alright, but it felt like he was wearing a mask. As if... he was simply putting on a strong face for everyone else’s sake. Deep down though, I think he’s still hurting.”

“Of course he is,” Edric noted. “He lost one of his children. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare.”

Joseph raised a question. “What exactly happened to Gareth, anyway? I know he was killed near Grantebridge, but father has yet to give us any further details.”

“That’s because you would not wish to hear them,” his brother explained. “Believe me. All you need to know is that a clan of Danes killed him. The Raven Clan, specifically.”

The name was unfamiliar to Edlynne. “The Raven Clan? Who are they?”

“You haven’t heard of them? They’ve been causing quite a stir in Mercia -- killing kings and crowning new ones. From what I understand, they’re the ones who helped the Ragnarssons remove Burgred from his throne.”

“But why kill Gareth?” Joseph asked. “What could they possibly gain from killing the son of an ealdorman? Aside from a lifetime of conflict, that is.”

Edric sighed solemnly. “I do not know their reasons, nor their justifications. But you would do well not to get caught up on it. All that matters now is that Gareth is at peace. He was a devote Christian, and he now joins our mother in Heaven, forever to be at God’s side. He would not want us to sulk. So keep your chins up -- both of you -- and let us carry on with our day.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

AGENBURY

Finally arriving at Agenbury, the three siblings slowed down to a halt as the peaceful settlement came into view, decorating the flat horizon with a quaint series of houses and shops.

The quiet town seemed to be the same as usual -- lunatics and all -- and despite the hefty toll the war had taken on its people, everything appeared to be in working order.

The fisherman’s wife, Ardith, remained attached to her husband’s stall as always, and with the unpleasant stench of freshly-captured fish to start off her morning, the permanent scowl on her face only seemed to deepen.

“There’s Ardith,” Edric pointed out. “She’ll have the trout we need.” He climbed off of his horse, leaving it near the main entrance. “Come along then, you two. Let’s finish this quickly.”

Mirroring their brother’s actions, Joseph and Edlynne unmounted their horse before following the young man into town, hanging behind him as he navigated his way through the scattered groups of civilians.

Many of the town’s residents seemed to eye the noble family with a wary gaze -- which was uncommon for their people -- and the further they stepped into the watchful settlement, the more everyone’s voices seemed to lower into hushed tones.

“Is it just me,” Joseph whispered among them, “or does it feel... odd here today?”

Edlynne narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “No, it’s definitely not just you. The people here seem frightened. It’s almost like the whole town is... waiting for something. Do you reckon something happened before we arrived?”

“It’s most likely because of the war,” Edric assumed. “I know the conflicts in Wedenscire have had a rough impact on these people. Who knows what kind of horrors they’ve had to endure at the hands of the Danes? Though... there don’t seem to be any signs of a raid.”

Joseph disagreed. “If there had been a raid, we would’ve heard about it. This is something different.”

“I suppose we’ll find out, given enough time. Just keep your wits about you, and try not to alarm anyone.”

Carrying on with their plans, the three of them casually walked up to Ardith’s stall as the woman focused on organizing her collection of fish, stopping only to greet the peculiar customers that had suddenly shown up at her shop.

“Hello, Ardith.” Edric said, deterring the woman’s attention.

“Oh, good morning, milord!” She said in surprise. “I was not expecting to see you here today. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I’m just here to pick up some trout for Nelda back at the castle.”

The stout woman rested a hand on her hip. “Ah, I see. Normally, it’s her servants that come by, but I won’t turn away a friendly face.”

Her expression grew dim. “I’m... so sorry about what happened to Gareth, Edric. We received the news not too long ago. He was loved by many people in Agenbury. It’s such a shame that he had to depart from this world in so brutal a manner. He will be missed.”

Edric nodded in agreement. “Indeed. His death has affected us all, I fear.”

“And Aegenwulf? How does your father fare?”

The young man shrugged in uncertainty. “Hard to say. He keeps his head high and does what he must to protect this shire, but he bears the burdens of twenty men combined. I do not envy his position.”

Ardith gave him a look of sympathy. “Aye. But have no fear, Edric. Your father’s always been a fighter. Trust me. I’ve known him since before he had any grey in his hair. He will come through. I know he will.”

“Thank you, friend. Your words bring me comfort.”

Joseph jumped into the conversation, inquiring about the rest of the town. “Ardith, do you have any idea why Agenbury’s so on edge today? The town carries a strange mood.”

The woman nearly offered a response, but bit her tongue in hesitance. “Y-Yes, but I do not wish to burden you with our troubles, young lord. I imagine you’ve enough of your own already.”

Edlynne took a step towards the stall. “Please, Ardith. If something has happened in this town, we’d like to help. You’re our people, after all.”

Ardith let out a deep sigh and crossed her arms, glancing back at her house.

“I-It’s my husband, Wilfred,” she said quietly. “He went fishing at the harbor this morning as he always does, but... instead of returning with a sack of fish, he came back with a bloody Dane...!”

Edric paused in alarm upon hearing that. “What? A Dane? In Agenbury?”

“Believe me, I was just as shocked as you. Apparently, Wilfred found him washed up on the shore, beaten and wounded. By whom or what, I don’t know, but he already looked dead by the time my husband dragged him back.”

Joseph decided to ask for more information. “Do you have any idea who he is? Or where he came from?”

Ardith shook her head. “No. We’ve yet to speak to him. He’s been unconscious ever since Wilfred brought him back from the harbor.”

The boy let out an uneasy breath. “Father’s not going to like this. He’s been tense enough already ever since Gareth died. If he finds out that a Dane has infiltrated the town...”

Edlynne cut him off. “He won’t. Not yet.”

Her twin quirked a brow. “What do you mean, not yet? He’s the ealdorman, for God’s sake. He has to know.”

“We can’t tell him about this. Not for the moment, at least. If father learns about this Dane’s presence, he’ll have him killed for sure.”

Edric scowled. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The noblewoman remained staunch in her belief. “Listen, both of you -- I know everyone’s still hurting from Gareth’s death, and believe me, I am too. But we could learn something from this Dane. He might be useful to us.”

Edric wasn’t entirely convinced yet.��“We don’t even know if this man speaks our tongue, Edlynne. And if he does, there’s no guarantee he’ll help us anyways. You know the Danes. They’d rather pick death over dishonor.”

“Even then, I’d like to be certain of what this man’s intentions are before we start lopping off anyone’s heads. Let me speak to him, at least.”

Edric sighed in defeat, crossing his arms. “...Very well. If that is what you wish. But be careful, sister. We have no idea who this man is. And I’d rather we return to the castle in one piece.”

The young man turned back to Ardith, trying to calm the woman’s nerves. “Have no fear, old friend. We’ll speak to this Dane for you. He need not worry you any longer.”

She seemed pleased with that. “Thank you, Edric. I think everyone would feel better if we knew who he was, or why he was here. He should still be at home.”

“Then I will go there,” Edlynne said. “Joseph can come with me whilst you conclude your business here, brother. That way, we can get things done faster.”

“Alright,” Edric agreed. “I’ll meet you there once I’m finished here. Don’t do anything drastic before I arrive.”

The girl gave him a reassuring nod. “Of course.” She turned to her twin, beckoning him to follow. “Come on, Joseph. Let’s go see this Dane for ourselves.”

Allowing their paths to diverge for the moment, Edlynne and Joseph made their way to Wilfred’s house while Edric stayed behind to collect the fish for Nelda, clearly still unsettled by the strange turn of events.

He understood it was unfair to judge one Dane based on the actions of many others, but in a time of war, compassion and empathy were always a dangerous thing to gamble with.

Edric knew details about Gareth’s death that the twins didn’t. He knew how the Danes had butchered him and left his body for the ravens, and he knew that their people were not so easily negotiated with.

But still... he supposed he could let Edlynne investigate this Dane’s sudden appearance, at the very least. He may have been skeptical of this man’s motivations, but he could not deny that he was curious to learn the truth for himself.

And so, without another word said, Edric simply let the twins go about their business as he continued his conversation with Ardith, eager to get this errand over with.

Meanwhile, Edlynne and Joseph walked side-by-side as they approached the fisherman’s house, speculating amongst themselves about what this Dane could’ve possibly wanted. It wasn’t uncommon for a Northman to be in Wedenscire exactly, but Agenbury was a different story.

“A single Dane showing up on our shores...” Edlynne murmured, “what could it mean?”

Joseph shrugged nervously. “Nothing good, that’s for certain. I’m aware that not all of them are barbarians as Hundwerth would have us believe, but tensions have been rising ever since Gareth was killed. If we don’t sort this situation out properly, it could reach a breaking point.”

“Then let us make haste, lest it comes to that.”

Strolling up to the fisherman’s front door, Joseph firmly knocked on the wooden surface as the two of them waited for a response, silently observing the quiet house.

There didn’t seem to be much activity happening inside -- probably due to the Dane’s unconscious state -- and the only sounds they could hear were the rapid footsteps of a man coming to greet them at the door.

“Pardon my untidiness, whoever you are,” a gruff voice said from the inside as they moved around some objects to clear the way, “but I fear things have been rather... disorderly this morning.”

The fisherman swung open the door, revealing an old but lively man standing in the entryway.

“Now, then, how can I--” He came to a halt, his eyes widening in surprise upon seeing the twins. 

“Lord Joseph...! And sweet Lady Edlynne. Well, I certainly didn’t expect to see you two here today. I suppose this morning’s just chock-full of unlikely guests, isn’t it? What brings you to my doorstep?”

Joseph beamed at the elderly man. “Hello, Wilfred. Your wife sent us. She said you had a... Dane problem?

Wilfred scratched the bald patch on his head, sighing in discontent. “Aye. The poor bastard. I found him this morning, lying unconscious and alone. He was laden with battle wounds, and covered in blood. I don’t have a clue why the river shat him out in Agenbury of all places, but I wasn’t about to leave a man to die. Saxon or not.”

Edlynne admired his compassion. “Then you’ve already done more than most. Has he woken up yet?”

“Nay. He’s been out cold ever since I brought him back. He spoke briefly when we first met, but it was mostly out of delirium. Couldn’t understand a word he said. You know the Danes. Bloody weird language, they have.”

“May we see him?” Joseph asked. “We’d like to speak with this man ourselves, if possible.”

Wilfred stepped off to the side, granting them entrance. “Of course. Do what you wish. Though, I’m not sure if he’ll wake up during your stay here. He was in a severely bad state when I found him.”

Strolling through the front door, Joseph and Edlynne welcomed themselves into the cozy atmosphere of Wilfred’s home as they gazed around in curiosity, anxious to see what this Dane looked like.

Joseph had already met a few of their people during his time with Edric and Gareth, but Edlynne on the other hand, had yet to meet a Dane for herself. Aegenwulf often kept them at a distance when it came to interactions with his daughter, and now that he had lost one of his own children to their axes, the girl imagined he would only grow more protective.

“Look,” she said with a soft gasp, “there he is.”

Following his sister’s line of sight, Joseph spotted the fallen Dane sleeping on the opposite side of the room, seemingly undisturbed.

He was currently resting on a makeshift bed that Wilfred had created, and was wrapped head-to-toe in an abundance of bandages. He looked like he was still breathing -- for the time being -- but just based on the amount of blood that was already seeping from his skin, Joseph started to wonder if they’d even get a chance to see him wake.

He appeared rather normal though, the boy thought. For a Dane. His skin was etched with many traditional Nordic markings, and the red hair on his head had been shaved in a fashion common with his people. Meanwhile, his beard remained bushy and untamed, and the calloused texture of his hands told Joseph he was no stranger to battle.

“Friendly looking fellow, isn’t he.” The boy remarked.

Edlynne walked closer to the man, driven by her fascination.

“I’ve... never seen a Dane before. Father has always done his best to keep me away from them, but... he looks surprisingly human. Bishop Hundwerth always makes it sound as if they’re the Devil himself roaming the earth.”

Joseph took a seat on a nearby chair. “Bishop Hundwerth would call it heresy if one of his priests farted too loudly in the chapel. Pay him no mind.”

The noblewoman turned back to the fisherman, asking him more questions.

“Wilfred, what was he like when you found him? I know you said he was hurt, but... how hurt, exactly?”

The old man exhaled deeply, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I’m surprised he was alive to begin with. He had two bloody arrows sticking out of his chest, and his skin was torn up from getting sliced so many times. I don’t know much about their pagan gods, but they must be a protective bunch to pull him out of that.”

Joseph thought back to their talk with Ardith. “Your wife said you found him on the shore?”

“Indeed. I assume the river carried him here from upstream. Possibly from the north. He crawled out of it like a corpse rising from the dead.”

“Do you think he’ll live?”

Wilfred furrowed his brow in a grim manner. “I... I don’t know, Joseph. I’ve done everything I can to patch him up, but I’m just a simple fisherman at the end of the day. I’m no healer.”

Interrupting their conversation, a knock suddenly emitted from the door, leading all of them to bring their attention to the entrance.

“That must be Edric.” Joseph announced. 

Allowing their new guest to come in, Wilfred stepped over the many items scattered around the house before opening the door, revealing Edric on the other side.

“Ah, hello, milord. Your siblings are here already.”

The young man poked his head in, greeting the twins with a new sack of fish on his shoulder.

“Well?” He said, walking into the house. “Have you two learned anything?”

Joseph shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. We’re fairly certain the river carried the Dane here from upstream, but other than that... all we have is speculation.”

Edric strode towards them, kneeling beside his sister. “Speculation won’t do us any good. We need to know for sure who he is, and what he wants. I assume he hasn’t woken up yet?”

“No. He’s been unconscious this whole time. We don’t even know if he’ll survive.”

Wilfred joined their side, offering his advice to Edric. “As I was explaining to your brother earlier, milord, the only way this Dane is going to survive is if you get him in the hands of a healer. I’ve done what I can to buy him some time, but... without proper medical treatment, I fear he may pass soon.”

Edlynne’s expression lit up with an idea. “Linette! Back at the castle! She could look after him. She knows what she’s doing.”

The look on Edric’s face alone was enough to make his disapproval clear. “What? You want to bring a Dane back to the castle? After what just happened with Gareth?”

“I know it’s risky,” the young woman conceded, “but he’s dying, Edric. He needs our help.”

“So do many of our own people.” He countered. “We need to save our resources for those we can trust; those who will fight for us. Not stray Danes that wash up on our shores.”

Edlynne almost appeared offended at that. “Brother, do you hear yourself? This man’s life is in our hands, and you’re willing to just throw it away? All because he’s a Dane?”

The older man fell silent for a moment, admittedly feeling somewhat ashamed of his words, but still obstinate in his opinion. 

“I know it’s harsh, Edlynne, but you’ve not seen the horrors that have occurred between our people and the Danes. We’d be foolish to trust one, especially when we have no idea who he is. There’s also the fact that we’d have to keep his presence a secret. Until he wakes up, at least.”

“I think it’s worth it if it means we can save a life,” she replied. “I understand your fear, brother, but what sort of Christians would we be if simply stood by and watched this man die? His being a pagan doesn’t make him any less deserving of our help.”

Edric grew frustrated with his sister’s naivety. “It’s not just about the religion, Edlynne. It’s also about the war. There’s no love lost between Saxons and Danes, and for good reason. How do you think our friend here is going to react when he wakes up in a foreign castle, surrounded by hostile forces?”

The young woman frowned. “And what if he has a clan? What if they come looking for him? How do you think they’ll react when they find out we simply left him to die?”

Joseph shrugged in agreement. “She raises a fair point, Edric. If we help this man and he turns out to hate the Saxons, so what? We’ll have a castle full of guardsmen fighting against a single Dane. But if we don’t help him and his clan comes looking for him, we’ll have an entire army to deal with, plus anyone who’s allied with them. I say we bring him back. How much harm could he do in this condition, anyways?”

Edric sighed in defeat, finding himself at a loss for words. He really wasn’t fond of the idea of bringing a stranger back into the midst of their home -- especially when that stranger was a viking -- but deep down, he knew it was the right thing to do.

After all, what good was he as a Christian if he was not even willing to help those in need? He may have distrusted the Danes for their crimes in the past, but on the other hand, he had no way of indicating that this particular man had any similar motives.

For all he knew, this could’ve just been some poor soul who had gotten caught in the crossfire, and left for dead. There was nothing that could prove he had any intentions of doing wrong by their people, and... perhaps it would’ve been cruel to assume otherwise without even giving him a chance to wake up.

“...Alright, you two.” Edric finally said. “We’ll bring the Dane back to the castle.”

Edlynne beamed with appreciation. “You mean it?”

“Yes, but this will not bode well with father.”

Joseph dismissed the warning. “Father is blinded by his grief. He’ll understand eventually.”

Edric stood up from the floor and handed the sack of trout to his brother, giving him a new set of instructions.

“Here, take this. Ride back to Forangal. I’ll bring the Dane with me, and meet you two at Linette’s clinic later.”

Joseph groaned in effort as he lugged the sack over his shoulder, surprised at how heavy it was.

“Sounds good. Stay safe on the way back, brother. We promise not to tell father about this.”

“Good.”

Bringing his attention to Wilfred, Edric took out a few pieces of silver and placed them in the man’s hands, giving him an appreciative nod.

“Here, Wilfred. For your troubles.”

The fisherman smiled warmly. “Thank you, Edric. You’re far too kind.”

The nobleman chuckled. “My sister would disagree.”

Making their way out of Wilfred’s house, the siblings finally took their leave from Agenbury and swiftly returned to the stables, eager to ride back to the castle. They had no idea how well they’d be able to keep this a secret, considering all the prying eyes at Forangal, but the three of them were determined to ensure this man’s survival.

He could’ve been the key to all the conflicts that had arisen in Wedenscire. So many fights had broken out in the past few years between their people and the Danes, that a part of Edlynne hoped their new friend’s presence would help to ease the tensions. 

Though, she couldn’t help but wonder if her elder brother was right. What if Edric turned out to be correct, and this Dane only ended up causing more trouble? Was it wise to trust a man so blindly?

Probably not, but that didn’t hinder her desire to help the wounded man. He was completely at their mercy in his current condition, and Edlynne did not have the heart to cast him aside, regardless of the risks.

So, with a nervous heart, the young woman simply followed her brothers out of town and prepared herself for the journey ahead, praying that it would not end in more bloodshed. She knew how adamant their father was in his hatred for Danes, and she hoped that he would be able to see past the grief that still held onto him so tightly.

Gareth would’ve vouched for peace, after all. He always favored the diplomatic route over unnecessary violence, and in light of recent events, Edlynne imagined he would’ve wanted them to save this man too.

It was the only right thing to do, Edlynne thought. And she did not intend diminish her brother’s legacy.

[nothing-fancy94]

Accidental Love - Part 1

Hello people of tumblr! I’m back with another 2 part short! This time it is a Shadamy inspired by an ask given by @muffinbuttonfan to one of my best friends and fellow writers @another-sonic-blog! Please be sure to also check ASB’s version Love Potion

STORY SUMMARY: All Amy Rose ever wanted was to have Sonic love her back. But when a mistake with a love potion turns her world upside-down, will she chose an old or new love?

ENJOY! AND PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT!

ps. I didn’t proof read this, so apologies a head of time for errors ;)

~Part 1: The Mistake~

“Come on, Sonic! Just take a sip!”

“No, Amy, I’m not thirsty.”

“But I made it special for you!”

“Why are you being so insistent? It’s just a smoothie…”

Sonic’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Amy skeptically. She was standing before him with bright, pleading viridian eyes, and her little button nose twitched as she thought about the answer to his very simple question. She was wearing a different dress from her usual red and white trimmed one; a flowing soft pink sundress that gently fluttered in the summer breeze. And as he squinted, he noticed she’d put make-up on. It was something she hardly ever did, and as a result it was a bit sloppy. He would’ve thought it was cute if it wasn’t for the fact that Amy tended to only put in this amount of effort when she was up to something.

He looked down at the offered drink in her hand. It looked innocent enough, a watermelon pink with small flecks of red, indicating small bursts of fresh strawberries. It looked good enough that he almost took it from her, especially since it was a hot summer day and the cold, icey, sweet drink. Almost. However he had fallen for her tricks in the past and he didn’t plan on doing so again. In the past, she had resorted to sleep medicine to kidnap him on a date. He shivered at the memory. And as if to confirm his suspicions, Amy broke eye contact and looked off to the side while shuffling her feet.

“Just… I-I wanted to give you something nice on a hot day like today. I figured with all the running around that you do, you might want to have a cold smoothie… 

“I put protein in it.” She added as though this would be enough to convince him to take the drink. 

He scoffed and folded his arms across his chest as he looked her over.

“If there’s nothing wrong with it, then you won’t mind taking a sip before I drink it.”

Now it was Amy’s turn to narrow her eyes on her hero. She didn’t understand where the lack of trust was coming from, it wasn’t like she was gonna drug him… that hadn’t worked. Well, can I blame him? Especially considering I diiiid put love potion in the drink… She hadn’t planned on giving it to him, at least not at first. 

She’d been window shopping with Cream in Station Square, and as they’d passed one of their favorite clothing stores, she had noticed a small shop that was wedged between the store and the alley. It was a store that Amy had never seen before despite having passed by this spot multiple times in the last few months. Stranger still, the store front looked like it had lived in the corner for fifty years.

Amy stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes following the curves of aged wood, peeling white paint, and landed on a small hanging sign that read in faded cursive: Regina’s Apothecary and Oddities.

Cream hadn’t wanted to go in, but the pink hedgehog ignored her friend’s pleas. Something was calling to her, whispering in her ear… and before she knew it she had twisted the rusty, iron door knob and entered the shop with the tinkle of a bell. The inside was full of shelves that seemed to carry on for miles into the store. Which should’ve been impossible considering the size of the exterior. The floor was made up of aged wood that at one point had been an attractive light brown, but was now almost black from spilled substances and ground-in dirt. There was a light mist of dust in the air, and barely any lighting to brighten the store. Bottles filled with herbs, unknown liquids and powders filled the shelves. Each one a different color, and size, each one carefully labeled and priced. 

The ones closest to the door were sparkling in the small stream of sunlight that filtered through the foggy windows at the front of the shop. But as Amy looked at the ones a bit further away, she could make out a thin layer of dust settling onto the glass. Curiosity peaked, Amy made her way deeper into the store. Cream followed close behind, her trembling hands clinging to the hem of Amy's dress in a death grip. Her large brown eyes frantically darted around the store as they reached the dust covered bottles. Amy lifted a hand and wiped away dust to read the label. An Eye for an Eye.

“Looking to give someone a taste of their own medicine, dearie?”

The two young girls jumped and screamed, their arms instinctively wrapping around each other as the two turned to see an old, female cat. She smiled at the two girls from behind half-mooned glasses. One of her eyes was a startling amber color that shone as brightly and richly as the sun, while the other was white and unseeing. She chuckled and leaned forward on her cane.

“Sorry dearies, didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve been told by other customers that I should wear a bell.” She laughed at her own joke while shaking her head. The two girls just stared at her with wide eyes and open mouths. The longer they stood staring at the old feline the more unsettled both girls felt. There was something in the air that hadn’t been there before, and it caused their hearts to race, and trepidation began to worm its way into them.

“Now don’t just stand there staring dearies, what can I help you with? I have a potion for any conceivable thing you could wish for!” She hobbled closer to the girls with a wide gaping smile, forcing them to press themselves against the shelves. Little tinks and clinks from jostled bottles rang through the air, but that didn’t stop the old feline from putting her hand beneath Cream’s cheek. The poor girl stood petrified, her large brown eyes close to tears.

“Maybe you want a way to grow up faster, but be careful that you pick the right potion. You may end up with one that will not change your age but make you taller than a skyscraper.” The woman cackled in humor, but it only served to make the young bunnie cower behind Amy.

“Oh, maybe a potion of courage for the young rabbit. I sense a wish to be brave in the face of danger. Do you have a tendency to run away, dearie?”

“L-leave her alone!” Amy finally managed to exclaim, her arm shooting out to block Cream from view. 

The elder’s one good eye moved slowly to stare at her, while the other one stayed still and stared ahead. The eye was unwavering, and as it bore into Amy, she felt as though she was clawing through the young girl’s very soul. Searching for her innermost desires, emotions and fears. Amy felt a mental shiver at the sight, but refused to expose any fear in front of the old female. The cat’s lips curled upwards, and her only remaining fang glinted in the small amount of light.

“My eye can see there is no need for courage with you. Your determination rivals that of the most passionate minds of all time,” the female lifted herself on her tiptoes, and looked Amy up and down with her golden eye. 

“Hmmm, maybe beauty…” The feline’s hand snapped out quicker than lightning and grabbed Amy’s hand, swiftly removing the white glove in one fluid motion.

“Hey!” Amy cried out, and tried to remove her hand, but the hold was ironclad. The shopkeeper’s tail flicked back and forth as her fingers brushed over the lines in Amy’s palm like the kiss of butterfly wings.

“You have a male who refuses to reciprocate your heart’s desire, do you not?”

Amy’s face twisted in horrified shock, and she once again tried to remove her hand but to no avail.

“No! How do you -”

“I can give you something that will make every male turn their eyes to you. A potion to make you the most beautiful female on Mobius. At a price of course,” the feline’s raspy voice cackled once more. 

“No, thank you.” Amy stated firmly and finally succeeded in removing her hand from the cat’s grip. She turned, grabbing hold of Cream's hand and made for the door.

“Come on, Cream, let’s go.”

The small girl nodded in agreement, and quickened her pace. She wanted to leave the creepy store and more importantly, away from the terrifying feline who lurked the dusty isles. 

“Not interested in vain looks, admirable. But what would you say to a... love potion?”

Amy’s feet stopped, and her ears twitched backwards in curiosity. A love potion. Something that she had read about in old books when she’d been researching ways to make a male turn their attention to her. She had thought that it was a myth, a legend that was as fragile as the pages she read the inked words on. However, an odd hope, no, desire, was awoken within her at the old shopkeeper’s tempting offer. Something about this store had called to her the moment it had appeared. The way it had appeared also solidified an odd weight to the elder’s words. It was a mysterious shop, with a shopkeeper, who while being creepy, was also oddly eccentric. Something about her told Amy that her offer was not an empty promise, and that this potion likely had a chance of working. How could she pass that up?

“Amy…?” Cream tentatively asked, her arm pulled at Amy’s, trying to guide the girl from the store. She looked up to plead with Amy, but she saw that fire burning in Amy’s eyes that only ever appeared when she was thinking about her next scheme to win the heart of her love. And when it came to Sonic and romance, there was nothing that could stop Amy from doing what she wanted.

“Love potion?” She whispered with her back still turned to the old feline.

Seeing that she had finally hooked one of the girls, the shopkeeper grinned from pointed ear to pointed ear.

“Oh yes. A harmless substance, meant to unlock the cage of the heart. Just a drop would be enough to turn your beau’s eyes in your direction.”

Amy’s body twitched, and Cream felt panic rise to her throat. She knew where this was going.

“Come on Amy… let’s just go.”

Unfortunately it was too late… Amy turned and tilted her head.

“And you’re sure this works?” She asked, taking a step closer to the cat. The elder smiled, and pulled her shaky finger twice diagonally across her chest.

“Cross my heart and call me a witch. 100% satisfaction guaranteed.”

“And it won’t hurt him, or make him grow an eleventh toe or some other crazy side effect?” She was almost to the old female now. The cat scoffed and made a face that looked like she was offended.

“I use only organic ingredients, and a splash of white magic, of course.”

“Amy… I really think we should just -”

“Show me.”

Amy moved forward and out of Cream’s grip, leaving the girl standing alone. Cream moaned in distress and looked at the door with wistfulness before following her friend deeper into the store.

They walked for a few minutes, while the tapping of a wooden cane was all that could be heard. Finally they reached a shelf with pink and red bottles. The shopkeeper ran her finger over several bottles, muttering all the while.

“Mother Knows Best, no… Scarlet L, well that’ll give desire, but not love… Puppy Love, no. Ah! Here we are!” Her raspy voice announced excitedly as she rubbed the label on an elegantly shaped bottle. As the dust cleared, they could see a very soft pearl shine on the pink glass, and the bottom of the bottle curve upwards into an inverted tear-drop. There was a crystal heart stopper plugged neatly into the opening, and the whole item was no larger than a jam jar.

The old feline blew on the bottle, and then thrust it into Amy’s hand.

“There ya are dearie! One Eternal Love potion for one lucky blue hedgehog!”

 Cream almost gasped in surprise. How did this stranger know that Amy’s crush was a blue hedgehog?! She looked over at Amy, expecting the girl to be just as aghast, but instead Amy was smiling with jubilant eyes at the crystal vial in her hand. Either she hadn’t heard the old female, or she simply didn’t care.

“How much do I owe you?” She asked, and almost as if in a trance, Amy’s hand reached into her dress pocket and pulled out her wallet. The elder shook her head and pushed Amy’s hand down.

“No dearie. I deal in many worlds and places, your rings will do me no good!”

Amy’s ears drooped, and she felt her earlier excitement dwindle as a flame dying on a candle wick.

“Don’t worry, dearie, you may have something I want…”

“Tell me!” Amy replied, her face bright and hope once again filling her heart. Her desire outweighed her caution, and she was almost willing to give just about anything in return to have the potion.

“Do you wear those bracelets everyday?”

Amy blinked in confusion for a moment before looking down at her golden bracelets. She had worn them for as long as she could remember and usually forgot that they were even there.

“Yes, I do. Did you want them?” 

She was hesitant to give up her favorite accessory, but then again she could always buy another pair, whereas she felt an odd sensation that this was her only chance to purchase the one thing that could give her what she wanted most. Sonic the Hedgehog’s heart.

“One will do dear. Gold worn by a pure maiden in love is difficult to come by.”

The fact that she didn’t have to give up both was enough to motivate Amy. Cream watched the scene unfolding in disbelief. How could Amy be so ready to trust this weird cat? It almost seemed like the young girl was under a spell. Amy quickly pulled her hand through a bracelet, and handed it over. The old witch snatched the jewelry like an angry viper, and shoved it quickly into her pocket.

“I don’t accept returns, dearie.” The old feline said hurriedly, and then began shoving the girls out of her shop.

“Now, I really must close, it’s time for me to do some cleaning. Enjoy your love!”

And with a final tinkle and slam of the door, the girls were back outside.

“Amy! Mobius to Amy!”

Amy blinked, her mind muddled from the memory. She looked up and saw Sonic staring at her with a concerned look. Right. She was with Sonic and trying to get him to drink the smoothie…

“Sorry, Sonic!”

“Jeez! If you weren’t so young, I would’ve thought you were having a stroke! Is everything okay?” Sonic stepped forward and looked closer at her face, trying to see if she was sick. Amy felt her cheeks burst into flame from their close proximity, and took the opportunity to shove the drink into his chest.

“I will be, once you drink this smoothie.” She replied with a smile. All concern immediately washed off Sonic’s face to be replaced with annoyance.

“Oh right… almost forgot. But it seems you also forgot that I’m not gonna take one sip of that until you try it first.”

Amy sighed in frustration. Chaos this hedgehog was stubborn. Well what's the harm right? I mean I already love him so drinking it shouldn’t do anything to me. She looked up at his smirking face, oh how she wanted that smirk to turn to a loving smile. To have infatuation gleam from those emerald eyes rather than arrogance. So she called his bluff.

“Fine, if taking a drink will convince you of my good intentions, then I’ll do it.”

She closed her eyes, and placed her lips around the straw and sucked. Sweet strawberry and banana flooded her mouth, and cooled her warm cheeks.

“Mmmm, see Sonic, it’s tasty!” But when she opened her eyes, Sonic was no longer in front of her. She blinked, but he still didn’t appear. Confused, Amy quickly turned around to look for him, when she bumped quite roughly into someone. The chest her head connected with was hard, and she saw stars at the edge of her vision. Smoothie splashed onto her pretty peony dress, and the unfortunate soul she had smashed into.

“Oh sorry! I didn’t mean to -” Her apology died on her lips when she looked up into the most blood red eyes she had ever seen. Beautiful, she thought.

“Chaos-dammit! You got smoothie all over this damn jacket Rouge forces me to wear. I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

Amy blinked dumbly, unable to peel her gazed from his fiery eyes. They sucked her in, made her heart tremble, and her mind go blank. 

“Sorry, Amy!” Sonic called as he came up behind her, his hands clasped together in apology, “I saw an old lady with a cane struggling to cross the road,” He laughed nervously at his excuse for ditching the girl. He’d learned from past experience that abandoning her was never a good idea.

“You know me, I can never turn my back on a lady in need!”

When she didn’t respond, and instead kept a steady gaze on the person in front of them, he tilted his head. Usually she would gush over what a gentleman he was for helping someone in need, but she barely even seemed to register that he was there. He looked up to see who had the girl’s attention and was surprised to see a dark, and pissed off hedgehog.

“Oh, hey, Shadow. Surprised to see you walking about during the day,” Sonic laughed, causing a growl to emit from Shadow. Sonic removed his hand from Amy’s shoulder and brought his hand to his chin as he looked the glaring hedgehog over. He noticed the pink drink dripping from ebony fur and leather jacket.

“Oh, looks like you did me a favor!” The hero laughed again, placing a hand on Shadow’s shoulder. The ebony male growled and smacked Sonic’s hand away.

“Don’t touch me with those weak hands, faker.”

Sonic smirked, and folded his arms, his lids lowered mockingly.

“Oh? Someone wake up on the wrong side of the cyro sleeper today?”

Shadow growled once more, his fists clenching in anger. He was about to insult the blue hero further when suddenly a pink barrier popped up between him and his object of hate. Both male hedgehogs looked down in confusion to see Amy standing with her legs spread in a firm stance, and her hands shoving into their chests. They’d forgotten that Amy was there, and she was looking back and forth between them with a stern expression.

“Stop it!” She commanded. Shadow rolled his eyes at the dramatic display, here we go. Another lecture from the number one Sonic Fangirl, on how to play nice with the blue imbecile. He really had no time for this, all he’d wanted to do was try a new cafe that had opened up and raved about their bitter americano. All he wanted was to drink an ice cold, bitter, refreshing drink, and yet he was cursed by these two idiots. Screw it, I’ll just -

“Don’t you dare talk to Shadow like that! He didn’t do anything wrong, I was the one that bumped into him!”

A pregnant silence fell upon the hedgehog trio as both males looked at each other and then back to the young girl in shock. She wasn’t glaring at Shadow like she normally would have. No, instead she was glaring fiercely at her self-proclaimed boyfriend.

“Shadow is the Ultimate Life Form! You should show him some respect!”

Silence. Sonic blinked rapidly, and stuck a finger into his ear to clean out any imaginary wax.

“Uh, Ames… what are you saying?” The hero asked, his expression was entirely stunned and confused, a comical look for the self assured hero, if the situation hadn’t been so bizarre. Amy huffed and stuck out her bottom lip before grabbing Shadow’s arm. She yanked it to her chest and stared at Sonic from behind it while sticking out her tongue.

“Wow! You really are dumb! Do I need to repeat myself twice?”

Sonic’s mouth popped open like a toaster, and his eyes flicked from Amy’s aggressive sneer to Shadow’s frozen face. What in Chaos's name is going on?

“HAHAHAHA!”

Sonic and Amy jumped from the unexpected sound, and were surprised to discover that it was Shadow laughing his ass off. Neither of Mobious’ heroes had ever seen Shadow smile let alone full belly laugh before. 

“Looks like someone finally grew a brain! How does it feel to have your fangirl burn you like that faker?” Shadow chuckled some more before removing his arm from Amy’s grip.

“Well this has been interesting, but playtime is over.” His expression had returned to its usual glower, and he turned to make his way to his destination. He had only made it one step when he was yanked backwards by a pink hedgehog.

“Where are you going? Can I come?”

Shadow looked over his shoulder in disbelief to see Amy holding his hand and staring up at him with large puppy-dog eyes. What the fu -

“Amy! What the heck is going on? Is this some kind of joke or trick?!” Sonic exclaimed, his expression deeply concerned now. Amy was acting completely out of character as though someone else had taken control of her body. He had hardly ever seen her talk to the ebony anti-hero, let alone cling to Shadow like… well like she did with him.

Amy turned to look at Sonic once more, but she didn’t let go of Shadow’s hand.

“Nothing’s ‘going on.’ I just want to spend time with Shadow.”

Shadow flinched at the words, just what was this girl playing at? Spending time with someone she constantly berated as being ‘no fun,’ ‘dark and gloomy,’ and just plain mean. It was unbelievable, impossible. However, here she was, desperately holding onto his hand, and against his better judgement, he felt something stir within him.

“Seriously, Amy! You trying to make me jealous with another guy is so overused. Just drop the act!”

“What are you talking about?” Amy scoffed, and smiled sweetly up at Shadow. Shadow felt his heart stop for a single beat as he stared into clear jade pools of adoration. A look so honest and so raw that it cut through all of his barriers and walls, and pierced his ice-cold heart. Then those sloppily painted lips part, and a voice sweeter than honey announced,

“Shadow’s my boyfriend, of course I want to spend time with him!”

[blissfulalchemist]

2 and 19 from each of the OC development questions? 😊

Okay I am going to do three of my OCs for this one. I will do Chance, Hypatia, and Liz! Thank you so much for asking my dear!

Hypatia Caro

2. Can your oc play any instruments? Have they ever wanted to learn how to play any? Why?

She cannot play an instrument, unless you count the bongos she messes with from time to time when she would come across groups of other travelers. Other than that she never had much interest in learning an instrument, but she admires those that play them.

19. If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Hypatia is on the run as she escaped from an organization that was created to help the human world from intermingling too much with the vampiric one so at any moment she very well would be arrested for that. I mean it doesn’t help that there was some property damage and broken bones along the way out but that’s hardly her worry. Hypatia would be arrested for a legitimate crime as she’s not afraid to do things like commit arson, shoot a weapon, fight her way out of a situation, steal, and overall do what needs to be done to survive. She cares but she finds that the law can be flexible in the name of survival.

2. Does your oc have dreams or nightmares? What are they like? Is there a recurring one?

Tia has a mix of both dreams and nightmares, though once the events of her story start she has more nightmares than dreams. The Alchemists were far from kind and before that there was a near death experience with her Coven, so she has some issues there. 

19. If someone was describing your oc to someone who had never met them, what distinguishing features would they mention? How would one identify your oc in a crowd?

People would start with her hair that has highlights in it to make it look like an oil slick in the sunlight. She’s also quite tall standing at 5′9″ with the occasional heeled boots. Her style is also one that unless you’re at a music festival like Coachella you’ll spot her as she loves to wear her fish net tights, shorts, tank tops, and her jean jacket with some patches on it. The other most definable feature on her is the golden lily tattoo that wraps around her left hand and does shine as it is actual gold in the ink. (There are a few other tattoos that I have yet to decide on but that’s her major one)

2. Can your oc play any instruments? Have they ever wanted to learn how to play any? Why?

Chance cannot play an instrument. He tried to learn how to play electric guitar but to no avail as he didn’t have the patience or time to really commit to it. He sometimes contemplates learning but he doesn’t ever really go through with it. 

19. If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Chance has gotten arrested before for drunken disorderly, noise complaints while at parties, and public intoxication. Surprisingly he never got arrested for stealing a car and going on a joy ride at night. Once sober Chance tries to stay on the straight and narrow but when you have friends like Sharky and Hurk Jr. well it can be hard at times.  

2. Does your oc have dreams or nightmares? What are they like? Is there a recurring one?

Chance never had nightmares until the reaping, after that its a near constant stream of them ranging from his death, death of his father, friends, and Faith, the various tortures of Jacob, John, and even Faith. The nightmares don’t stop once its all over either and Chance can be too proud to go and get help for something like PTSD. 

19. If someone was describing your oc to someone who had never met them, what distinguishing features would they mention? How would one identify your oc in a crowd?

He’s got a scar on the back of neck, just off of the center. Chance also has chemical formulas on his left hand and a chemical structure on his right hand that looks like a mountain range. There’s one more tattoo on his back between his shoulder blades that’s a crescent moon with a rose rising up in front of it look like the Sailor Moon’s Moon Stick with the Silver Crystal attached to it. He’s also got some brown hair that never seems to stay as it should with some of the curls sticking up as if he’s just woken up(which is honestly probably the truth). Other than that he can be very nondescript.

2. Can your oc play any instruments? Have they ever wanted to learn how to play any? Why?

Liz can play the guitar! She’s actually pretty good for someone that was mostly self taught in main canon. She picked it up while she waited for her mom to pick her up from school as a small child and the teacher helped in showing her some very basic skills. After that she just took off with wanting to learn and teaching herself, more so once she found her passion for social justice and wanting to play the songs of power and bringing forth the new age. She loses the amount of time to practice as she starts high school but she plays and sings alone or around her best friend Val.

19. If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Liz would be arrested for protesting and her direct actions that can be taken in the name of doing the right thing. She gets away with it a lot when she’s younger but does have to learn restraint as she gets older, but she still gets away with it a lot of times as she becomes a lawyer for this reason specifically. So yes Liz would be arrested for legitimate crimes against the system. 

2. Does your oc have dreams or nightmares? What are they like? Is there a recurring one?

Liz has mostly dreams, even after nearly killing Joseph she is young enough and gets the help early enough to not have the level of nightmares her mom has. Liz does have a reoccurring dream when she’s stressed or hasn’t gotten enough sleep, that involves her trying to search for her mom in a fog/mist turning into her child self and at times when she finds her mom, Cat disappears from her or the face changes to something more scary. 

19. If someone was describing your oc to someone who had never met them, what distinguishing features would they mention? How would one identify your oc in a crowd?

Look for the brightest, loudest, and most out there prints and colors and you’ve spotted her. To really confirm that it’s her she has a scar on her upper lip on the left side of her face, its not huge but its still fairly noticeable. Though go for the clothes first and she’s hard to miss in the crowd, she also can stand a lot taller as she wears white go go boots almost everywhere.

[srhlsx]

Rewritten & Reposted March 23, 2021

MASTER | Ch. 2 | CHAPTER 3 | Ch. 4

It was early.

Not too early that the birds weren’t chirping, but just early enough that the sun had yet to fully warm up the ground below you. A foggy mist was still lifting from the wet grass, evaporating and making the air deceitfully cooler than it actually was. 

The doors to the small side gym were rusty and took a good effort to open, both of your hands gripped the edges of the metal doors and you pulled with all of your weight. You let out a rough grunt when the doors finally opened fully, stumbling a little as they jammed into place with a sound that told you they were not moving again without a great deal of force.

“It’s not like we are some secondary team,” Rumi spoke up from behind you, annoyance in her tone as she tied her hair back. “We literally won Interhigh. We should get to be in our regular gym.”

“Yeah, well,” You shrugged without much thought, wiping your hands on your shorts. “It’s academy week, we’re lucky enough there’s a spare gym to use in the first place.”

Rumi squinted down at you, her hands resting on her hips. “Someone’s grumpy. You hardly had anything to drink last night so you definitely aren’t hungover.”

You stared up at her with your tongue pressing against your cheek, not sure how she even managed to catch onto your slightly sour mood in the first place. Her eyebrow flicked up in question and you knew this wasn’t something that you were just going to get by with ignoring. “My dad again,” You rolled your eyes. “It’s… whatever.”

“It’s not whatever but I’ll let you by this time.” Rumi stared at you for a moment longer before she slung her bag into the gym carelessly. “Run it off.”

You nodded and copied her actions and threw your own sports bag into the dark of the gym, a plume of dust puffing into the air as it landed. After slipping on your outdoor sneakers and tightening the laces, you bounced up onto the balls of your feet and nodded that you were ready to go.

The crisp morning air was refreshing. The pounding of both your feet on the earth was a welcome distraction from the growing burn in your lungs and the thoughts swirling in your head. The further you ran, the hotter it became, and soon you were wiping sweat from your hairline - a few wayward strands that had come loose from your top-knot slicked back into place with your perspiration. 

“By the way,” Rumi huffed out. “Did you get that guy’s number last night?”

“Ha!” You barked out, huffing a bit for air as you ran and talked at the same time. “He asked for mine.”

“And?” She pushed, clearly not amused.

“I said I’d see him around,” You shrugged. 

You glanced over to see Rumi shaking her head at you, “You are seriously the worst.”

As you rounded the corner on your last lap around the campus, leg muscles feeling like they were finally waking up with a burning sensation, you could hear the distant sounds of low voices yelling. It was coming from the area where the main gyms were, and you knew the yells were because of a punishing run up the infamous Shinzen hill. You did not envy those who had to run the hill. 

“What?” You nudged her with your shoulder as you continued. 

“He was cute, (y/n).”

“And?” You replied. “I do not have the time to add anything else to my life.”

“He was into you,” She continued to shake her head. “You’re seriously an idiot.”

If you squinted hard enough, you were sure you would be able to distinguish between the bodies that were loitering around the doors of the main gym where the boys volleyball camp was being held, but with the sun rising in that direction you couldn’t make out much. You had to tell yourself that, no, you were not looking for a specific person, you didn’t even know the guy - yet, when your attention was dragged away again by Rumi you couldn’t help the disappointment that crowded your heart at not seeing a specific head of gray and black hair.

“Race to the end?” She wheezed out, a glint in her eyes showing how truly competitive she was feeling. 

You smirked at the question, of course you were going to race her to the end, any chance at competition between the two of you was never passed up. Eating, holding your breath, sprints, volleys in a row - anything you can name was a competition between you and your long time friend and teammate.

You grabbed onto the waistband of her athletic shorts and yanked backwards, making her slow down and almost stumble as you sprinted forward - seeing as she was a solid ten centimeters taller than you, you needed all the advantage you could get - plus, your competitions were never clean fights to begin with. 

Rumi yelled after you, calling you all sorts of names and sprinting to catch up - pulling on the back of the shirt you were wearing, making you cough and choke slightly. You reached back and shoved your hand in her face, laughing as she grunted and fought back. 

The race to the gym doors continued this way, both of you actually fighting one another for the lead until finally you stumbled first through the open door and landed on the floor at the feet of your teammates. 

“One of these days,” A voice above you said, annoyed tone evident as they spoke. “You two are going to get hurt, then where will that leave us?”

“I’ve got to be honest, Ms. Goh,” You said, getting up from the floor and dusting yourself off, an air of pride coming off you as you knew you had won. “If it means beating the sh-”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” The woman in front of you shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Change your shoes, you’re getting dirt on the court.”

“It’s hardly a court.” Rumi scoffed from behind you, her breathing starting to settle down. “Stupid boys with their stupid camp and their stupid-”

A deep voice cleared their throat from the doors of the gym, alerting everyone present to get their act together. Rumi stiffened considerably and looked over her shoulder to the looming figure requesting all attention. “Now, now,” The man said, walking into the gym with his hands behind his back and a subtle smile on his face. “Let’s turn all that pent up aggression into a meaningful practice, yes?”

*

Taking a break after the first set of the day, Bokuto stood at the top of the steps that lead to the main Shinzen fieldhouse. He watched as the team he just played ran up the steep, grass covered hill famous for serving as punishments. Bokuto wasn’t a slacker in any part of his training, but watching the way others struggled to get to the top made him grateful he wasn’t in their shoes.

Off in the distance, a pair of runners caught Bokuto’s attention. Raising his water bottle to take another swig, he could tell they were girls and he squinted his golden eyes to get a better look. Because, who wouldn’t?

Instantly he knew it was you and his heart squeezed just a little. That’s new.

Your legs were flexing with each step you took, a light sheen of sweat glimmering off your skin. Your hair was piled on top of your head, looking like some of it had come loose from running. With every breath you took, your chest heaved up and down, a loud laugh echoing down to where he stood when he saw you pull on your friend’s clothing and sprint ahead of her. 

The yelling also caught the attention of the person Bokuto was standing next to; his lazy gaze looking up to see the two girls literally fighting each other as they raced towards what looked like a rundown version of the building they were currently playing in.

“Are those the girls from the other night?” Kuroo asked, squeezing a stream of water into his mouth as he caught his breath after finishing his running punishment.

“Uh yeah,” Bokuto coughed a little, nervous he had been caught staring. “Looks like it.”

“You’re oddly quiet.” Kuroo mused, nudging his long-time friend with his elbow, his goading nature coming out. “Has something finally managed to shut you up? A certain girl, by chance?”

Bokuto shoved his friend away, pushing his hand into Kuroo’s face and walking back into the gym as the teams started gathering up again. No way was he going to admit that yes this girl, who he didn’t even know, who he’d talked to once in his life, was in fact taking up a lot of space in his mind. He wanted to turn back around and keep watching you, but wanting the relentless teasing that Kuroo was capable of to be cut short, he instead walked up to his teammates and began strategizing for their next match.

The afternoon hours passed by, Bokuto and his teammates continued to mercilessly challenge the other schools there and won far more times than they lost. 

Bokuto, Kuroo, and Akaashi had just finished up a little extra practice in a side gym and were walking to the cafeteria to rummage up a bit of dinner, hoping there was still some left over from the other teams. They were chatting idly about camp and their upcoming matches, Bokuto excitedly talking up everything while Akasshi managed to keep him from running into anything.

As they passed the more beat up gym on the Shinzen campus, Bokuto saw that the lights were still on. What Bokuto also noticed, and caused him to slow down his walking, was the yelling and sound of sneakers that came from the gym. Kuroo and Akasshi must’ve noticed as well as they too slowed to a stop - looking towards each other, then at the gym, then at one another again. They were certain they had been the last group practicing together so they had no idea who else could be there.

The double doors to the gym were open and it was easy to see inside without having to be in the actual doorway. The grunts and shouts of people within the gym were more distinct now that they could see what was going on. The sight before them was one they wouldn’t soon forget. 

A woman in her mid thirties stood near the edge of the court next to a basket of balls, every few seconds or so she was tossing them into the air across the court towards where a familiar face was standing. Rumi was crouched down, knees bent as her eyes never left the ball flying towards her, at the perfect moment she lifted herself from the ground, hands extended, and delicately lofted the ball into a perfect spiking position.

The loud sound of a pair of sneakers against the wood flooring signaled the approach of another member of the team. She swung her arms back and launched into the air, matching up with Rumi’s set perfectly as her arm swung forward and connected with a resounding smack. Simply watching their movements alone, the guys were surely expecting to hear the tell-tale sound of a ball impacting the floor.

But it never did.

A loud grunt, the sound of a body hitting the floor, and a ball flying up into the air. A small voice shouted, “Got it!” and the drill continued again and again.

Bokuto looked across the court to see you, throat constricting as his heart rate seemed to double at the sight. You were flying across the court, dive after dive as the spiking drill never let up. The steady interval of balls getting hit every few seconds was almost dizzying to watch, but not once did a ball come in contact with the ground when you were on the other side of the net.

“Ladies, it is one against ten here!” An older man jokingly yelled from where he watched on the far side of the court,clapping his hands in encouragement. “Surely someone can get past her.”

Bokuto continued to watch as you dove into impossible positions to keep any and all attacks from hitting the ground. You flung out an arm and caught one ball with your wrist and sent it flying back over the net. Not a moment later, you were sprawled in a near split as you connected the top of your foot with an attempt to catch you off guard. It continued for ages and Bokuto never tore his eyes away.

“Pick your jaw up, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi said as Kuroo reached over at the same time to help Bokuto with just that. “You’ll drool on the floor.”

“Akaashi! I am not drooling” Bokuto whined a little too loudly, catching the attention of the girl’s team in the gym.

“Peeping Toms!” One of your teammates yelled from across the gym.

The sound of his voice caught your attention and made you look up briefly, in a moment of distraction Rumi was sure she caught you off guard and switched up her setting in favor of a dump. Of course, you saw the gleam in her eye and jumped forward and managed to catch the ball with your fingertips at the last second. Rumi let out a strain of profanities that left your team advisor blushing furiously as you rolled over onto your back.

Exhausted, you laughed boisterously and sat up with your legs spread before you like a ragdoll. “Good to see you again, Top Five!”

*

[thegreatsharkleve]

Elijah Post LFRP - Crystal data center

The Basics ––– –

Name: Elijah Post

Age: 28

Race: Midlander/Highlander

Gender: Cis Male

Sexuality: Gay (but flirts with pretty much everyone)

Relationship Status: Sort of involved? (He will neither confirm nor deny there being a presence of embarrassingly soft feelings...)

Languages: Common, a rudimentary grasp of Doman

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Honey Blond and could definitely use a cut or a style… or a brush most days, to be perfectly honest.

Eyes: Amber – more a reddish-orange hue than yellow

Height: 5’6”

Appearance: He is an attractive enough guy: excellent jaw line, straight nose, striking eyes, long limbs, trim figure, and a charming smile. Unfortunately (for anyone who has to look at him) his fashion sense is … questionable at best. Most of his outfits consist of brightly colored, egregiously wrinkled shirts and pants that rarely make it past his ankles. He wears a lot of tacky jewelry, sunglasses inside buildings and most certainly at night, and there is a very real possibility that the only footwear he owns, besides a pair of fluffy pink slippers, are sandals – which he has, in fact, been known to wear with socks. Still, he carries himself with a lazy confidence that somehow makes his perpetual “I have just woke up in the middle of the afternoon” look seem more of an artful affectation rather than a cry for help.

One of the more notable things about him are his plethora of scars, with the most prominent being the one that runs diagonal across his face and the two sets of whorling burns along both shoulders – one creeping down over his right pectoral and the other running over the upper part of his left arm. His ring finger on his left hand is missing after the first knuckle (don’t ask about this one if you’re eating), and a long surgical scar runs vertically along his outer right forearm. Underneath his clothes are a smattering of healed bullet wounds and a few others of less identifiable origin, but you’re gonna have to buy him a couple drinks if you want to take a closer look.

Personal ––– –

Profession: Journalist – specifically a freelance field correspondent who specializes in conflict journalism and investigative reporting. When he’s between field work, he often picks up puff pieces with local papers, writing about the arts, sports, culture, etc.

Residence: No permanent listed address – currently renting a room at the Hidden Pearl in the Mists. He can usually be found sitting at the bar after he’s just rolled out of bed, having bacon twists and sake for breakfast (at 2pm).

Birthplace: Ul’Dah

Religion: Meh

Likes: Day drinking, people watching, writing, sleeping, animals, (tall men)

Dislikes: Bureaucracy, wealth disparity, national pride, bullies, snobs, being cold

Fears: Commitment, being emotionally vulnerable, people in mascot costumes

Personality: Elijah seems like a pretty easy going, even tempered guy for the most part. He has a languorous, lackadaisical disposition – meandering through life as though he never really has a place to be, and if he did, he isn’t in any particular rush to get there. With friends or with strangers he’s quick to smile or laugh or tell a joke, affable enough that people tend to trust him with pieces of themselves without noticing he offers very little of himself in return. He can come across as flippant or indifferent in conversation, and while he is rarely intentionally cruel, he has a habit of jamming his thumbs into people’s buttons. It’s very possible he is just incidentally annoying rather than consciously so. He likes to maintain plausible deniability on that front.

When working in the field Elijah becomes much more focused – he stands taller, moves with purpose, exchanging his usual countenance of a rumpled layabout for that of a seasoned professional. He has on more than one occasion put his own body on the line (and in the hospital) in combat situations, or when pursuing a lead. He will recount each scar, and his half missing finger, with a joviality that some folks find off putting given some of the more grisly details. This disregard for his own safety is likely one of the (many) reasons he has never gotten a full time reporting gig with any of Eorza’s major newspapers – that, and he has a habit of leaving journalistic impartiality at the door. It’s clear from his writing that he has a deep well of empathy for other people and admires underdogs who fight uphill battles for high minded idealism, even if he ultimately believes their sentimentality to be a little bit naive..

Relationships ––– -

Parents: His Mother has passed, but his Father is still kicking and perpetually disappointed in his son! Their relationship is… strained by not estranged?

Pets: His Chocobo Bixley – but really, that’s more of a buddy and stalwart feathered compatriot than a pet.

traits ––– -

bold your character’s answer.

extroverted / in between / introverted

disorganized / in between / organized

close minded / in between / open minded

calm / in between / anxious

disagreeable / in between / agreeable

cautious / in between / reckless

patient / in between /  impatient

outspoken / in between / reserved

leader / in between / follower

empathetic / in between / apathetic

optimistic / in between / pessimistic

traditional / in between / modern

hard-working / in between / lazy

cultured / in between / uncultured

loyal / in between / disloyal

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: Has been known to chain smoke.

Drugs: The spice of life is trying anything and everything twice!

Alcohol: Probably too often on that front too..

Background information/ Potential RP Hooks? ––– – 

UL’DAH BORN AND RAISED: He lived most of his youth in Ul’Dah, haunting the less affluent areas of Eorzea’s grandest pile of rocks in the desert. His mother was an Ala Mhigan immigrant and his father just a simple Ul’Dah native who ran a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. His parents were very “hard work and sacrifice” types when he was growing up, giving away free meals to refugees and anyone who was hungry. They were well liked by those who knew them, veritable pillars of the community, for whatever that was worth in what was hardly a half step above a slum. His mother died a few years ago but his father still works in his run down little restaurant – lots of folks still recognize Elijah as his parent’s kid rather than for his own work. He has mixed feelings about it.

FREELANCE JOURNALIST WITH AN AXE TO GRIND: Elijah’s had work published in The Mythril Eye, The Harbor Herald, and The Raven. Because he has a reasonably good standing at these newspapers (and friendly relationships with some of the editors) he’s able to pick up the odd puff piece, op-ed, or political coverage gig in order to cover his expenses when he’s between larger assignments. In the past he has written some pretty incendiary pieces about Ul’Dah’s treatment of Ala Mhigan refugees, as well as a few pieces lambasting the noble houses of Ishgard and their complacency in the Dragonsong War and their collaboration with the corrupt Holy See, which has earned him a bit of a “reputation”. On the other hand, he is just as willing to throw himself upon the altar of journalistic tripe for a quick gil. If you have any tips or story leads you want investigated, Elijah just might be your man. If your character is involved at any of the major Eorzean papers, they might be acquainted.

CONFLICT REPORTING: Elijah has spent time in the middle of political unrest in Ishgard, covering Garlean incursions and skirmishes across the continent, and until recently he has been covering the ongoing issues in Othard. In fact, he’s only just returned from spending an extended period living with the resistance forces in Gyr Abania; and, he has some very strong opinions regarding the absolutely hacking edits The Mythril Eye made to his work before publication (without his permission). If your character was part of the fighting in Gyr Abania, Elijah might have spoken to them or went out into the field with them on occasion.

TRAVELING FOR WORK: Given the nature of his job, Elijah has visited most major cities while on assignment and has been known to interview common folks, political figures, travelers, military types -- anyone who will talk to him. If you've spoken to him in the past, your words might have ended up in print, for better or for worse (he has been punched in the face on more than one occasion, and he regrets nothing); however, he has never once burned an informant or lead that has come to him for help. He has enough of a reputation that folks (government and law enforcement sorts) might take to actively avoiding him.

OOC/Contact Information  ––– –

The Player: Becks | They/Them | 30+ | Atlantic Timezone | Canadian

Looking for: Long term rp connections, short term adventures, friendship, rivalry, romance, I’m open to pretty much anything!

I’m a 30+ year old player who is a little anxious and shy when it comes to meeting new people on the internet (hence playing an extrovert to drag me out of my shell) but I’m really excited to make new friends and rp connections!! As I said, I am up for anything, including walk ups when I am out and about, and this character is on the surface level a very chill and friendly dude! I am, however, also someone who engages with a lot of mature themes -- not just swearing, drugs and alcohol, but also heavier themes (the realities of class disparity and poverty, the human cost of war, trauma, etc etc)  that might not be everyone’s cup of tea. But!! I wouldn’t just throw it out there willy nilly, and I believe firmly in communication between players -- discussing boundaries and limits is very important, as well as trusting each other enough to speak up if either party is uncomfortable!   I am cool with my character being injured, but please check in with me before doing anything drastic that will result in something permanent (like maiming or... y’know, death). Also I am open to rping romance (or lack of romance but the bits that go with it) though this character is currently not up for shipping adventures. Just to be clear, I am not comfortable doing that type of role play with anyone that’s under 25, sorry! I'm in my early thirties, and it would just be weird for me. We can still be pals, I promise! Please only reach out to me if you are 18+ and your character is 18+ -- I am not comfortable interacting with minors.

All art on this tumblr is probably mine unless stated otherwise! <3 Contact: Message me here on tumblr, /tell Elijah Post on Balmung, and if we become friends I am up for discord handle sharing! :D

I am open to cross-world rp and rp outside of the game as well!!

Now that I’ve got this edited how I want it... Boosts appreciated! Always looking for more active blogs to follow/be friends with!! 

[curiosi-tea-writes]

Bad Day

Pairing: Robert / Finn (Gilmore Girls) 

Summary: Robert is sick and has a very bad, not good, day. (Which is what I almost titled the fic.) He refuses to let anyone help him until Finn all but forces him to and suddenly Robert’s day is going much better. 

-----------------------------------------

Robert never got sick. It just didn’t happen. Yet here he was, his head pounding and his throat so sore he could hardly speak. He woke and instantly wished he wasn’t alone. 

Finn had meant to spend the night but was called away by Colin who had just had his heart broken by some girl or another for the umpteenth time. So he was alone in his apartment, wanting absolutely nothing but to go back to sleep. But he wasn’t sick. He refused to tell himself he was sick. Robert never got sick.

He hardly ate anything for breakfast and ended up leaving the eggs in the pan on the stove, telling himself he’d clean it up when he got home. 

As he poured his coffee he spilt some on his hand, causing him to hiss in pain and surprise, letting go of the mug. Picking up the pieces of the now shattered mug and tossing them in the trash, all he could do was sigh and tell himself that his day would improve once he got to school.

He did his best to style his hair, hoping that if his hair looked nice, he’d look at least a tad more put together than he felt. Sighing heavily, he threw on a heavy coat and a scarf before walking out the door. 

He didn’t have the head space to drive so he walked. It was cold and he felt miserable. It had begun misting about five minutes out from the building and all he could do was sigh and trudge along. 

He sat in his usual seat in class, already knowing he’d hardly pay any attention. Which was crazy, because he most definitely was not sick.

“Hey, Robert,” Rory’s cheerful voice was a comfort to him. She took a seat next to him and smiled brightly. When all he could manage was a weak one in return, she frowned. “What’s wrong?” 

“Just,” he sighed, “having an off day.”

She hummed, nodding. “Trouble in paradise?”

Robert’s eyes turned sad at the thought that she would even suggest that. “No, Finn and I are great. He’s perfect-”

“I wouldn’t say perfect-”

“I just am not 100% today.”

Rory tilted her head a little. “Are you sick?”

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. “Ace, that blasphemy!” Logan let go of his shoulder and walked to sit on the other side of Rory. “Robert doesn’t get sick.”

Logan’s expression changed quickly as he looked up at Robert’s face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m not sick,” Robert said before mumbling, “I’m just tired.”

Rory exchanged a sad look with a now concerned Logan as the professor began his lecture.

When class was over, Rory offered to get Robert some coffee to make him feel better. When Robert turned it down, Logan offered to drive him home.

“I actually think I’m going to go find Finn. He was at Colin’s dorm last night.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Rory asked softly, putting her hand on his cheek.

“I’m fine,” Robert nodded. “Really.”

The couple nodded and walked off together, leaving Robert to make his way to Colin’s room.

He stood outside Colin’s suite door, his head against the wall and his feet freezing from when he stepped in a puddle on his way over that was much deeper than he had originally thought it was. His knuckles hurt as he rapped on the door, sighing with content when he heard it unlock.

Colin stood before him in sweats and a hoodie - his breakup attire - with a very confused look on his face. “Are you okay?”

Robert groaned. “Can everyone please stop asking me that today?”

“Sorry,” Colin chuckled. “You look like Hell though.”

“Thanks.” Robert glared at him and Colin raised his hands in defense. “Can you get Finn?”

Colin’s face fell. “Finn went back to your place. He said he was going to call you.”

Robert patted his pockets and groaned again. “I must have left my cell at home.” He sighed running his hands over his face. 

“I’d offer a ride, but-” Colin gestured vaguely meaning “but I wrecked my car two weeks ago and have had little luck getting a new one.”

“I know, you’re fine. Thanks, man.” 

Robert turned and braced himself for the cold rain again. His head had only gotten worse and every sound around him sounded like it was being played through a guitar amp. 

He felt a wave of relief as he turned the key to his front door. 

“Finn?” he called as he closed the door behind him.

The taller man walked out of the bathroom and leaned against the door jam. “Hey, Darling. Colin called, said you were on your way home.”

“Did he also tell you I looked like Hell because he had no issue telling me.” He took off his jacket and scarf, hanging them up by the door to dry. Taking off his soaked shoes he continued, “But, to be fair, he didn’t look to hot himself.” He finally turned back around to face Finn who was still standing by the bathroom. 

“He said you looked upset,” Finn spoke softly. “And I agree.”

Robert sighed. “I swear, Finn if you ask me what’s wrong-”

“I’m not.” Finn finally got off the door jam and made his way to his boyfriend. Wrapping his arm’s around Robert’s shoulder, he let his settle into him before he spoke again. “I will admit that you don’t look well but I’m not going to pressure you to talk about anything.”

Robert buried his nose into Finn’s shoulder and took a deep breath, breathing in the other’s scent of vanilla and something that was just so perfectly Finn. 

“Finn,” Robert mumbled into his shoulder. When Finn hummed in response, his hands running up and down Robert’s back, he took another deep breath and continued, “I think I’m sick.”

Finn chuckled. “I could have told you that, Darling. You’re burning up.” 

Finn pulled away, bringing his hand up to Robert’s cheek, much like Rory had done earlier. It made Robert’s heart ache knowing that he was surrounded by people who genuinely cared for him. Finn took Robert’s hand and pulled him towards the bathroom.

“When Colin called me I figured you’d need something nice when you got home so,” he stopped as the two entered the small room. The bathtub was filled with hot water and the room smelled heavily of lavender. There was a cup of black tea on the side of the tub with a small plate of soft cookies.

“Thank you,” Robert whispered.

As Robert sat in his tub, he could feel his mood and health improving. He let Finn sit on the side of the tub and wash his hair free of all the product he had used that morning and eventually told Finn what had happened during the few hours of the day thus far that had made it so difficult.

Robert’s watch beeped on the counter and he sighed, leaning his head against Finn’s side. “It’s almost 11.”

Finn hummed, running his hand through Robert’s damp hair. “So?”

“I have class at 11:30.”

“You’re not going to the rest of your classes today.”

Robert pulled away, looking at Finn with surprise. 

“Finn, on top of everything else today, I don’t need to miss lectures and be behind in my classes.” 

Finn shook his head, placing his hand back in Robert’s hair. “You don’t feel well, Darling. What you need is rest. You and Rory are the parents of the group, you always take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you for once.”

Reluctantly, Robert agreed. The rest of the day was spent in Robert’s warm bed with the curtains pulled closed to keep out what little light shown outside. Finn stayed by his side the whole rest of the day. It didn’t take long for Robert to admit that his day was going much better.

“Are you sure? Because I could reenact The Passion of the Christ if you’d like,” Finn offered with a grin.

“I think I’ll pass. Next time, Love.” 

He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Robert’s lips before whispering softly against them, “Oh, promises, promises.” 

-------------------------------

Welcome to my first fic of this new account. I have other fics that can be found on my personal account @rebel-scum-12il96m18​ so go check that out. I will also make a masterlist which will include those. This fic is dedicated to @billxharry​ because she was the one who got me back into writing fics. Miss you, Ash!

[krizaland]

ok, so imagine this, yandere zim has a nice and obedient friend but zim takes it too far and she reaches her limit. Sorry if it's a bit odd and not specific but can you do something with that?

It’s all good! I got the perfect idea! I took a little inspiration from my childhood nightmares of Zim turning me into an Irken.

I even drew up a picture to go with it!

Be warned: Reader will be experimented on! Also, Yanderes are creepy fucks. There won’t be anything sexual but things will get very creepy and disturbing. 

You had been friends with Zim for over 6 months now! Zim never knew why you would always be so nice to him.

At first he thought you were trying to expose him but after learning that you were just genuinely nice, Zim decided to let you live.

Zim had to admit, you did start to grow on him.

You would always compliment him on his various gadgets and would listen to him whenever he needed to vent.

You weren’t too clingy and gave him the space he needed.

Soon, Zim learned that you seemed to enjoy helping him out from time to time.

You would often bring him homework he had forgotten and even acted as a human shield whenever Dib decided to try to start a food fight.

Zim thought it was strange at first but appreciated your dedication.

“Y/N, I’d like to take a moment to thank you for your services.You have been most useful to me!” Zim explained as he patted your head.

“Of course, Zim! I’d do anything for you!” You chirped.

“Anything?” Zim parroted as he tilted his head.

“Well, anything in my power anyway.” You laughed.

“I shall hold you to that promise then.” Zim mused as he narrowed his eyes.

As time went on, Zim found himself falling in love with you.

At first he had a meltdown! He couldn’t be in love with a filthy human! This would ruin his mission!

Why couldn’t you have at least been Irken instead of human?! At least then he wouldn’t have to destroy you!

Suddenly, he got an idea.

An awful, nasty idea.

“Computer! Get me in contact with Prisoner #777 on planet Vort!” Zim ordered as he pointed to the ceiling.

“GETTING IN CONTACT WITH PRISONER #777!”

Soon the monitor crackled to life and revealed Prisoner #777 sitting in his usual prison cell.

“What is it this time, Zim?” He groaned as he turned to look at him.

“I need you to get me blueprints for an Irken PAK!” Zim demanded as he put his hands behind his back.

“Why would you need PAK blueprints? What’s wrong with the one you have now-”

“DO NOT QUESTION ME! I HAVE YOUR CHILDREN REMEMBER!” Zim roared as he gestured to a small tube with Prisoner #777′s kids bouncing around inside.

“Just give me what I asked for.” Zim growled.

“Ok! Ok! Fine! I was just asking! Here you are.” Prisoner #777 squeaked as he sent Zim the blueprints.

“Excellent.” A massive grin spread across Zim’s face as he downloaded the blueprints.

“Now, I’m sill in prison so if you could just-”

“END THE CALL!”

Zim’s grin grew wider as he looked over the blueprints.

“Yes! Yes!! With these blueprints I can create a PAK to store Y/N’s personalty and memories and upload them into a SUPERIOR IRKEN BODY!” Zim let out a  maniacal laugh as he raised his hands in the air.

Wasting no more time, Zim threw on a lab coat and green goggles and got straight to work.

Once his hard work had been completed, Zim threw on his disguise and made his way to Skool. Zim could hardly contain his excitement! He couldn’t wait to put his plan into action!

Zim let out a squeal when he spotted you walking his way.

“Hey, Zim! Looks like someone is in a good mood today!” You giggled as you took notice of the massive grin plastered on Zim’s face.

Zim cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

“Y/N? Is it true that you would do anything for me?” Zim purred as he circled you.

“Well, I have my limits but yeah.” You felt yourself get a little nervous as Zim sauntered closer.

"Very well. If you speak the truth, then you shall follow me to my base-I mean house! You shall follow me to my perfectly normal house and not question a thing.” Zim’s voice lowered a bit as he spoke.

“O-Ok then. Is something wrong?” You asked as you followed Zim back to his base.

“Oh don’t worry, sweet Y/N. I can assure the problem will be solved once we get inside.” Zim stifled a sinister chuckle as he opened the door.

“Welcome home, son!” The Robo parents eagerly greeted as they stepped aside.

“So these are your parents?” You asked as you tried to inspect the robo parents.

“Yes. Yes. I love them with all my heart, now keep following me.” Zim grumbled as he dragged you along.

“Wow, your house sure is um...interesting.” You murmured as you looked around at all of Zim’s bizarre decor.

“Alright, Y/N. Just stand right here for me!” Zim commanded as he pointed to a spot in front of his toilet.

“Ok then...” You were horribly confused but did as you were told.

“Excellent! Now hold still.” Zim chuckled darkly

“Zim what’s going on-Ack!”

PAF!

You were engulfed in a sea of bright pink mist.

You let out a few coughs before collapsing to the ground

“Sleep well, my sweet.” Zim’s voice melted into a dark whisper as he scooped you off the ground.

Zim dragged your unconscious body into his lab and strapped you down to a large metal table.

He changed back into his lab coat and goggles and placed a strange Irken helmet over your head.

“I’ll admit, you’re actually quite attractive for a human. I almost feel bad about letting such a lovely form go to waste.” Zim mused as he caressed your cheek.

“Oh well! I’ve come too far to turn back now!” Zim chirped as he hooked up the helmet to the new PAK he had just built for you.

Zim erupted into thunderous maniacal laughter as he flipped a large purple switch.

ZAP!

Zim’s laughter echoed throughout the lab as your mind and spirit was slowly uploaded into the PAK.

“Awaken, my sweet.”

You let out a gasp the moment your heavy eyelids opened.

Your world was encased in a murky purple bubble. All you could make you was a distorted image of a bug like creature staring back at you. His voice sounded muffled but you could still understand his words.

“Computer! Release, Y/N!” Zim commanded as he pointed to the ceiling.

CRASH!

The glass chamber you were floating in was shattered to the ground.

CLANG!

You let out a yelp as you felt a large metal object being injected into your back.

ZAP!

A small electric shock surged through your body for a moment.

You let out a groan as you tried to process what was going on.

"HA! Success!” Zim squealed as he zipped to your side.

His ruby eyes twinkled with excitement as he took in your new form.

You were beyond perfect! You were breathtaking!

Your antennas were perfectly curled and your F/C eyes sparkled under the lab’s dim lighting.

Even your height was perfected as your new Irken body was a foot taller than your old human one.

Zim became so entranced by your beauty that he fell to the floor for a moment.

You let out a gasp and tried to check on him. However, there was no need!

“REACTIVATING!”

ZAP!

Zim’s PAK sent out a small electric shock and revived him from his trance.

Zim shook away the excess shock and turned his attention back to you.

“Oh my god! Are you alright?!” You squeaked as you covered your mouth.

“Never better, my sweet, Y/N! The real question is how do you feel?” Zim crooned as he pointed at you.

“Oh? Well, I feel kinda out of it, now that you ask.” You explained as you held your head.

“I see. Well, your entire human brain has been uploaded into your PAK. So I guess you need some time to get used to things.” Zim hummed as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Wait what?!”

“Oh ho! Oh yeah! You were unconscious when all the stuff happened.” Zim chuckled.

“When what stuff happened?! What’s going on here?!” You demanded as you put your hands on your hips.

“Weeeell, I removed your brain data from your old PATHETIC HUMAN BODY and transferred it into a SUPERIOR IRKEN BODY!” Zim sang.

“WHAT?! I’M NOT HUMAN ANYMORE?!” You shrieked as you frantically patted all around yourself.

“Nope! You are no longer a FILTHY HUMAN! You are now A SUPERIOR IRKEN LIFE FORM!!! See?” Zim sang as he held up a small mirror.

You let out another shriek!

You couldn’t even recognize yourself anymore!

Your skin was green and your eyes were F/C and bug like! Any traces of hair were gone! Now all you had were two curly antennas on your head.

You backed away and almost slipped on the left over purple goo on the floor.

“Now. Now. It’s alright! You just need to take some time to adjust to your new body!” Zim reassured as he gently took your hands in his.

“No! Let go of me, you freak!” You seethed as you snatched your hands away.

“But, Y/N! It’s me, Zim!” Zim insisted as he gestured to himself.

“What the-Zim?!  You’re an alien?!” You yelped as a shudder ran down your spine.

“Indeed I am! I’m sorry, my sweet Y/N but Zim is not a normal human worm baby. Zim is a MIGHTY IRKEN WARRIOR! SENT ON A SPECIAL MISSION TO DESTROY THIS MISERABLE PLANET FOR MY LEADERS, THE ALL MIGHTY TALLEST!” Zim cackled as he threw his hands into the air.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing! The green skinned boy you called your friend was an evil monster from beyond the stars!

“I can’t believe it! Dib was right about you! You are a monster!” You choked out as pink tears streamed down your face.

“Monster?! Zim is no monster! I did this to protect your precious life! When the armada arrives they will fire a cannon sweep to eradicate any remaining non Irken life forms. This was the only way to spare you from the armada’s wrath! I couldn’t bear to live with myself if I lost you! I care about you far too much!” Zim explained as he activated his spider legs to reach your face better.

“If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t have done this! Change me back, Zim! I can’t live my life like this!” You wailed as you gestured to yourself.

“Never! This is for your own good! You’ll thank me once the armada gets here!” Zim snarled as he drew closer.

“Zim! Listen to reason! You can’t keep me like this!” You pleaded as you backed away from him.

“Oh but I can! And I will. You might as well forget about your pathetic former human body! I’ve already disposed of it!” Zim chuckled darkly as he circled you.

“WHAT?! THIS IS INSANE!” You screeched as you tried to get away.

“Isn’t it though? Don’t worry, I think you’ll find your new body to be a major improvement.” Zim purred as he grabbed your arm and rubbed his face up against it.

“GET OFF OF ME!” You tried to pull your arm away but Zim’s grip was far too tight.

“No. I don’t think I will....Mmm you smell divine my sweet. No longer are you plagued by that DISGUSTING humany smell! Now you’re perfect. Perfect in every way.” Zim’s voice melted into a soft whisper as he kissed his way up your arm.

SMOOCH!

He planted a large kiss on your cheek.

You let out a startled yelp and tried to shake him off of you but yo no avail.

“Stop your struggling, my sweet. I’m not trying to harm you,” Zim purred as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“You’ve already hurt me, Zim! By turning me into a freak!” You sobbed as Zim begun to pepper your neck with slightly rough kisses.

“Oh you say that now, yes but I don’t think you really mean it.” Zim let out a few chirps as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I mean it, Zim! You’ve hurt me! I can’t believe I actually thought you were my friend!” Your voice cracked as more pink tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I am not your friend. Maybe I am something more...” Zim circles around to properly face you.

“What are you-MMPH!”

Zim grabbed your face and crashed his lips onto yours.

He let out a low, growly moan as his worm like tongue forced its way into your mouth.

You tasted so divine. Zim couldn’t get enough of you. His tongue curled around yours and playfully wrestled with it.

You let out a muffled yelp as your eyes widened in horror. You wanted to fight back but Zim had already overpowered you.

Soon Zim released you and licked his lips.

“Maybe I am your master...”

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Eight | Full Moon ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Hatake Kakashi ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ Blood ]

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When he wakes, he is in pain.

The smell of dewy soil and moss fills his nose, and as he rouses back into full consciousness, he realizes his clothes are damp, body prone in the forest underbrush.

Where...what…?

At first, he can’t muster the strength to move. Every part of him is sore and stiff. But sheer will lets him curl an arm, struggling to bring it up under his torso and start pushing himself off the ground. A knee bends to support his weight, followed by another, and his other arm.

On all fours, he pants...and then notices something dripping. Foggy eyes flicker to a growing stain of crimson under his bowed head.

...he’s bleeding.

A hand lifts, gingerly prodding at his face only to cry out in pain as fingers find raw flesh. And a look reveals more wounds along his arm...and down his torso, dipping over his hip.

Something tore the ever-loving hell out of him, but...he’s alive.

...will he stay that way is the question.

Panting, he looks around. It takes a moment, but he recognizes his surroundings. The logging camp he’s been working at the past few weeks. They arrived this morning to find their equipment all in shambles. At first they thought it was the work of thieves or vagrants, but then…

Then…

In flashes, the memories cut through the mist in his mind. In a matter of moments they’d been overrun, the sounds of snarls, barks, and howls echoing all around them. Beasts tore through the site, attacking every man as they screamed in terror, begging for help as teeth and claws buried into their backs and tore limbs from their torsos. He can still remember being shoved to the forest floor, giant paws ripping at him as he tried to roll over and crawl away...and then jaws had sunk into the crook of his neck.

In a matter of minutes, it had all gone blissfully quiet.

...what were those things…?!

He can still remember the howling, but...those were no wolves. Not like he’s ever seen. Taller than a man, ambling on both two and four limbs, thirsting for the blood of men.

...monsters.

...he doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to see the remains of the others. But as he struggles to his feet, Obito looks over the wreckage.

The wagon they arrived in is overturned, the top crumpled and torn, wooden frame splintered. Their tools are broken and scattered. And among the stumps are the mangled, desecrated bodies of his friends, crows scattering at his movement. Several of the corpses are in pieces...and Obito shrinks as he spies one hanging limply over a tree branch ten feet in the air.

They’re all littered with bite marks and tears from claws...and his stomach turns as he notices chunks missing from legs and torsos. They...they were eaten...weren’t they…?

What kind of animals…?!

A wave of pain washes over him, and his knees go weak. He...he has to find help. The bleeding is sluggish, but it looks like he’s been unconscious at least a few hours. That is...if it’s still the same day. At this point, he has no idea. All he knows is that he’s in shit shape.

The only thing left to do now...is start walking.

The forestry trail is dotted with puddles from a recent shower. Not anything telling for a timeline, it rains here quite often this time of year. It’s a mile to the next paved road - good thing both his legs are still working.

He can only imagine the reaction of whoever manages to spot him first. He probably looks like a black bear’s chew toy.

...but that was no bear.

Breath ragged, Obito pushes himself onward. He just has to reach the main road. Flag someone down. Get a ride back to town and get patched up.

...and report the bodies.

How is he going to explain this? Will anyone believe that they were attacked by a pack of strange wolf-like monstrosities? Or should he allege it was a bear to avoid looking like a lunatic? Will they be able to tell from the wounds left on the bodies?

Too many unanswered questions, and for now he can’t begin to find the solutions. Doesn’t help his head hurts so damn bad he can hardly stand it. Feels like someone is driving a stake through the top of his skull…

And then he stops.

Trotting across the road twenty paces on, a silvery-white wolf stops in the center and stares at him. An angry red scar cuts across an eye, foggy with blindness.

...it also happens to be nearly the size of a horse.

Obito feels his heart stop in his chest. This is it, isn’t it? The monsters have come back to finish what they started, he’s going to die, and this damn headache is...is -!

A growl escapes his throat, hackles raising and staring the other wolf down. He’s wounded, backed into a corner...there’s no animal more dangerous.

But his enemy just continues to stare, no signs of aggression in their movements or posture. It’s like they’re...waiting for something.

For what?

They turn, closing the distance between them. Obito attempts to look menacing, but they both know it’s a farce. His wounds are far too severe to put up any fight. And even then, this form is too new, these instincts too untested. The last exhausted dredges of a human mind are eager to rest, to give way to the beast if it will keep him alive.

So as the white wolf stands just before him, tail cautiously swishing, he maintains a low growl but doesn’t move.

...but then they retreat, turn back, stare at him.

...do they...want him to follow…?

A confused whine escapes his newly-canine throat. Can he trust them? Why would they want to help him? Are they...are they like him?

...what is he now…?

So many questions, but they’re all pushed to the wayside as instinct urges him forward toward survival. He’s still wounded...and right now that’s top priority. Anything else can wait. Limping on his torn right foreleg, Obito follows.

They meander through the forest, white wolf in the lead giving occasional glances back, as if to ensure Obito is still there. Ten minutes pass, and they reach a river, banks slightly swollen with rain. His companion steps into the water.

Seems he needs to wash his wounds.

Wary of the current, Obito staggers into the water, watching as the other wolf stands on his downstream side to keep him from being swept away. Once he’s deep enough, he gingerly lowers to let the water wash over him. The cool, clean liquid eases at the angry heat of the wounds, blood and debris washed from his body.

In his reflection, he sees his new face: coarse black fur, pain-drooped ears, and dark eyes. So...he’s one of them now. Then...were they…?

The thought fades as the rest have, hobbling up the bank and finding a dry patch under some thick brush. Head on his paws, he struggles to stay awake.

But rest is just what he needs.

When he wakes, the sun is shining, the air crisp and clear.

And he’s alone.

Head lifting, Obito tests the air. A mess of smells reaches him, still untrained in their meaning. But the scent of the other wolf is faint. Is he gone…?

But then it spikes, and he turns to see his new friend. In his jaws is a yearling deer, dead and slack.

Unbidden, Obito finds himself panting and drooling. When did he last eat…?

Visage bloody from the kill, the white wolf drops his offering before going to wash off. Seems he’s not hungry.

More for Obito, then.

Once his belly is full, he realizes...the keen sting of his wounds is gone. A look to his leg shows the wounds already scabbed over and shrinking.

...seems he heals fast.

...what else can he do…?

Another day of rest, and then he decides to test his limits. It’s a change, walking on four legs. But within minutes, he’s bounding through the forest, heart pumping and lungs burning with fresh, cold air. Besides him, the white wolf does the same.

Lessons are passed. How to hunt. How to stalk. Where to find water, and a dry place to sleep. And finally...how to Shift.

Like the ones that attacked him, he can take a bipedal form. Hulking and massive, trees topple at his urging, throat issuing a howl that echoes for miles.

He is, indeed, a werewolf.

But so too can he retake his human form. Scars pepper his body, healed over and jagged. Looking into a puddle, he traces the marks along his face.

“...so...think you can handle yourself now?”

Looking up, Obito spies the other wolf, also human. Like Obito, the wounds he bore in his other form follow him here. The scar and blind eye remain.

...but one thing that doesn’t are clothes, the pair of them bare as the day they were born.

“...are you leaving?” His voice is coarse, Obito swallowing at the sound.

“I am.”

“Why?”

“I have my reasons. Ones that can’t involve you.”

Obito’s face falls, but he knows better than to take it personally.

“It’s not easy being a lone wolf, but you’re clearly strong. You’ll figure it out. Find a place to call your own, and defend it. And maybe our paths will cross again.”

“...what’s your name?”

“Kakashi. And you?”

“Obito.”

“...well, good luck, Obito. Try heading south.”

“Why?”

“Because the last thing you want is to run into the ones who Turned you. It’s not safe for you here.”

Obito’s stomach drops. Leave Québec...? But it’s all he’s ever known…! Where he was born!

...yet it also squirms at the thought of seeing the other wolves again.

...Kakashi is right.

“...I will...try.”

“Just stay out of anyone else’s way. Not everything is worth a fight. You’ll stay alive longer that way.” In the blink of an eye, Kakashi Shifts back to his wolf form. He gives the man a farewell lick to his hair, leaping aside playfully as Obito swats him away.

“Eugh!”

Grinning as only a wolf can, Kakashi then slips between the trees...and disappears.

Scowling and wiping the spit from his face, Obito sighs. South...what, into the US? Well, he supposes a wolf won’t need papers...but he barely speaks English. Is he meant to stay a wolf forever, or try and settle himself back into society?

...seems that decision is up to him.

Either way, it’s too cold to remain human long, his hairless skin shivering in the breeze. He too becomes a wolf once more, consulting the sun before picking his direction...and heading off.

Avoiding roads, he travels instead through the wilderness, catching his fill and finding water whenever he needs it. It’s not so bad, this life. His own merit keeps him fed and sheltered. In truth, he wants for almost nothing.

...and yet…

Sitting on a rock outcropping one evening, Obito can’t help but realize...he’s awfully lonely. Kakashi’s company, however brief, had been...nice. Perhaps it’s his human side...but maybe also a longing for a pack. But as he howls into the fading light, hearing nothing in return...it seems to echo hollowly in his chest.

By now he’s surely made it past the southern border of his homeland. But otherwise, he has no idea where he is. The thought of approaching humans after so many weeks as a wolf makes him...nervous. As though the longer he abstains from taking that form, the more frightening they become.

The less human he feels.

But while his freedom and wildness is something to relish in...Obito realizes it’s not what he wants. So the next time he finds a road, he follows it.

It’s barren at night, his paws trotting along the surface in search of where it ends. As for what he’ll do when he finds it, well...he’s not sure.

And that uncertainty grows as the weather starts to change. A cold northern wind picks up...and then flakes of snow start to fall.

Snowstorm.

Hunching his shoulders against it, Obito keeps on, too stubborn to instead veer off in search of shelter. The snow becomes so thick, it takes him over a block to notice that he’s crossed into a little town.

The houses are dark, humans asleep during the witching hour, safe in their beds under their roofs as the snow swirls. Chest tense at being so surrounded, Obito realizes he doesn’t know what to do next. Following the main street, he eventually pauses at a pleasant smell. His nose leads him to a little shop door.

He can smell...bread...when was the last time he smelled that? It brings about thoughts of home, something...comforting about it.

So as the storm keeps passing, he curls up atop the stoop, thick fur impervious as he tucks his paws and snout.

Soon, he’s fast asleep.

For some, the day begins bright and early...or even before it gets bright. Coming down the stairs, a young woman twists her pale hair up into a bun, a kerchief smoothed over it to keep the waves from her face.

One must be an early riser to make bread.

Fires are stoked and ingredients gathered, and she takes a moment to look out the snow-frosted windows. Street lamps glow in the haze of white, the sun not quite yet risen.

But what catches her attention is the odd amount of it piled against her door. Well that won’t do...people will be hard-pressed enough to be out and about today. If she wants them to come in, she’ll need to clear that away. Fetching a broom, she opens the door and makes to brush it aside.

...only to hit something solid.

Greys blink in surprise. What…? Her brow furrows as she keeps dusting the powder off her front step.

...and then she feels her heart leap up to her throat.

As she watches, some kind of beast is unburied, not moving despite her prodding. It...looks like a dog…? But far larger than she’s ever seen. Midnight fur is still dusted with white.

...what should she do…? Is it -? Is it dead?

Despite the potential danger, Ryū feels her heart clench. Did it freeze to death out here? And...how did it get so far into town? “Oh...you poor thing…” Taking a knee, she carefully lays a hand on the creature’s pelt.

...and then falls back with a gasp as it fades away. In the beast’s place...is a man.

Shock holds her hostage for a long moment before she realizes he’s bare and shivering. Scrambling back up, she manages to haul him in with hands under his arms, flushed pink at his nudity. But there are far more important things at play here.

Anything else aside, this is a person.

Making up her mind, Ryū keeps going, bringing him into the now piping-hot kitchen of the bakery to warm him up. She folds a blanket in a corner, arranging him atop it with another over his form to make him cozy as she bustles about her daily routine. Once everything is ready and stocked for the day, she delays opening for a time, knowing few will be out early with all this snow, anyway. Instead, she hauls the man upstairs to her living quarters. From an old chest of her late father’s belongings, she pulls a spare set of clothes. A bit big on him, but...better than nothing. Then into bed she tucks him.

During her dressing, she can’t help but note the rugged scars along his side. Curiosity burns at her, but...well, there’s no asking questions for now.

Certain that he’s safe, dry, and warm...she retreats back to the shop to begin her day.

A few hours later, roused by inviting smells and the steady noise beneath him, Obito manages to peel his eyes open. A minute passes of him dazedly staring at the ceiling before panicking.

Thrashing, it takes a moment to realize he’s not trapped, but...in a bed. In a room. In a house. Breath elevated nonetheless, he stops and takes it all in. The same smell of bread that warmed his dreams is even stronger now. He’s no longer out in the snow, but inside and dry.

...who…?

Dragging himself out of bed, he stumbles, not used to using only two legs. A few French obscenities escape him, clinging to the wall to avoid falling over.

A door lets him into the rest of the living space: a kitchen, small dining area, and a little living room are all one room. Another reveals a loo. And at the far wall is a set of stairs, where the smell is coming from.

Carefully, he slinks down the steps, one at a time.

He emerges into a large room filled with sacks of flour and sugar, as well as spices and cartons of eggs and bottles of milk. One box is filled with nothing but chocolate, making him salivate. And as he peeks through yet another door, he spots the kitchen. It’s massive, with several stone ovens for making bread, fires crackling and embers glowing. It’s incredibly warm, and immediately makes him sleepy again. But he finds one last door.

Through the open crack, he spies a...shop? Large windows along the front give a view into the little town, completely caked with snow. People mill in, clearly eager to get a fresh loaf of warm bread, or perhaps a sweet. And behind the counter is a young woman, bustling busily and juggling them all with a smile.

Something in Obito’s chest clenches at the sight of her, and he recoils in surprise. Sure, he’s not seen a woman in months, but is it really so entrancing?! Yet as he considers it, Obito realizes...this must surely be her shop. He’d fallen asleep on the doorstep. Then...it must be her who dragged him in here out of the cold.

...did she see…?

Flinching as she walks past the door, he almost falls over backward in his rush to escape, body still unused to this form after so long. What is he supposed to do now…?

Lingering in the kitchen and soaking up the heat, he watches as the crowd slowly thins, and the woman locks the shop for a midday break. Seems it’s time for her lunch.

...which means -!

A yelp gets caught in his throat, managing to stay silent as she comes back into the kitchen, her own form coming to an abrupt stop at the sight of him.

“...oh! You’re awake!”

Eyes wide, Obito stares at her, feeling ready to bolt as the half-known language reaches his ears

“You frightened me half to death you know, all curled up on the stoop. I thought for sure you were dead! Oh, but you must be starving...here, come with me.” Seemingly unaffected otherwise, she strides past him toward the stairs, pausing halfway up as he remains frozen. “...well come on! We need to get you fed!”

Feeling chastised as he figures her meaning, Obito can feel the ghosts of his other ears pinning in submission before he hesitantly follows.

By the time he’s up, she’s already rummaging around for something to eat. As expected, there’s plenty of baked goods...but his mouth waters at the smell of dried and salted meat.

“Come, sit! I’ll fetch you a plate.” She pats the chair invitingly.

He doesn’t need telling twice. Obito takes a seat, looking over all the food with a gurgling stomach. The woman fixes him a piled-high plate, and before he can think, he starts tearing into it with a growl.

Across the table, her eyes go wide, staring in surprise.

“...seems you’re still a beast even when you look like a man.”

The words, only partially understood but enough to ring true, make him go still, teeth still buried in a hunk of dried venison.

...so she did see.

But rather than look afraid, she gives him a weary smile. “...I thought I’d been dreaming or lost my mind. But it’s true, isn’t it…? You’re some kind of...half-man, half-beast.”

Eyes flickering over her, Obito struggles to remember the English he knows. “I was...er…” He mumbles the French equivalent before adding, “Bitten. Wolf.” In explanation, he tugs at the shirt she dressed him in, revealing the scars of teeth sunk into the crook of his neck.

Before she can help herself, Ryū grimaces. “...that must have been so painful...how did you survive…?”

“Another wolf. Friendly. Taught me...survive. Had to part. Came here. From Québec. Je viens du Québec.”

Her face alights in understanding. “Canada, then…! You’ve come a long way, we’re a few hundred miles south of the border. No wonder you were so worn out…”

He nods, catching most of her meaning. It’s easier to understand than speak it himself.

“So...like those scary tales of wolfmen. Werewolves. You can...change from wolf to man and back again?”

Another nod.

For a long moment she just...sits and digests that information. “...then you are...alone? No place to go?”

After a hesitation, his ears go red, glancing aside. “I...wander. Had to leave. Not safe to...to stay.”

“...I see.” Her arms fold, thinking. She has yet to touch her own food. “...then you’ll have to stay here, instead.”

“Wh-?!”

“As it turns out, I could use a little help.” Her lips lift in a smile. “I have to move a lot of heavy things. Chop wood for the fires. Hook up the horse to my wagon for supplies. If you do these things for me, then you can stay here. A place to live, food to eat, clothes to wear. That is...if you want. But the snows are deep this time of year. I don’t want you out alone with nowhere to go. Does it sound like a deal?”

“But…!” His mind scrambles to translate his thoughts. “I am...danger! Stranger! I could -?”

“I think if you wanted to kill me, you could have done so by now,” she counters softly, cutting off his rambling. “It would take just a moment to turn into a wolf and tear me apart. Am I wrong?”

He blanches at the thought.

“...but you didn’t. You know I helped you. And I think you’re an honorable man. One who would agree to help me if I helped you.” Reaching across the table, she puts a hand on his own, feeling him flinch. “...take some time to think about it. I won’t make you stay. But we could help each other, you and I. At least until the snows melt, and you can be on your way. Now...finish eating. You’re thinner than I would like.” Smiling coyly, she adds, “I’ll expect you to work hard if you stay, and you can’t do that on an empty stomach. Now...I better get back to work. You stay here and think, and rest.” She picks up her plate, taking it with her back down the stairs.

Flabbergasted, Obito can’t counter her, too surprised. She...she cannot be real. She is too kind…! To offer such help to a stranger, a man she doesn’t know, who she knows is a...a monster…!

He’s not a man of faith, but...surely she’s an angel.

And he fidgets as he realizes the heat in his face at such a simple touch. It’s...clearly been far too long since he’s been around other humans. While he knows he would not - could not - ever hurt her...he has to wonder at his level of self restraint.

...but he’ll do it. He’ll stay. Whatever she needs him to do, he’ll do, and do it well! She saved his life, just as Kakashi did before.

He doesn’t let debts go unpaid.

So he downs the rest of his meal before doing his best to tidy up after himself, wandering back down to the main floor. Business has opened again for the afternoon, more bread to be sold for lunches and suppers.

And as Ryū comes back to fetch more loaves, she comes up short at the sight of him. “Oh!”

“Can...I help?”

“Certainly! Here, grab that tray there, and carry it in for me. I need to put out more on the shelves.”

Taking up the indicated sheet, Obito packs it through the last door, obediently holding it for her as she works.

...it takes him a moment to notice the strange silence that overcomes the room.

The patrons stare, some in horror and some in surprise. Only after a bit of thought does Obito realize why.

It’s not often someone has as many scars as he does.

Ryū, once she’s finished, also notices. But she sets her brow and addresses them openly. “My new hand, Obito. A recent immigrant from the north. He’ll need help settling in, so I do hope you’ll all make him feel welcome.”

At once, everyone turns sheepish at her words, gazes averting and coughing small apologies.

Obito just looks at her in wonder.

A routine then develops. Every morning Ryū wakes before dawn to start her baking, and Obito handles whatever she needs. He chops the hauled logs for her fires, carries heavy sacks of supplies from her wagon, and even helps do repairs on the building as the weather wears it.

And all the while, she keeps up her same gentle manners. Every meal is a hearty one. She patiently mends any holes he tears in the garments she gave him, and patches the wounds his hard work earns him. She takes him out to do her shopping, buying him anything that catches his eye he doesn’t voice, but she still notices.

And Obito realizes he’s growing dangerously fond of her. Any man that eyes her too closely gets glowered off, his height and bulk an adequate intimidation. His work before saw him grow strong, and he’s done so again working under her roof.

His English grows in leaps and bounds. Soon he’s just about perfectly fluent, going pink whenever Ryū offers a patient correction to his grammar.

And then...Spring is upon them. And he has a choice to make. Stay where he is...or strike out once again on his own now that the weather is fair.

...it’s not much of a choice, honestly.

Instead, he has another quandary.

After a time, Ryū started paying him, much to his embarrassment. But he’s been saving every penny beyond what he absolutely needs. And after confirming to her that he would like to stay...he takes his meager savings into town.

It’s a small one, so the shops are limited. In fact, there’s only one jeweler. So he steps through the door nervously, glancing around as his gut swims.

...he’s here to buy a ring.

While he’s hardly known romance in the past, there’s something sure in him about this. All through the long Winter, the pair of them kept so close and working hand in hand, he’s come to know that there’s no comparison to her kindness, to how cared for and respected she makes him feel. She doesn’t mock his appearance, didn’t sneer at his broken English. Didn’t even balk at his dual nature. To her, he’s a man like any other: nothing to be feared, to look down upon.

And he wants nothing more than to stay by that kindness. To keep it safe.

...he wants to marry her.

...but will she have him? It’s one thing to treat him this way, but...does she love him as he so ardently loves her?

...he doesn’t know. But he has to try.

So he emerges from the shop once again penniless...but with a simple silver band dotted with an opal. Nothing flashy, but...he can’t help but feel she’ll like it all the same.

But before he can give it to her...he has to be sure of something.

“Can I...ask you something…?”

Closing down the shop for the day, Ryū turns to him curiously. “Of course.”

He fiddles with his shirt. “...are you…? Do I…? Er…” A pause to gather his thoughts. “...does my...nature frighten you…?”

She blinks, considering him. “...you mean...what you are?”

A nervous nod.

“Of course not. I have no reason to be afraid of you, Obito. You’re the gentlest, most gentlemanly man I know. Even if there’s a wolf under your skin, that doesn’t frighten me.”

“Even if you...never see it?”

Since his arrival, Obito has never Shifted back. He’s been human since he woke up in her bed.

Ryū heaves a small sigh. “...go on, then.”

“Wh-?”

“Change. I’ll prove I’m not afraid of you, Obito.”

He balks, not expecting this. “...er…” Looking around, he slips past a door and disrobes, not wanting to tear his garments. And then he changes, maintaining an upright form. Peering around the doorframe, he manages to squeeze through, tail tucked nervously between his legs.

As she promised, there’s no fear in her eyes. Instead, Ryū approaches, considering him curiously. Over his scars, white fur has grown rather than black. A hand reaches and brushes along it, making him shiver. “...now why would I be afraid of this?” she murmurs. “You’re just an overgrown pup.”

His ears pin down in embarrassment.

That earns a warm smile. “...I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. But...you’re still you, y’know. What you look like doesn’t change that. Though I think my ceilings are a little low for you this way, aren’t they?”

A pause, and then he nods as she chuckles.

“Does that ease your worry, then?”

Another nod.

“...good.”

He has nothing left to fear.

Still, he waits just a little longer. Until a beautiful night with a full moon.

Going out the back door in the dark to toss some rubbish, Ryū comes up short with a gasp. In his four-legged form, Obito stands just outside the light.

“You startled me!” she chastises with a laugh.

He just stares.

“...what?”

Obito gives a dip of his head, shifting a bit in place.

Her brow furrows. “...you want me to see something?”

Closing the gap between them, he gives her a nudge, turning his side to her and crouching.

Understanding makes her eyes go wide. “...oh…” Carefully, she slips up over his back, marveling at the feeling of his fur. “...well, now wh-?”

Standing, he turns...and then runs.

A surprised cry gets stuck in her throat, hanging on for dear life as Obito races through town, a shadow in the moonlit street. But once the shock fades, her heart grows light and giddy.

Well this is...new…!

Out into the countryside he races, grinning wolfishly as she laughs into the wind. Miles disappear beneath him. And he only stops once he reaches an old, looming oak tree he remembers from his travels.

Ryū slips from his back, legs jelly-like as she giggles. “Wow...that was…!” But as she turns...he’s gone. “...Obito?”

“H-here!” Finishing redressing with clothes stashed behind the trunk, he gives a sheepish grin. “The one downside, heh.”

She just laughs again. “So...what possessed you to make off with me in the middle of the night?”

...okay. It’s now or never. Obito’s expression sobers, and Ryū’s head tilts curiously. Gently, he takes both her hands in his own. “...for a while, I was more beast than human,” he begins, trying to remember the speech he’s formed in his head for weeks. “I was...alone. Without a home, or a family. My heart ached. It was sad. So I...I started looking for...something. I wasn’t sure what. When I collapsed on your doorstep, I was so lost. But, you brought me in. You gave me kindness. Gave me everything I had lost the day I became what I am. You never flinched. Never wavered. And I...I have found a home in you. I never want to leave. I…”

All the while, Ryū listens silently, her expression slack with surprise. And as he reaches to a pocket, descending to a knee, her stomach bursts with butterflies.

“...will you let me stay...forever?”

Unbidden, tears bead along her lids, staring as he holds aloft the little silver band. “Oh, Obito…!” A smile blooms across her face, so wide her cheeks protest. “Yes…!”

...he can barely believe it. Shaking hands take her own, carefully putting the ring in place before yipping in surprise as she launches at him, knocking them both over into the grass under the moon.

Before he can react, she presses her lips to his, a pent-up desperation in the act. Face blooming red, he reciprocates once the shock wears off. Arms lift to pin her to him, smiling against her as she giggles giddily.

He swears his chest might burst.

Only once their mess of kisses ends does she sit up, looking down at him with boundless affection. “...seems you’re not a lone wolf anymore, are you…?”

A hand reaches up, burying into the waves at her temple. “...no. Not anymore.”

The sounds of their laughter ring out in the dark, relishing in the newfound joy of their engagement.

And on another hill, watching silently, a silver wolf then slips back into the night.

     ...this turned out SO LONG and I didn’t even include everything I wanted to kdjfhgkdjhg I have a Problem xD      Anywho, this is actually a plot Meg came up with (for the most part) like...months ago that I finally get to write! I’d actually like it to be more fleshed out BUT I’m out of buffer drabbles, so I can’t be getting TOO out of hand (I say when this is almost double my goal word count for these drabbles >w>)      I really like this concept and honestly I wanna RP it really bad now! I’m a sucker for monster AUs (as evident from yesterday’s piece, huehue) so I couldn’t turn this one down xD But for now I have some irl things to get done, so I’ll try and start work on tomorrow’s when that’s done. Especially since I’ll be gone half of tomorrow. The universe just does NOT want me to write kjdfhgkjdfg      Thanks for reading!