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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years ago

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“The Final Match” || YEAR 3 – Ch.32 (HP au)

Chapter List

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Day posted: 12/1/2020

Word count: 4, 201

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

Hello! Sorry I didn’t post for a few weeks! I needed to take a break and deal with some mental health stuff but I feel much better :D I hope everyone’s been ok! Also I will be going back to the normal twice a week schedule so yay :D enjoy the chapter!

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Easter break had been the most tiring holiday Heather had ever experienced. Practice twice a day, essay after essay, having to pay attention to Ron and Harry and not seem exhausted by their presence, and even help Neville avoid a nervous collapse. As absolutely worn out as Heather felt, it was nothing compared to Hermione.

Mid break she had stopped responding to them all together, focusing only on her essays and studying. She was so off her usual self she didn’t even want them wandering around the library when they needed to look up books. ‘I need to stretch my legs anyways,’ she claimed and would go fetch whatever book they needed so long as they stayed put.

Hermione was so stressed she was constantly on the verge of tears, especially after coming back empty handed, unable to find the book Ron wanted.

“It’s alright, Hermione, Really.” Ron looked around uncomfortably. “I’ll just… read Harry’s book upside down. I’ve gotten good after three years of potions exams.”

While Hermione studied and during any time either Harry or Heather was at Quidditch practice, Ron read and gathered as much as he could for Buckbeak’s appeal. He took out books like ‘Fowl or Foul? A Study on Hippogriff Brutality’ and ‘The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology’ and was so engrossed in it that Heather wondered why he didn’t put that much energy and effort into their normal essays. Ron seemed as hardworking as Hermione in those instances, except he was much more willing to call it quits when he’d had enough.

By the end of the Holidays, several of the Slytherins had done exactly what Marcus had told them to do and gone out and earned points any ways they could. Slytherin was ahead of Gryffindor for the House Cup by two-hundred points. Now if Gryffindor won the match, they’d either tie bare minimum or would have to work as hard as possible to earn over fifty points to beat Slytherin in the House Cup.

The Quidditch Cup however, was much more difficult. Marcus had sat the whole team down in the locker rooms and explained how tricky this match would be with Harry’s advantage. If no one scored any points at all and Harry caught the snitch within seconds, then Slytherin would lose the match but tie with Gryffindor and no one would earn the Quidditch Cup.

“So Bletchley, don’t let them score at ANY cost.” Marcus turned his intense eyes on Heather and Graham. “Potter, Montague. We’re plan b. By the end of the match we NEED to have scored at least one-hundred-and-fifty points to stay in the lead for House Cup. We’ll each aim for five scores each.”

Heather nodded and looked at Draco who was leaning against the lockers, sulking. All break long he’d tasked Crabbe and Goyle with getting into a fight with Harry but they hadn’t succeeded yet. Harry was constantly surrounded by his Quidditch team as often as possible ever since he’d told Wood what she had said.

“’Cept we won’t need that when I catch the Snitch.” Draco crossed his arms.

Marcus nodded. “Potter won’t be attempting to catch the Snitch until the Gryffindors have earned enough points if they’re smart. All you’ll have to do is catch it before he does – and I’ve no doubt he’ll do his best to stop you, though the Gryffindors aren’t the physical type so that’ll be easy.”

Draco kept his brows furrowed and glared at the nearest bench. There was more than just the Cups riding on this match. Heather knew Draco was still upset over the mud-throwing incident and Harry was even more furious with him after the fact of Buckbeak’s trial. Their rivalry was at its peak for the year, and it had even bled into her and Draco’s friendship.

It was weird to call it a friendship, considering she was supposed to hate him but there were the odd conversations with him that she enjoyed, and he never left her out like Pansy did, glad to talk to her about himself and how great his family is all the time. Now that he felt he was losing to Harry though, he could hardly look at her for very long without scowling at her. She was a Potter after all.

As the week went on, all Professors seemed to be assigning less and less homework on account of the match Saturday. It seemed like the whole school was anticipating the match and Slytherins and Gryffindors most of all. Scuffles broke out in the corridors, hexes and jinx were thrown during breakfast and lunch, and all the Gryffindors gathered around Harry constantly to keep him safe while all the Slytherins seemed to want to be tripping and elbowing him.

It was Friday night and Heather paced the dungeon corridors trying to keep her anxiety under control. She braided and re-braided her hair as she walked, holding her breath, counting to five, and letting it out. Five goals. That was all she needed to score. Just five. It seemed like a lot suddenly. All of Slytherin would be angry and Marcus would be furious if she didn’t do her part.

She headed back to the common room and sat on a cushion by the door and observed everyone talking about the match tomorrow. Marcus, Miles, and Graham were talking to a few girls and on the other side of the room Peregrine and Lucian were smacking hexed curtain puffs they’d ripped out. Draco was of course surrounded by his usual crowd by his favorite desk. Pansy was talking on and on to the group of third years but Draco just sat there, shaking his leg.

The common room door opened and she looked up to see it was Snape. He stepped inside and closed the door. He was searching the room and quickly spotted Marcus. “Flint.” His voice was low and yet everyone in the room seemed to recognize it immediately. Everyone hushed and turned to look at their Head of House. “I suggest you get your team to bed at once. I don’t intend on giving up the Quidditch Cup over a bunch of drowsy brats with no sense for time.” It seemed even Snape could sense how difficult the match would be.

Heather could smell the tangy scent of pickled tree oysters coming off his black trousers and the unmistakable smell of the penetratingly sweet base liquid used for almost all potions they brewed. She stayed seated in her spot as her team gathered their things and went into the dormitories. She wasn’t ready to go to bed with her anxious thoughts, and certainly not by Snape’s command.

She pulled her legs up to her chest and cursed to herself. Her movement had caught Snape’s attention out of the corner of his eyes. He glared down at her but she refused to look into his cold black eyes. She could feel her hair stand on end and finally gave in, standing up and marching to the girl’s dormitory, slamming the door hard before huffing and marching to her dorm.

She changed and fell back on her pillow, wishing she could have stayed downstairs and just ignored Snape. It would’ve been at least a small victory for her against him. Her eyelids began to close and she let them. If she were Harry, she’d just make potions incredibly annoying for him to get him back for bad mouthing her father. She could ask about the difference between Horn of Plenty and Trumpet of the Dead and whether they were less or more reactive than Black Chanterelle – which are of course all the same mushroom which would annoy him extra.

She fell asleep thinking about making her toad even more mossy on purpose next lesson instead of finally de-mossifying him and woke from a dream about replacing all of Snape’s Bladder Campions in jars with actual tiny bladders. Heather sat up and looked at the clock, seeing it was the perfect time to get up and shower before heading down for breakfast.

She got dressed in her Quidditch robes and headed out of the common room towards the Great Hall.

“Heather!”

Heather turned around and searched for Harry as he whispered her name again. She spotted his red robes hiding behind a column and walked down to him.

“Harry? What is it?”

He crossed his arms and bit his finger. He shook his head and sighed. “Alright. I know it’ll sound crazy… I think I saw Crookshanks walking with the Grim last night.”

Heather frowned.

“Listen!” Harry looked around and sighed again. “I woke up from a nightmare about the match and got up to get some water and I looked out the window and saw Crookshanks followed by the Grim and he was leading the Grim around the side of the castle!”

Heather tilted her head. “So… Hermione’s cat is friends with your Grim? Harry, the Grim isn’t an actual animal. It’s a sign. I saw the Grim in the clouds and Professor Trelawney sees it in leaves and mist and floating dust clumps… Are you sure you really saw it?”

Harry rubbed his neck and shook his head. “I tried getting Ron to see it too but he fell back asleep too fast.”

Heather placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s just the match nerves. Or maybe you know deep down Slytherin’s going to win,” she teased.

“You wish.” Harry smiled and pushed away from the wall, stepping out from the column. “Maybe it was just a dog or something from Hogsmeade.”

Wood came out from the Great Hall and called Harry down to him.

“Good luck,” Harry said and quickly punched her arm before jogging over to Wood.

Harry entered the Great Hall to enormous applause, leaving her standing alone in the empty Entrance Hall. She really hoped she was right about it not being the Grim. She took a deep breath and entered after him.

She could see three out of the four tables were wearing as much red as possible. Hufflepuffs had on red hats and small twirling red signs while Ravenclaws held scarfs in their hands ready to swing in the air. Gryffindors were all wearing red shirts, red sweaters, red trousers, red socks, and red hair clips – it was a sea of red that looked to bleed onto the other tables.

She sat at the center of her Slytherin table with the team and picked up some toast and a few small links of sausage. Was she hungry? Was she starving? It felt like the butterflies in her stomach turned to rocks every so often. It was the hardest meal she’d ever had, having to watch the stone cold face of her captain as he glared at the rest of the school behind her, and even Draco looked sickly pale next to him.

Heather kicked Draco under the table making him jump. “We’re going to win and you’re going to catch the Snitch, alright? Harry’s not even going to try until they earn enough points and Bletchley won’t let them score any. You’ll have enough time.”

Draco nodded and took a bite of his toast, getting jam on the corners of his mouth. “I’m catching the Snitch first thing.” He nodded again as if cementing the idea in his head.

Heather relaxed a bit after some color returned to Draco’s face. The cheering had gotten too loud to ignore now and Pansy started cheering for the team, looking around at others and glaring at them until they joined in with her. Soon the Slytherin tables were thumping their fists on the table, filling the air with bangs and the slight clatter of metal forks bouncing off glass plates. It did a good job of drowning out the cheers for Gryffindor.

It was time for both teams to head out and Heather stood with her team and walked down, high fiving every stuck out hand from the Slytherin tables. She looked left and saw the Gryffindors were doing the same. Harry was walking down the other side of the Gryffindor table closest to the Ravenclaws when he stopped momentarily next to the Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang, and went red. As they left the Great Hall Heather tried catching Harry’s eyes but it was no use, Wood was talking his ear off.

Heather grabbed her broom with Draco and they both entered the locker rooms, ready for whatever talk Marcus had in store for them.

Marcus paced the small space between the walls and stopped as they joined the rest of the team. “Win,” he said firmly. “Just win. By any means.”

“And just like that our nerves are gone,” Miles scoffed.

Marcus pulled him up by the collar and shook him. “What nerves? We’re Slytherins. We’ve been winning the Quidditch Cup for almost a decade. And no Potter will ruin that.”

Heather swallowed, feeling like he was also kind of talking about her.

Draco lifted his broom handle towards the team and yelled “No Potter can ruin that!”

The team smacked their broom handles against Draco’s and Heather had no choice but to join. She supposed she could consider this motivational somehow?

Marcus led them out onto the field where they took their spots. The whole school was cheering and making noise on the stands and although there were waves and waves of red, the Slytherins did their best to cover as much space with deep green and bright silver. In the front row behind the Slytherin goal post sat Snape wearing green like everyone else around him. He had on a grim smile and looked to Professor McGonagall who laughed and gestured to the stands of students waving ‘LIONS FOR THE CUP’ and ‘GO GRYFFINDOR’ flags.

“ON THE GRYFFINDOR TEAM,” Lee Jordan started his commentating, “WE HAVE POTTER, BELL, JOHNSON, SPINNET, WEASLEY, WEASLEY, AND WOOD – THE BEST TEAM CAPTAIN ON THE BEST HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH TEAM WE’VE SEEN IN A GOOD FEW YEARS – ”

His comments were drowned out by ‘boos’ from the Slytherins sitting not too far from him.

“AND ON THE SLYTHERIN TEAM IS CAPTAIN FLINT AND IT SEEMS HIS MAIN STRATEGY THIS YEAR WAS MAKING SURE THERE WAS MORE SIZE THAN SKILL ON THE TEAM – ”

Even Heather booed with the Slytherins at that. She and Draco were the smallest on the team for certain, but at least Graham and Miles had some skill too, even if they were enormous. Marcus, Lucian, and Peregrine however, they could do with less aggressive plays.

“BY SIZE THERE IS ALSO MONTAGUE, BOLE, DERRICK, BLETCHLEY, POTTER, AND MALFOY.”

Heather looked over at Draco to see him close his mouth and hide his look of shock. He glanced at her briefly and scowled, making her hold in a laugh.

The morning was fairly bright and there were no winds at all, making it perfect conditions for an intense final match. The Gryffindors mirrored their positions on the other side of the half-line and she gave Harry a tiny thumbs up which he matched for a split second. Madam Hooch came out with the ball-chest under her arm and set it down, ready to unlock on her whistle.

Heather gripped her broom hard, feeling her palms already sweaty and kicked off hard at the loud shrill of the whistle blow. Fourteen brooms rose in the air and darted into positions as Marcus and Wood fought for the Quaffle.

“GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION – QUAFFLE TAKEN BY SPINNET HEADING STRAIGHT FOR THE SLYTHERIN GOALPOSTS – LOOKING GOOD ALICIA! ARGH! NO – QUAFFLE INTERCEPTED BY MONTAGUE AS HE TEARS UP THE FIELD AND – WHAM! GOOD ARM THERE GEORGE. QUAFFLE CAUGHT BY JOHNSON AS SHE TAKES IT ALL THE WAY BACK – SWERVES AROUND POTTER – DUCK! OHH – OH! SHE SCORES!”

The Gryffindor fans filled the field with whistles and cheers as they waved red flags and scarfs in the air. Miles avoided looking towards Marcus but Heather gave him a thumbs up, he nodded his head as the Quaffle was recovered.

Heather gasped as Marcus smashed into Angelina Johnson, nearly knocking her off her broom.

“Didn’t see her!” Marcus yelled to the booing crowd of scarlet below. “Sorry!”

Heather rolled her eyes at him and gasped again as Fred’s Beater’s club flew through the air and smacked Marcus on the back of his head, making him smash his nose on his broom handle causing a nose bleed.

Madam Hooch flew up between them and blew her whistle. “Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to THEIR Chaser!” Before they could argue Madam Hooch blew her whistle again and Johnson flew forward to take penalty, eyeing Marcus with immense loathing.

“JOHNSON TAKES THE SHOT AND – SCORE! SHE’S BEATEN THE KEEPER YET AGAIN. TWENTY-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR, FIRST TWO POINTS MADE BY ANGELINA JOHNSON.”

Marcus flew forward with the Quaffle under his arm and aimed at the Gryffindor goalposts where Wood sat ready on his broom.

“FLINT TAKES THE SHOT AND – WOOD’S SAVED IT! HE’S SAVED IT! THAT’S STILL TWENTY-ZERO WITH THE BEST HOGWARTS TEAM STILL IN THE LEAD!”

Heather groaned and felt the little butterflies in her stomach all drop dead and turn to boulders. The Gryffindors were much closer to getting the necessary points they needed to win both cups and allow for Harry to catch the Snitch. Draco flew by quickly, desperately searching for the Snitch as Harry trailed him meters behind – a distance afforded to him by the firebolt.

Heather nodded at Marcus and took her position again as the Quaffle was recovered and put back into play.

“GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION – NO – SLYTHERIN IN – NO BACK IN GRYFFINDOR POSSESSION AND ITS WITH BELL AS SHE STREAKS UP THE FIELD – THAT WAS DELIBERATE!”

Graham had swooped down and grabbed hold of Katie Bell’s head instead of the Quaffle, making her drop it in an attempt to dislodge her head from under his arm.

Madam Hooch flew back up and yelled at him before awarding Gryffindor another penalty which Katie gladly took.

“THIRTY-ZERO! THAT’S RIGHT, KEEP CHEATING YOU DIRTY – ”

“MR. JORDAN, IF YOU CAN’T COMMENTATE AS UNBIASED AS POSSIBLE – ”

“JUST SAYIN’ IT HOW IT IS PROFESSOR – ”

While the game was stalled on Lee Jordan and Professor McGonagall’s arguments, Heather flew over to Marcus and Graham. “Drop the whole ‘win by any means’! We’re losing! Stick to the plays!”

Marcus glared at her but nodded. “We’ll take those points back. Stick to the plays.”

Graham nodded and they split up, taking their positions around Marcus like they normally did. The game was back on and as they wrestled with Gryffindor for the possession of the Quaffle, Heather spotted Derrick and Bole closing in on a speeding Harry just as he pulled up out of the way and they collided against each other.

“HA HA! SOMEONE GET DERRICK AND BOLE AN ICE PACK, THEY SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN WHY THE FIREBOLT’S THE BEST BROOM ON THE MARKET!”

Graham had barely grazed the Quaffle when Johnson intercepted.

“GRYFFINDOR IN POSSESSION – MONTAGUE FLYING ALONSIDE JOHNSON – MONTAGUE IN POSSESSION! OH NO FLYING TOWARDS THE GRYFFINDOR GOALPOSTS – BELL AND SPINNET CLOSING IN ON HIM! – FLINT IN POSSESSION NOW – NO STOP IT WOOD! – ARGH! SLYTHERIN SCORES.”

The Slytherins behind the Slytherin goalposts erupted with cheers. Lee Jordan swore and Professor McGonagall tried tugging the magical megaphone away.

“SORRY! WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN! – THIRTY-TEN, GRYFFINDOR STILL IN THE LEAD BUT SLYTHERIN HAS POSSESSION AGAIN – ”

The tide was turning now that they were more focused on plays and not cheating. Heather followed close beneath Flint and on cue caught his dropped Quaffle and scored the second points for Slytherin. Wood pounded on his handle and the Slytherins cheered again.

“THIRTY-TWENTY, COME ON GRYFFINDORS DON’T LET THEM CATCH UP!”

Four of five goals down, she just needed five goals total to reach her own goal. That was the plan. She zoomed forward and cut off Spinnet, sending her diving down to avoid collision, freeing up space for Marcus to throw to Graham. Graham shot forward with the Quaffle in hot pursuit by Bell and Johnson and just as he aimed to throw into the goalposts, Bell snatched it from his hand and made her way across the field. Gryffindor scored freely for the last time that match.

It was forty-twenty and now even Heather felt the same angry fire behind Marcus and Graham’s eyes. Marcus scored, and then Graham, and just after Heather had rammed into Johnson to stop her from cutting between Marcus’s throw, Heather caught the Quaffle and scored for Slytherin once again.

Forty-fifty and Slytherins were in the lead now. Bell was on Heather’s tail from then on as she shadowed Marcus to his right. A Bludger nearly knocked him off his broom but Graham saved it and scored again. Fred and George were now focusing their efforts on Marcus as Lucian and Peregrine aimed for them.

Heather looped on her broom to lose Bell momentarily to help pass the Quaffle to Graham again as Marcus dodged two Bludgers, and he scored again. On and on it went cleanly until the score was forty to one-hundred and Heather had scored her five goals. Then Lucian hit Alicia Spinnet with his club, stopping her from taking possession and George elbowed him in the face.

Madam Hooch gave each team a penalty shot and Miles finally blocked it. Wood didn’t let Marcus score. Bell attempted to score and while Fred and George were distracted trying to help block Graham and Heather from closing in on her, Peregrine and Lucian aimed the Bludgers at Wood, giving Gryffindor two more penalty shots. Miles saved one and the score became fifty to one-hundred. Wood climbed back over his broom and clutched his stomach.

Slytherin quickly took the points back. Heather scored twice more after Flint scored twice and Graham scored once.

“SLYTHERIN IS AT A HUNDRED POINT LEAD… WHERE’S THAT SNITCH!”

The game was dragging on and Harry and Draco were now searching the skies and ground for the Snitch. Draco kept on Harry’s tail as best he could as they circled the Quiditch pitch once, twice – Harry dashed forward and reached out for the golden speck twenty feet in front.

Draco sped after him, managing to cut the distance on a quick turn as the Snitch flew away from them. Harry had the Snitch inches from his fingers when Draco jumped forward and caught the tail of Harry’s broom in his hands, dragging him back.

Harry swung a fist at Draco’s face but couldn’t reach. Harry turned back and slowed, realizing the Snitch had disappeared from view.

“CHEATER! CHEATING! YOU FILTHY CHEATING SLYTHERIN – !” Lee was dancing out of McGonagall’s grasp.

“Penalty!” Madam Hooch yelled.

Spinnet took the shot and was blocked by Miles who was still laughing at Draco’s penalty. Heather felt her team was newly invigorated by Draco’s desperate ‘by any means’ tactics.

The game was back on and Johnson had the Quaffle. Heather and the other Chasers flew after her, closing in at once when Harry cut through them like a red bullet, making them all scatter to avoid falling off their brooms and allowing her to score.

“Harry!” Heather yelled and quickly noticed Draco across the field streaking up towards a tiny shiny speck.

Harry noticed and tore after Draco, closing the field-wide distance within seconds. Heather watched, frozen in place, as Draco closed in on the Snitch. Marcus took this chance to score once more as everyone’s attention was on the Seekers.

Draco’s fingers were stretched, arm fully extended as he leaned forward on his broom. His blond hair whipping back as he cut through the air.

Harry had reached Draco and was now urging his broom to go faster as he stretched out his arm towards the Snitch.

They were both inches away from it, closing in – Harry threw himself forward, knocking Draco’s arm out of the way and caught the Snitch in one cupped swoop of his hand.

“HARRY POTTER’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! THAT’S TWO-HUNDRED POINTS TO ONE-HUNDRED-AND-SIXTY! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

The crowd erupted with cheers and the field below filled with red and gold as everyone touched down. Heather walked up to Marcus who was fuming but surprisingly remained calm. He clenched his fist and looked at all of them as they gathered around him quietly.

“We won the cup. That’s all that matters. They needed at least a fifty-point lead before Potter caught the Snitch.” Marcus looked at Draco and nodded. “Good try, Malfoy.”

Draco looked like he could murder anyone who looked at him the wrong way. He nodded and headed towards the broom shed, shoving and pushing any and all Gryffindors in his way.

The Gryffindor crowd was lifting Harry on their shoulders, satisfied with the win and victory over Slytherins and Draco. Heather trailed behind the crowd not wanting to bump into Ron or Hermione. Although the cup was still and would remain in the safety of Snape’s office, the loss against Gryffindor was felt among all Slytherins.

Draco almost had it, inches away, seconds away, but was doomed to lose against Harry’s firebolt.

Was everyone doomed to lose against Harry?

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calumcest · 5 years ago

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masterlist

ok firstly please bear in mind most of these fics were written in 2014/15 when i was 16 so please do not judge their quality too harshly

ao3

[there are some fics on there that i haven’t put here, mainly chaptered fics but some others too]

drabbles (malum, lashton, cashton, mashton)

lashton

i can count on the sun to shine

It’s not been the easiest of days, but it’s not been the roughest either, so Ashton’s half-surprised when Luke crawls into his lap and curls up in it, looping his arms around Ashton’s neck and nosing into Ashton’s neck, breath warm and even against Ashton’s skin.

my beating heart belongs to you

“God, you’re all sweaty,” Michael adds, and Ashton snorts because that is fucking rich coming from the guy whose sweat has disintegrated two shirts so far this tour. “That’s how Luke likes me,” Ashton fires back, and Calum pulls a face whilst Michael laughs. “What’s how I like you?” Luke asks, coming up behind Ashton and wrapping his arms around him, resting his chin on Ashton’s head.

young and in love (that should be enough)

“Ashton.” Luke draws out the second syllable, pouting to add effect to his words. “Lukey,” Ashton says, stringing out the second syllable too in a softly mocking manner. “What do you want?” “A cuddle,” Luke announces, “from my favourite boyfriend.”

say you’ll never change

@Luke5SOS: It feels like we’re ready to crack these days you & I

it feels like we’re ready to crack these days, you & i [extended version of above fic]

It’s not really that pathetic that Ashton’s got tweet and text notifications on for Luke. Not really.

we gamble with desire

“Guys,” Michael says, making his way into the back lounge. “Have you heard of fanfiction?”

rules of the band

In retrospect, it’s kind of Ashton’s fault that it all starts. He’d eaten the last of the Vegemite, something he knows Michael and Calum feel very strongly about, and it had resulted in a sheet of paper pinned to the fridge by a frog magnet that had ‘Rules of the Band’ scrawled in Calum’s handwriting at the top. Rules of the Band

NOBODY WILL EAT THE LAST OF THE VEGEMITE!!!

soulmates

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

my friends are a different breed

“What’s happening?” Calum says, walking out into the living room. “Luke and Ashton weren’t kissing,” Michael informs him. Calum nods. “We weren’t,” Ashton says in what he hopes is a believable tone.

i’ve got a lot of friends who are stars

The city’s fucking beautiful at night.

dreams only last for a night

Luke prefers it when Ashton’s asleep.

happy father’s day dad :-)

@Calum5SOS: @Ashton5SOS happy Father’s Day dad :-)

my friends are everything

CH: Who’s eaten the last of the fucking vegemite

AI: wtf that was like rule number 1

my new comfort zone

It’s when it starts getting to the tense, anticipatory bit of the film where the gang of actual idiots are about to enter the house which Luke’s ninety-nine percent sure has a murderer in it, that’s when Luke whimpers and turns away from the screen, burying his face in the crook of Ashton’s neck.

as the night gets older of you i grow fonder

Luke’s eight when Ashton moves in next door. (based on the video for you belong with me)

coffee shop soundtrack

“Mind if I sit here?” the guy asks, and there’s a kind of apologetic hint to his tone. “Everywhere else is full.” Full? The coffee shop's never full- Oh. Apart from today, apparently. Every single seat is taken. “Oh, Luke says. “Uh. Sure.“

taking the long way home

“May we have your attention for flight BA8227,” the tinny voice of the announcement says, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. They never announce anything he wants to hear; there’s never any we’ve upgraded hardworking and broke session drummer Ashton Irwin to first class, he’s also been given unlimited air miles and a refund on his overpriced tuna melt. “We are sorry to announce that this flight is delayed by approximately seven hours. This is due to unforeseen adverse weather conditions. I repeat-”

if these walls could talk (they’ve seen way too many things)

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens. Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow. “You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks. “They’re locking down the state.”

as he faced the sun he cast no shadow

Ashton doesn’t really realise he’s fallen out of love until it’s happened.

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon (soulmate au)

chapter one ~ chapter two ~ chapter three ~ chapter four ~ chapter five ~ chapter six ~ chapter seven

The tattoos appear one Wednesday night. What’s yours?” Michael demands, sounding beside himself with excitement. Luke frowns. “What’s my what?” “Your tattoo.”

fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet

Luke hates a good ninety-five percent of his job. A solid thirty percent of that comes from the fact that he works as a receptionist at a hotel, which he thinks is possibly the most thankless job humanity could possibly have created. A further ten comes from the fact that his desk is right next to the kitchen, meaning mouth-watering smells are constantly wafting under his nose, and Luke’s not allowed to eat on shift. Fifty-five percent of it, though, is Ashton.

there’s no time for running away now

It’s three a.m., and Ashton’s awake. On the surface, that might not appear to be a problem. And ordinarily, it wouldn’t be - ordinarily, Ashton would either roll over groggily, will sleep to come with every fibre of his being and maybe a quick prayer or two, or read something mind-numbingly boring like his urgent work emails to send him back to sleep. This, however, isn’t the most ordinary situation. Ashton is awake because of Luke.

-------

malum

make me a promise here tonight

“Calum,” Michael says, walking into the bunk area and stopping in front of Calum’s bunk. “Cal.” “What?” Calum asks, not looking up from his phone. “I think we should get married.”

we know this is the way it’s supposed to be

Calum’s always the first person Michael rings in an emergency. Like right now, for example. Right now’s an emergency. “What the fuck do you want, Clifford?” Calum groans, voice tinny through the shitty phone line, but he’s picked up after the first ring so Michael knows he doesn’t mean it. “I need help,” Michael says, trying to stop the phone from slipping down his chest from where it’s pressed between his shoulder and his ear. “Green, blue, or black?“

the first time i’ve seen love (and the last i’ll ever need)

“Tell me a story.” The words are whispered into the fabric of Calum’s shirt, and Calum’s arms tighten around Michael as he hums in response. It’s familiar, the situation, because it’s what Michael always asks for when he’s tired, scared, lonely, or just wants to hear Calum’s voice.

it should be criminal that you could be mine

He can’t help but get a little jealous when Ashton and Luke start properly dating, though. He can’t help but get jealous of the way Ashton’s always taking Luke out for dinner, always holding his hand, always buying him presents, always making these romantic gestures that Michael’s never had from Calum. (or calum’s version of a dinner date)

it always will be you (wherever you are)

It started off as something kind of unnecessary. Calum already had a Twitter account, and he wasn’t someone who was afraid to speak his mind. If he had something to say, he’d say it on his public account. He’d only made the account for when he was in a bit of a shitty mood and wanted to vent or when he had an inappropriate joke that only Michael would find funny.

falling asleep on a stranger

As it is, his bus is running late today and Calum had run all the way to the bus stop from his house (a good two minutes of exercise, at least, which means he’s breathless and almost breaking a sweat by the time he reaches the bus stop) because he’d thought he was late. When he realises, however, that he could have had an extra ten minutes and actually eaten some breakfast, he groans, lets his eyes flutter shut and mutters “fuck me.” “Excuse me?” a surprised voice says, and Calum opens his eyes so fast he thinks he might have accidentally blinded himself. Standing to his left, an amused look on his face, is a boy with fluffy-looking blue hair (blue).

this could be the start of something new

He pushes past throngs of tired-looking businessmen to get into the last carriage, looking around for some seats. He’s not the only one who’s had that idea, clearly, as the last carriage is nigh-on full and Calum has the choice of two seats - one next to a balding man who’s eating what looks to be a tuna sandwich (Calum balks at the very idea) and a tattooed-up-to-hell punk kid with a shock of light pink hair in a suit, jacket on his lap. Calum goes for the latter.

you’re already the voice inside my head

“Michael didn’t say anything, mate,” Luke says, confused. “Yes, he did,” Calum says, exasperated. “I…no, I didn’t,” Michael says slowly. “What the fuck, Mike?” Calum says, perplexed. “I didn’t say it, Cal…I thought it.”

i want to teach you a lesson (in the worst kind of way)

“Who’s that, sir?” Lily asks, jabbing at the window. “The new PE teacher,” Michael says. “He’s cute,” Sarah says, and a couple of the girls nod vigorously. “He’s also twice your age,” Michael says. “Go on, off to your practice rooms.” The girls groan, but one by one pull themselves away from the window and start to wander off. Michael stays by the window, one eye on the girls to make sure they actually go where they’re supposed to and one eye on the new PE teacher, who’s dividing the class up into groups and handing out footballs. He is kind of hot, Michael supposes, if you’re into muscular guys who are clearly good at sports. Which Michael most definitely is.

dancing with the demons (holy spirit, holy spirit)

“You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls. “Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.” “Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees.

only you (and you can hear me)

“Uh,” Calum says, looking out into the crowd, and Michael follows his gaze, trying to find what Calum’s staring at. “I’m going to go to the teepee with Heather.” Michael’s stomach sinks. “Really?” he asks, before he can stop himself, looking over at Calum. “Yeah,” Calum says, turning to look at Michael, and Michael whips back around before Calum can see the look of please don’t written all over his face. “Alright.” (tiny dancer scene from rocketman but happy)

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back)

chapter one ~ chapter two ~ chapter three ~ chapter four ~ chapter five ~ chapter six

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. - or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

couldn’t make it more obvious could you (be any more obvious?)

“D’you think he was being serious?” he asks Ashton, who’s already engrossed in his phone again. “Hm?” Ashton says, without looking up. “‘Bout what?” “Jack.” That makes Ashton look up, brow furrowed. “What about him?” Calum hesitates. “Y’know,” he says, a little uncomfortably. Ashton cocks his head, raising his eyebrows in an I don’t know sort of way. “About them. Sleeping together.” “Oh,” Ashton says, shrugs, and turns back to his phone. “Yeah, obviously.”

love would burn this city down for you

There’s something so comforting about the city. Calum remembers the first time he’d got it, that rush of everything and nothing and beauty and reverence as he’d stared out at the brightly-lit scene before him, overwhelmed and trying his best to drink it all in. Fuck me, he’d thought, a delicious numbness licking at his nerves. I’m fucking irrelevant. (It was the first time he’d ever known peace.)

——-

cashton

‘cause all of the stars are fading away (just try not to worry you’ll see them someday)

Growing up isn’t easy. Nobody ever told him it would be. You’ll get hurt, his mum would say, eyes big and sad, and he’d shrug and say that’s life, not really understanding what she meant because he was yet to spend three nights in a row staring up at his ceiling, drunk and high and so miserable it somehow felt like everything and nothing at the same time. It’ll be difficult, his manager had warned, when they got their first tour with One Direction, and Ashton had shrugged and said isn’t everything?, not realising that what ‘difficult’ meant was sacrifice; his sleep, his home, his self, everything torn out at the roots and tossed aside for him to gather back into his arms again. The hardest part of growing up, though, isn’t when things happen to him, when someone breaks up with him or wakes him up two hours after he’s gone to bed or puts him on another plane six hours after he’s just got off one. The hardest part of growing up is when he looks around him and realises I’m not happy.

#ignore this post #also im gonna have to put up posts of the ones that i havent posted on tumblr yet soon #cos rn half of them are just linked to my ao3 #but im gonna space it out bc its annoying #and also i'm going to be very discerning #bc some of them are...to put it politely...RUBBISH #and when i say some of them i mean every single one of them #being proud of things you've written? could never be me

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foxtophat · 4 years ago

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WHOOO BOY okay here we are! i’m all done with another mercy fic!!! that is honestly amazing, startling, thrilling, all that good shit. i am STOKED!!!

i don’t have much to say about it, other than writing kim and john interacting has been so much fun!!! i’m going to have to come up with more reasons for the two of them to hang out. when john and nick talk it’s like fighting words all the time but with kim john can actually just be a tired adult, and i think he might need that sometimes.

so, i took the fic’s title from a new mountain goats song that i really like. it’s very depressing though. even worms turn into butterflies i guess :(

as usual, the chapter is beneath the cut for those of you who don’t want to leave tumblr’s comfortable embrace. i absolutely adore kudos, comments, likes, reblogs and those passing glances on the street as you wonder “is that the famous author of a tiny fandom’s niche survival au????” yeah, i see you out there, looking for me. i’m carmen san diego, bitch!!! good luck with that!!!!

love you guys, have a good day, and thanks for putting up with me!!! <3

John might try to couch it in exasperation and paint it as a tactical retreat, but Kim sees him leaving for what it really is: gut instinct telling him to escape. She doesn't blame him for needing space, of course. From the way Nick watches him go, it's clear that the day's been harder than either of them have let on. She's sure that Nick will tell her the details later, but right now, it doesn't look like he has the energy. That's also fine; John's fragile emotional state is easily put on the back-burner. She has more important things to worry about right now. For one thing, she's got eighty pounds of supplies to handle and a family that's uncomfortable with the responsibility.

"It's still too much for us, isn't it," Nick says mournfully. "We gotta give more away, don't we?"

Kim privately admits to herself that she doesn't want to give any more away. Hell, she's even reluctant to give away what might be kept for bargaining later. The boxes of military rations, the ten pounds of salt, the five pounds of rice — they wouldn't have anything to worry about during winter. They wouldn't even have to leave the house if they didn't want to. But John has left all of that in a neutral fifth pile for them to divvy out equally, and Kim can't allow herself to be more selfish than him. That is absolutely unacceptable.

"We can give away the potato flakes," Kim says, diplomatically moving them to the center pile. "If we still don't feel like it's enough, we can give away more. But right now, we need to conserve the resources we have control over." Sighing hard in an attempt to blow stray hairs from her face, she adds, "Honestly, we should check that everything is still good before we decide to give anything away." After all, everything looks fine at a glance, but Kim has seen first-hand just how insidious mold can be in ill-stored supplies. Just because Jacob seemed to be prepared doesn't mean he couldn't make a mistake, and Kim isn't about to trust any Seed implicitly.

"I guess you're right," Nick replies, picking up one of the mylar bags and examining its contents through the clear side. Kim remembers the brand of powdered stock so clearly that if she closes her eyes, she can see exactly where it was stocked on the store shelves. Nick seems to be thinking the same thing, sounding strangely nostalgic as he asks, "You don't think there's still time to spice up dinner, do you?"

"Maybe if you guys had gotten here an hour ago," Kim says. "Much longer on the fire and everything is going to be mushy paste. And, again, we don't know if it's safe to use."

"Can we have these tomorrow?" Carmina asks, lifting one of the packaged rations up for approval.

"Not unless they won't last through winter," Kim replies. "Now, I know none of us are excited about five-day stew, but we can't let edible food go to waste just because there's something tastier in front of us." That doesn't do much to rally the troops, unfortunately, and Kim is stuck feeling like the bad guy, so she tries again. "Salt doesn't really go bad, though — I'm sure we can use that."

Nick accepts the terms of the compromise, thankfully, because he's an adult when he needs to be. He redirects his leftover energy towards the sealed bags, pointing Carmina towards the neutral pile. "Okay, you remember how to check whether something's gone bad, right?"

It's been a while since they've relied on store-bought goods, but Carmina hasn't forgotten best-by dates or how to spot discoloration. It's easy enough for them to determine the rations are still good; although the packaging boasts a dubious "fifty-year shelf-life," all of the wrappers are fresh and odorless. They'll have to open one up to be sure, but Kim isn't getting Carmina excited for that this close to dinner. The rice and salt are also easy passes, which means Kim hasn't made too lofty a promise to her family just by offering basic seasoning.

They don't risk breaking any seals quite yet, not without clean containers to hold everything, but it's easy to do a visual check even without opening anything up. Jacob had done his job well — other than the triple-wrapped bottles of liquor, the cache is entirely dry and moisture-free, and everything stored inside was meant to last. That tracks with what Kim knows of the oldest brother. He had been a sharp-minded survivalist; cunning, ruthless, and hard to outwit. He must have been a meticulous planner, putting all of this together, but Kim is struggling to understand what he had expected to do with it all. Like John had said — what good would food be to a man who had planned to survive the apocalypse inside a fully stocked, industrial bunker? And if he didn't trust the Project to save him, then why did he put so much effort into building its militia?

Jacob's motivations are a mystery that Kim isn't interested in solving. She's just glad that, for whatever reason, he'd buried these supplies in particular, and that he'd bothered to share the location with John. Thanks to his opaque planning, Kim can scratch some pipe-dream items off her supply list, and that's good enough for her. Honestly, food had been the last thing she'd suspected John could help them with — she still has trouble believing it's all here in front of her.

With Nick and Carmina studiously inspecting the cache supplies, Kim takes some time to pull the food from the fire. It's the third day they've eaten from this particular batch of stew, and the newest ingredients she put in today are almost a week old. The only thing she can say in favor of their leftovers at this point is that there isn't a lot of it left. She can only hope the salt helps, otherwise she's going to cave on the military rations herself.

Kim brings the pot into the kitchen, then decides it's time to check on John. There's a slim chance that he might have decided to disappear into the hangar, or walked as far as the end of the drive, and Kim isn't going to stand around shouting for him like some kind of Little Home on the Prairie character. She gives Nick a thumbs up as she heads for the front door; he doesn't stop her, but the crease in his brow tells her he wants to.

There's a path laid in the dirt between the porch and the truck where John clearly had been pacing, but when Kim comes outside, he's sitting motionless on the porch steps. He doesn't react as Kim comes up next to him, his elbows resting on his knees as he presses his forehead against his palms. She can't tell if he's ignoring her on purpose, or if he's just so deep in thought that he doesn't realize she's there. His turmoil tends to give him tunnel-vision, and he doesn't always notice his surroundings.

Kim doesn't think he's trying to give her the silent treatment, so she gives in first. "Dinner's going to be ready any minute," she tells him. "It's going to be the last tasteless meal for a while, so I hope you're excited."

"Thrilled," he replies, with just enough sarcasm for Kim to trust she isn't interrupting him mid-crisis. She gives him a minute, and sure enough, he eventually drops his hands from his face. Sighing heavily, he addresses the dirt when he speaks. "I take it I'll need a good excuse to get out of eating."

"Maybe if you had eaten breakfast, I'd be more willing to look the other way." Even though she knows John won't take her concern seriously, she can't completely hide it under her exasperation. She tries for his sake, but it's a lost cause. "I don't think you've finished a meal in days."

John closes his eyes briefly. "I haven't been hungry," he says.

Kim wishes he would be more petulant about it. She can handle it when John acts like a child — she's got nine years of raising Carmina under her belt, after all — but John's resignation is a weariness that reflects her own. She doesn't know how to help him with it any more than she knows how to help herself. She can hardly help Nick when he gets like this. She has no idea how to handle John.

Kim cranes her neck as she checks on Nick and Carmina, who are still busy with the supplies. Satisfied that they aren't in any immediate danger, she finally takes a seat next to John on the porch. He still doesn't look at her, his eyes fixed on his hands, but she's hardly surprised. She turns her own gaze to the truck, glinting in the sunset, and tries to follow the tire-tracks backward. She bets the dirt's held their tracks all the way back to the field.

"If it makes you feel better, my appetite has been terrible, too. Sometimes, all I can do is try to keep everything down." She sighs, lamenting mostly to herself, "What I wouldn't give for a Big Mac right now."

That earns her an amused huff from John, which is better than she'd expected. If he's able to tolerate her bad jokes, then at least she can be sure she isn't making things worse.

"At least once we get through our leftovers, we'll be able to start adding those emergency rations into rotation," Kim continues. John probably doesn't care about meal planning, but Kim doesn't need him to be an interested sounding board. "And with the extra seasoning, even our leftovers are going to be better than they were." She knows she's pushing it when she tries to relate, but she can't help commenting, "It was lucky that Jacob squirreled so much food away."

"That isn't what he would call it," John heaves. His fingers twist against his jeans. "He was prepared for anything that might happen. Luck had nothing to do with it."

"It was lucky for us," Kim points out. "And, you know... considering how much effort he put into hiding it, I bet he'd be relieved to know that you were able to find it after all this time."

"It doesn't matter what he'd think. He's dead."

John takes a sharp breath after he spits the comment out and Kim watches the regret bloom in real time, his scowl deepening as he stares at the dirt. Sometimes, she suspects he beats himself up like this because they refuse to do it for him. She wishes he would stop, already. It used to annoy her, but lately, it's only managed to make her feel terribly sad.

"Maybe it doesn't matter to him, but it might make you feel better."

John barks out a noise that hardly resembles a laugh. "Nothing is going to make me feel better ," he snaps, his anger flaring up and dissipating too abruptly for him to keep hold of it. All it leaves behind is resignation. "It doesn't matter. He'll just... My nightmares will latch on to anything. Jacob will never be happy in them." He sighs, burying his hands in his hair, twisting his fingers as though he might pull clumps out by the root. "Nothing I do helps. I just want it to stop ."

Kim wishes she had a solution for him, but she has nothing besides a lame suggestion to get more rest. That clearly hasn't worked for any of them, let alone John, who treats his nightmares like physical intruders instead of figments of his imagination. She doesn't know what they do to haunt him so badly, and she isn't sure she's ready to learn. She's only just now starting to get used to him as a person — she's not ready to unpack all of his damage.

John sighs and rubs his temples. "I knew Jacob didn't believe," he admits. "Not in the religious doctrine, anyway. But I didn't know that he had... planned around it. If I'd known, then maybe..."

John trails off, and Kim hums sympathetically after he fails to pick back up. Most of John's trauma is bespoke to him and him alone, but this is something that any survivor would be able to commiserate with. "Hindsight really does suck," she says. "Trust me, you're not the only one wondering what could've gone differently."

Usually, John is almost impossible to console, but it seems like the day has worn the fight right out of him. He only shakes his head miserably at her attempt to sympathize. "It wouldn't have been any better," he mutters. "It would only have been a different kind of worse."

"Maybe," Kim supposes, although she's not entirely convinced. There were plenty of points between the Project's arrival and the Collapse where a split in leadership would have benefited everybody. She's thought about it before now, remembering rare moments when she'd thought she'd seen something beneath the veneer of otherwise devout believers. She's wondered more than once what might've happened, if only they had convinced the right person to turn their back. God, she's hypothesized about a thousand missed opportunities left in that half-decade. There are a million ways things could have turned out better for even just one more person.

At last, Kim surrenders her side of the conversation — or what's left of it, anyway. "Well, for whatever it's worth, you've done us a big favor, and we're not going to let it go to waste. And a lot of people are going to benefit from your hard work."

John takes a deep, unhappy breath. "Yes," he says. He opens his mouth to soften the word with something else, something to hide the fact that he still depends on blind acceptance when overwhelmed, but he can't seem to come up with anything.

Kim doesn't need an excuse. She puts a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense under her gentle grip, anticipating more than simple reassurance. It offended her at first, how often he seemed to expect them to be violent with him. The idea that he thought either of them were capable of the same awfulness as the cult had pissed her off. But nowadays, she's come to accept that it's simply hardwiring left over from before. She's not sure there's anything to be done about it at this point.

There are no platitudes she can offer him that wouldn't sound insincere, so she relies on facts. "When you're ready, come inside and try to eat something. You look like you wore yourself out."

John's tension slowly ebbs. "I... may have overdone it," he admits somewhat reluctantly, which tells Kim that he definitely overdid it. He scrubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I needed to know I was right. I... needed him to know I hadn't forgotten."

So much for Jacob being too dead to care about. Despite everything, Kim can't help but sympathize. She feels his remorse in her own way whenever she thinks about her parents, and she knows that everybody carries something like that with them these days. She might not be haunted by her parents the way John is, but she thinks she can understand his sorrow. It might be the only thing about him she really gets.

"That's okay," she tells him, because it is, and somebody should tell him as much. "But you can't let it get in the way of taking care of yourself."

He nods, but Kim knows he doesn't believe her. He treats every attempt to reassure him as empty platitudes — not that she can blame him, really. But sometimes, like right now, she wonders if he would be less inclined to beat himself up so much if they'd just punished him the way he'd wanted from the start. It's just her exasperation talking, frustrated by his continued misery. John needs time, just like the rest of them, and beating him up ten months ago would only have made things worse.

A loud thud interrupts them, followed immediately by Carmina shouting, " Ow !" Nick starts to laugh, which keeps Kim from getting particularly worried about Carmina's safety, but she still gets up to investigate. John doesn't follow, although she catches him turning his head to watch her as she heads inside.

Nick, still seated at the table, laughs at their daughter as she lies sprawled back on the ground, her feet still guiltily stuck in the barrel.

"Told you, you're too big! No way you'd fit."

"I had to try ," Carmina grumbles as she kicks her way out of the barrel.

" Why ?" Kim laughs.

"I dunno, I just had to!"

"Too bad I don't have a blow-torch," Nick laments. "We could've put some eye-holes in it for you, like a helmet. Maybe then you'd be able to ride around in the truck-bed without your mom getting all worked up."

Carmina gasps. " Really ?"

Kim is quick to smother that particular idea. " No ," she cuts in, trying not to laugh at the mental image that her husband's conjured up. She tries to guilt Nick with an exasperated glance, but the bastard doesn't look even remotely repentant about suggesting armor to their child. "There has to be a better use for it than that. Anyway, armored or not, I don't want you to get thrown out of the back of a moving vehicle! I don't know why that's so unreasonable."

Carmina opens her mouth to argue the point, but she's abruptly distracted as she glances into the barrel. Rearranging her legs to sit on her knees, she pulls the barrel towards her. Kim would write it off if it weren't for Carmina's obvious confusion as she peers inside.

"There's more stuff in here," she reveals, tipping the barrel upright. She's uncharacteristically uneasy as she mentions, "Um, I think it's cult stuff..."

Kim is the first one to investigate, peering down into what she'd thought was an empty cache. She finds a circular metal disk wedged catty-corner into the barrel, revealing a hidden compartment. Reaching past the false bottom, Kim finds some black fabric and a box. She figures out the tee-shirts from the tags inside the collars of the factory-starched fabric, but hesitates to investigate the rest. The other packages stored away had been factory-sealed and clearly labeled cardboard boxes; there was no hiding what was in those. This, on the other hand, is a wooden cigar box with no seals, the Eden's Gate cross etched elaborately into the lid.

"Uh, John?" Nick calls as Kim sets the box down on top of the shirts. She wonders if she should open it, or if it might be some kind of trap. Nick looks deeply distrusting as he stares at the emblem and repeats louder, "John?"

John is more confused than any of them when he enters the scene. He scowls as soon as he sees the box sitting on the table, which would be hard to miss even without Nick gesturing widely towards it. "Where did you find that?" he asks, looking from Nick to Carmina as if they might have different stories to give him.

"Where do you think, Mars?" Nick exclaims, exasperated. "You wanna tell me what's inside?"

"I don't know ," John grits out, "I haven't looked ."

But it's clear from his expression that he has an idea of what they're dealing with. He crosses the room and hovers momentarily in front of the box, flipping the lid open before Kim can decide if that's a good idea. It could be a bomb. It could have a tripwire. She doesn't want her home ruined by Bliss all over again!

Of course, nothing happens. Kim supposes that if it had been a trap, Carmina would have set it off by climbing on top of it. The reality is much less ominous than she could have expected. She hovers near John as he pulls a clean moleskin journal out, watching him flip through the blank pages before dismissing it. He's slower to write off the folded mass of paper that he takes out next, although he doesn't examine it right away. Kim doesn't need him to unfold it to see the topography lines and highway markers printed on it.

"An empty journal, a map, and..."

John scowls at the twenty or so bullets that rattle around at the bottom of the cigar box. They can't be any different from the rest of the ammunition, but for some reason, the sight of them triggers a sense of dread in Kim. After all, what kind of ammunition would Jacob have thought needed to be secreted away? It can't be good. It can't possibly be safe .

"Ah," John says. Kim can't say for sure, but he seems almost disappointed.

"What are they?" Nick asks.

"Bullets we infused with Bliss." John tilts the box, examining the ammunition as best he can without touching it. Kim can't help but want to snatch Carmina away, but they're past the point of hiding these things from her. She has a right to understand just how dangerous the cult was. But there's also a lingering fear that somehow, Carmina might be affected by that god-awful drug, even if it's from ten-year-old bullets.

"You don't have to worry," John says. He doesn't need to look up for Kim to know he's talking to her. "The drug would be inert by now."

"What should we do with them, then?" Nick asks.

"Destroy them," John replies honestly. "If not that, then... store them away. We don't need them, but..."

"But it would be stupid to throw away good ammunition," Kim finishes as John trails off.

"Exactly."

None of them make a move to take either action. Kim supposes that the bullets aren't hurting anyone right now, just sitting there, and it seems like Carmina is more interested in the map than the ammunition. She's trying and failing to peek at the folded pages without undoing the whole mess. They didn't have a map in the bunker, which means that this will be Carmina's first chance to see her home spread out as a whole.

"Here, let me," Kim tells her daughter. Nick takes her cue, clearing a space on the table for her as she picks up the map. All eyes are on the accordion folds as they unravel, revealing more and more of the county. Black stars dot locations Kim remembers, like Lorna's and Rae Rae's, and circled points of nothing are marked in the middle of empty fields and mountain road turnoffs. The key is neatly printed in the upper left corner; beneath it is a uniform list of numbers, most likely coordinates, written briskly in red ink.

Even without the key, Kim thinks she understands the various marks around the map. Spread out in front of them, she can see double circles around power boxes, and she spots a few other locations with the same notation. Stars are placed next to several prominent people's homes, including their own. There are other things, too — little ink drawings of wolves, bears and deer in spots across the map. A few lakes have the names of fish written over them in the same blocky letters as the food packaging; the river bend nearest to their home has the word BASS written neatly along the bend.

Standing next to Kim, staring down at the map, John finally says, "This doesn't make any sense."

Nick opens his mouth to respond, probably with something sarcastic, but he thinks better of it and goes a different route. "Why would he hide this stuff?" he asks. "I mean, I get the bullets, I guess... but hiding the map seems weird."

John scowls at the box in his hands, closing the lid vengefully. "This is what the cache should have been," he says. "It should have more of this — more weapons, more maps, more intel . What about all of the blueprints we'd drawn up for housing? Instructions on how to reconnect the power grid, or the deeds to prove we owned the land — that would help, no matter what you believed! We were prepared for an apocalypse, but — where is it all? Sugar and rice and cigarettes aren't helping anybody!"

Kim can't blame John for getting upset, although she wishes he wouldn't shout around Carmina. Knowing that Jacob had planned for the possibility of the Project not being around is one thing, but it must be particularly rough to see obvious signs of a long-forgotten plan. Especially one that John hadn't been told anything about, with only a few disjointed clues left for him to piece back together.

To her surprise, it's Nick who comes to John's rescue, standing to draw John's attention before he completely spirals. "Come on, that's not true. You know we need food more than anything else." He gestures towards the open map. "Besides, there are plenty of other spots we can check. And now we know what we're looking for, right?"

John sighs heavily. "Yes," he agrees.

"Okay," Nick continues, "And now we've got rations and a tent to take with us, so we don't go through another long day like today. Right?"

John rolls his eyes. It's no secret that he hates it when they treat him like a child, but there's not enough outrage left in him to get angry about it. Instead, he drops his eyes to the ground and agrees with a despondent, "Yes."

"So, alright, maybe we aren't going to learn how to reconnect the power grid, or how to build a solar water purifier, or whatever. But at least we know we're not going to struggle through winter. Neither is Grace, or the gang, or the town."

"I know," John sighs. "I know." He drops the box onto the table, grimacing at the sound it makes. "The map alone is worth all of today's effort." He doesn't look convinced, but Kim can appreciate his almost-apology for what it is.

Carmina, who has been examining the map to avoid John's outburst, finally sees an opening to speak up. "Um... Where is our house?" she asks.

Nick squints over the map, trying to pinpoint the spot from his upside-down vantage point. Neither he nor Kim are quick enough to answer, though, as John reaches out and taps his finger against one of the black stars in the lower-left corner. He doesn't even have to look — he clearly memorized their location a long time ago.

"Here," he says.

"Oh, good," Nick sighs, "We got a star."

"It meant you had something useful that you weren't willing to give up." John's finger drags across the paper to the label on the river. "But I don't understand why he marked fishing spots. And hunting locations. And these..." He taps the red numbers. Kim spots a few red dots on the map, hopefully corresponding to the coordinates, but they seem to be in random locations. Whatever logic the Project was using, Kim can't make it out.

"I don't know what any of these are," John says. His voice lacks the anger from moments ago, replaced by a growing fascination with the mysterious notations. "They're all up in the mountains, so I think... Well, except...."

He moves around Carmina, who watches him with wide eyes as he seems to forget she's standing right next to him. John's given her more attention in the last hour than he has this entire year, but it figures that his indifference to her is what's sticking out.

"This one," he says, tapping a red dot near the old Eden's Gate compound. "This might be the furthest south... No, wait. This one." He moves his attention again, indicating another red spot closer to town.

"Are they more barrels?" Carmina asks.

John is momentarily startled to find Carmina right beside him, but he doesn't immediately leap away to put some distance back. Mostly because doing so would send him right into Kim's personal space. "It could be," he admits, only letting Carmina's input rattle him for a second before he turns his attention back to the map. "They must have been late additions. But... I didn't hear anything about these, and I don't remember seeing them on other maps. If they were for the Project, I would have found out about them eventually."

"Wouldn't they have told you upfront?" Nick asks, surprised when John chuckles in response.

"There were plenty of things I had to learn second-hand. There are probably more secrets I never learned at all. But — this cache was buried weeks before the Reaping. We kept our maps updated almost daily, but I don't remember either of these being marked. And there's one at the compound... I would remember emergency supplies being stored at the church."

Carmina stands on the opposite side of John from Kim, watching his hand move as he talks. Seeing the two of them side-by-side should probably upset Kim. She should be worried about her daughter putting too much trust in John — even if he wants to do the right thing now, he doesn't always understand what the right thing might be, and Carmina is at an impressionable age. If John says or does something wrong, he could shift Carmina's entire worldview.

In reality, though, Kim doesn't particularly mind. John is clearly not comfortable around Carmina, even though her lukewarm interest in him is hardly a threat, and he's highly cautious when he talks to her. Whether it's because Carmina is Nick's kid, or because he's bad with kids in general, Kim doesn't know. All she knows is that John is always careful with his words when Carmina is around.

"Stars are people's homes, right?" Carmina asks. "What about crosses?"

John frowns, tearing his eyes away from the mystery coordinates long enough to look where Carmina is pointing. "Shrines," he tells her. He points out a few more symbols, although it's clear he's doing it to keep her from asking him more questions. "Triangles are silos. Circles are established caches. Unfilled squares are locations we wanted. Filled squares are places we owned."

Carmina frowns at the map. "There are a lot of those."

Nick clears his throat loudly, and John immediately opens his mouth to apologize. Nick doesn't seem to need it, though, scratching at his chin as he tells Carmina, "The cult stole a lot of property right from underneath the real owners. They didn't actually own any of it. They just lied, and pretended."

John frowns, but he makes no effort to defend the cult one way or another. "And now the Project holds none of it," he says, gesturing at the map. "You could take it all back. Nobody will be there to stop you."

"Yeah, assuming any of it is still useful."

"We're one-for-one so far," Kim points out. Nick purses his lips at her taking John's side, but he's the one who suggested armoring up Carmina earlier — he can deal with a little payback. "Besides, I think we could all use a little direction right now. Something to work towards beyond surviving day-to-day."

"There could still be useful intelligence stored away," John says. "Jacob had plans for a multitude of projects we could make use of. The only problem I can see is that Joseph might have a similar map. We may have to compete with him for resources."

"From what I've heard, they've been keeping to themselves. Something about Mennonites with bows and arrows, I don't know." Nick waves a hand dismissively over the map. "If we can use cult resources against Joseph, then I'm all for it."

"That makes two of us," John agrees.

Kim's eyes rove across the map, following the river eastward. The cattle ranch is marked by a star and a cross, but there isn't much there to see along the southern border; for whatever reason, the cult focused most of their resources on the northern half of the valley. It isn't until the now-jungles of the Henbane's territory that more outposts pop up, although she can't imagine any of them are used now. According to what's left of the rumor mill, the cult has mostly remained on what used to be Dutch's island. So far, they haven't seemed interested in making contact with outsiders, much less trying to make amends — if John and Nick do go out and encounter some cultists, she can't know how it will turn out. They seem to want to keep to themselves — but how long can that possibly last?

It's a worry that she'll have to deal with later. She's already anxious enough for the present; she doesn't need to add future paranoia to the mix. For now, she can focus on appreciating the stark benefits laid out on the table in front of her. Even if Joseph has his own map, he doesn't have gasoline, or working vehicles, or guns . He doesn't have radio communication across the entire county, whereas monopolizing the resources will only take Kim a few quick calls. Anything the cult tries to pull off will have to be done much more slowly, and with Joseph being in control of it all. It's a strange way for the tables to turn, but Kim can't say she doesn't like the satisfaction it brings, knowing that they're at least one step ahead of the Project. It only took, what, nine years?

"Well, damn, John," Nick says at last, "Way to set the bar high for next time."

"Don't expect more miracles," John replies, lifting one hand neutrally. But there's something in his expression, a sort of awkward bashfulness, that reminds Kim of Nick's own humble pride. Kim's surprised to find that humility is a good fit for John. It's better than the cold arrogance he used to display, that's for sure. Who knows — maybe in a few years, it won't take dragging him through one long, emotionally-draining day to get him to open up. If they're lucky, it won't take that long, but knowing John, he'll fight it every step of the way.

That's okay, though. Kim's got more than enough patience to wait him out.

#fc5 #fcnd #john seed #kim rye #far cry new dawn #honestly i need to stop tagging this fc5 #it's not any more #its 100% new dawn baby #my fic #mercyverse

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keelywolfe · 6 years ago

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FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky (Ch. 3)

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: So, @cheapbourbon came up with an amazing AU and did some lovely art for it: please look at it and love it.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Newest: Chapter 3

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

The first day with a new roster always started early, even in a place where the daylight hours were currently brief at best. Generally, the researchers did not complain about that; they weren’t here to sleep.

Their impatience came with dealing with briefings throughout their opening week. One of the first things they would have discovered, after recovering from the exhausting walk from the boat, was a welcome and safety packet, along with neatly typed schedule on their desk that included times for the safety training.

Anyone attempting to complain would immediately be reminded of the agreement they had signed. Humans were far more sensitive to the weather conditions and they could change for the worse abruptly. They needed to know how to handle a sudden white-out or a situation where their vehicle was disabled, and they wouldn’t be allowed to venture more than fifty yards from the station without a guide until they’d passed the survival course.

Time slots for Edge, Undyne, and Red’s availability as guides were strictly limited, so most of them tried to pass the survival courses as quickly as possible. Plus, anyone who was assigned Red a guide usually had extra incentive.

The packet they all received also listed the wi-fi password on the last page. Edge was strict, but he wasn’t cruel, and all those who read through the briefing deserved a reward.

The first survival course was scheduled before breakfast and Edge was up hours in advance to run through his morning routine. First, he needed to send his paperwork up to his supervisors at the institution and he did it while sipping a cup of coffee. The expensive grounds were one of the personal luxuries he ordered, fresh from the boat, and brewed from his personal machine.

He read over the checklists that all the others sent him concerning station power and necessary repairs, along with the daily and weekly weather reports. Clear skies, so far, low temperatures. Nothing unexpected was looming, but he would check it again in the afternoon.

A glance at the clock told him it was ten minutes to the appointed time and Edge slipped on an insulated jacket over his thermal shirt and started down to the vestibule where all the researchers had been told to be waiting.

Conversation died off as Edge walked into the room. They were all broken off into clusters of twos and threes, separated into their groups, most of them with coffee cups in hand which meant Bonnie was feeling generous this morning and brought down a few pots.

A quick headcount told him everyone was here, but one, and it was entirely too easily to see who was missing. Their only soloist.

Rus.

Edge sighed internally. There was still a few of minutes before they were supposed to begin but it was not encouraging to see he that he didn’t seem to be taking this seriously. That sass and fire from yesterday may have been more of a sudden flare that burned out quickly than an internal furnace.

Not that Edge was disappointed by that.

Two minutes before they were to begin, the outer door opened, and everyone turned to look at the well-bundled figure coming in from the outside.

Too tall to be Undyne or Red, and Edge watched in disbelief as Rus stripped off his heavy parka and pushed up his goggles, “oh, hey, everyone.”

By the soul of the Unnamed Queen, what the fuck…

Edge pushed through the group, over to wear Rus was hanging up his parka. Pale eye lights blinked looked down at him in surprise, and Edge wasn’t so irritated that he didn’t see that Rus was wearing his jacket over the same sweatshirt as yesterday. It made him wonder, despite all the cases he’d brought, if he even had a different one.

“What do you think you’re doing,” Edge asked, low, not wanting to embarrass him, that wasn’t the point, but it was said through clenched teeth. Not that it mattered; the other researches were discreetly pretending not to watch but there was no doubt they were straining to hear every word. Humans and Monsters urge for gossip was remarkably similar.

Rus held up a shiny metal square between two fingers. A lighter? “this is a no smoking facility, right? i wanna play by the rules, so, i stepped outside.”

“You went outside to smoke a cigarette?” Edge asked in disbelief. Before the safety classes and alone, he’d gone outside for a damn smoke, in fucking Antarctica.

“sure,” Rus shrugged. There were a few steaming mugs still sitting on one of the tables and Rus scooped one up. He took a sip, grimaced, and poured sugar into it. “i read the safety packet and i walked outside for a mile yesterday. there was nothing that said i couldn’t, just that there was no smoking inside, and figured i was safe enough from the polar bears and yetis for a butt.”

One of the others chose that moment to pipe up, “Polar bears are...”

“…in the arctic, the north pole,” Rus finished with a sigh. “yeah, yeah, it was a joke. you guys have heard of those, right.” He looked around into the looming silence around him. “tough crowd. okay, boss, since i am here, and on time, i will point out, are we doing this?”

“…yes,” Edge ground out. He made a mental note to add that they were not allowed to venture outside before the safety briefing to the welcome packet. “You may as well put your parka back on. Everyone else, you have five minutes to have your outer gear on. If you’d like to be able to continue seeing for your time here, do not forget your goggles.” He looked back at Rus. “You can prove to me later that you can gear up in the required time frame.”

“sure, boss. i don’t mind dressing for you.”

It was said in the same tone as his ‘sleep well’ the night before, soft as velvet and despite his annoyance, Edge had to suppress a shiver.

This was going to be a long two months.

~~*~~

Two hours later, the group was stumbling back inside, all of them weary and ready for breakfast. They’d struggled, but Edge was satisfied enough with their performance, which had included a frustrating and amusing fifteen minutes of watching the group stumble around with buckets on their heads to simulate whiteout conditions.

Rus hung around outside to the end, taking the time to smoke another cigarette while the others were making their way in. He timed it so that he was stepping through the door just before Edge did, politely palming his extinguished butt rather than tossing it into the snow.

The others were mostly gone, only a few stragglers finishing up, and Undyne was there, instructing them on the proper way to store everything to ensure it dried quickly.

Rus was fast enough stripping off his gear and Edge made a mental note not to forget to double-check that he was capably putting it on. His responsibility was the only reason he was watching as Rus bent over to untie his boots; it would be the worst shirking of his duty to not ensure Rus was well protected against the elements.

A fact he would remind Undyne of soon enough. At the moment, she was by the door, close enough to watch if not to hear. It wouldn’t wipe the grin from her face, but it was still the truth. He was still finishing with his own boots as Rus slipped on a pair of indoor shoes.

“see there, boss, didn’t even keep you waiting for me,” Rus said cheerily. He leaned against the row of lockers, blatantly watching as Edge untied his boots. “whatcha think, how did we do today?”

“I think you’re all going to die, and they’ll find your corpses a thousand years from now buried in whatever remains of the world’s icebergs,” Edge told him dryly. He nudged Rus over so that he could open his locker and he went, barely far enough to let Edge set his boots within it. “But you all passed the bare minimum requirement. Once you pass your vehicle test, I’m legally allowed to give you a chance to seek your demise.”

“you’re a regular ball of sunshine, aren’t you,” Rus said wryly. Slouching the way that he was, they were at an even height, and when Edge shut his locker door, it set their faces a little too close. “would it cause you much pain to lighten up, sunny?

Rus’s eye lights were white and gave no clue as to the color of his magic. His bones were glossy smooth ivory, startlingly so, and Edge realized he was leaning in for a closer look almost too late.

He reared back, turning away. “There’s currently only six hours of minimal daylight. If that’s not enough, I recommend using the full spectrum therapy lights in the recreation area.”

“gotcha. your point is well taken,” Rus gave him a sloppy salute. That sly grin was growing far too familiar. “maybe i’ll lay down and take some in later. think i’ll go get some breakfast while there’s still some to eat, for now. later, boss.”

He walked over to the door, brushing past Undyne with a cheery, “morning, sugar mamma.”

Her punch to his arm was hard enough to make Edge wince but Rus only laughed aloud, rubbing at what would surely be a bruise as he went on his way.

She was going to get a punch of her own, far closer to her face, if she didn’t wipe that smirk from it.

“having fun with the fashion victim?” Her glee was worse than Rus’s flirting.

“I thought you were keeping an eye on him,” Edge said irritably, shoving his feet into his indoor shoes. “How did he get outside on his own without you seeing it?”

“I did see it,” she countered. “Watched him get up and go shiver his ass off sucking on his cancer stick. He wasn’t wandering, stayed right by the door, didn’t seem a reason to stop him.”

“Aside from the fact he hadn’t taken the safety course.”

“C’mon, boss, you let him trudge through the snow yesterday on his own carrying twice the shit everyone else had, and he survived. If he’s gonna die from ciggies, it won’t be because I let him smoke one right outside the door.” She clapped Edge on the back hard enough to send him forward a step. “Now, let’s get some breakfast and start the day right, boss! We’ve got all kinds of plans to play with the new kids!”

True enough. They were all busy the first few days. His schedule this morning included taking the two women of the group out for a combination of vehicle testing and to set up some of their equipment in the outmost post. That was fine; a long ride would help clear his thoughts.

“By the way, changed up the schedule a little,” Undyne told him with malicious cheer, slinging an arm over his shoulders and tugging him towards the door.

Edge’s soul sank. He’d always known giving her responsibility for the roster was a mistake.

She went on, pulling him reluctantly along. “That trio of what-the-fucks, the guys who study icebergs?”

“Glaciologists.”

“Yeah, them. They need daylight for their first round of shit, so I rescheduled them for the time slot first thing tomorrow. So, for tonight, you get to work with Rus.”

Of course he was. He jammed an elbow into her gut, but she was ready for it, dancing away with a cackle of laughter. “That is remarkably unsubtle, even for you.”

“Gotta win money somehow,” Undyne said cheerily.

“I didn’t bet!”

“Who said I was talking about you?” she countered. “Come on, Bonnie’ll let us starve if we’re late.”

Very true. Edge swallowed his irritation and went in the direction of the mess hall. “How do you feel about sparring this afternoon?”

Her grin exposed her full mouth of needle-sharp teeth. “Anytime, boss. If you won’t get a workout one way, I can help you with another.”

“You’re such a bitch,” he sighed.

She laughed again, but her eyes were shining red. “And you’ll pay for that this afternoon.”

He was sure he would, one way or another.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Four

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name #arctic AU

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dollofdeath · 7 years ago

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Long Dream [4/7]

Series: Joker Game

Characters: Hatano/Jitsui

Rating: G

Summary: Hatano wasn’t one to read shoujo manga, but there was something familiar about this mangaka named Kunio.

Words: 4438

Notes: Modern AU/Reincarnation AU; Spin off to Déjà Vu (KamiMiyo); Hey hey hey, guess who’s here with an update~ Ah, I know before I said it wasn’t necessary to read Déjà Vu to understand this fic, but I didn’t realize at the time how much I’d be integrating that plot into this orz nonetheless, it’s still not necessary to read it, but perhaps giving it a read would give a better understanding! Just know that Miyoshi and Kaminaga are also going through some struggles at the same time as Jitsui and Hatano

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | You can read this on AO3~ Thank you thank you guys so much for reading~ Hope y’all enjoy! (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

Ch. 4 - Jitsui II: Patience is a Virtue

Just as Jitsui had thought, Hatano proved to be a capable ally. Not only was Hatano physically adept, but he was cunning and quite intelligent too. Together, they made up for each other's weaknesses and used each other's strengths to their advantage. Due to their skills, they've managed to garner some respect since the first day of training, though a few of the other trainees still looked down on them. But that was no matter since it was, for the most part, as planned.

What Jitsui didn't plan on, however, was becoming too attached to Hatano.

When he first realized his feelings, Jitsui found himself at a loss. His instinct was simply to throw these feelings away. Having them was dangerous considering their line of work. They were spies -- monsters -- whose only purpose was their mission; any emotions could cause problems. Time and time again, that rule was drilled into his head. Be that as it may, perhaps Jitsui was more selfish than he thought he was.

Though it seemed that while his head was in turmoil, his heart had already made its decision.

"You're not joining the others?" Jitsui asked, finding Hatano seated by himself in the recreation room. Setting down the bourbon bottle and the glasses he carried, he sat down next to him.

Hatano lazily turned towards him as the bottle clinked against the counter, his droopy eyes looking at him causing his heart to flutter. Trying to maintain his composure, he uncapped the bottle.

"Don't feel like kicking their asses any further," Hatano said as if it were a regular occurrence (and it might as well be). "Just wouldn't be fair to them."

As he began pouring the drink out, Jitsui's lips quirked up. Prideful he may be, Hatano wasn't one to boast his talents like Miyoshi. He was well aware of his strengths, but never showed them off unnecessarily and for that, Jitsui had to admire him.

"You didn't strike me as the humble type," Jitsui said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

In a typical Hatano-fashion, he snorted. Not mocking, just amused.

"Wouldn't say that exactly. Everyone else just needs to step their game up."

"Even me?" Jitsui asked, wearing one of his not-so-angelic smiles.

That got Hatano to pause and he looked at him as if his words were a threat. But soon enough, a smirk grew on his face, the same one he gave whenever they shared something just between them two.

"You're not half bad," he said, shrugging.

"What a compliment," Jitsui said, exaggerating the joy in his tone. "I'm so honored."

"Don't let it get to your head now, 'kay?"

"Of course, sensei," Jitsui said, matching Hatano's growing smile. He gave a small bow of the head and when he rose back to full height, he handed him a glass. "Care for a drink?"

Hatano eyed it for a moment, as if trying to figure out whether or not it'd been spiked.

"...You celebrating something?"

"You were impressive in training today." It was Jitsui's turn to shrug. After all, he'd said nothing but the truth. "Think of it as a reward of sorts."

The chatters of the other trainees filled the lull in their conversation as Hatano considered his words. Then, with some hesitance, Hatano took the glass from him.

"It's not a big deal," he said, their fingers brushing together. Hatano's hand lingered for a moment longer than necessary, but it left a burning sensation nonetheless. "But thanks."

And as Hatano took a sip, Jitsui did the same to keep himself from admiring too long. These feelings were dangerous, yes, but he would like to keep them just for a while longer. He would need to deal with them eventually, but for now, he took pleasure in these moments together.

Jitsui considered himself a patient man; after all, patience was key if one wanted to get the job done.

Of course, patience wasn't without its tribulations. The idle life of the Shirahata's drove him mad, but acting as anything other than the meek Morishima Kunio would've blown his cover. Some days were harder than others, yes, but he managed to play his role perfectly with little qualms. Though, that didn't stop him from thanking whatever higher beings that might've existed when it was finally time for him to act.

Creating a manga, while a different skill, required that same patience he held while undercover. He couldn't count the number of sketches he'd thrown away simply because one little thing was off, and don't even get him started on inking; he'd rather spend fifty years at the Shirahata's villa than ink one panel of a page. But it was worth it for that sense of accomplishment whenever he looked at the finished product.

Both situations, however, seemed to pale in comparison to waiting for a simple message.

When Gamou said he would text him back with Hatano's address, Jitsui expected it to take five minutes at the most. Somehow, five minutes turned into fifteen minutes; fifteen minutes into thirty; and finally thirty turned into an hour.

One whole hour with no response. In that time, Jitsui had managed to finish writing the letter, get some sketches done, and eat the last of the mochi (to which he made a mental note to buy more before Miyoshi noticed). As he checked his phone for the umpteenth time, he frowned. Either Gamou had forgotten to respond back or he'd gotten nothing yet. Considering Gamou was actually pretty reliable, it was most likely the latter.

"You're going to break your phone if you strangle it any longer."

Jitsui nearly crushed his phone at the sound of Miyoshi's voice, turning towards him as calmly as possible. Miyoshi, in turn, looked back with an amused glint in his eyes as he sat on the couch.

"Do you need anything?" he asked instead of humoring Miyoshi's gibe.

"Nothing in particular." Miyoshi shrugged. "Do you not enjoy my presence?"

"I suppose I've had worse company," Jitsui said, glancing at his phone again. "I thought you'd be in your room for the rest of the evening."

A beat.

"It's rather quiet," Miyoshi said, inspecting his fingernails as if to appear disinterested.

When he didn't offer any further explanation, Jitsui looked down at the papers sprawled out before him and his blank phone screen.

"It is, isn't it?"

Miyoshi let out a low hum.

"How is it going for you?"

Jitsui opened his mouth, almost ready to talk about the latest chapter of Le Loup, when he realized that, frankly, Miyoshi didn't care too much about that. Surely he must've meant the other situation at hand.

"...No progress."

"No progress?" Miyoshi tore his gaze off his nails and towards him. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said." Jitsui didn't meet his eyes. "I haven't gotten any more responses."

"Are you sure you have the right person?"

"Of course I am," Jitsui said with more force than necessary. Taking a moment to collect himself, Jitsui turned to Miyoshi. "It's him. I know that for sure."

"But he'd have replied back by now if it was him, no?"

Even if Jitsui had no doubts, Miyoshi raised a fair point. He recalled the keywords that tipped him off to Hatano's identity, though perhaps it was a coincidence. If he'd recognized him, he would've jumped at the opportunity to reconnect for sure. It might've been the shoujo genre rubbing off on him, but Jitsui didn't want to believe it was happenstance. In his previous life, he'd be considered foolish for having such naive hopes. But as it was now, Jitsui didn't care. He trusted his judgement and he trusted Hatano -- he trusted what they had.

"He's a man of his word," Jitsui said. "I can wait."

He was a patient man, after all.

Patience comes as patience goes, and Jitsui was just as on the edge as he was on the most boring days at the Shirahata's. Though he tried to keep busy with other tasks, the situation was always on the back of his mind. Eventually he caved and signed onto Twitter mobile as a means of being notified of Hatano's reply right away. He usually left all things social media to Gamou, but he would make an exception just this once.

Still, he went about his life as usual and that meant attending classes. Going through every single notification and replying to every single one of his fans would be preferable to listening to this professor drone on and on, but he took his notes nevertheless, neat and well organized. Halfway through the lecture, his phone vibrated in his pocket, breaking the numbness he felt himself slipping into. After so many false alarms, he had half the mind to ignore it, but his boredom and curiosity won him over. Besides, he could just read the textbook to catch up on everything taught today.

Bracing himself for disappointment, Jitsui took his phone out. But when he looked at the screen, he nearly choked on his saliva. Fortunately, he was able to save face but he'd dropped his pen in his shock. Never mind the pen, though, he had more pressing issues at hand.

Quickly unlocking his phone, he went straight to his direct messages and found his conversation with Hatano.

Hey

Sorry for the late response. Here’s my address

Well, he had to admit, that was anticlimactic. But what mattered now was that he had Hatano's address and he was one step closer to him. Usually he had more self-control than this, but Jitsui couldn't help the urge to reply back personally.

No worries! It'll be there in two to three business days. Hopefully it's not too long a wait, but think of it as a reward of sorts (bunny emoji)

Reading through Hatano's message again, Jitsui realized Hatano's address wasn't too far from where he lived. In fact, he could walk right over there from his place. Had they always been this close to each other? Maybe they might've even passed each other without noticing. To think that they could've found each other sooner -- could've been together sooner -- had they been at the right place at the same time. If fate or destiny existed, then certainly they enjoyed toying with him.

His musings were interrupted when his phone vibrated again, though any hopes were dashed when he saw it was from Gamou.

His phone buzzed once more, but Jitsui ignored it. Gamou would surely chew his ear out later about "respecting the terms of their contract" or something similar to that, but Jitsui didn't care. With the promise of seeing Hatano soon, Jitsui found a new resolve to continue waiting.

Jitsui allowed three business days to accommodate delivery time. The postal service wouldn't take so long delivering such a small thing, but he didn't want to catch Hatano off guard when he visited him. Even so, Jitsui looked forward to that day, playing out their reunion in his mind whenever he had the time.

Though, as the days passed, Jitsui found himself doubting it. He was not superstitious in the slightest bit, but he couldn't deny the foreboding feeling that built up.

The first warning sign -- a red flag, if he would allow himself to say -- came the very day he dropped off the letter. He'd been cleaning up his work space, having had enough of producing unsatisfactory sketches, when he noticed how late it'd gotten. His schedule followed that he'd arrive home before Miyoshi, but even this was rather late for him. Of course, Miyoshi was his own person and was capable of taking care of himself, but he hadn't received word from him since that morning. As he was about to message him, the front door opened to reveal a slightly disheveled Miyoshi.

"I'm home."

"Welcome home," Jitsui said, noting how tired Miyoshi sounded. "Something about you seems... off ."

Miyoshi paused, staring at Jitsui with a blank expression before turning to the mirror on the wall.

"I could've sworn I fixed my hair up back there," he muttered, lips curling down as his hands shifted through his hair.

"Did something happen?" Jitsui asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Barely sparing him a glance, Miyoshi said, "It's been a long day."

Jitsui merely waited, knowing that Miyoshi would talk on his own pace. For now, he watched as Miyoshi put himself together with hints of discomfort on his face.

"I saw Kaminaga today," Miyoshi said, once his hair started to bear some semblance of its usual style.

Jitsui perked up.

"Oh?"

Miyoshi's lips twitched.

"He got knocked out."

Jitsui bit back a laugh.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me." Miyoshi's hands dropped to his sides, keeping his gaze on his reflection. Though he appeared to be calm, there was an underlying frustration in his voice that Jitsui could only pick up after knowing him for so long. "I tried to find the hospital he was in, but it didn't work out."

A pause.

"I thought for sure today would be the day," Miyoshi added, his voice growing low.

As tempted as he was to be cheeky about the whole thing, Jitsui restrained himself. He certainly didn't want to be on the receiving end of Miyoshi's ire. Moreover, he could easily place himself in Miyoshi's shoes -- chasing down remnants of years gone by only to lose them once they were within reach.

"So," Jitsui started. "What do you plan on doing then?"

The words hung heavily in the air and after a moment, Miyoshi turned to him.

"I'll get him next time," he said.

Without speaking any further, he proceeded to walk towards his bedroom but paused briefly when he reached Jitsui.

"By the way, Fukumoto says hello."

With that, Miyoshi disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Jitsui alone.

A failed second meeting. Though their situations differed in many aspects, he and Miyoshi essentially shared the same problem. Jitsui did not believe in fate or luck, neither chance nor coincidence, but it seemed as if something was getting in Miyoshi's way. And if things were going awry for him, who was to say it wouldn't for him?

Shaking those feelings off, Jitsui resumed cleaning up his work space. He couldn't afford to think like this.

The second red flag came the following day. While not directly related to the situation at hand, it created a bit of a complication.

"What do you mean the deadline has been pushed up?" Jitsui asked with an eerie calmness as his grip tightened on his phone. This was the last thing he wanted to hear, especially after a particularly tiresome school day. Around him, the other students rushed to avoid him.

Gamou was unfazed for the most part, though kudos to him for putting on a brave front. He sighed, long and deep, before speaking again.

"I know this is short notice and you were supposed to come back after the next issue, but one of the other mangakas is having health problems and they needed someone to fill in a slot."

Originally, Jitsui requested a month's break to get a sense of how his school schedule and work schedule would align. Of course, he still worked on Le Loup whenever he got the chance because he was no slacker, but it was nice to work at a leisurely pace for once. Now this meant he had to work double time. Not to mention, this would probably cut into what he had planned.

"That mangaka is Ms. Ishida, isn't it?" There was not a hint of concern in Jitsui's voice. "I'll show her health problems --"

"Listen, Jitsui," Gamou said. " Tulip needs to make sales and you're one of the most popular mangakas. They're going to grab you any chance they get."

There was silence on Gamou's end and Jitsui imagined him pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Please just get it done."

"No need to worry," Jitsui said in that sickeningly sweet voice of his. "I'll have it ready."

With that, he ended the call, fortunate that he didn't break his phone out of sheer annoyance. If he could get everything or a majority of his work done by Tuesday, then things could still go according to plan. That would mean for the next couple of days, he'd have to work nonstop. Hell it might be, but it would be worth it if he could meet and spend time with Hatano without having to worry about deadlines.

If this was the case, then he supposed he should see if Odagiri had time to help out. Not like Odagiri was busy with anything else in the first place.

The biggest red flag raised when he returned after a quick supply run and found Miyoshi home already. Before he could open his mouth to announce his return, Odagiri, who'd been helping with the screentones, made eye contact with him. He nodded towards Miyoshi, who sat on the couch with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. The look on Odagiri's face screamed "I don't know how to deal with this."

"Welcome home," Miyoshi said, breaking the silence. Odagiri promptly returned to the screentones.

"...I'm home," Jitsui said, taking his place at the kotatsu. In his peripheral, he watched Miyoshi carefully. He didn't appear to be angry nor upset, though this was more worrisome than either combined.

"Don't mind me," Miyoshi said, as if reading his thoughts. "I'm just merely observing, is all."

"Do what you wish," Jitsui said. Miyoshi rarely watched Jitsui work any longer than necessary, claiming he had better things to do, so already this seemed suspicious. Once again, Odagiri met his eyes, an unspoken plea to talk to Miyoshi going on between them.

As they worked, there was no discussion about what seemed to be the matter but Miyoshi chimed in occasionally with one of his "critiques" and even Jitsui seemed to have a bit of mercy on Odagiri this time around, considering the lack of tears and anguish. By the time they'd wrapped things up, there were only a few pages left to finish. Nothing that they couldn't handle by the deadline, and it left enough time for him to visit Hatano -- that, he was thankful for.

When Odagiri left, Jitsui allowed a moment just in case Miyoshi was willing to speak first. When he didn't, he spoke up.

"What's wrong?" he asked, cutting to the chase. It was better to deal with the matter headfirst than skirt around it.

Miyoshi was silent for a moment, looking at Jitsui with an unreadable expression.

"I may have..." He trailed off, lips pursing as if disgusted with what he was about to say. "Miscalculated."

Jitsui froze, replaying the words in his head. That was the closest thing to failure Miyoshi had ever admitted. Had the situation been any different, he would've taken this as the opportunity to make fun of him. But with the way Miyoshi was behaving, he knew he wasn't to take this lightly.

"Miscalculated, how?"

Before speaking again, Miyoshi took a breath.

"I didn't account for Sakuma," he said, choosing his words carefully. "And I believe Kaminaga may have seen us together and jumped to a conclusion."

Jitsui didn't need clarification on what he meant, wincing as he easily figured out how this scenario played out. Even if they weren't together anymore, Sakuma and Miyoshi were on fairly good terms. And in so, Miyoshi's teasing was ever the same and could be misconstrued as otherwise. How troublesome, Jitsui thought, it must be to deal with a third party like this.

Still, it felt wrong to see Miyoshi like this. His eyes had lost their usual determination and even the way he held himself appeared weak. He, too, knew the pain of separation and could only imagine what it was like to constantly lose what was so close. Gods and deities might not exist, but Jitsui found himself praying that the same would not happen to him.

"Are you all right?" Jitsui asked, reaching out to Miyoshi in a rare gesture of comfort.

Jitsui's touch seemed to break Miyoshi out of his thoughts and he looked at him, his eyes widening for a brief moment. He opened his mouth, ready to speak again, but thought better of it and shook his head.

"You have other matters to deal with, no?" Though phrased like a question, Jitsui knew it was his way of closing the conversation. "Don't worry about me. I'll... figure it out."

Removing Jitsui's hand from his shoulder, Miyoshi went off to his room and Jitsui let him be. Miyoshi hadn't asked for his help, and it'd only bother him more if he tried to butt in. It wasn't that he didn't trust that he'd be okay but if things weren't looking well for Miyoshi, what did that mean for him?

He hoped things would work out. For all of them.

As much as he'd been looking forward to the day he planned on visiting Hatano, Jitsui woke up with that foreboding feeling at its apex. Try as he might to shake it off, the most he could do was ignore it. He took comfort in his dreams -- his memories -- of a time where he and Hatano had still been together, where he was still working out his exact feelings for him, and let that power him through the day.

The seconds dragged on, as did his classes and every human interaction he made. It was a miracle he went through it all without snapping at anyone, but he survived it all. As soon as the school day ended for him, he took his usual route home but went the opposite direction once he got off the train station.

Admittedly, he wasn't too familiar with this area but he hurried on over to Hatano's apartment nonetheless. When he reached the building, he grew more uneasy and hesitant with each step. His stomach twisted in all sorts of ways, contorting with fear and excitement. But he couldn't afford to start doubting himself -- their relationship -- now. He'd already gotten this far, and he was going to his see plan through. And so taking a moment to regain his composure, Jitsui walked in.

The front door had been opened by the time he got there and the elevator was already down waiting in the lobby so he took both of those as good signs. As the elevator climbed up to the third floor, Jitsui breathed in and out, trying to keep as calm as possible. It was only Hatano, he reminded himself. It shouldn't be such a big deal.

But because it was Hatano, it was a big deal, wasn't it? As he got off the elevator and towards Hatano's apartment, these thoughts ran through his mind. There was the possibility that he wasn't the same Hatano he once knew, the possibility that he no longer had feelings for him, or the possibility that he might not even remember him. Yes, he'd played every single worst-case scenario and prepared himself for each of them. But even if they were all true, Jitsui would love him all the same because he was his Hatano, no matter what.

Finally, Jitsui reached Hatano's apartment, the door the only thing standing between them now. He could hear voices on the other side, which meant that someone, even if it wasn't Hatano, was there. Now all he had to do was ring the doorbell. Without any further hesitations, he did just so and waited.

The voices on the other side quieted down.

The sounds of footsteps grew louder as they approached the door.

The latch was unchained and unlocked.

And the door opened to reveal a man who was most certainly not Hatano.

Jitsui blinked, letting himself take in the sight before him. Taking another look at the man, his slicked back hair was the same shade of brown as Hatano's and they shared the same button nose, but that was where the similarities ended. This man was taller and wore a disgruntled expression; his eyes were not the droopy ones he'd come to adore, but sharp, tired, and unwelcoming.

"What do you want?" the man asked, annoyance seeping through his tone.

Though this man was most likely Hatano's father, Jitsui didn't like the way he spoke to him one bit.

"Good afternoon, sir." Jitsui used his sickeningly sweet tone and put on the matching smile. "I'm a classmate of Hatano's and I was wondering if he was around?"

"What business do you have with him?"

"We're working on a project together," he said, the first excuse to come to mind.

Mr. Ryousuke didn't speak immediately, instead eyeing him from top to bottom as if trying to figure out his worth. Then, he snorted.

"I didn't realize the kid had more friends than those idiots," he muttered to himself.

"...I'm sorry?"

"Nothing," he said, returning to his previous demeanor. "Hatano's not here."

He was obviously lying, Jitsui recalling more than one voice speaking just a few moments ago. Nevertheless, he played along. It wouldn't do him well to do anything rash.

"I see," he said. "When will he be back?"

"Later."

Jitsui's eye twitched.

"Can you at least tell him I dropped by? I --"

"Sure thing. Now get lost."

And before he could say anything else, the door was slammed in his face.

Jitsui couldn't tell how long he stood there, still and silent. Likewise, there was no sign of life to be heard on the other side of the door. He'd run through every worst-case scenario -- except for this one it seemed. And this was worse than anything he could've possibly imagined. It would've been one thing if it was Hatano himself who'd rejected him, but the fact that it was his father who'd denied him a chance got his blood boiling.

How easy it would be to just let it end there; he could just turn around and leave this all behind him. The letter had already been sent, and that was all he really needed to do. From there, it was up to the two of them to make the most of the situation. While he didn't know what Hatano's thoughts on the matter was, what he did know was that Hatano was on the other side of the door. He'd faced tougher hardships than this before and he'd managed to overcome every single one of them.

And so, Jitsui decided, he wouldn't let an annoyance such as this get in his way. It was just a matter of working around it, and work around it he would.

#joker game #hatajitsu #jitano #kai tries to write #hybrid verse #just gotta throw this update reaaaaaal quick before going to bed #i said i'd update before the month is over and it's still june dammit

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ginnyzero · 4 years ago

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Completely Harmless Ch. 58

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Fifty-Eight The Compass to the Rift of the Pink Hell

From Valedale, they took the transport to the Wolf Hall Inn and rode to Guardian’s Dale.

“You’ve got the keystone.” Evergray coughed by the remnants of the fifth statue.

Lily kept it on her lap. “Why do you think a keystone will work to open this gate, anyways?”

“Didn’t you read the inscription?” Evergray pointed at it with his staff.

“It’s not in any language I recognize.”

Evergray shifted on his feet. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t read Pandorian. Allow me.” He squared his shoulders. “Guardians of Pandoria’s fate return to us one day. Four will open up the gate, the fifth will lead the way.”

“Pandoria’s fate, not Jorvik’s.” Lily tilted her head.

“I believe in the fifth statue there was a keystone. We replace the keystone and have the four soul horses, we can open up the gate.”

“Okay, so, you travel to Pandoria through these rips in the fragile world finding them by your compass.”

“You remember correctly.” Evergray nodded and coughed. “The boundaries between this world and Pandoria is insubstantial. In fact, it is more like a sponge full of holes. Things slip through all the time.” Evergray coughed again. “Rifts happen when there is a massive boundary failure. Things aren’t always so dramatic. Lost socks in the wash. Missing homework. They might have slipped into Pandoria.”

“Déjà vu,” Lily said. “They’re glitches in the matrix.”

“In my twenty years of exploring, I’ve seen more things than lost homework and lonely socks. Cars. Whole ships. The entire canned goods aisle of a grocery store, the shelves still stocked. I’ve heard rumors of an entire island ripped from our world to theirs.”

“Crazy and a bit surreal, go on,” Linda said.

“In order to get to a specific point without a keystone, you need my compass, the Celestial Wayfinder. It can find those tiny holes where it’s possible to pass through. Remember, time and space don’t operate the same way there as they do here. Finding the right rift without a corresponding energy signature is like finding a needle in an infinite number of haystacks.”

“Thus, the keystone,” Lily said. “And I do hope it’s the correct keystone.”

“With that keystone, we can use the compass to find the needle in the haystack that is Jorvik.” Evergray gestured. “I can match the energy reading to my charts and tune the Celestial Wayfinder and we can find the correct area.” Evergray sat on the stone step and pulled out a chart.

Not quite willing to trust him with the keystone, Lily dismounted. She brought it over to him and unwrapped it.

“Hmm, the rift’s specific location exists on a spectrum of possibility. Very complicated quantum magic goes into determining where it is. Shall I show you the math?”

“I’m sixteen. We’re into trigonometry. This sounds more like calculus.”

“No.”

“No,” Lily said.

Linda sat on the other side and adjusted her glasses to watch him work.

Evergray muttered and ran his finger along the chart listings. It appeared he was doing the complicated math in his head. It took him some time. Alex got bored and wandered around the dale examining the statues better.

Evergray spoke instead of mumbling having come to his conclusion. “Very well, I believe that the rift shall open soon in the Mirror Marsh to the south west of here. We should ride there and I can calibrate it better to pinpoint the precise location and predict where the rift will be before it opens.”

“Do we look like we have anything else better to do?” Lily wrapped the stone and held it out to Linda. “I’m not sure how the fragments will react to this.”

“Poorly probably,” Linda said.

They mounted and Evergray got on the back of Lily’s horse. “I heard you used the Sun Fragment and Star Fragment to great advantage in Hillcrest.”

“Did you also hear I passed out?” Lily said. “So, let’s not have to do that anytime soon.”

Evergray hummed.

They let him off and road around helping him calibrate the compass. It would be faster with them on horseback than he could do on foot.

The compass pointed off to one of the furthest islands to the east of the Marsh. Letting him back up behind her on Nimbus, they rode over jumping between island to island. Once there, Evergray hopped off Nimbus.

“What you’re looking for is a sample of pure Pandorium. It will be deep pink in color like the keystone you already have. Rifts like this are very unstable and will be open for only a brief period of time. At least in this dimension. Due to the space time dilation between our world and Pandoria, you should have about five minutes on the other side to find what you need.”

“Five minutes,” Lily stared at him.

“In a world we’ve never been to.” Alex gestured. “This is Anne’s thing. Not ours!”

“Then I suggest you be quick about it.”

“No time to sight see.” Lily wrinkled her nose.

“This isn’t a rescue.” Evergray shook his staff and put one hand on his hip. “If you do see Anne or Lisa, don’t dilly dally around. Find the Pandorium and return. Before the portal closes and you’re stuck in Pandoria forever.”

“Like Lisa.” Linda nodded. “Got it.”

“Should we all go?” Lily asked.

“No.” Evergray shook his head. “Lily alone should go. You don’t have the time to split up and get lost. No time to argue, there’s the rift.”

A line of sparkling magenta energy hovered in the middle of the air in front of them. Lily urged Nimbus forward. The line widened and turned into a circular swirl of magic. “I’ll be back, five minutes,” she said to them and Nimbus walked through the portal.

At first it was black, and then, it was a strange place, dark with stone walkways broken apart and hovering in midair.

“No time, no time,” Lily muttered.

Nimbus settled his wings closer to his back, in his ‘true’ form now that they were in Pandoria. “Let’s go then,” he said and took off running. He jumped gaps and skidded around corners.

There was another portal at the end of the broken stones.

Nimbus didn’t stop jumping through it.

They landed in a land of pink and purple with bits of orange.

“Pink hell,” Lily said. “Check.”

Small and huge mushrooms dominated the space, vying with crystal shards.

Lily rode up to the nearest. “Is that Pandorium?”

“Hell if I know.”

Lily found a broken off chunk. “Looks close enough. Though this is too small if I’m remembering correctly.” Maybe she should have brought a hammer and chisel. She wasn’t prepared.

The ground was like purple fungus almost with purple grass. In places it was purple stone rippling like water. It was a surreal space.

Lily was ever mindful of the time as she rode around looking for different chunks of Pandorium. Too brittle, wrong something, it didn’t feel right. The right piece ended up being in a grove of the purple glowing willow like trees.

“Should have known.” She tucked it into her bag.

Nimbus turned on his heels. “We’ve wasted too much time,” he ran back flexing his wings to skim over jumps and down back to the portal. They ran back up the broken stone causeway and through the other portal.

Nimbus’ sides heaved.

“Lily!” Linda gasped.

“I’ve got one.” Lily pulled it out of her saddlebag.

“Just in time, there goes the rift,” Evergray said. He frowned. “Well, that’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“It didn’t shut up properly. I think it took off somewhere else. Maybe you will be able to find it again.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Lily said. “So much pink, hurts my eyes.” She blinked hard.

“This one is perfect.” Evergray examined the stone in her hand.

“Good.” Lily refrained from rolling her eyes. Because she wasn’t going back if it wasn’t perfect. “Now, we must head back to the Stonecutter’s Vault and see if Magnus remembers how to make them.” Lily tucked it away.

“I’m sure he’ll be insulted you thought he forgot.” Linda smiled.

“Perhaps, I shall come with you,” Evergray said. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen Magnus.”

The three girls looked at each other.

“I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole,” Alex said.

“Nope,” Lily added. She offered Evergray a hand up.

Linda shook her head.

Evergray took it. “I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

“You said yourself that the Valley of the Hidden Dinosaur had been cut off for over a century.”

“Ah, but I know my away around Pandoria.” Evergray smiled.

Lily didn’t dare look over her shoulder at him. “Like we said, we aren’t touching it.”

They left the Mirror Marsh and headed to the Wolf Hall Inn. Hopefully there would be less people, and less questions.

The ghost of Magnus Steiner seemed confused. “You have returned. What is this gift you have brought me?”

“If you’d heard me all the way out.” Lily raised a brow at him.

“Did something happen to the keystone that I gave you already?” Magnus tucked is hands into the arms of his robe.

Linda unwrapped it.

“What we need,” Lily said cradling the raw Pandorium in one arm so she could gesture at the keystone, “is a close to duplicate keystone to that one as possible. This piece of Pandorium is from the exact same area as that one.”

“I am confused. There’s no need for two keystones. Besides, it would take decades to teach you the mastery of runic forging.” Magnus sniffed.

“Magnus!” Evergray said brightly.

“Hell’s bells, is that you Evergray?”

“In the flesh,” Evergray coughed. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“You, on the other hand, look absolutely ghastly,” Magnus said with far too much relish.

Alex groaned.

Lily looked up at the ceiling.

Linda rolled her eyes.

“These are my protégés.” Evergray gestured. “I know you taught me runic forging.”

“Can’t be done.” Magnus shook his head. “They know too little and you can’t carve. Not with your body in that state. What have you done to yourself old friend?”

“Ah, too much travelling in Pandoria.”

“I warned you.”

“So you did,” Evergray agreed amiably enough. “Perhaps another, there is one I know of,” he trailed off. “He could be convinced, I believe.”

“Conrad,” Lily said, her lips parting. “He will not and does not and downright refuses to follow directions.” She turned to Magnus. “I’m assuming there’s some foundational knowledge that we need to know.”

“It takes decades,” Magnus said again.

“We don’t have decades. We might not have ten days.” Alex waved her arms. “Justin is under his control and Lisa and Anne prisoners in Pandoria.”

“Evergray.” Magnus’ shade strengthened. “Is this true? Are two of the Soul Riders prisoners in Pandoria?”

“Yes.” Evergray nodded and coughed. “Lily has a plan to get them out.”

Lily’s brow furrowed. “Wait, how did you know that this keystone,” she gestured at Linda again, “is the right keystone? Especially since there’s more than one hidden in this Vault. And don’t deny there isn’t. There are more hidden doors I’m sure you control, Magnus. You don’t create a vault for one thing and you said keystones already.”

Evergray coughed and it was the cough of his sickness rather than the need to clear his throat.

Linda fiddled in her pockets and passed him a throat lozenge.

“Thank you, it probably won’t help.” Evergray popped it into his mouth. “You didn’t hear that part, hmm.”

“Avalon said something,” Lily’s brow furrowed. She switched arms with the Pandorium.

“The druids know approximately where Anne is being held in Pandoria and he happened to mention it. Once I decoded the code in the Pandoria Codex. It was simple enough.”

“And they’re doing nothing!” Alex shouted.

“They think she’s too deep in order to get out safely,” Evergray fiddled with his staff. “They don’t want to risk the two Soul Riders they have left.”

“They want someone expendable,” Lily concluded. “This person they’re waiting for. I bet until she proved herself, she’d be expendable. I like this Fripp less and less.”

“It’d be a test,” Evergray said.

“Fripp is a rodent,” Magnus said with distaste. “What is your plan?”

“Justin is being held on an oil rig near the Golden Bay along with his horse Saga, and Concorde. The oil rig has a gate that can create a stable portal to Pandoria. Alex can take a keystone and rig it into the gate.”

Alex nodded and cracked her knuckles.

“We use that gate to escape with Justin into Pandoria near where Anne is being held and hopefully Lisa has made it through. The keystone has too much energy and is unstable. The gate will explode making it impossible for them to follow us until they get to another gate if they have one. Hopefully no, but I bet the oil rigs are fairly cookie cutter.” Lily stopped. Did they have cookie cutters in the 13th century? She changed her words. “Err, the same. Then, Evergray and Linda along with the Soul Horses use the Guardian’s Dale gateway and the keystone to open another portal for us to get out of Pandoria. Hopefully with Justin, Anne, and Lisa in tow.”

“Extremely dangerous. Could have catastrophic consequences if it goes wrong,” Magnus said floating up and down.

“Look, I’ve got a row boat that can carry me along with two things, and a chicken, a fox, and a bag of grain. You take the fox over with the grain, take the grain back and get the chicken, you’re set. That’s the riddle.” Lily waved her hand about. “Now, what do I need to do in order to forge a keystone that doesn’t take decades? At least we aren’t trying to facet the dang thing.”

Magnus chuckled. “And why not?”

“Because that takes a grind stone, not a hammer and chisel which is what I’m assuming carving runes is going to use.” Lily shifted her weight to one hip. She glanced at Linda. “And before you ask, there is a jeweler at the Flea Market.”

Linda grinned.

Magnus considered. “Does this Conrad know how to make horse shoes?”

“That’s what he mostly makes since he won’t follow directions, plans, or blueprints,” Lily muttered.

“Then go learn to make horse shoes and then I will show you runic forging. Learning to forge the horse shoes will show you how much force and pressure you need to apply and teach you how to swing a hammer properly.”

“Stiff wrist,” Lily said. “More in the shoulder than the elbow.”

Magnus didn’t say anything.

“Right. We’ll be off. Hopefully we’ll have at least one keystone to return to you. Since, the other one we plan on having go kablooey,” Lily said lightly. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be back when Conrad finishes with me.”

They took their leave, Evergray and Magnus bidding each other a jovial good bye. They pretended not to overhear Magnus’ word of caution to Evergray about taking Soul Riders, of all people, as protégés given his exile. Evergray didn’t seem to care.

They got back into the snow, putting the keystone and the pandorium in Linda’s saddlebags.

“Moorland,” Lily said. “Well, shit.”

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #star stable online #sso #fan fic #jorvik reimagined #star stable salt #completely harmless #silverglade reimagined #many nods to ruth westside

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