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kookieswan · 3 years

Text

Shadow Play – Cracks

Pairing: None for now

(Platonic Haunted!2Seok x Medium!Reader (f))

Word Count: 1.6k (Still unhinged)

Tags: Ghost/Demon!AU!, Mentions of bodily harm/injuries, General spookiness/horror themes, Reader can see some spooky shit.

Notes: I’m REALLY enjoying this series a lot. Most of it was written last night but I wrapped things up so I could post it today since I can’t continue Celebration Weekend like I wanted to. I hope everyone likes it!

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“So, based on what I’ve seen and what I’ve… felt. I do believe something rather malevolent is haunting the two of you... or perhaps, your apartment.” Scratching Hoseok out of nowhere and then attacking Jin minutes later was rather brash for something that didn’t hold any sort of hard feelings. The entity clearly doesn’t like you being around, willing to try and manifest itself in a more physical plane to get rid of you. It’s unfortunate it caught onto your nature so quickly, but you suppose that you didn’t come in disguised.

“Malevolent? Like, something evil?” You nod silently. Whatever it is, likely a demon, is bad news for all parties. You can’t see that you’ve ever seen something quite this bad before, but either way, you’re dedicated to dealing with it. They called you specifically, they were trusting you to take care of it…. So, you were going to. Even if you’re unsure as to how at this point. After the events of tonight, you know you’ll have to do some extensive research.

“It didn’t do things like this till you arrived; it was never mean to us before, just a little cheeky.” A small laugh leaves you at that, Hoseok’s bubbly demeanor lightening the situation up. He seems rather high spirited considering he and Seokjin were just attacked moments ago, but that’ll be good in the long run.

“Not cheeky enough to laugh at my jokes.” What an odd pair. For some reason you can easily see Seokjin trying to tell jokes at 3am to thin air, and another laugh leaves you. At least they’re trying to make the nest out of the situation. Choosing to pass Seokjin’s comment, you address what Hoseok said instead.

“That’s the thing, it clearly sees me as a threat. Which in itself tells me that there’s something more sinister at play. Spirits and… demons don’t like me because they know I can essentially get rid of them. It’s always been like that.” Normal spirits, those who have passed on and are just trying to get to the other side… they never bother you. They wander aimlessly some of the time sure, but never take on a hostile nature that a demon would. Fuck, you hope so badly that it isn’t a demon… Hoseok bristles in his spot, a perturbed look on his face before he directs another question your way.

“So, you can get rid of Petunia then?” You give Hoseok a very pointed look, and he cringes before bringing his hand over his mouth to zip his lips and toss they key away. “Petunia” would be dealt with, you’d make sure of it, but you still have a very small understanding of how the entity came to be. Cracking a few of your fingers, you look around and address them both again.

“Yes Hoseok, but I need to first figure out why the entity is here, what it tied itself to. Do you mind if I take a look around your apartment? I’ll need to look at every room if that’s alright.” The men stand up from their couch, gesturing for you to do what you must. Standing from your spot, you grab your sketchbook again and decide to go to the kitchen.

Nothing in particular seems to be lingering in the living room, so perhaps the source of issue lays somewhere else. Their apartment is super spacious, and you can’t help but to be curious what they do for work as you notice how nice the kitchen is. Both men trail behind you, and you let them, knowing it can’t hurt to stick together right now. Seokjin wanders closer to you as you slide a hand over the marble countertop, content to feel nothing out of the ordinary. It’s connected to the living room, and you can’t sense anything really, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Hoseok did mention knives disappearing and reappearing after all.

“So, you can see things…? I mean, don’t feel like you have to answer…” Seokjin’s voice gets quiet, but you shake your head to tell him its fine. Most people have questions and you’ve never minded answering them. It’s important they know what they’re getting themselves into anyway and having to deal with your sight is one thing that could actually end up scaring them. Wandering out of the kitchen and toward the bathroom Seokjin was attacked in, you answer quietly.

“Yes, I can ‘see things’, if by that you mean entities. Usually, they have to reveal themselves to the human eye, but not for me. They exist everywhere… But most of them are harmless.” Like right now, you can see a lingering blackness in the bathroom. Specifically, wrapped around the shower curtain that was nearly used to strangle Seokjin earlier on. Again, you decide not to mention it to them, not wanting to scare the poor men any further for now. Taking down a few notes, you shield it as the men try and lean over your shoulder to see. Even if the entity lingers here, nothing feels particularly off in the air.

“Can you do anything else?” Hoseok’s eyes are practically glittering as he asks, his curiosity clear to both you and Seokjin. Letting out a little hum, you wander past them both and out the door to the hallway, making your way over to the next door. There’s a little sticker of a colorful flower on it, and if you’ve learned anything in the past few hours, it likely belongs to Hoseok.

“I can sense auras if that makes sense, not just of entities but also people. That… takes a little extra work though. I have to really focus and draw from the person.” Opening the door up, you peek inside and can’t help to smile. The room is bright even at night, pretty colors scattered about the clean looking room. Not a thing is out of place it seems, and you note that Hoseok likes to keep things tidy. There are traces of him all over the place, very faint wisps of yellow scattered all over. As you go to slide a hand across his comforter, a loud bang comes from the ceiling. You all pause, glancing up slowly on hopes it was just a coincidence. The things is though, they live on the top floor.

It comes again, but in quick succession. One, two three… One, two, three. Bad things always come in threes. You try and ignore it, but the final bang is so loud and harsh, a crack appears in the ceiling as dust falls onto your heads. Hoseok flings himself into Seokjin’s arms as the other man remains frozen, holding his friend close to him.

“HOLY FUCK!” A loud cry rings throughout the house, something that could never be made from a human. It sounds incorrect, like something that should never be heard by anyone. Seokjin grabs for your hand, and you let him, unsure if you’re the one comforting him or vice versa. It stops then, just as quickly as it stated, and things go dead silent. You all glance at each other, slowly untangling from one another, you clear your throat and decide to just move on, not letting the thing know that you’re uncomfortable with how things are turning out.

“Moving on then… I’d like to see the next room please.” There’s nothing you can do yet, not till you have a better understanding of why its here. Seokjin nods and leads you out of Hoseok’s room and further down the hallway. Hoseok follows very closely, his body practically attached to you as you wander out of his room, but you can’t help but pause as goosebumps suddenly wash across your skin. Something isn’t right.

“What’s that room down there?” You can see it clearly now, the blackness seeping from under the cracks of the door. It’s there, it has to be there. You couldn’t sense it before, but now it obviously wants to make itself known to you now.

“Hm? Oh, that’s our shared office. It’s the biggest room in the place, so we decided to share it since there’s more than enough room for both of our desks.” They can’t see it, small smiles on their faces. That’s good though, it’s likely then that the entity isn’t strong enough to show itself off yet, not in big ways at least. Walking to the door slowly, you make sure to be in front of them as you place a hand on the knob. It’s freezing to the touch, making you flinch a little at the feeling. Seokjin rests a hand on your shoulder from behind, voice gently wafting through the air.

“Are you alright…?” You force a wry smile to your face as you turn your head to him, trying your best to reassure the men that everything was fine. It wasn’t though, not really. The energy behind the door was starting to get stronger, so doing what you think is best, you twist the knob and try to open it. Maybe you would be able to handle the situation, or at least get the entity to rear its head so you could force it to back down for now.

A mistake.

It’s taking over you abruptly, the blackness. You can’t see, not really as the intense coldness washes over your whole body, leaving you paralyzed in the darkness. There’s nothing to feel, all of your senses being slowly cut off, the screams of Hoseok and Seokjin getting quieter and quieter as you sink into oblivion.

“What do we do?!? _____?!?”

#Shadow Play #2seok #2seok x reader #bts x reader #bts imagine #bts series #bts angst #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x y/n #hoseok imagine #hoseok angst #seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #seokjin imagine #seokjin x y/n #seokjin angst #bts horror au #bts demon au

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trashyswitch · 3 years

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In a Lee Mood? Ask Logan!

Janus and Remus are in Lee moods. One is shy, the other is confident. When Remus finds them a ler, Janus must learn how to gain the courage to ask for tickles. Otherwise, he won't get them.

This fanfic was suggested by @ashleedragon on Tumblr.

Here

I hope you enjoy Ash! :D

Janus and Remus were struggling majorly in the lee department. They were talking about how much they really wanted to be wrecked, but didn’t know who exactly to go to. They wanted someone confident in their goal, and someone who can tickle both of them at once, if possible. Finally, Remus had had enough.

“That’s it! We need to head to someone NOW. And I know just the person!” Remus declared, standing out proudly.

“Who? I’m not intrigued whatsoever.” Janus asked.

“Logan! He’s smart, confident in himself, and he knows how to use tickle tools! He is a MASTER of tickling, I know that for sure!” Remus declared.

“I...Oh…” Janus started curling up, blushing in pure embarrassment. “Okay…”

“Come on!” Remus begged, grabbing Janus’s hand.

“Nooooooo! Let me sit alone in my lee mood like a good boy!” Janug begged.

“But I know you want the tickles just as much as I do!” Remus argued. He huffed. “If you don’t get up, I will bring Logan to us and you’ll have no choice but to face him.”

“Then I’ll act like a little shit.” Janus said with his tongue stuck out.

Remus smiled. “Good.” he said before exiting the room. “OOOOOH LOOOOGAAAAAAN~” Remus yelled to the hallway.

Janus whined and covered his ears as Remus called and called for Logan. Janus didn’t wanna take Logan away from his activity to come and tickle him, of all things. He felt embarrassed about his lee mood as it was. He didn’t need Remus standing up for him and getting them both a ler to make his lee mood go away. Maybe he liked being in a lee mood! What if it actually makes him distracted for a while? What if he likes watching scenes and cowering like a baby in the corner?

...He really doesn’t...It was just a hypothetical.

Janus looked up at Logan as he walked into the room. “Greetings Janus. I hear you two are in need of something rather immediate?” Logan clarified.

“Only if you want to, of course.” Janus said to him, blushing.

“Of course! It is my job to try and organize better strategies for satisfactory reasons with Thomas. And if that involves helping someone, or a couple sides out, then I will happily do so.” Logan told him.

Janus smiled and looked down. “You don’t need to do that…” Janus muttered with an embarrassed expression.

Remus giggled. “Poor Janus! He’s been acting like this all morning! I feel he deserves some teases and jokes, don’t you, Logan?” Remus teased.

Janus whined and covered his face.

“I don’t know...I’m not an emotional person, but it does look like he’s rather more red than usual…A little like a tomato or a cherry…” Logan teased with a smirk on his face.

“Exactly!! That’s what I was thinking!” Remus reacted.

Logan looked at Remus. “Hmm...And didn’t you say you were in the same mood?” Logan asked.

Remus nodded. “You betcha!” He replied proudly and lifted up his arms.

Logan looked at Janus and back at Remus. “Okay. Looks like I’m going here first.” Logan went for Remus’s exposed armpits first, earning him a squeal and a giggle. “Oooooh, This is a good spot, if I do say so myself.” Logan teased, looking at Janus from the corner of his eye.

Remus giggled as his hands were grabbed and pinned above his head. “Ohohoho geheheheez…” Remus giggled.

“What’s the matter, Dukey? Getting a little nervous?” Logan teased.

Remus nodded. “Very.”

“Very well. I suppose I can get this-” Logan paused his words and started tickling Remus’s open armpit.

“EEEEEEHEHEHEHEK! LOHOHOGAHAHAN YOHOHOHOU AHAHAHASS!” Remus laughed.

“Oh? Since when am I a bottom?” Logan asked.

“SINCE NOHOHOHOW!” Remus decided.

“Nothing is wrong with being a bottom, Remus. However, I do have a slight problem with being a lazy bottom. I prefer to be quick, yet precise with my movements. An example: My strategizing associated with my attacks right now!” Logan explained.

Remus laughed and looked over at Janus, who was embarrassed and slightly jealous. “GEHEHEHEHET JAHAHAN, WHYHY DOHOHON’T YAHAHA?!” Remus asked.

Logan giggled. “But you asked first! And besides: I want to keep tickling you! You’re rather fun to tickle!” Logan admitted.

“AHAHAM IHI?” Remus asked.

“Yes! Indeed you are, my evil ticklish friend.” Logan teased.

Remus blushed at that. “AHAHAHAM NAHAHAhahahat!” Remus felt as Logan’s tickles moved down to his upper ribs and ab muscles.

“My goodness! I must admit, I am rather impressed by your abdominal muscle size. It is a little stronger and very well kept compared to Roman’s abdominal six pack.” Logan reacted.

“HEY!” Roman shouted from another room.

“HEHEHE HAHAHAS A POHOHOHOINT!” Remus yelled back.

“SURE HE DOES, MR. GAGGLES.” Roman spat back.

Remus giggled and shook his head. “Meheheheheheanie…” He muttered.

“I know...But he doesn’t understand the true love for tickling as much as you do.” Logan joked.

“Truhue! Yohohohou gehehet ihihit!” Remus mentioned.

“Indeed I do.” Logan replied, looking at Janus.

Janus was looking away, trying not to watch the tickles he really wanted.

“Awww, it looks like Janus really wants tickles too. Should I give them to him?” Logan asked.

“If you want to, sure!” Remus reacted.

Janus lifted his head a little, in hope.

But Logan shook his head with a smirk. “He can tell me if he wants to.” Logan told Remus.

Janus groaned.

“Is something the matter, Janus?” Logan asked.

Janus muttered something, but it was too quiet to hear him.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t hear you. Can you repeat that?” Logan asked.

“Iwantyoutoticclemeeee…” Janus muttered again.

“I’m so sorry...Now you’re saying it too quickly! Can you please repeat-”

“I WANT TICKLES!” Janus yelled.

Logan widened his eyes and giggled. “Nohohow you’re too loud! May you please repe-”

“DAMN YOU LOGAN!” Janus shouted. “JUSTGIVEMETHEMALREADY!”

Remus was laughing at this point. “WOHOHOHOW! HEHEHEHE’S PIHIHIHIHISSED!” Remus laughed.

Logan was chuckling. “Ihihi know! All that just for some tickles!” Logan reacted.

Janus growled and started to walk away. But Logan stopped him. “Come on Janus. Lighten up a little. I’ll tickle you. I’d love to tickle you!” Logan told him.

“W-Will you? P-P-Please?” Janus begged.

“Sure!” Logan replied.

Logan gently grabbed Janus’s hand and led him down to the carpet. “Remus, come here too.” Logan encouraged them. Remus nodded and followed them to the carpeted floor. Logan kneeled down while Janus and Remus both laid down onto their backs.

Janus smiled as his blush deepened. “Thank you. And...sorry about the outburst. I was definitely put together.” Janus apologized.

“It’s alright, Jay. Now lay back...relax…” Logan gently closed both their eyes and used his conjuring abilities to conjure up some blindfolds onto their eyes. Then, Logan tickled Janus’s sides first.

“HAHAHAHA! Hehehehehey! Ihihihihi’m fihihirst!” Janus reacted.

“Of course you are! Why would I go for Remus first when he already got some of his tickles?” Logan asked.

Janus shrugged his shoulders as he did everything in his power to not move his hands away. He feared that if he did, then Logan would stop and move back to Remus.

“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle~” Logan teased.

“Whyhyhyhyhyhy?” Janus asked.

“Because it’s fun! And I know that the teasing adds to the tickles tremendously.” Logan added. “And you seem to enjoy the teases!”

Janus covered up his mouth. “Ihihihi dohoho nohohohohot!” Janus reacted.

“Take away the word ‘not’, and you’ll have my response.” Logan told him.

Janus shook his head. “Uhuhuhunfahahahair!” Janus told him.

“Unfair, huh?” Logan clarified. “Let’s see how unfair I could be then.” Logan stopped tickling Janus and started tickling Remus again.

“Ohohokahahahay! Greheheheat! Mehehehe ahahagahahain!” Remus reacted.

“Yup! It’s you again, Remus.” Logan replied.

Remus giggled and rolled back and forth on the carpet while Janus was watching with annoyance. “Come on, Logan! Can’t you do us both?” Janus asked.

Logan giggled. “Only if you say please.” he replied.

“Fine...Can you please tickle us both?” Janus asked.

Logan nodded and gave him a hand. “Sure!”

Logan wrapped his arms around Janus and Remus from behind, and started tickling both of their bellies.

Remus and Jaus were both giggling, wiggling around and loving every minute of it.

“Tickle tickle tickle tickle tickle, my little lees~” Logan teased. “That’s the right word, right?” Logan clarified.

Remus bursted out laughing more at Logan’s question. “YEHEHEHEHES! IHIHIHIT IHIHIHIS!”

“Good, good.” Logan moved down to their lower bellies, earning snorts from Remus and squeaks from Janus. “How about here? Does it tickle more here?” Logan teased.

“YEHEHEHEHEHESS! *snort* IHIHI- *snort* -IHIHIT DOHOHOHOES!” Remus laughed.

“EEEEEEK! YEHEHEHEHES! EEEEHEHEHEHE- IHIHIT TIHIHICKLEHEHES!” Janus laughed as well.

“Ooooooh! I wonder which belly button is the more ticklish of my two lees…” Logan asked out loud. “Remus’s?” Logan poked his belly button.

Remus gasped and squeaked SUPER loudly! “NUUUUUUUHOHOHOHOHO!” Remus screamed!

Logan giggled at the reaction. “Or Janus’s?” Logan asked before poking Janus’s belly button next.

Janus wheezed and clapped his hands a few times. He was shaking his head as he silently laughed, occasionally falling out of quiet laugh and into screeches and cackles!

“Well I see we have our answer!” Logan reacted. “Janus has a more ticklish belly button.”

Janus pushed at Logan’s hand and threw his head back as he kept on cackling like a wild man.

Logan loved seeing them laugh like this. It was surprisingly really fun making them laugh! And it was even fun teasing Janus to oblivion while he tickled Remus and made comments. Even the word tickle was enough to make the boys die of laughter.

Though, his fingers were just as useful too.

Logan decided from then, on to be their ler for when they were in strong lee moods. Remus was over ecstatic like a child over it, while Janus was happy about it but showed it in a more casual way. Logan gave them both a hug, a few more tickles and a farewell as he left the two boys alone.

“So: Would you say that was worth the embarrassment?” Remus asked with a smug smile on his face.

“...........No.” Janus replied.

Remus bursted out laughing at the reply. Such a Janus thing to say!

#ticklefic #ler!logan #lee!janus #lee!remus #blushing #cute #teasing

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foilfreak · 3 years

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Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 4

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

Upon returning to the surface again, Mother Miranda seems confused, but mostly relieved, that Salvatore did not show interest in lingering in the village any longer than necessary. Though Salvatore did end up needing to stay for one last brief conversation, in which he and Mother Miranda discussed various parts of Nadine’s file, as well as finalized the date and approximate time in which Salvatore could expect the villagers to arrive at the reservoir gate with his gift in tow.

2 days from now, was the final agreement, as it would ensure that Salvatore would be the first of the Lords to receive his gift, making up for the fact that he was the last of them to pick. It also permitted him the luxury of some spare time to prepare a new permanent living environment of some kind for his gift. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

Regardless, Once their conversation finally concluded, Salvatore bid his beloved Mother a quick, but appropriately appreciative thank you and goodbye, before closing the large wooden door to the meeting room and trudging back out into the cold, harsh winter snow. Despite a lack of improvement in the weather since Salvatore’s initial journey into the village, the mutant man maintained a solid pace through the snowy paths, seemingly uninhibited by the forceful winds attempting to throw him from his course.

With little time remaining, Salvatore wanted to return to his reservoir as quickly as possible to begin making preparations; though, what exactly it was he was supposed to do in order to prepare for a tiny, beautiful, and apparently violent cadou-mutant woman to begin living in his reservoir with him, once again, Salvatore still had no idea.

Grimacing in frustration, the hooded man wracked his brain for something to do, some way for him to make a good “first” impression with his new gift when she finally arrives. Something that would catch her fancy and hopefully convince her that, despite his terrifying appearance, he wouldn’t harm her and merely wanted to be friends.

Well… technically speaking Salvatore wanted a great deal more than just friendship from the young woman, however given how low his chances are of ever achieving the former, the mutant man decided that he’d happily squash his vile and disgusting desires down deep within himself if it meant he’d gain at least something similar to a friendship with Nadine.

He’d been doing the same with Mother for all these years, so it wasn’t like it was going to be difficult… hopefully.

Upon returning to his reservoir finally, Salvatore retreated from the harsh weather, deciding that he’d likely have a much easier time cleaning if he waited the snowstorm out and got started in the morning, instead. Once the skies had cleared and the sun had just begun to peak over the mountaintop horizon however, Salvatore immediately set to work cleaning up the areas surrounding the reservoir.

It wasn’t until after several hours of diligent gathering and disposing of the numerous unsightly piles of rotting wood and garbage lying around, that the unusually bright and hopeful atmosphere surrounding the reservoir was rudely disrupted by a surprise visitor Salvatore would have never seen coming in a million years.

“HEY, FISHFACE, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? I gotta talk to you about something, so hurry up and crawl out of your sewer system so we can get this over with, already” Karl’s rough and booming voice echoed out from somewhere within the reservoir.

Salvatore flinches in fearful surprise at the demanding voice, wondering what on earth could possibly have brought Karl, the notorious recluse of the family who never left his factory unless bribed or threatened, all the way out here to the reservoir. And to speak to HIM, on top of all that too.

Despite not feeling like subjecting himself to Karl’s recent tendency toward physical abuse disguised as “brotherly affection”, Salvatore sighs and swims his way toward his younger brother’s voice anyways, knowing that ignoring Karl would only prompt the younger man to actually enter the reservoir in search of him, which was the absolute last thing Salvatore needed right now.

“Mornin’, brother! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered the door. You were taking so long I was beginning to wonder if you’d finally decided to run away and live out the rest of your life as an actual fish, like I suggested to you at the last “family” meeting” Karl says bluntly, clad his characteristic attire of green sunglasses, a brown hat atop his head, a long tan trench coat covering his day clothes, various items strung around his neck, and large titanium hammer.

“H-hello, Karl... W-why is it th-that you’re h-here for?” Salvatore asks slowly, peering at the younger, but taller man from behind the only partially opened gate.

“Hey, hey, come on now, Sal, what’s with the cold welcome? Am I not allowed to visit my favorite older brother without a specific rhyme or reason. I think you’ll be surprised to know that I was actually already in the area, and wanted to stop by and see if you were in the mood for a chat. You know, like old times?” Karl says defensively, placing both his hands up as Salvatore narrows his eyes at the younger man.

Salvatore was a lot of things, but stupid most certainly wasn’t one of them, regardless of what other people thought. While it might be true that, when Karl was first introduced to the family as a child following his successful cadou mutation, they had something of a positive older-younger brother relationship that lasted a good many years into Karl’s adulthood, that relationship has been growing progressively shakier and unstable over the past few years, at least it has during the times Karl has acted like Salvatore wasn’t the only one to reach out and attempt to connect with the emotionally volatile, but secretly terrified young boy, when he first arrived.

Deep down, Salvatore still had something of a soft spot for Karl, a soft spot that he occasionally allowed himself to indulge in whenever Karl wasn’t acting like a royal asshole, but those moments of peace and solidarity between oldest and youngest brother had been few and far in between recently. Not to mention that Salvatore would be lying if he said he wasn’t growing increasingly more suspicious and distrustful of Karl and whatever secrets the younger man was hiding in that factory of his. He hadn’t the slightest idea what he could be up to, but something told Salvatore that Karl had more reason to be here than just pure coincidence.

“P-perhaps… what i-is it that you w-want to t-talk about?” Salvatore replies curtly, not wanting to just go along with whatever Karl wanted, but for some reason still willing to give the younger man a chance to prove himself.

Taking a brief moment to look over both his shoulders, Karl places the heavy end of his hammer on the ground and leans inward toward Salvatore, lowering his voice as he whispers, “You see your gift from Mother yet?”

This question took Salvatore by surprise, not expecting the gifts Mother Miranda had given them to be the reason why Karl was here.

“I… I h-have… why?” The disfigured man asks curiously, pushing the gate open a little further so that Karl, despite Salvatore’s earlier reservations toward the younger man, could squeeze his way inside.

Upon entering through the gate, Karl immediately takes 2 cigars out of his back pocket and lights the first one. “Curiosity mostly… but also cuz I think there’s more to this whole “gift” thing than Miranda wants us to believe,” the bespeckled man says, blowing a lungful of smoke out his nose as he offers Salvatore the second cigar. “You still smoke, old man?”

“I-I… I r-really shouldn’t” Salvatore says, turning his back toward Karl’s outstretched hand, even as the wonderfully woody scent fills his nose and his mouth begins to water.

“Oooooh, but something tells me you want to” Karl teases, sauntering over to the older man so that he could wave the fresh cigar in Salvatore’s face, chuckling in amusement when the fish mutant’s gaze locked onto and followed the unlit stick like a dog would a slab of meat.

“B-but it… M-Mother has s-said… m-many times… th-that she d-doesn’t like… doesn’t like when we s-smoke… because… uh, b-because...” Salvatore trails off, trying to remain strong for Mother Miranda, even as his self-control slowly continues to crack.

“Come on, lighten up a little bit, old man. It’s just one cigar. You smoked a pack of these things a day, like they were the only things keeping you going, both throughout my whole adolescence and, if what Duke says is to be trusted which we both know it is, well after I left for my factory, too. When the hell did you start being such a stick in the mud? No wonder I stopped hanging out with you, you’re like a fuckin’ parrot that repeats everything than goddamn woman says, it’s like I can’t escape her no matter where I fuckin’ go” Karl groans in a slightly childish tone of voice as he trudges forward to sit on one of the docks overlooking the calm water below.

Salvatore slowly moves to join him as he says, “S-she’s right th-though… it r-really isn’t good… f-for you… I smoked e-everyday for m-many years... an-and now I’m p-paying for my i-ignorance… Mother o-only nags at you… b-because she c-cares… and s-she’s always r-right… in the e-end...”

“Oh, fuck what Miranda says, I’m tired of that woman. Always telling us what to do and then thinking that pushing a couple of failed experiments onto us as “gifts” will make up for the fact that she’s disappearing off the face of the planet without a single trace and not telling us when she’ll be back. As far as I’m concerned, when Miranda’s not here, she’s not the boss of me. And the same goes for you, too” Karl says, roughly punching Salvatore in the shoulder.

“I-I don’t… I don’t think th-that’s how this w-works, Karl” Salvatore counters. “Even w-with Mother l-leaving us… f-for a t-time... we still h-have to make s-sure that th-things c-continue on… continue on as p-planned… or e-else we’ll really b-be in trouble… w-when she g-gets back.”

“Maybe,” Karl says thoughtfully, before taking another drag of his cigar. “I don’t know… I just have a sinking feeling that there’s something weird going on behind the scenes and these “gifts”, that she’s giving us, are nothing more than distractions to keep us entertained while she goes and does… whatever the fuck it is she plans on doing while she’s gone.”

Salvatore pauses for a moment, briefly remembering back to when Mother first told him that she’d be leaving the village to go “visit someone”, who she believed could be very important to their mission of reviving Mother’s long lost baby, Eva. Although he hadn’t thought very much of it at the time, the mutant man also remembers Mother saying something about how well Nadine would do at “keeping him occupied” until she finally returned, and maybe even after that, too. But why would Mother Miranda want or need him to be “occupied” when she got back? Wouldn’t she want to share her findings with him so they could work toward creating a vessel to revive Eva in? Wouldn’t she want to see and speak to him again after being away for so long?

Or maybe… could… could Karl actually be onto something here? Salvatore felt terrible doubting Mother Miranda, but he’d be lying if he said that Karl didn’t have a point about Mother’s behavior seeming odd, now that he was in the proper headspace to go back and analyze the memory properly, at least.

“B-but… if Mother h-has gone o-out of her w-way… to make sure that w-we won’t be l-lonely... w-while she’s away… isn’t th-that a… a good th-thing… doesn’t that m-mean she c-cares a-bout us... enough to… e-enough to do something l-like this?” Salvatore asks nervously, watching the younger man intently as he contemplates his response.

“I guess so, at least when you word it like that, it does. But something tells me there’s more to this than she’s led us to believe. She’s got something planned, and she’s definitely after something, and once she gets her hands on it, who the hell knows what’ll happen… whatever it is though, I doubt it’ll be very good, for any of us.”

“D-don’t say th-things l-like that… I-I’m sure M-Mother has a-a reason… a reason w-why she’s leaving… an-and if she d-doesn’t tell us w-what it is… b-before she leaves… th-then Im sure… I’m sure sh-she’ll tell u-us when she g-gets back… she’ll l-let us in o-on her p-plan… wh-when she’s ready… an-and then… once e-everything is… said a-and done… we c-can revive… r-revive Eva… and b-be a real f-family… a-at long l-last… isn’t th-that what w-we a-all want, after a-all… a f-family?” Salvatore asks, hoping this was doing something to ease the younger man’s clearly agitated mind.

What on earth it was that was causing so much turmoil as it flew around inside Karl’s head, Salvatore had no idea. But something about the bespectacled man’s unusually contemplative and concerned mood, coupled with the fact that he’d only punched Salvatore once since his arrival, was beginning to leave an acidic taste in the deformed man’s mouth.

Karl really and truly thought something was wrong, and the younger man’s continued insistence upon this fact was beginning to make Salvatore very very anxious.

Perhaps it was the unusually good and excited mood that Salvatore was in due to the near arrival of his gift, or maybe it was that soft spot for Karl I mentioned earlier, but regardless of the reason, Salvatore felt the odd need to help alleviate the younger man’s bad mood, just like he used to do for him back when Karl was still barely taller than his shoulder.

Mother Miranda certainly wouldn’t be pleased if she found out that Salvatore had broken his mandatory sobriety despite her explicit orders to avoid smoking so his experiment results wouldn't be hindered. That being said however, Miranda always seemed to want her 4 children to get along and be close, like real siblings, so Salvatore supposed that he could allow himself a break from his smoking break so long as, if Miranda did manage to find out somehow, he could get himself out of trouble by spinning it as a rare moment of sibling bonding between the oldest and youngest siblings, rather than the reality of the situation.

“I… I’ll t-take that cigar… if you’re n-not gonna smoke it… th-that is” Salvatore says, a small chuckle escaping him when Karl cheers in delight, practically throwing both the lighter and the cigar into the deformed man’s hands.

Salvatore’s first breath of the cigar is nothing short of heavenly once he finally lights it and takes a drag, and its moments like these when the mutant man finds himself secretly grateful that Karl hasn’t listened to a goddamn word Mother Miranda has said in nearly 4 decades.

A long period of silence passes as both brothers merely sit beside one another and secretly enjoy each other’s company.

“Miranda let me pick my gift first, so I didn’t get to see where the others went. Who did you end up with?” Karl asks, finally breaking the silence.

“T-the… the sh-short one,” Salvatore replies, “with b-blue skin, black h-hair, a-and, uh… oh, an-and white d-dots… all o-over her… l-like freckles… fins t-too”

“Oh ya, I remember that one. Gorgeous little thing, she was” Karl says, nodding his head in appreciation as a devilish smile spreads across his unshaven lips. “With quite the… voluptuous figure too, if I remember correctly.”

“I… well… I-I don’t know i-if… I d-didn’t... shut up...” Salvatore mumbles under his breath, taking a long drag from his cigar as Karl throws his head back laughing like a hyena at his older brother’s sudden bashfulness.

“Ah, come on, Sal, don’t be such a downer all the fuckin’ time, I’m just teasing. I know you still think about shit like that, too, even if you’ve managed to convince Alcina and everybody else that you’re just an innocent little follower who hasn’t had an independent, or dirty thought of his own since the cadou took hold. You used to be a fuckin’ doctor for crying out loud, and you’re still annoyingly the person Miranda goes to first whenever she has a new experiment in mind, cuz you’re smart AND she can trust you. You might look like you fell off the truck that was taking you and your fishy friends to market, but I’ve known you too long for that bullshit act of yours to work on me.”

“Act?” Salvatore asks, genuinely confused by what Karl means.

“You know, that stupid fuckin’ “moronic freak” act you do whenever Miranda’s around. The one where you act like you don’t know what the fuck is going on or what something is so that she’ll take pity on how stupid and childish you’re acting and give you more attention. It’s pathetic to watch and I’m gettin’ sick of seeing you do it all the time. Knock it off, you’re better than that.”

“I’ll… um… b-be sure not to… to m-make it s-seem as… uh… I’ll k-keep that in m-mind” Salvatore finally says, casting his gaze down to his pants for a moment, unsure how to feel about how… friendly and kind Karl was being all of a sudden. Salvatore knew Karl secretly cared about him, the brat does far too many conveniently nice things for him throughout the year for him not to, but hearing the younger man voice his surprisingly high opinion of him was definitely shocking, though still quite touching, all the while.

“W-which gift… d-did you end u-up… getting, Karl? I d-didn’t get t-the chance to… to s-see the others… M-Mother only showed me Nadi-er… my g-gift” Salvatore asks, deciding, at the last second, against using his gift’s real name lest Karl be given even more artillery to tease and riddle him with.

“Eh, just some tall dark haired broad. I think Miranda said something about her being Indian, or something along those lines.”

“O-oh… d-did Mother say a-anything about… whether she’s actually f-from here… o-or did she immigrate… f-from India?” Salvatore asks, tilting his head curiously as this new information about Karl’s gift piques his interest.

Karl stares at Salvatore with a look of confusion for a moment, his mouth opening and closing silently like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words for it. Until, “Aren’t Indians from America?”

The sound of Salvatore’s right palm making firm and painful contact with the back of Karl’s head echoes across the reservoir almost as loudly as the following cry of pain from the man himself.

“OW! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?” Karl roars angrily, pushing himself to his feet while he rubs at the back of his head, hat lopsided and barely hanging on to his head and green glasses no longer perched upon his nose, likely sinking to the murky lake floor just below the docks they were sitting on.

“I d-didn’t spend… th-the better part o-of 15 years… p-pounding an education... i-into y-your th-thick head... for you t-to say… f-for you to b-be spouting dumb shit… l-like that” Salvatore growls in annoyance, eying the taller man with a look that even he wouldn’t dare argue against, at least not with Sal he wouldn’t.

It’s moments like these when Salvatore is very happy that Karl, for as strong and fearless as he is now as a fully grown adult, is still just a little bit afraid of him after all these years. Not because of anything bad or horrifically traumatic of course, especially considering how often Salvatore had gone out of his way to ensure Karl had the least traumatic upbringing he could possibly provide the young boy, given both their situations. As much as he hated to admit it, even Karl would agree that Salvatore had done a pretty decent job of not fucking him up anymore than he already was, which the younger man would secretly always be thankful for. However, even a person as naively patient and serving toward others as Salvatore had his breaking point, and all it took was one especially bad day, resulting in the one and only time Salvatore has ever left a mark upon the younger man’s skin, for Karl to realize that Salvatore was the last person in this godforsaken village he wanted to purposefully make an enemy out of.

Thankfully, their relationship never suffered negatively from that one-off event, but it did force the two to come to a mostly unspoken agreement that has remained present and active, if slightly ignored at certain times, from that point forward. Agreement or not however, Salvatore could never bring himself to harm Karl like that again, even if he wanted to, which was probably the main reason why Karl was still the most comfortable around him, even after all these years. It was a secret they shared between them, and them alone, and it would be one that he would cherish for the rest of his life, as Karl would secretly cherish the kindness and brotherly love Salvatore had treated him with for all these years. They were brothers, regardless of whether they got along or not, and nothing in the would world would be able to change that.

That being said however, Karl was about to be in for a very rude awakening if he thought he could just do and say whatever the hell he wanted around Salvatore without there being any consequences.

“‘A-aren’t Indians f-from A-America?’ G-good grief... I o-oughta throttle y-you for th-that one” Salvatore grumbles through another drag of his cigar, shaking his head in utter disbelief and disappointment. Karl was so intelligent, and yet he could be so stupid sometimes that it physically hurt Salvatore to think about.

“But there ARE Indians in America, aren’t there? I know I’m not wrong here” Karl defends aggressively, his anger quickly giving way to embarrassment when Salvatore raises his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and annoyance.

“Th-they’re called N-Native Americans... f-first of all... they w-were only c-called I-Indians... b-because the g-guy... the moron who f-first sailed t-to the A-Americas... w-was actually... looking for I-India... the r-real India... b-but back th-then... you h-had to go all th-the way... a-around Africa... to g-get there... but he th-thought h-he could do... d-do it a d-different w-way... he thought h-he could f-find India... by s-sailing straight f-from S-Spain... and g-going around the whole w-world... until h-he came b-back around... an-and hit Asia” Salvatore explained slowly, hoping to maintain his delusion that Karl had, in fact, paid attention to at least some of the lessons he gave the boy throughout their time together, even if it wasn’t actually true.

“But he didn’t. He hit the Americas and started calling the locals Indians cuz the guy, what’s-his-face... Columbine... Columbus... whatever, was dumb enough to think he was in India and not a totally different landmass” Karl finishes, looking like he at least remembered hearing about his information before, which was good enough for Salvatore.

Despite the grimace still etched onto his face, Karl groans in annoyed defeat and slinks back down to sit next to Salvatore, still cradling the back of his head.

“Anyways, as i was saying before I was so rudely interrupted with a goddamn history lesson-”

“You w-want another s-smack?” Salvatore threatens, mildly amused when Karl pauses his dramatic retelling, before sliding just a few inches to the right, away from Salvatore’s preferred disciplining hand.

Coughing slightly, Karl continues. “Anyways… going back to my “finding the silver lining” idea, or whatever the fuck its called. This whole “gift” thing might actually work out kinda nice for me in the long run, especially since the one I got looked like she was strong and could handle herself in a rough and tumble environment. If she proves herself, I’m planning on turning her into my assistant” Karl explains casually. “As much as I hate working with other people, normally, I’ve got some projects that would really benefit from a second pair of hands, so I’m attempting to make a “silver lining” moment out of this bullshit “gift” thing Miranda’s tryin to do and just hope and pray that things work out in my favor. Though, to be fair, if things with this girl don’t go well, I could always use her body for a cool idea I’ve had cooked up for a while now. What about you? What are you planning on doing with your new little toy once it finally arrives?”

Salvatore merely shrugs his shoulders. “It w-would be nice… i-if we c-could be f-friends… somehow… but…”

“Ya… you’re not exactly working with the latest and greatest set up, huh? Even a mutant girl might need a little bit to get adjusted to a face like that” Karl says.

“That’s c-certainly one way o-of p-putting it” Salvatore replies dejectedly.

Karl flinches slightly, which surprises Salvatore, since the younger man has a habit of caring very little for how his words affect those around him. Why on earth was he being so considerate, all of a sudden?

“Look, uh… what I meant to say was that… ok, so maybe you’re not like, the best looking guy ever, but like…” Karl stammers and stutters, trying desperately to figure out what he wants to say but seemingly coming up short every time.

Salvatore narrows his eyes again, suspicion returning. “You’re h-hiding something f-from me… w-what are you a-after, Karl?” Salvatore asks seriously, fixing the younger man with a stern look that he knows Karl recognizes.

“Hey, don’t you give me that fuckin’ look. I am too fuckin’ old for you to be looking at me like that, what am I, 12?” Karl asks.

“You c-certainly act l-like it… most of th-the time” Salvatore grumbles under his breath.

Karl clearly heard him, but knew better than to argue with the water not even a foot below where the two were currently sitting, his sunglasses having already taken a nice little dive as punishment for his big mouth. Salvatore might have only agreed to speak with Karl because the latter had demanded it, but they were still very much in Salvatore’s territory, and it wasn’t even a question of who had the topographical advantage should an “argument” actually break out between them.

Karl is strong, nobody can deny that. But Salvatore has the home advantage, and they both know it.

After a moment of tense staring, Karl finally breaks first, sighing heavily before tossing his finished cigar cap into the water below them, a crime Salvatore briefly contemplates knocking the younger man in for, before deciding against it, knowing, with his luck, that it would only come back to bite him in the ass later.

“Alright look,” Karl finally says, a look of frustrated determination on his face, “I don’t know what Miranda really has planned past her whole “get a suitable vessel for Eva” obsession, or what she’s really after on this mission of hers… but something about this whole situation going on recently just doesn’t feel right to me, and I think we need to do something about it before something bad happens and we all somehow end up dead. Now, I'm not 100% sure why I’m talking about this with the head of Miranda’s fuckin’ fanclub, but considering what my other 2 options were it wasn’t like I had much of a damn choice. My only saving grace right now is the fact that you’ll at least occasionally listen to fuckin’ reason, given your gaping maw can be yanked from Miranda’s tit long enough to hear me out, that is. It’s certainly better than my chances with Lady Super-sized Bitch and Crazy Psycho Doll, over there.”

“Are you s-sure you’re n-not just being p-paranoid?” Salvatore asks slowly, not wanting to offend Karl by outright stating he didn’t believe the younger man’s hunch, but also trying to figure out if Karl actually has something to be concerned about, or if he’s just looking for an excuse to badmouth Miranda.

“No, no no no, don’t you do this to me too, Sal” Karl begs in frustration. “You can go about the rest of your life loving the absolute shit out of that crazy woman if you want to and I won’t say a goddamn thing about it, but I need you to promise me, and I mean promise me, that if you see or hear something weird regarding Miranda and this little “trip” she’s about to go on, you come tell me so that we can at least make sure our own asses are covered when shit hits the fan.”

“Well… I-I uh…”

“Come on, Sal. None of these psychotic assholes have ever had my back like you, and that’s exactly the reason why I’m telling you all this” Karl says honestly, catching Salvatore off guard with the oddly familiar wording.

“I know I can be a royal fucking pain in the ass most of the time and that I’m not always the… nicest to you… even though you did kinda do... a bit for me here and there when I was a little tyke... But none of that matters now, because even if Miranda isn’t trying to hide something from us, with the two of us banded together, we could do whatever the hell we wanted while she’s gone, and neither of the other shitheads would be able to tell us otherwise. What do you say, Sal? Come on, you and me, together, just like when I was a kid, remember?” Karl asked excitedly, his eyes shimmering in boyish glee as he spouts off all the things they’d be able to get away with when Miranda finally left, the torment they’d be able to unleash upon Alcina being a particular favorite of Karl’s, it would seem.

Salvatore remained silent for a moment, contemplating the deal he’d just been given.

It’s… not a terrible deal, at least compared to some of the previous deals Salvatore has been offered in the past. It wasn’t like him agreeing to “ally” himself with Karl was a direct declaration of war against Mother Miranda or anything like that, merely a mutual effort that would guarantee safety for both him and Karl should Mother’s plan not go exactly as she wanted, which scientific experiments were known to do. Not to mention that giving Alcina a good messing with did sound like quite a bit of fun.

Maybe… maybe Karl was right. Maybe Salvatore was being a bit too much of a stick in the mud. It was just Karl after all, who Salvatore had practically raised, starting from the boy’s arrival into the family at 6 years old and more or less up until his factory was completed just after his 22nd birthday. Karl could certainly be a handful for even the most powerful individuals, but even on his worst days, he always found some backwards, convoluted way to apologize for his behavior.

“W-well… I-I’m not s-sure… I d-don’t know how I f-feel about… about d-doing things th-that Mother… wouldn’t a-approve of… just b-because sh-she’s gone...”

“But...” Karl continued for him.

“B-but I suppose… k-keeping each other u-updated… when we f-find… or h-hear s-something weird is… wouldn’t be… wouldn’t be th-the worst idea… in th-the world… e-even if it just t-turns out that… we w-were just being p-paranoid.”

“Excellent! That’s just what I was hoping to hear” Karl says triumphantly, standing up.

“A-are you l-leaving, already?”

“Ya” Karl affirms, “I’ve got work to do at the factory, and based on the look of things here, you were busy with a project of your own it looks like.”

Salvatore nods, pocketing his freshly finished cigar cap for later, proper, disposal. “I c-can’t even remember… the l-last time I… p-properly cleaned this p-place… it l-looks so m-much nicer… even w-without being f-fully finished…”

“Good for you. My own property could probably do with a good cleaning of its own now that you mention it. If nothing else though, I’m sure your new little lady friend will appreciate that you picked up the place for her arrival.”

“Y-you think s-so?” Salvatore asks.

Karl shrugs his shoulders. “Who knows with chicks, they’re unpredictable, but I suppose it’s possible. Then again, maybe not considering who you ended up with. I don’t know the full story or anything like that, but based on what I heard from Miranda, that blue bitch you went with was the craziest one of them all. Practically tore her pod apart the first time Miranda tried to put her in it, and caused all sorts of other damage throughout her mutation phase too, not that I blame the poor girl. I’d tear that whole lab right out from under the surface and set it ablaze if I could. Going back down there after so many years… I was puking like you for the rest of the fuckin’ day when I finally got out of that hellhole. Stomach still feels a little nauseous if I’m being honest...”

“I-I’m sorry… to h-hear that” Salvatore says, though Karl is quick to brush him off.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. I’m a big boy and I can handle myself. But do we have a deal? Keep each other in the loop whenever we hear anything… strange or abnormal about Mother Miranda or her special little mission?”

Salvatore pauses for a moment, thinking one last time about whether this was a good idea, before finally shrugging his shoulders and nodding. “Y-yes, we h-have a deal… b-but just remember something, Karl… 40 years d-didnt do… nearly as m-much for your p-poker face as i-it did for your s-smart mouth. If I c-catch you lying to m-me-”

“Ya, ya, ya, you’ll chop up my body and toss my remains in the lake to feed the fishes, I’ve heard that one a million times before” Karl interrupts. “Don’t worry, Sal, if I was planning on lying to you at any point throughout this process, you’d have already caught me by now. Even I know better than to try pulling a fast one over the walking fuckin’ lie detector.”

“I’m h-holding you to th-that, Karl” Salvatore calls over his shoulder as the younger man stands and begins heading toward the gate to return to his factory, chuckling lightly when Karl returns his warning with a middle finger.

“Take it easy, old man. And let me know how that crazy fish bitch you ended up with turns out. If all else fails I’ll turn her into a nice stuffed pillow for you” the bespeckled man says, throwing his head back in laughter as though he’d told a funny joke, before adding, “And I’d better get my sunglasses back within the week, or else I’m draining the whole fucking reservoir so I can find them myself. Don’t think I won’t do it, old man.”

Salvatore merely returns the middle finger, a response that Karl seems to appreciate, if the wolfish howl of laughter the younger man let's out says anything, at least.

‘Cheeky brat. Always plotting something’ Salvatore thinks fondly to himself as he slips back into the water to continue cleaning the reservoir, quickly grabbing the green sunglasses that had sunk to the bottom and pocketing them to return to Karl later. He pauses for a moment when a thought crosses his mind.

Within the past 24 hours, both Mother Miranda and Karl had been… unusually kind and affectionate toward Salvatore, which pleased but also confused the twisted man.

Karl was easy enough to explain away, the younger man has been flip flopping between periods where he likes and spends time with Salvatore, and periods where he’d sooner set himself on fire than be in the same room as his older brother, since the day they met, so as far as Salvatore was concerned, Karl’s behavior was hardly breaking news, though perhaps a bit surprising given everything going on with Mother’s gifts. Mother Miranda, however, was a different story.

Usually more distant and hands-off in her parenting ways, Miranda had been uncharacteristically affectionate toward the disfigured man the night before, going as far as to openly praise Salvatore for all his hard work and even hold him without being asked to. It had been such a wonderful experience at the time and yet, the more Salvatore thought about it, the stranger and stranger the behavior seemed, especially now that Karl had confronted him.

Speaking of Karl… Mother seemed quite upset with him when she spoke of him the night before. Going as far as to badmouth him specifically, calling him a ‘conniving little snake’, despite the younger man usually being her favorite by a country mile. Had Karl done something to incur Mother’s wrath? Is that why Karl came all the way over here to make that deal with him? Is he trying to rally the 4 lords to rebel against Mother Miranda?

No... No, no no no, that couldn’t be true, there’s no way.

Even Karl, for all his incredible intellect and hunger for power, was too afraid of Mother Miranda to ever try anything as drastic as that. That being said however, even though Salvatore doubted that Karl would ever try to rebel against Mother Miranda, it did seem like the younger man was trying very hard to get Salvatore onto his side for some reason. In fact, both Karl AND Mother Miranda appeared to be trying to sway the eldest Lord in their favor, though for what reason, he still had no idea.

It was definitely something that made Salvatore slightly wary of the both of them, though.

There’s nothing in this world that Salvatore hates more than doubting his beloved Mother, but even he couldn’t write this oddity of a situation off as a mere one-off incident or sudden change of Miranda’s tune. Mother has been acting very strangely recently, doing things she wouldn’t normally do and acting overly affectionate as if to try and throw everyone off her tracks, and the longer Salvatore thought about it, the more he couldn’t help but wonder, as painful as it was to admit, if maybe Karl was actually onto something.

Logically, he knows that Karl is just being Karl, looking to stir up some trouble for his own, and supposedly Salvatore’s, amusement, and that Mother Miranda is likely just trying to enjoy the time she has left with her children before she leaves on her mission. However, something in the back of Salvatore’s mind can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s more going on than he’s been led to believe by either of them. And as if this situation couldn’t get any more confusing for the deformed man, now his overly anxious and analytical mind was beginning to understand what Karl meant when he said there was something strange going on, no matter how much the rest of him practically screamed to just listen to Miranda like he always has.

Shaking his head of his scrambled thoughts and turning his focus back to his work, Salvatore decides that the best thing he can do right now is keep an ear to the ground on both Mother Miranda AND Karl, just to be fair. He still isn't sure if he plans on being 100% honest with Karl regarding their deal, but he supposes that maintaining a good relationship with the younger man wouldn’t hurt in the event he turned out to be right and Mother’s plan backfired on all of them.

Besides, if Karl did turn out to be right, and Salvatore was ready for if things took a bad turn, he could still be there to rescue Mother Miranda and ensure she’s brought to safety along with them. He’ll have successfully fulfilled his family duties to both Karl and Mother Miranda, without ever having to actually choose which side he was definitively on. A perfect plan if the mutant man says so himself. Now the only thing left to do between now and whenever things started getting interesting was work on the reservoir and wait for his gift to finally arrive, his mood regarding this whole situation greatly improved thanks to Karl’s visit.

Hopefully, if things went well, he’d have some exciting news to tell the younger man the next time they met up.

Maybe he’d even have a new friend to introduce.

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akatsukinojutsu · 4 years

Text

𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒮𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝐹𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈 - Uchiha Itachi

Your great, great grandfather Tobirama Senju never trusted the Uchiha and that trait was passed down to your grandfather. Your grandfather passed that to your father and he would be damned if you would be acquainted with one.

Just so happens that you fell in love with one, Uchiha Itachi. Although the two of you share a strong relationship but you sense him pulling away. One night sealed his fate and reputation -- you followed him there and you still do, even as Itachi has evolved to an Akatsuki member. [sorry it’s so long! originally posted on my ao3]

"You know you're my special girl, right?" your father was knelt down to meet your level and smiled as he rubbed the top of your head. "I entrust the future of the Senju name to you." he stood back up and looked down as his demeanor took on a more serious tone. He raised a finger and placed it on the tip of your nose, "No matter what you do, beware of the Uchiha, [Y/N]." Your father was the son of your grandfather, who was the son of Senju Tobirama and you were the last of the direct Tobirama bloodline. This caused your father to feel the weight of leaving the legacy of the Senju clan to you.

He raised you on his own as your mother passed away in childbirth, an emotional burden that the two of you carried. Your father kept you under his watch constantly as he did not trust the outside world and did not want you to be tainted. Your clan was known as being the "clan of a thousand skills". The wrong people could see a naïve child as being the best possible opportunity to use this power for evil. So, that is why your father kept you by his side at all times. This meant that you were not allowed to train as a shinobi like the other children of Konohagakure; he left that training up to himself. Who else to train a Senju than a Senju?

That also meant that he passed down the distrust of the rival Uchiha clan. Great grandfather Tobirama taught Uchiha mistrust to his son, who taught it to his, who then tried to teach it to you. You were headstrong however and did not believe that all Uchiha could be cunning and untrustworthy. No matter how much you argued with your father, it never got anywhere; so you learned to keep quiet on the subject. Unbeknownst to him, just the same as his great-uncle had befriended an Uchiha, you had as well.

His name was Uchiha Itachi and you met him long while exploring the village late at night. Since a young age, you often found yourself sneaking out of your house late at night to get away from your father's overbearing nature. It was a way that you could rebel against him but not hurt him in any serious way. Tonight was one of those nights that you snuck out... You walked into the woods on the outskirts of the village and ran up the tallest tree that you could find. But this time you knew that you weren't alone. Your forefinger looped through the hole at the top of the kunai in your waistband, throwing it into the trunk of the tree off to your right.

"Come out!" you yelled. But there was silence. You flashed a series of hand seals and summoned a stream of high-pressured water to spray from your mouth, "Water Release: Water Severing Wave!" -- and cut several treetops down in your path. Still no one appeared. Just as you were ready to jump to the next tree branch, a person dressed in an ANBU uniform and mask pounced from below and tackled you from the current branch. As the two of you tumbled to the forest's floor, you wrestled with the person to get the dominate position, however, they were too fast for you. With a thud you landed on a branch several yards below, the wind knocked out of you.

The person quickly regained the upper ground and lunged toward you; your foot was able to make a quick kick into their stomach which sent them flying into the adjacent to your current position. They arched their back and jumped to a standing position. With a sword in hand and with a lightening fast summoning technique, a flurry of crows flew at you. The bird swarmed you quickly, you waved your arms and hands wildly to try and shoo them away. This left you vulnerable for an attack, the ANBU opponent jumped into the air with their sword at the ready.

The Senju blood that flowed through your veins allowed your speed on your feet to be impeccable and you were able to dodge their attack as well as roll away from the flock of crows. The ninjutsu of crows had concluded which then the assailant began to barrage you with a flurry of kenjutsu attacks with their sword. Armed with only a kunai, you fended off their blows to the best of your abilities. Each slash of their sword pushed your strength to its near limits, your knees slowly bent as you started to fall into submission. With one last slash, the assailant brought you to your knees. With both hands on the hilt of the kunai and it being held above your head, you viciously held back their strength the best that you could.

The sword dug into your arm slightly, blood pooled from the slit in your skin. "Do you give up?" they asked. You considered giving up. But with one last ninjutsu attempt, you used your great grandfather's Heavenly Weeping jutsu. A water type ninjutsu that formed water into senbon shaped projectiles and shot from your mouth to stagger enemies. You dropped the kunai and the sword dug further into your arm. You strained to form the seals for the technique; however, you were successful in spitting several senbon into the person's thigh to get them to drop their guard; they recoiled in pain and released the sword.

This gave you the opportunity to jump backward with the kunai in hand and at the ready. "I'd say this is a draw." you dropped your stance and dropped to the ground with a huff. The opponent removed their mask and revealed the familiar face of the Uchiha boy, Itachi.

"I could've won, y'know?" you spoke first. Itachi winced at the pain but hummed in amusement at your statement, "Sure." He pulled out the senbon from his thigh, then stepped toward you to put out his hand to pick you up but you pushed it away. "I'll win. Sometime." Itachi hummed again. "I did once!" you sassed. "That's because I let you, [Y/N]." Your eyes narrowed in annoyance at the black haired teenager. He was two years younger than you but has excelled in his shinobi career far past yourself. Your father keeping you away from much of the village did not aid you in your advancement -- he wouldn't let you be free until you were 18 and that was just a possibility... "Whatever..." you growled as you placed your hands behind your head and walked toward the village.

"I miss seeing you outside of just sparring, Itachi." He nodded. It was not often that the two of you spent time together. It had to usually be outside of the village, in his home, or at night because you feared your father's reaction. "I've been busy," he said bluntly. "Busy? Busy doing what?" He looked over to you before turning his head away, "It's not important. Just stuff to do with the village." His response was short which usually meant he didn't want to talk about it. Your lips pressed together as you processed his response.

You knew that the leaders of the village wanted him to keep an eye on his clan and vice versa. But that is all that he would tell you. He was only 13 and had the weight of an adult on his shoulders. You admired him for his maturity and his skills. Not to mention, he was super cute. Itachi stopped a few yards from the entrance to the village. A cool breeze of wind blew and the night was now silent, no sounds of the wildlife anywhere. Itachi stared at you in silence, his thoughts were unknown to you. But he just stared. You shivered at the breeze, your hands rubbed your arms.

To your surprise, Itachi pulled you close and embraced you. He smelled of sweat and his skin was warm. Your face was pressed firmly into his chest by his right palm and you could hear his steady, loud heartbeat. His thumb caressed your hair and he rested his nose on the top of your head. He didn't say anything, so you didn't either. The two of you just stood in silence, the wind being the only sound. "I-," you tried speaking but he hushed you as he just wanted to be quiet. He let go of the back of your head but his hand moved to your chin. He placed two fingers under it and tilted your face back. You knew what was going to happen but you were so nervous that you didn't know how to react. Itachi placed a kiss on your lips. They were cool from the wind and it caused your skin on your face to tingle. It was a long kiss, both of your lips pressed against each other's for quite sometime. Before the kiss could move anywhere else, he pulled away.

"Goodnight, [Y/N]." he jumped to the top of the gates to the village and off into the darkness. It was as if you were featherlight and on cloud nine because the entire walk home felt like you were floating. You had the biggest crush on Itachi. Not only was he your first friend but he was the first person to see you as a normal kid, he didn't expect you to carry out the Hokage-Titled bloodline. So, it was only natural to develop feelings for someone like him. You admired his pacifist nature and the fact that he cared very much for those he admired. Despite sparring with you for fun, he tried to avoid fighting.

Versus your headstrong attitude that you inherited; it was like the two of you canceled each other out. Itachi's tendency to live on the outside and watching people from there really related to you. The way your father raised you caused you to develop a similar personality trait, however, you wish to be apart of more people's lives. You often listened to girls coo on how dreamy the Uchiha was and had to withhold your comments. It wasn't easy having to keep your friendship a hushed deal. But you decided it would end tonight. You were done with your father's ideals and his actions. You no longer wanted to be kept away like some sort of item only used for special occasions.

"I'm going to tell father about Itachi," you said to yourself. His kiss sealed the deal. You pushed yourself through the window of your bedroom to see your father sitting on your bed to your surprise. When you jumped from the window and landed, you bowed. "Father, I-," he raised his hand to interrupt you. "I know about the Uchiha boy, Sarutobi told me." The Third Hokage? Seriously? You damned the old man as you clenched your fist and teeth. "That's what I was going to talk about you tonight," you stomped your foot, "I'm done listening to you, father. I love Uchiha Itachi!" your face flushed red as you confessed your love. You awaited your father's reaction... But his face was absent of any... He pressed his lips tightly into a line and stood up from the bed.

"Is that so? Hmph, I should've guessed this would happen." He turned away from you and took a step toward the door, "I forbid you to see him any longer," he then left and closed the door behind him. With a flurry of hand seals, he pressed his palm against the door. "Sealing jutsu!" You heard him and rushed toward the door. No matter how hard you yanked and jiggled the doorknob, it wouldn't budge. "Shit!" you screamed as you wildly tugged wildly to try and open the door. There was no way you could undo his seal... he was far more powerful than you. With your back to the door, you slid down to the floor in a fit of tears.

You loudly cursed your father you wished for the unspeakable, 'I wish he'd just die already! I'm sick of this.' After shedding several tears, you decided to do something about it. Focusing your chakra, you remembered reading about how to break a seal. It might not work but it was worth a try. Your father sealed the entire room, windows and all; your target was the windows, least you could sneak out like usual. As you approached the rectangular sliding windows, you focused your chakra and placed your palm on the glass.

"Release!" and with a small tug, you quietly pulled the window to the right and it opened up. That was easier than you expected but it did take a bit of chakra. You pushed yourself out the window and took off into a sprint toward Itachi's home. Your father had a bad feeling and rushed to your room. He released his seal on the door and pushed it open, a gasp left his mouth. He gripped the knob tightly and when he released it, the metal had been crushed and warped from his strength.

"That damned girl!!" he yelled as he stomped to go and confront his daughter and the Uchiha. His blood boiled and he cursed the rival clan and his grandfather... if he would've just killed that damned Madara, his daughter wouldn't be running off with one of them right now... Just as he attempted to leave, a sudden pain in his chest stopped him in his tracks. He grabbed the left of his chest with his right hand and winced in pain.

"My...medicine...Tsunade..." he croaked as he staggered toward the kitchen to retrieve the medication given to him by his second cousin. However, he dropped to the floor. Dead. He had a previous condition and the stress from his only daughter going off with Itachi agitated the issue and ultimately killed him. The last of the Tobirama Senju bloodline now is you. You quickly made your way to Itachi. Your mind and heart raced with excitement and panic; you were ready to confess your love to the skilled shinobi but you were petrified of what your father will do. You were somewhat familiar with the section of town where the Uchiha resided but anytime you entered, you often got looks from the clan members...looks and whispers as to why you were there...

Despite how hard it was, you did your best to ignore them. At this time of night, the lights in their homes would glow warmly and feel inviting. But this time -- it was dark and silent. You halted as you entered the area and a chill shivered down your spine. It was so...quiet. Something was wrong. As you slowly made your way down the roads, you couldn't help but feel as if someone was keeping an eye on your from the shadows. You stopped several times to look around but nothing seemed to catch your attention. So, you continued on your way to Itachi's home but kept your guard up. You weren't just some schmuck of a kunoichi, whoever it was would have to put up with a fight if they were going to attack you. But there was several things laying on the ground up ahead. You were confused as the distance made it difficult to make out...people? You sprinted toward the bodies on the ground to try and aid them.

"They're...dead?!" you shrieked. There were large, gaping slash wounds in their bodies and the blood was fresh. "I-I," you stuttered as you now sprinted to find Itachi. You called out his name in panic, hoping, praying he was not dead. As you passed the empty homes of the clan, you could see the damage done to the building and splatters of blood in the street. You could hear the rush of footsteps running toward you and just before you could leap into the air, chains wrapped around your body and pulled you to the ground with a thud. You thrashed on the ground as you tried to break free and spouted insults at the thug who caught you.

They delivered a swift kick to your abdomen which made you cough loudly, "You talk too much," the stranger crouched down and you were able to get a good look. Their voice indicated that they were male but their identity was hidden behind an orange mask with black flame markings, his hair was long, black and spikey -- his outfit was one of dark colors of blue and black. "I-Itachi?" you stuttered out but they only replied with a chuckle. The man unsheathed his katana and raised it, you clenched your eyes shut as you were rendered practically useless as much of your chakra went to releasing your father's seal. Just as the man was ready to strike you, a hand grabbed hold of his wrist.

"No," you knew that voice. Your eyes opened and you wiggled wildly as you were shocked to see Itachi standing before you. "I-Itachi!" you exclaimed. He had splatters of blood on his outfit and his katana was in the grasp of his opposite hand to the one that was holding onto the masked assailant. His eyes were red with his sharingan and you put the pieces together rather quickly. "You, you did this?" your voice shook. Itachi released his hold on the man's wrist and returned his katana to its holder. The masked man released you from the chains and Itachi helped bring you to a stand.

"I don't understand..." you continued to iterate your concerns. But the masked man interrupted, "Itachi, she is a loose end," but Itachi turned his head and stared the man down, you could feel the stillness in the air as the tension rose between the two. "She goes free." The man did not protest and merely crossed his arms. "I won't say anything, I swear!" you pleaded. "I have no one to tell! I will take this to my grave," you continued but Itachi's hands touching both sides of your face ceased your panicking. "[Y/N], go. Now!" he pressed his forehead against yours. You could see his jaw tense as if he was holding back emotion.

"I said go!" he pulled away, dropped his hands and pushed you away. You listened reluctantly but quickly took off in a sprint back toward the village. Your running was frantic and you could barely keep yourself upright as you tripped over several bodies sprawled out in the road. You looked back only once with tears in your eyes. Was the "busy" stuff he had to do involved with this? So many questions with no answers. And no hope for answers. The unknown man turned to Itachi, "Was that really a good idea, Itachi?"

Your beloved didn't reply but simply turned around to continue with the spree of death. You couldn't tell your father what had happened but you just craved his comfort. You knew his calm voice would sooth your anguish. However, you would never hear his tranquil tone again. When you discovered his body, your world shattered. Your last interaction with him was an argument and because you disobeyed.. he was dead.

You were now left alone in this world, you no longer had your father and would no longer have Itachi... "I heard that Kakashi and Guy intercepted Uchiha Itachi!" you could hear a fellow ANBU gossip to another operative. This peaked your interest as you leaned in to catch a whiff of their chattering. "I heard they were trying to get ahold of Uzumaki Naruto but were stopped. He and his partner got away, though." the other operative added. 'If it was not that long ago, maybe I can catch up with him...' you thought to yourself. You pushed yourself up from a chair you were sat in and went toward the window of the room on the upper floor of the Hokage's building. "Where are you going, [Y/N]?" your female compatriot asked.

"I have an errand to run," with that quick reply, you leaped from the window to the city below. "Damn it, Itachi. Why now? I've been trying to find you for years and you choose a day like today?" you muttered to yourself as you leaped between buildings to head toward the forest. You had been kept under close watch from your fellow black ops as some began to suspect things from your past. Ever since that night that you witnessed what Itachi had done and your father passed, you have dedicated your life to being secretive

Being an ANBU meant that your life was already shrouded in darkness and secrecy. But it was only the curiosity of your fellow ANBU to question things from your past. You were aware of their heightened suspicions, especially after the ANBU ops discovered that you were the last to see Uchiha Itachi outside of the clan's residence the night he slaughtered them all. "Itachi, I think we have ourselves a visitor," Kisame noted. The two missing-nin jumped from tree to tree and were several miles away from Konohagakure. He was surprised by the unwelcomed guest's speed but remained calm as he needed to decide how to handle the situation. You could see two figures ahead of you and struggled to make out who they were; all you could see were two black cloaks with red clouds.

You performed the Multi-Shadow Clone jutsu and instructed them to try and flank the two. Again, since you were a descendent of Senju, your speed was more than impressive. (your great-grandfather wasn't hailed as the fastest shinobi for nothing) Several of your clones were able to flank the two and they came to a halt. "Say, should we put up a fight or what?" Kisame asked with a smile and began to remove Samehada from his back. But Itachi stopped him with a raised hand, his eyes narrowed as he studied the clones.

"Stop you two!" you called out as you approached the scene. Itachi turned his head slightly and his onyx eyes gazed at you through the slits of your ANBU mask. Your heart stopped and it was as if the world melted around you. The two of you remained silent as you stared into each other's eyes. Kisame made note of this and busted a small joke as he wondered what his partner was thinking. You removed your mask and revealed your identity to the two. "Who's this tall glass of cool water, Itachi? You seem to know each other." Kisame joked again with a grin on his face.

But Itachi remained quiet and his gaze never left you. "Uchiha Itachi! I finally found you, after a long,long time." you jumped to the branch directly in front of them. You dropped to your knee and a flurry of emotions washed over you. You trembled slightly as you tried to fight back any tears that might have been trying to break through. "[Y/N]..." he finally spoke, his voice sounded just the same as when you last heard it. He seemed to have aged some, must be 21 by now. "So... you do know each other. Interesting..." Kisame said amusingly as he witnessed the interaction. Itachi turned toward him, "Kisame, leave us. I will meet with you back at base later."

Kisame opened his mouth to protest but Itachi lowered his brows, the blue skinned man complied and took off in the direction that they were already heading in. He returned his attention to you. As you stood there like a confused child, he jumped over to you and raised his hands then placed them on the sides of your face. It reminded you of that night. His thumbs which were now painted blue and a red ring on his right ring finger. He still remained quiet as the two of you stood in the forest, just like old times.

"Just like the old days..." you whispered as your eyes studied his matured face. He hummed and stared back. You pressed your lips together before you pressed them onto his. You knew that he was caught off guard by it because he took a step back to keep steady on the branch. He hesitated for a moment, his hands in the air on either side of himself before they rested on your shoulders. You exchanged more kisses as the passion began to heat up between the two of you. Itachi pushed you back several steps until your back met the trunk. As the kissing continued, hands roamed freely over each other's bodies as you discovered your now adult forms. He was the first to pull away, his hair was a mess and his cloak was disheveled. You tried to pull him back from the collar of his cloak but he pulled away again. "[Y/N]..."

You tried several more times to pull him into more kissing but Itachi objected. "[Y/N], I need to go and so do you." as he tried to turn away, you yanked him back. "No!" you barked. "I finally have you here and you are trying to leave," your gaze dropped and tears welled in your eyes. "Take me with you." Itachi shook his head as he brushed his hair from his face, "Out of the question." You took a step toward him as you pulled out your katana from its holster on your back. You raised it up to his throat with both hands on the hilt. "I am going with you, Uchiha. No buts about it."

Itachi didn't seemed startled by your reaction and simply pushed the blade away with his pointer and middle finger tips. "You're willing to disown Konohagakure?" Your jaw tightened as you turned away, your eyes fixating on the direction of the village. "There is nothing there for me. I only joined the ANBU because I knew it was a way to utilize my skills. I think my father would've liked that" you took the ANBU mask out from a side pouch and discarded it to the side. As the mask tumbled to the forest floor, it took your allegiance to the village with it. You took a knee and submitted yourself over to Itachi.

"But he's dead and I am fully willing to come with you, Itachi," your eyes raised from the ground up to him. He looked down to you as his height shadowed over you. The Uchiha hummed and a small smile spread across his lips; he leant out his hand to you. You returned the smile and took it. Finally reunited with the Uchiha. A Senju and an Uchiha? Who would've guessed. "Will you ever explain that night to me, Itachi?" you asked, he was quiet for a moment before answering,

"Yes, in time, [Y/N]."

#naruto imagines #naruto imagine #itachi x reader #itachi uchiha x reader #reader x itachi #reader x itachi uchiha #itachi/reader #itachi uchiha/reader #reader/itachi #reader/itachi uchiha #itachi imagine #itachi uchiha imagine #itachi imagines #itachi uchiha imagines #naruto fanfiction #naruto #itachi uchiha

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Dark”

Welcome back, everyone! Can you believe it's been six weeks already? I can't. Something something the uncomfortable passage of time during a pandemic as emphasized by a web-series.

But we're here to talk about RWBY the fictional story, not RWBY the cultural icon. At least, we will in a moment. First, I'd like to acknowledge that shaky line between the two, growing blurrier with every volume. A sort of good news, bad news situation.

The bad news — to get that out of the way — is that we cannot easily separate RWBY from its authors and those authors have, sadly, been drawing a lot of negative attention as of late. This isn't anything new, not at all, but I think the unexpectedly long hiatus gave a lot of fans (myself included) the chance to think about Rooster Teeth's failings without getting distracted by their biggest and brightest production. There's a laundry list of problems here — everything from the behavior of voice actors to the quality of their merch — but as a sort of summary issue, I'd like to highlight the reviews that continue to pop up on websites like Glassdoor, detailing the toxic, sexist, crunch-obsessed environment that RT employees are forced to work in. A lot of these websites requires a login to read more than a page of reviews, but you can check out a Twitter thread about it here.

Now, I want to be clear: I'm not bringing this up as a way to shame anyone enjoying RWBY. This isn't a simplistic claim of, "The authors are Problematic™ and therefore you can't like the stuff they produce." Nor is this meant to be a catch-all excuse for RWBY's problems. If it were, I'd have dropped these recaps years ago. I'm of the belief that audiences maintain the right to both praise and criticize the work they're given, regardless of the context in which that work was produced. At the end of the day, RT has presented RWBY as a finished product and, more than that, presents it as an excellent product, one worth both our emotional investment and our money (whether in the form of paying for a First account, or encouraging us to buy merch, attend cons, etc.) I'll continue to critique RWBY as needed, but I a) wanted fans to be at least peripherally aware of these issues and b) clarify that my use of "RT" in statements like, "I can't believe RT is screwing up this badly" is meant to be a broad, nebulas acknowledgement that someone in the company is screwing up, either creatively (doesn't have the skill to write a good scene) or morally (hasn't created an environment in which other creators are capable of crafting a good scene). The real, inner workings of such companies are mostly a secret to their audiences and thus it's near impossible for someone like me — random fan writing these for fun as a casual side hobby — to accurately point fingers. Hence, broad "RT." I just wanted to clarify that when I use this it's as a necessary placeholder for whoever is actually responsible, not a damnation of the overworked animator breaking down in a bathroom. Heavy stuff, but I thought it was necessary (or at least worthwhile) to acknowledge this issue as we head into the second half of the volume.

Now for the good news: RWBY has reached 100 episodes! For any who may not know, 100 is a pretty significant number in the TV world because, when talking about prime time programming, it guarantees syndicated reruns. Basically, networks don't want audiences to get burned out with a show — changing the channel when it comes on because ugh, I've seen this already, recently too — and 100 episodes allows for a roughly five month run without any repeats, making it very profitable. RWBY is obviously not a television show and doesn't benefit from any of this (hell, modern television doesn't benefit from this as much as it used to, not in the age of streaming), but the 100 episode threshold is still ingrained in American culture. Beyond just being a nice, rounded number, it is historically a measure of huge success and I can't imagine that RT isn't aware of that. Regardless of what we think of RWBY's current quality, this is one hell of a milestone and should be applauded.

All that being said... RWBY's quality is definitely still lacking lol.

Our 100th episode is titled "Dark" — keeping with the one word titles, then — and I'd like to emphasize that, as a 100th episode, it definitely delivers in terms of plot. There's plenty of action, important character beats, and at least one major reveal, everything we'd expect from a milestone and a Part II premiere. The animation also continues to be noteworthy for its beauty, as I found myself admiring many of the screenshots I took for this recap. There are certainly things to praise. The only problem (one we're all familiar with by now) is that these small successes are situated within a narrative that's otherwise falling apart. It's all good stuff... provided you ignore literally everything else surrounding it.

But let's dive into some examples. We open on Qrow starting, awoken by the thunder outside. Robyn has been watching him and makes a peppy comment about how none of them will be sleeping tonight, followed by a more serious, "Sounds bad out there." Yeah, it does sound bad, especially when they all know — thanks to Ruby's message back in Volume 7 — that this is due to Salem's arrival. I think a lot of the fandom has forgotten that little detail because people often discuss Qrow as if he is entirely ignorant of what is going on outside his cell. Even if we were to assume that he's forgotten all about the pesky Salem issue (the horror of Clover's death overriding everything else, perhaps) he still knows that Tyrian is running loose in a heat-less city with a creepy storm going on and, from his perspective, the Very Evil Ironwood is still running the show. So it's bad, which begs the question of why Qrow (and Robyn, for that matter) hasn't displayed an ounce of legitimate worry for everyone he knows out there. Thus far, their interactions have centered entirely around Qrow's misplaced blame and Robyn's terrible attempts to lighten the mood, despite the fact that a war is raging right beyond that wall. It's another example of RWBY's inability to manage tone properly, to say nothing of balancing the multiple concerns any one character should be trying to juggle. Just as it rankles that Ruby and Yang don't seem to care about what has happened to their uncle, Qrow likewise doesn't seem to care about what might be happening to his nieces. When did we reach a point where these relationships are so broken that someone can be arrested/chucked into a deadly battle and the others just... ignore that?

So Robyn's otherwise innocuous comment immediately reminds me of how badly the narrative has treated these conflicts and, sadly, things don't improve much from here. We are thankfully spared more of Robyn's jokes when Qrow realizes that what he's hearing can't be thunder. A second later, Cinder blasts through the wall — called it! — and Qrow instinctively transforms.

The only downside to this moment is that the whole ceiling falls down on Qrow and the others because APPARENTLY these cells don't have tops on them. Seriously. As far as I can recall we don't see the stone breaking through the forcefield somehow and this looks pretty open to me.

If it is... you're telling me these crazy powerful fighters who practice landing strategies and leap tall buildings in a single bound —

— can't just hop over this mildly high electric fence to get out? Qrow can't just fly away?

We're, like, two minutes in, folks.

We transfer to Nora's perspective as she wakes up, seeing Klein giving her the IV. He tells her not to worry, that "you and your friend are going to be just fine." What friend? Penny? Klein went upstairs prior to Weiss hugging Whitley or Penny crash landing outside. I had thought them bursting through the door with another unconscious friend was the first time he learned what the big bang outside was, but apparently not.

Penny is, obviously, a mess. While I now understand the choice to make her blood such an eye-catching color when that's crucial to the Hound's hunt, I still think it looks strange visually. Like someone has taken a copy of RWBY and painted over it. It doesn't look like it fits the art style. More than that, it implies some rather complicated things about Penny's humanity, especially in a volume focused around her being a "real girl." Real enough for Maiden powers, but with obviously inhuman blood that isn't even referred to as "bleeding." Penny "leaks" instead.

Toss in the fact that she's literally an android who is made up of tech — recall the running gags about her being heavy, or it hurts to fist-bump her, to say nothing of keeping things like multiple blades inside her body — yet Klein says that her "basic anatomy" is the same and he can "stitch up that wound."

I'm sorry, what? Whatever Penny looks like on the inside, it's not going to resemble a human woman's anatomy, and Klein might be able to stitch the outer layer of skin she's got, but that won't do anything to fix whatever metal bits have been broken underneath. Penny isn't a human-robot hybrid, she's a robot with an aura. Penny has knives in her back, rockets in her feet, and a super computer behind her eyes. When our clip introduced that Klein would be the one to help Penny, my initial reaction was, "Seriously? He's a butler and a doctor and an engineer?" But RWBY didn't even try to get away with a Super Klein explanation, they just waved away Penny's very obvious, inhuman anatomy. Yeah, I'm sure "stitching up" an android wound is just like giving Nora her IV. I hope the surgical sutures he used are extra strong!

In an effort to not entirely drag this episode, I do appreciate that Whitley is allowed an "ugh" moment about the non-blood covering his shirt without anyone calling him out on it. That felt like the sort of thing the show would usually try to make a character feel guilty about and I'm glad that, for once, he was just allowed to be frustrated without comment.

Then the power goes out and May calls, which raises questions about what state the CCTS is in and when scrolls are available to our protagonists vs. when they're not. But whatever. She's checking in because she just "saw another bombing run light up the Kingdom" and —

Wait. Bombing? Salem is bombing the city? I know we've seen explosions in the sky, but I'd always just attributed that to evil aesthetic. Why does this dialogue sound like it's from a World War II film and not a fantasy sci-fi show about literal monsters launching a ground attack?

May looks pretty against the sky though. I like her hair color against that purple.

I'm admittedly grasping at positives here because we finally return to her "You have to choose" ultimatum and — surprise! — May has pulled back completely. Ruby says that once they've helped Penny, "We'll...we'll do something!" which is once again her avoiding making a decision. Ruby still refuses to choose, instead falling back on generic, optimistic pep talks. They'll figure out how to stop Salem later. They'll think about the impact of telling the world later. They'll choose who to help later. Ruby keeps pushing these problems into the future where, she hopes, a perfect, magical solution will have appeared for her to latch onto. When that continues to not happen, others pressuring her to actually do something and stop waiting for perfection — Ironwood, Yang, May — she panics and continues stalling for time. Wait an episode and the narrative supports her in this.

Because initially May was forcing Ruby to decide. Now, May enables her desire to keep putting things off. "Don't beat yourself up, kid. At this point, I don't know how much is left to be done." That's the exact opposite of what May believed last episode, that there was still so much work and good to do for the people of Mantle. This is precisely what the show did with Yang and Ren's scenes too, having people call Ruby out... but then return to a message of, 'Don't worry, you're actually doing just fine' before Ruby is forced to actually change.

None of which even touches on May calling her "kid" in this moment. That continues to be a convenient way of absolving Ruby of any responsibility. When she wants to steal airships or Amity Tower, she's an adult everyone should listen to, the leader of this war. When the story wants to absolve her of previously mentioned flaws, she becomes a kid who shouldn't "beat herself up." I said years ago that RWBY couldn't continue to let the group be both children and adults simultaneously, yet here we are.

So that was a thoroughly disappointing scene. Ruby gets her moment to look sad and defeated, listing "the grimm, the crater, Nora, Penny" as problems she doesn't know how to solve. Note that 'Immortal witch attacking the city I've helped trap here' isn't included in that list. Ruby is still ignoring Salem herself and no one in the group is picking up where May left off, challenging her to do more than wring her hands over things others are already trying to take care of: Ironwood is fighting the grimm, May has gone off to help the crater, Klein is patching up Nora and Penny. Ruby, as one flawed individual, should not be expected to come up with a solution to everything, but she does need to stop acting like she can come up with a solution to everything when it matters most (office scene) and rejecting others' solutions when they ask for her help (Ironwood, May).

If it feels like I'm dragging the flawed, traumatized teenager too much, it's not in an effort to ignore those aspects of her identity. Rather, it's because she's also the licensed huntress who wrested control from a world leader and violently demanded she be put in charge of this battle. Ruby, by her own actions, is now responsible for dealing with these problems, or admitting she was wrong and letting others take the lead, without purposefully derailing their plans. She doesn't get to suddenly go, "I don't know," cry a little, and get sympathetic pats.

But of course that's precisely what happens, courtesy of Weiss.

During this whole scene I kept wondering why no one was celebrating Nora waking up, especially when Ruby outright mentions her. Have they just not noticed given all the Penny drama? Because Nora absolutely woke up.

Aaaand went back to sleep, I guess. What was the point of that POV shot? No worries though, she'll wake up again in a minute.

Willow arrives and announces that they can fix the power (and Penny) using the generator at the edge of the property. I'm convinced RT doesn't actually know what a generator is because the characters are acting like it's some super special device that only richy-rich could possibly have. Whitley says that it's the SDC executives who have their "own power supply" and that it's "extremely unfair." Now, don't get me wrong, a good generator powering large portions of your house can run you 30k+, but you can also get one that plugs into your extension cord and powers your fridge for a couple hundred. There's absolutely a class issue here, just not the one Whitley and Weiss seem to be commenting on. They make a generator sound like the sort of device that only a politician-CEO could possible have and it's weird.

Likely, it sounds weird because it's a choppy way of getting Whitley to bring up the wealth disparity so he can then go, 'That's right! We're crazy rich with a company housing tons of ships! We can use those to evacuate Mantle.' Awkwardness aside, I do like that the Schnee wealth is being used for good purposes, but... evacuate where? To the city currently under attack by a giant whale? In a RWBY that wasn't determined to demonize Ironwood, this would have been a great plot point during the office scene instead, with Weiss offering her services to Ironwood, even if the group decides that a continued evacuation still isn't possible.

Instead, we get it here from Whitley. Do I need to point out the obvious? That Whitley is the MVP of this episode? He's done more good in an HOUR than the group has managed in a year. Give this kid some training and make him a huntsmen instead.

We're given a (very pretty!) shot of the shattered moon because it wouldn't be RWBY if we weren't continually reminded that gods once wiped out humanity before destroying part of a celestial body... and absolutely no one talks about that lol.

Blake's coat might not make any sense for her color scheme, but it does make her easy to spot as she and Ruby run across the grounds. Oh my god, they're actually doing something together! It only took eight years. They even get a lovely talk where Blake admits how much she looks up to Ruby, despite her being younger, and once again I'm struck at how much more I would have loved this scene if it had appeared elsewhere in the series. It is, indeed, as sweet and emotional as all the RWBY GIF-ers are claiming... provided you overlook that this is the exact opposite of what Ruby needs to hear right now. She doesn't need to hear that she's more mature and reliable than her elders when she's functioning under a "We don't need adults" mentality. She doesn't need to hear that not knowing what to do is totally fine, not when that led to her turning on Ironwood, despite not knowing how to stop Salem. She doesn't need to hear that "doing something" — doing anything — is a strength, because Ruby keeps avoiding the big problems for smaller ones she's comfortable with, like standing by Penny's bedside instead of deciding between Mantle and Atlas. Blake's speech is heartfelt, but it's a speech that suits a Beacon days Ruby who is having some doubts about her leadership skills, not the girl whose impulsive — and now lack of — actions is having world-wide repercussions. Everyone is babying Ruby to a staggering degree. It's like if we had a med show where the doctor is standing by the bedside of a coding patient, fretting between two treatments. 'Don't worry,' their colleague says, patting their shoulder. 'I've always looked up to you. You'll do something when you're ready' and then they continue to watch the patient, you know, die.

Also: who does Ruby look up to? Everyone talks about how much they depend on and trust Ruby, but who does Ruby look to for guidance? A number of her problems stem from the fact that she has rejected the advice of everyone who has tried to help her improve: Qrow, Ozpin, Ironwood, even Yang. Ruby is presented as the pinnacle of what to strive for in a leader, rather than a leader who has only been doing this for two years and still has a great deal to learn.

Anyway, they get the generator on and the Hound shows up.

I am begging RT to just make RWBY a horror story. All their best scenes the last three years have been horror I am bEGGING —

Anyway, while Ruby waits to be eaten we cut to Willow and Klein, the former of which is reaching for her bottle, pulling back, reaching again, all while her hand shakes. This is good. This is what we should have gotten with Qrow. Which isn't to say that their (or anyone's) addiction should be identical, but rather that this is a far more engaging and complex look at addiction than what our birb got. Willow tells us that she doesn't drink in the dark despite bringing the bottle with her; tries to resist drinking when she's scared and ultimately fails. Qrow just decided to stop drinking after decades of addiction, seemingly for no reason, and that was that. Why is a side character we only met this volume written better than one of the main cast?

Blake manages to call Weiss about the Hound and she asks if Whitley can handle the airships without her. I mean, I assume so given that Weiss is looking at the bookshelves while Whitley does all the work lol. He makes a teasing comment about how he can if she can handle that grimm and she comments that they still need to work on his "attitude."

No they don't. Weiss stuck a weapon in her kid brother's face. Whitley made a joke. Even if Weiss' comment is likewise meant to be read as teasing, it's clear that we've bypassed any meaningful conversation between them. That hug was supposed to be a Fix Everything moment even though, as I've laid out elsewhere, it didn't even come close.

We cut back to Ruby getting thrown through a wall into the backyard and the Hound creepily coming after her. She's freaked out by this clearly abnormal grimm and Blake is weirdly... not? "It's just a grimm. Just focus!" Uh, it's obviously not. Have we reached the traumatized, sleep-deprived point where the group is sinking into full-blown denial? I wouldn't be surprised. They've been awake for like... 40+ hours.

Because the Hound knocks Ruby out with a single hit. Just, bam, she's down. "Focusing" is not the solution here.

Weiss calls to warn the others about the grimm, telling them to stick together. Willow (understandably) starts freaking out and flees the room (classic horror trope!). Klein is left alone when Penny wakes up with red eyes. Oh no!

Don't worry. You know nothing meaningful happens.

She shoves Klein before (somehow?) resisting the hack, her Maiden powers going wild in the process. Just when it looks as if Penny might cause some serious damage, Nora wakes up, takes her hand, and says, I kid you not:

"Hey... no one is going to make you do anything you don't want to do... It's just a part of you. Don't forget about the rest."

Okay. I want to re-emphasize that I love hopeful, uplifting, victory-won-through-the-power-of-love stories. Istg I'm not dead inside, it's just that RWBY does this so badly. I mean, what is this? It has similarities to the character shouting, 'No! Resist!' to their mind-controlled ally, but this is not presented as a desperate, last-ditch effort by Nora. She just speaks like this is the most obvious truth in the world. If you don't want to have your mind taken over... just don't! It's that simple. The problem definitely isn't that Watts has changed her coding and has implemented a command she can't override, it's that Penny has forgotten about the "rest" of her personhood.

And this works. Granted, not for long, but we leave Nora having successfully calmed Penny down and until her eyes unexpectedly go red again scenes later, we're left assuming that this is a permanent solution. That, imo anyway, is taking the Power of Love too far, overriding the basic reality of Penny being hacked. It’s not a personal failing she must overcome, it’s an external attack. I would have rather had Nora react to the scars she saw on her arm, or have a moment with Klein, or get some love from the group. Not a wakes up, falls asleep, wakes up again to save Penny with a Ruby level 'Just ignore reality' pep-talk, then back to sleep again.

So Penny isn't attacking her allies, or mistakenly hurting her allies with wild Maiden powers. Not that the group doesn't have enough to deal with, but still. Weiss arrives to help with the Hound and attempts a new summon, only to fail when two minor grimm burrow up into her glyphs. I really enjoyed that moment, both for the wing visual and the knowledge that Weiss' glyphs can fail if you break them somehow (which makes sense). Also, I just like that she failed in general? Weiss is, as per usual now, about to demonstrate just how OP she is compared to the rest of the team, so it was nice to see her faltering here.

The Hound tries to make off with Ruby and Blake does an excellent job of keeping it tethered. Ruby finally wakes, only to realize that the grimm is actually after Penny since it's staring at her power up through the window, no longer trying to escape. Moments like this remind me that there's someone on RT's writing team that knows what they're doing, at least some of the time. The assumption that the Hound is after Ruby as a SEW, the surprise that it's actually Penny, realizing it holds up because Ruby is covered in Penny's blood and Blake is not... that's all nice, tight plotting. More of that please!

The Hound drops her and Ruby's aura shatters when she hits the ground. I want everyone to remember this moment as an example of how strong the Hound is. The group may be tired, but unlike YJR they've been sitting around in the Schnee manor for a number of hours, regaining strength. We saw the Hound hit Ruby twice — once through the wall and once to knock her out — and then she falls from a not very high distance for a huntress, yet her aura is toast. That's the level of power and skill the Hound possesses. Decimating YJR, knocking Oscar out, same for Ruby, avoiding Blake and Weiss' hits, soon to treat Penny like a ragdoll. Just remember all this for the episode's end.

Blake tells Weiss she'll take care of Ruby, you go help the others. Yay breaking up the duos more! Bad timing though as the new acid-spitting grimm pops out of the ground and Blake is now left alone to face it.

Weiss re-enters the mansion, knowing the Hound is somewhere nearby, but not where. Suddenly, Willow's voice sounds through her scroll with an, "Above you!" which... doesn't keep Weiss from getting hit lol. But it's the thought that counts! Willow has accessed the cameras she's set up throughout the manor, watching the Hound's movements, and I have to say, that is a WAY better use of her separation from Klein than I thought we were getting. I legit thought they'd have Willow run away in a panic, meet the Hound, die, and then Weiss could be sad about losing her mom.

It does say something about RWBY's writing that this was my knee-jerk theory, as well as my surprise when we got something way better.

The Hound runs off, uninterested in Weiss, and she asks Willow to keep tabs on it. It heads for Whitley next (also covered in Penny's blood) and very creepily stalks him in the office with a, "I know you're here." Whitley is seconds away from being Hound chow before one of Weiss' boars pin it against the wall. He runs, then runs BACK to finish deploying the airships, before finally escaping assumed death. Goddamn this boy is pulling his weight.

I assume all these ships are automated then? I hope someone takes a moment to call May. Otherwise it's going to be super weird for the Mantle citizens if a fleet of SDC ships just show up and hover there...

I don't entirely understand how Weiss saved him though. She's nowhere to be seen when Whitley leaves and he runs a fair distance before he and Willow encounter Weiss again. We know her summons don't have to keep right next to her, but are they capable of rudimentary thought, attacking an enemy — and an enemy only — despite Weiss being a couple corridors down and unable to see the current battlefield? I don't know. In another series I'd theorize that this was a deliberate hint, a way to clue us into the fact that Willow, someone who we currently know almost nothing about, had training in the past and summoned the boar herself. Weiss and Winter certainly didn't get that hereditary skill from Jacques. Hell, we might still get that, Weiss reacting with confusion next episode when Whitley thanks her for the boar, but I doubt it. That scene with Ruby and the Hound aside, the show isn't this good at laying groundwork and then following up on it.

Case in point: Weiss says, "I didn't forget you" to Whitley after he gets away from the Hound, the moment trying to harken back to her promise to Willow. Key word is "trying." Because she absolutely forgot him! Weiss threatened and ignored Whitley until he proved his usefulness. I also shouldn't need to point out that, "Don't forget your brother" does not mean, "Don't let your brother die a horrible death by abnormal grimm." Weiss acts like her saving him is a fulfillment of her promise, rather than just the most basic of human decency. And also, you know, her job.

So that part is frustrating. The entire Schnee dynamic is a mess, from Weiss making a joke of her father's arrest, to Willow (presumably) fixing their relationship by putting a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Okay.

Then Weiss cuts off the Hound by summoning a giant wall of ice. My brain, every time this happens:

YOU COULD HAVE FIXED THE HOLE IN MANTLE'S WALL.

Moving on, Blake's fight against the acid... thing has some great choreography, including Blake using her semblance which we haven't seen in AGES.

I really like the fight itself, just not what Blake is shouting the whole time. "I need you, Ruby! We all need you!" This has really gotten ridiculous. Ruby is presented as everyone's sole savior despite failing time and time again. It's not that I don't think Blake as a character should have faith in her leader, it's that I don't think the writers should be crafting a story where everyone puts their unshakable hopes in an untrained, disloyal, impulsive 17 year old. I mean, Ruby is currently unconscious, yet Blake is acting like if she doesn't wake up — she, as an individual, if Ruby Rose does not re-join this fight — then all is lost. If Ruby doesn't save them, no one can. Which is, of course, absurd on numerous levels. Blake doesn't need the passed out, aura-less Ruby right now, she needs the still very healthy Weiss pulling out multiple summons and an ice wall! Use your scroll and call for backup again.

But of course, Ruby wakes up and kills the new, terrifying grimm with a single hit. It's a preview of what's to come with the Hound and it's just as ridiculous here as it will be there.

Speaking of the Hound, am I the only one who thought this was... cute?

I can't possibly be the only one. That head-tilt is exactly what my dogs do and my brain instinctively went, "Aww, puppy!"

Murderous puppy.

The Hound realizes none of the Schnees are who it's looking for and runs off. Penny, meanwhile, has been fully taken over because, well, that's just what's convenient now. She resists long enough keep Amity up, then succumbs, then resists to apologize to Ruby, then succumbs, then resists because Nora asked her to, then succumbs once it's time to knock her out. If RWBY was willing to commit to consequences, Penny would have been taken over and that was that. The characters would need to deal with whatever outcome happens as a result. Instead, the show very carefully avoids any of those pesky consequences by having Penny successfully resisting at key moments, despite no explanation of how she's managing that.

She shoves Klein again (Klein is having a Bad Time) and starts walking down the main steps. When Whitley wants to know where the hell she's going, Penny mechanically responds that she must "Open the vault, then self-destruct." I suppose the change Watts made was the self-destruct order? Ironwood obviously wants the vault open, though not necessarily Penny's death. Think what you will of his moral compass, she's a damn powerful ally — a research project, perhaps — and a Maiden to boot. At the very least, her death may give the powers to someone even worse.

God, please don't let them have brought Penny back and made her a Maiden just to kill her again.

The Hound arrives though and, as said, knocks Penny out. We're back to square one with her, then. Note though that this attack is near instantaneous. She grabs its hands one second, is hanging limply the next. Wow, the Hound sure is a terrifying antagonist!

Not for long.

"That's enough," Ruby says and one-shots it with her eyes.

Now, I want to talk for a moment about the implications of that line. "That's enough." Obviously Ruby is #done with this situation and emotionally unwilling to let the Hound kidnap Penny (congratulations, Nuts and Dolts shippers), but there's a meta reading here as well. Not intentional, but glaring to me nonetheless. Basically, the idea that the Hound has, from a plot perspective, done enough. It has served its singular purpose. It kidnapped Oscar and now it dies. Never-mind how insanely powerful we've established the Hound to be, never-mind how Ruby's eyes also work or don't work according to whether anything of actual import is on the line. From a plot perspective "that's enough" and the Hound can be disposed of instantly. It got Oscar and gave us an episode of filler creepiness. Move along now.

The idea behind Ruby's eyes isn't bad, but the execution absolutely is. RT has undermined a huge portion of the stakes by giving their protagonist an instant kill-shot that always works precisely when she needs it to. Starting with the Apathy, we have yet to get a moment where Ruby's eyes fail to save the day when she really needs them to, no matter how incredible the challenge. The Hound was very intentionally written to be a grimm outside of the group's current power level. It thinks, it talks, they literally can't touch it. This creates the expectation that the group will need to grow stronger — or at least become smarter — in order to surmount this new obstacle, yet Ruby's eyes undermine all of that. The group hasn't grown in years, the show just makes enemies weaker as needed (Ace Ops), or has Ruby pull out her eyes as a trump card. It wouldn't be that bad if we'd at least gotten a good battle out of it, one where the group gets close to defeating the Hound on their own, but needs Ruby's eyes to finish it off. Instead, she literally walks up without any aura, announces to the audience that this antagonist's time is up, and blasts it out a window.

Granted, Ruby's eyes don't completely finish it. The Hound pulls itself to its feet and we see this.

Yup, that's a guy and yup, those are silver eyes.

I would like to issue a formal apology to the "It's secretly Summer!" theorists in the fandom. I mean, I still think it would be ridiculous (and at this point highly improbable) that Ruby's dead mother has actually been a grimm mutant this whole time, just hanging out in Salem's realm while she waits for the plot to start before attacking the world, and then sends some no-name faunus dude after the group instead of their leader's mother for extra, emotional torture... but you all were definitely right about the “It's a person” part! I... don't know how I feel about this. Admittedly, it seems to be a logical continuation of the other grimm-human hybrids we've seen — namely Cinder and Salem herself — and it finally explains why Salem wants Ruby alive (even though it actually doesn't because WHY did she want more SEWs for Hound grimm when she wasn't even attacking back then? And already has all these other insanely powerful tools??), but at the same time, it feels like it's complicating a story that doesn't need further complications. The group fights monsters and has an immortal enemy. You don't need to add 'Some of those monsters are secretly human' to the mix.

It doesn't hurt that this twist is giving me Attack on Titan vibes, which, ew. A dark time in my fandom life, folks.

The Hound staggers a few steps before Whitley and Willow dump a suit of armor on it. That's all it takes to kill the most dangerous grimm we've ever seen: a single flash of silver eyes and some heavy metal. This also wreaks havoc with the implication that Salem wants SEWs alive because they create such powerful grimm. Obviously not. I mean yeah, normal huntsmen are going to have serious problems, we’ve seen that this volume, but any other SEWs nearby will take a Hound out instantaneously. For a villain with so many other powerful abilities — immortality, magic, endless normal grimm, her nifty soup — Salem would be much better served just killing SEWs straight out. Clearly, creating Hounds isn't worth the effort.

The Hound leaves some bones behind and Ruby collapses to her knees, overcome with the knowledge that this was once a person. Again, uncomfortable Attack on Titan parallels.

We finish our premiere with Cinder clearing away rubble to reveal Watts. Honestly, I like that we ended on this because her rescue is hilarious. She just slings him over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes and blasts off with her magic fire feet. Fantastic.

Note though that with this scene we've seen almost everything from the clip and the trailer. What's to come in the rest of Volume 8? No idea. Outside of Winter leading the charge with the bomb, we got it all here.

Time to update the bingo board!

I'm crossing off "Introducing new grimm that are quickly abandoned." Between the Hound and acid-dude both falling to a single blast/cut from Ruby, we've more than earned this square.

It doesn't look as if we'll get another Watts-Jacques team-up now that he's left, but you never know.

Maria's got me worried. I feel like her Yoda fight against Neo is the one thing she'll be allowed to do this volume, but given that we didn't see anyone except Ruby's group this episode, we don't yet know whether the story is now ignoring her and Pietro, or if they'll re-appear in another episode like YJR.

Qrow is free. Will he get a drink before trying to murder Ironwood? Perhaps.

Still no bingo :(

All in all, the episode was by no means horrible. I think there were lots of horrible parts, but also some legitimately well executed moments, fun action, and scenes that I can easily imagine as squee worthy if you lean back and squint. Everything is comparative and in the growing collection of bad RWBY episodes, this one isn't securing a top slot. Which doesn't mean I think it's good, just... not as bad as it could have been and primarily only bad due to long-running problems, not things this specific episode has done. That's my bar then, so low it has officially entered the underworld.

Still, RWBY is back and a part of me is eager to see where this volume takes us, for better or for worse.

Until next week! 💜

[Ko-Fi]

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #mymetas #rwby recaps #rwby dark

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 4 years

Note

Yandere fairytale au! Swan lake or jack the giant slayer with Joseph joestar or speedwagon or kars?

This will be a two part but I hope you enjoy

The princess who became a swan (pt1)

(Yandere Kars X Female Reader X Yandere Joseph)

You sat on a chair looking at the moon. You knew you could run away but even then you would never truly be free. Not while he still had control.

“My dear swan you’ve been looking at the moon for far too long” a deep voice spoke as you felt a large hand grip your shoulder.

“I thought you’d try to indulge yourself but it seems you’d rather mope around” he commented only to cause your hatred towards the male to grow. You turned your head back to see him. Long dark hair contoured his sharp face and pearly skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight.

He pulled one hand away, various rings with fine jewels covered his fingers. He rested his head on said hand before pulling a small smirk.

“So are you done being so miserable? I’d actually like for you to give me some company as it gets dreadfully lonely reading by myself” Kars asked. You stood up and faced him properly, feeling the fire in your heart.

“You have the audacity to mock my emotions after what you did to me! You stole away my freedom and took me far from those I love! You even dare to torment me further by calling me your swan. Is that how you like to cruelly remind me of what you’ve made me!” you yelled at him before trying to run from him only for him to grab your wrist.

“You are the one who put yourself in this position. I offered you dazzling jewels and silken robes. I offered you the softest pelts and exotic treasures yet you still rejected me, surely you understand that hurt me” he said as he looked at you with his crimson eyes.

“When you mean hurt you mean your ego at most, you are a selfish man in every way imaginable! I’d never marry a man who only wished to benefit themself, it would be my failure if I was to let my kingdom succumb to a greed such as yours!” you hissed as you tried to escape his grasp only to make him pull you tightly into his frame

“Lets not fight about the ins and outs of who’s to blame, you only have a few hours left after all” he said as he stroked your hair.

“Why don’t you just sit down and relax with me, you'll wear down your beauty if you keep frowning” he continued before you pushed away from him. You ran past him and through the halls and ran down as your long dress flowed behind but Kars was not worried as he knew you would come back, you always did.

🦢🦢🦢

You ran through the dark woods with tears in your eyes as the sky began to lighten. The forest thinned out in the middle to reveal a gorgeous garden long forgotten, a place only few know. The Swan lake.

You sat beside the lake weeping. Knowing that despite how much you wish upon a shooting star or how much you prayed to god in the heavens above that there was no escape. You knew how to break the spell you had read it out of Baron Kars notes but who would ever proclaim their love to you at the dead of night, let alone keep their promise. The swans of the lake pitied you as they had been cursed in a very similar way by the cruel Baron but unlike you they no longer had any hope of returning to the ones they loved, they were stolen from their husbands and wives and had their promises of a safe return broken in the heart of war from the evil sorcerer.

As the first rays of sunshine peered from the horizon you felt your body lose balance before you fell into the crystal water of the lake. You shut your eyes as you felt your body become consumed by the curse. Eventually you emerged from the water, knowing that you had been reclaimed by your curse of day. You opened your eyes to see all the other swans around you in the lake and the forest behind you.

You turned and returned to the land before flapping your wings while running, soon the air under your wings lifted you into the sky. The higher you got the smaller everything became, even your problems seemed to become insignificant. You were touching the heavens like many dreamed to accomplish.

🦢🦢🦢

A brunette prince let out a yawn as he waited by the stable as he held a crossbow in hand. He was waiting to see if a certain knight accepted his invitation for an afternoon of competitive hunting. He huffed before having a look around the grounds before seeing the familiar face of the fair maid Suzie Qutaro cutting roses for his mother. She noticed him and waved while giving a sheepish smile, he gave her a cheeky smile back making a rosy hue to form on her cheeks before returning to her duties in a flustered state. He snickered a bit before hearing a pair of footsteps.

He looked to the otherside to see the blonde male which he had been waiting for.

“Took you long enough Caesar, I was beginning to think you didn’t have the balls to accept my challenge” the prince smugly spoke as he stretched.

“Well unlike you I actually have other things to do” Caesar commented as he walked closer.

“And if I remember correctly you lost our sparring yesterday, a four to ten if I remember correctly… you’re probably only doing this to get even with me” the male continued with a laugh which irritated the prince.

“So what if I am, I bet you’ll scare away all the wildlife with your presence alone” he retorted with a sly tone as he entered the stable and grabbed his horse. The blonde muttered something under his breath as he followed the prince and grabbed his own horse before the set of far beyond the palace grounds.

It seemed like hours of riding for the two and as night drew close it seemed less likely that either one of the young men were going to bring any trophies home.

“We should just give up now, It’ll be dark soon” Caesar said to Joseph but the ego struck brunette did not listen as he searched deeper into the thick forest. He was determined to prove that he was greater than the blonde.

“Fine then, I’ll leave by myself… if you get eaten by the wolves then it’s not my fault” Caesar stated as rolled his eyes before he began walking back to where they left their horses.

Joseph only snickered at the blonde, thinking about how much of a coward he was to leave now. He kept up his search for something worthy for his display but to no success but when he realised the sun was setting and his luck was not with him today he found what he was looking for. A snow white swan sleeping just a few meters in front of him, it seemed almost like it was given to him on a silver tray.

All he needed to do was shoot it in the heart and it was his. He had a steady aim, his finger slowly before the loud shout of an owl threw him off, causing the arrow to hit the swans wing instead.

You woke up to feel the sharp pain of the arrow, you screamed out before running deeper into the forest, the brunette was quick in his attempt to apprehend you. You tried to fly but it only hurt more.

You managed to get at a far distance from the man who was chasing you but you knew you needed to hide. You looked around to find some shrubs that might offer a good hiding place. You hid yourself and watched through the shrubs as he approached before standing around to try to figure where you had gone, you thought you had managed to lose him before you saw the moon begin to rise.

Just as the prince was about to give up he saw you appear from the bushes, a beautiful young woman adone in a swan feathered gown he was captivated by you as he saw the most beautiful woman he’d seen. As she ran he saw the arrow in her arm, he tried to reach you in an attempt to help you, unaware that you were the swan he had shot.

You panicked as he still chased through the forest but just as you began to lose your strength you felt a pair of arms pull you aside, you looked up to see Kars looking down at you with an emotion you hadn’t seen before.

“I’m glad I came in time” he said empathetically before tracing his finger against the arrow in your arm causing you to flinch.

“This is why I need you to stay with me, that horrible man could have killed you dear” he said in a soft yet condoning manner, at this moment you knew he was just using the situation as a way to scare you out of leaving him but yet you still held onto him, you were afraid as you knew you could have very well died.

“Without me you’re defenceless” he continued as he stroked your hair as you buried your head in his chest and when you finally looked at him again you realised that you were both back in his castle.

“Now I’ll have to remove that arrow so lay down and stay still” he requested, you laid on the love seat knowing very well that he wasn’t going to let his crimson eyes off of you for sometime after this incident.

Meanwhile Joseph the forest on his horse with a bloody feather from the mysterious woman's dress, wondering if he’d ever see you again, hoping he would meet you again in a better circumstance.

#yandere jjba #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #kars jjba #joseph joestar #fairytale au

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villainousshakespeare · 4 years

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Putting It Back Together Chapter 1

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions

So I decided to take a crack at Adam. The plan is to have this be around 10 chapters, but that is just a guess at the moment. It starts a little angsty, but will lighten up as it goes along. Hope you enjoy!

If you would like on or off the tag list, please let me know!

It was more of a mist than a drizzle adding chill to the late autumn air as he walk through the dark streets. Even this time of night there were noises of fellow wanders, zombies he was sure, but he managed to keep from the streets where they roamed. The last thing he needed was to be confronted with the mindlessness of what passed for humanity in these times.

That was the trade off of life in the city. The need to constantly dodge others was barely offset by the convenience of shops open late and services not bound by the constraints of daylight. Not that Adam needed many services of others. He was in most ways self sufficient. He had worked for centuries to make it so. With but two exceptions - sustenance and music - he had only ever needed one soul besides his own.

She was gone now, his Eve. Eleven years had passed since she had taken a glass of tainted blood in Tangier. It seemed like yesterday, it seemed like a lifetime. He wished it were his lifetime. Only a promise dragged out of him at her death bead had kept him from following her into oblivion. She had used every trick she possessed, every weakness she knew in him, to get him to agree to her demand, and now he was trapped, bound by a promise to another century on this blighted earth. Eighty-nine more revolutions until he could use the wooden bullet that lay heavy in breast pocket and end his grief.

He had wandered after she left him. Angry and bitter, he had left Africa and roved across the globe. Everywhere he went, though, there were memories. He saw her everywhere in Europe. The Middle East was littered with memories. Even South America echoed a life spent together.

Finally he had come back to America. She had not spent as much time in the States. It was easier here. He had considered Seattle, New Orleans, Memphis, the various musical centers of the country, but in the end New York had drawn him in. Strange, he had never spent much time here. Too many zombies too close together. And yet, he could not deny it had definite advantages, and for the most part no one paid any attention to what anyone else did.

He arrived at last at the brownstone in the East Village where he lived his weary life. He was excited, or at least as excited as he was capable of these days, to test out the Rickenbacker bass guitar that he had stumbled upon in a pawn shop. The owner had no idea how rare the model was, and had not known how to react to the large roll of cash that Adam had thrust at him for the instrument.

Quickly shucking his black leather jacket, Adam took out he new prize and lovingly stroked the light grained wood. He could feel the decades of music that it had produced still reverberating through the body. He flicked a series of toggles and buttons to power up his sound system and plugged the Rickenbacker in. Closing his eyes he placed his fingers firmly on the frets and plucked out a rapid series of low notes, loving the reverberation and full tones it produced. Just as he began to segue into an actual song, however, a loud bang sounded and the lights, sound, and all other electronic power went dead.

"Shit!" he spit out, mood collapsing back in on itself as quickly as it had risen.

Setting the bass gently back in its case despite his irritation, Adam fumbled through his belongings until he located his tool box. After attaching his head torch and grabbing a second flash light just in case, he made his way down the hall to the ladder that lead up through a hatch onto the roof where a small shed held the electric box for his home.

"Just what I fucking need," he muttered, pulling himself onto the tarred surface.

He was just picking his tools back up when a loud creaking noise drew his attention. Just a few feet away, a second hatch door had opened, and a shape was pulling itself up and onto the roof with some difficulty, judging by the swearing. Adam watched in dismay as the shape unfolded itself to reveal a woman silhouetted against the half moon. She had a large, over bright flashlight in her hands that waved back and forth as she made her way to the shed that was his own destination.

"Who are you?" he asked, intercepting her before she could reach the structure.

"Ohmyfuckinggod!" she cried out, jumping almost a foot as he appeared in front of her.

Adam crossed his arms and waited silently for her to calm down, mouth drawn down into a habitual scowl.

"You scared me half to death!" she told him needlessly when she had regained some of her composure.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Oh, you know, just signaling Batman that evil is afoot," she said dryly, waving her oversized lamp back and forth.

Adam continued to stare at her, unamused, until she sighed and gave him a real answer.

"I'm checking out the fuse box. Are you from 89? You must be, I guess. So your lights are out too? It doesn't look like it's the whole block, just our two buildings. Hopefully flipping the switch will bring them back on."

"There's no need for you to trouble yourself," he told her when she finally stopped talking. "I have things well in hand. The power should be on shortly."

"Great," she said with a forced smile.

She didn't move. Why was she still standing there? Adam glowered at her, hoping to scare her off, but the brainless girl just stood there.

"Did you need something else?" he asked reluctantly.

"No, just the one thing," she replied, blinking at him. "Shall we get to it?"

"This will hardly take two," he ground out. "And I know how the system works."

He should! He had redone the entire wiring himself. The convoluted system of shorting wires and faulty circuits had been a travesty when he moved in. It had taken him almost a month to tear it out and build a more streamlined, efficient energy grid. The only problem now was when he forgot himself and pulled too much power for the subpar wiring in the wall to take. He had considered redoing that as well, but it would take time and draw attention, which he was keen on avoiding.

"Wonderful, then you can show me," she chirped at him. "After all, you may not be here the next time it goes off, and then I won't know how it works."

She was not going to let this go, he could tell from the deceptively stubborn set of her shoulders. With a roll of his eyes that he doubted her human eyes could catch in the darkness, he turned on his heel and walked over to the shed. Let her look at it, he decided. It was not like she would understand what he had done anyway.

"Woah," the nattering woman whistled as he opened the door. "That is not what I was expecting at all! It looks like some form of microhydraulics, but there's no way you could have a water source up here. What are you using?"

Adam turned and stared at her, really looking at her for the first time. She was short, even for a woman, not even coming up to his chin. Her hair was haphazardly tied into a bunch on the top of her head and looked like it would be bigger than she was if she were to let it down. The eyes she turned up towards him were inquisitive and sharp. She was pretty, he thought, for a zombie.

"How do you know about that?" he asked.

"I tinker," she said with a shrug. "When I'm anxious. Which is a lot of the time lately, to be honest. Too much energy. Sometimes it helps to take things apart an put them back together again."

Adam opened his mouth to respond, but realized he had no idea what he planned on saying. He closed it again and turned back to his contraption.

"Well, don't get any ideas about taking this apart," he grumbled, resetting the mechanism.

"No, I wouldn't," she assured him. "I only mess with my own things until I'm sure I can get them back the way they started. I learned that the hard way. This is really amazing. You are pulling in a boat load of energy. I just hope you don't burn the buildings down when it runs into the wiring. You're a musician, right? I've heard you practicing through the walls. I was so relieved you were good!"

Did this woman never stop talking? Despite his lack of response she seemed perfectly content to stand behind him, shining her flood light on the shed as he worked to get things running again.

"Oh! I see what you did there!" she commented brightly as the low hum of electricity started back up. "That should fix it. And I'm pretty sure I will be able to do that myself next time too!"

"Don't," he ordered, shutting the door with a loud clang. "If there is any problem with the power, I will fix it. I don't need someone else ruining my work."

"But if you're not here?" she repeated doggedly.

"Look, this has never been an issue before, why are you suddenly on my case about it now?"

"I didn't live here before," she answered. "I just moved in last week. This... this was my Grandmother's home. She died. Last week. I'm trying to sort it all now but..."

The light from his headtorch clearly lit up the tears that sprang to her eyes. As Adam stood there in horror, the girl's chin began to wobble and silent sobs hiccupped through her body. A moment later she had burst out crying. Adam, unable to think of anything else to do, slowly and gingerly put one arm around her shaking shoulders and patted her lamely on the back, wishing he could be anywhere else in the world.

***

Lilly woke up completely horrified. It had been a dream, she told herself. It had to have been a dream. That was the only way she was going to survive the events of the night before.

The soreness in her eyes and the streaks of mascara on the backs of her hands, unfortunately, told her the sad truth. It had been real. She had met her dark, handsome, mysterious neighbor, the one who played dark, mysterious music at all hours of the night, on a dark, mysterious rooftop. (Well, okay, maybe the rooftop hadn't been that mysterious, but still!) And what had she done? She had wept all over him like pathetic child.

This, she sighed to herself, was one of the many many reasons why she was single. Any normal girl would have played the damsel in distress, fluttered their eyes and let him be their hero. He certainly had the looks of a brooding hero, even if he seemed to lack the inclination. Of course, it might just be that he lacked the inclination because she had yammered on about anxiety and tinkering, and her grandmother's death and the cried all over him.

Groaning, she rolled over and looked at her clock, only to be greeted by blinking numbers. Of course. She had been too upset when he had finally managed to steer her back to her roof hatch and rid himself of her, lost in a combination of grief and humiliation, to reset it. Great. That meant that the alarm had never gone off. It could be any time now. A quick glance at her phone confirmed her fear. 4:00 in the afternoon. It had happened. She had become completely nocturnal.

Slowly dragging herself up, Lilly staggered to the bathroom and tried to let the hot water wash away her misery. She was tired of feeling miserable. By nature she was not a gloomy person. Anxious, yes, but not gloomy. It was just being here, in the house that once was her happy place but now held too many memories. All she could see where ever she looked was her beloved grandmother. Playing the piano, reading in the window nook, cooking in the large, renovated kitchen. Grandma Lillian was everywhere.

Growing up, Lilly had been an awkward child; small of body but big of personality Gran had said. She was always moving, either her hands or her mouth, having a hard time with stillness. It drove many people to distraction. Grandma Lillian, however, had stated quite matter of factly that she simply had a lot to do and more to say, and therefore needed to do it quickly.

Lilly had spent all of her summers and school vacations here, escaping into the city. Here, she could be herself. With all of the characters in New York City, she was far from the oddest. Grandma Lillian let her patter away happily, always taking her words seriously. She had also found all sorts of mechanical things for Lilly to tinker with, focusing her energy in a more productive direction. It was nonsense, she had opined, that girls were not encouraged more to go into the technical fields. Obviously that was the reason why nothing in this world ran properly.

She had hidden her illness from the family, from Lilly, until the very end. Lilly cursed herself that she had not seen through the excuses for the cancelled visits. A seniors cruise with her girlfriends! She could not imagine the opinionated woman stuck on a boat without someone going overboard. It wasn't until the very end, when she was had been taken to Hospice, that she had phoned Lillian to let her know that it was time to come and visit.

That was eight days ago. Lillian had held her hand at the end, singing in her tear choked voice the torch songs that her Grandmother had once made her living crooning in the night clubs of the city. It had not taken long. Less than a day and Lilly was alone, the owner of a house in the East Village and more money than she had ever imagined possessing, but much the poorer regardless.

The ensuing week was spent puttering around the brownstone, listlessly going through desks and dressers, boxes and cupboards. The memorabilia of a lifetime squirreled away into any available space. She had no need to work at the moment, which was good since she had no employment. Slowly but surely her own night owl tendencies had taken over and she was staying up until the sun streaked the horizon in the morning, only to bed down for the majority of the day. Her parents had always fretted and said it was a sign of depression. Gran had shrugged and agreed that the most exciting things happened at night.

The only excitement Lillian had experienced thus far had been the discovery that a new owner was in residence next door. For as long as she could remember there had been a constant stream of college and conservatory students renting out rooms in the building, turning over each year to the newest crop. Now though, there was one lodger only and he owned the building.

She had caught sight of him out the front window as he was leaving her second night there. Long, wild black hair that looked in want of brushing, black leather jacket, and black jeans that might have been painted on. He was tall, lean, and somehow dangerous looking. It was the way he walked, she decided. There was something almost feral in the swagger as he took off down the street. The next night she had heard him playing music.

At first she thought there were multiple musicians, but after hours spent guiltlessly eavesdropping she became convinced that it was only him. Interspersed with guitars, drums, bass, and other instruments that she couldn't name had come his voice, a distinctive low growl that cut through her sorrow to go straight to her core. She could feel the vibrations of his voice as surely as she heard the bass thumping through the walls.

She began haunting the window overlooking their stoops, hoping for sight of him. She caught glimpses a time or two, always late at night, well after dark. Rather he was coming in or going out, he seemed to eschew the daylight even more than she did. Lilly felt drawn to him, and by more than just his untamed beauty. She supposed she could write it off as one of her hyper-fixations, but intuitively she sensed it was more. She longed for an excuse to meet him.

And then she had. At night, on a roof, under a bright moon.

It would have been perfectly romantic, were she not dressed in a ratty sweatshirt and yoga pants, her hair flopped up any old way on her head. If her first words to him were not gasped out in a shriek, followed by thoughtless prattle. And the, the coup de gras, her sobbing breakdown. The look of unmixed horror on his face as he made his feeble attempt to calm her was burned into Lilly's brain.

She had to get rid of it. There might only be one chance to make a first impression, but maybe, just maybe, a second impression could in time supersede it. Never one to sit on a thought, Lilly squared her shoulders. It was six o'clock, he was bound to still be in. She would pay him a visit and apologize for her horrid behavior.

Yes, that was the plan. After all, what was the worst that could happen? It was bound to go better than last time.

#adam olla #Adam/OFC #Tom Hiddleston #Fic #Only Lovers Left Alive #OLLA #angst #anxiety #eventual smut #grief #will lighten up #I promise #smut to come

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petri808 · 3 years

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1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Inukag Royalty Au *in honor of Tanabata coming up, it was worked into the chapter 😊

“Oh, look Rin, there’s a traveling marionette show today. Do you want to watch?” She and Kagome had been wandering around the marketplace when they stumbled onto it.

“Yeah!” The child squealed in delight. “I’ve seen them before and they’re really good!”

“I think we got here just in time,” Kagome scanned for a seat. “There,” she pointed, “let’s sit down before it starts.”

It was quite amazing to see this group of traveling entertainers. Such troops would pass through her own kingdom, but Kagome was rarely allowed to leave the castle to watch them. From what she could see on their signs, they put on different shows for adults with a variety of acts, and puppet shows for the children, staying for a few days before moving onto the next town. The story they were about to perform was a classic tale of the star-crossed lovers Orihime and Hikoboshi. It was cute, albeit a bittersweet tale of eternal longing. Just as the show was getting ready to start, Kagome felt a body sit down beside her. She glanced over with her peripheral to make sure they weren’t a problem and noticed a familiar set of claws on the persons hands.

“Prince?” Kagome whispered not wanting to draw attention. “What are you doing here?”

“Miroku and I saw you two,” Inuyasha whispered back.

Kagome leaned forward a tiny bit and noticed Miroku on the other side of Inuyasha who nodded in recognition. “I see…”

“We we’re bored,” Inuyasha threw in, “so decided to join you.”

The comment made Kagome chuckle, which then caught Rin’s attention, who looked over and saw the men. The child’s eyes lit up at seeing her uncle and in her excitement, she got off her seat and quickly plopped herself onto Inuyasha’s lap.

“Guess I’m just a chair now,” he chuckled too. "Behave and watch the show or I’ll kick you off my lap.”

“I’m always a good girl,” the child retorted with a grin before turning back to the stage.

And she was. Rin sat enthralled by the whole production. They really were as good as she’d portrayed to Kagome. From the quality of the marionettes to the actor’s voice work, they truly pulled you into the story. But for the adults, it brought on a different wave of emotions, at least it did for Kagome. While the story was beautiful, she could identify with Princess Orihime’s longing for the one she’d fallen in love with despite her father’s rules… and to be torn apart because of it… At least, the Princess in the tale got to see her love once a year. Kagome won’t be able to do the same. She didn’t notice the small frown growing on Inuyasha’s face, because she avoided looking in his direction. He was her Hikoboshi, but she didn’t want him to notice the moisture clouding her eyes or realize how much the story was having an effect on her.

Once the final act was complete, the puppeteers came out from behind the curtain to bow to the audience’s wild applause. It was a great success for most including Rin who was clapping and bouncing on her uncle’s lap with excitement. Kagome was happy the child enjoyed the performance even though it took a toll on her.

“I love this story…” both Kagome and Inuyasha mumble at the same time, causing them to stiffen and turn to face the other.

“You do?” Inuyasha questioned.

“It’s sweet,” Kagome responded with heat coloring her cheeks. “Even though I feel bad for them.”

“Me too.” Inuyasha mumbled. “It’s not fair.”

Her eyes slightly widen, fully understanding what he was feeling in that moment. But as much as she would have loved to say more, Kagome knew she couldn’t, not in public like this.

“What’s not fair?”

Leave it to Rin to bring them back to the present.

“Oh, um,” Kagome quickly gave her attention to the little girl. “What uncle Inu means is it’s sad that Orihime and Hikoboshi only get to see each other once a year.”

After a brief pause, the child’s eyes widened. “Ohhhh,” Rin acknowledged her understanding. “Yeah, that’s not very fair. But at least they found someone.” She turned around and looked up. “Isn’t that a good thing uncle Inu?”

Again, the innocence of a child worked wonders for lightening the mood.

“Yes,” Inuyasha smiled down at his niece. “It is a good thing.” But his eyes drifted towards Kagome as he continued. “I’m sure Hikoboshi appreciates all the time he gets to spend with his Orihime.”

For several seconds the pair hold a gaze with one another. No words needed to communicate a sense of longing despair. Kagome may have been painfully aware of Inuyasha’s insinuation, but so was Miroku. The princes guard cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. “Inuyasha, we should get back to our patrols.” He spoke matter of fact.

“Right,” the hanyo grumped. Miroku constantly warned him about letting his true feelings slip, and even though he knew his friend was just looking out for him, Inuyasha didn’t need to like it. He sighed. “Okay Rin, time to get off. Uncles gotta go back to work.”

“Okay!” Rin jumped off his lap and stood next to Kagome who’d also risen to her feet. “We should finish our shopping and get back to the castle too,” she took hold of the child’s hand. “Say goodbye to your uncle Rin.”

“Bye uncle Inu!” She waved as the pair made their way back into the throng of market goers.

For the rest of the day, Kagome pushed aside the incident in the marketplace. Why think about it when it would only make her sadder at her circumstances, especially since for Rin it had been a fun experience hanging out with her uncle. She didn’t want the child to see that side of life for as long as possible. Even at dinner, Inuyasha was quieter than usual, but Kagome didn’t want to assume anything, so she went about her routines like normal pretending everything was fine. Sometimes it was easier to ignore reality. That is until Rin was already tucked into bed and Kagome headed towards the library to get some reading done. If there was one thing that could take her mind off most things it entailed drowning her thoughts in an academic book.

Most of the time.

Of all the stories that troop could have chosen for a children's play, why a sad love story? Why not a fanciful fairytale like a prince saving a princess from an evil villain or an adventurer searching for treasure and fame? But it wouldn’t be fair to pin all her woes on the performers. The Tanabata story was a popular one after all. Kagome sighed as she shifted in her seat to pull her legs up and under her body. The book she'd chosen was about medicinal herbs because she was curious about useful treatments. She'd hoped the interest would be enough to pull her away from thinking about the play, but it wasn't working. Maybe she just needed to give herself more time to process everything. 'Or maybe you need to do the opposite and stop thinking about anything!' Kagome chided herself. She really did need to stop letting her emotions control her. 'You're supposed to be hiding out here, remember?!'

It was the sound of approaching footsteps that caused Kagome to stop reading and look up from her book. Was it a guard? Nope, just Inuyasha.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Inuyasha dropped onto the couch next to her. “I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“Inuyasha? What’s wrong?” She put the book down when she saw the anger brimming in his eyes. “Did something happen?”

The prince let out an annoyed sigh. “I just had a huge fight with my dad.”

“A fight? Over what?”

“You.”

“Me?!” Her eyes widened. “Did I do something wrong?!”

“No, no, not you,” he grabbed her hands. “It’s all me. I… I-I told him— I told him that I refuse to honor the agreement to marry someone else. He wouldn’t even tell me who she is, so how would I ever be okay with it? I just can’t! Not when I’m already in love…”

Kagome swallowed back hard. “You are?”

His grip tightened, gaze turned serious and focused. “I told him I was in love with you. Kagome I can’t deny that anymore no matter how much I tried.”

“But you know we can’t—”

“I know, I know, it’s crazy, but after that story…” Inuyasha let go of her hands for a moment to gesticulate. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about it! I told him I’d rather stay single for the rest of my life if it meant still being around you… even if that’s all I get to have. I just want to stay in your life in any way I can.”

Kagome didn’t know what to say. With all her heart she wished it could work, but knowing she too was living a lie that she couldn’t reveal coupled with such a major potential for scandal… her voice lowered in hesitation. “Inu this is crazy…”

“Do you love me?” Is all Inuyasha blurted out.

“Yes—” she spoke from the heart, “but—”

Inuyasha took her hands again and brought them to his chest. “Then that’s enough for me.”

Despite his efforts to reassure her, Kagome couldn't be happy about this declaration of love. She'd heard some of the whispers starting around the castle about their forbidden relationship. What if someone started to talk? What if someone started to question her true origins? All it would take is someone mentioning to the wrong person the woman in the castle who'd stolen the prince’s attention. And what about the royal family? How will they treat her now? Will they see her as a jezebel? A woman who’d infiltrated their life to cause problems?? Kagome shook her head. “But there must be consequences!” She knew all too well as a hypocrite, the rippling damages that could occur from breaking such trusts. “You don’t just break an agreement like that without consequences.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to you, I give you, my word. As for me, I can handle my dad. He was angry but believes he can make it work, probably honor the rest of the deal just minus the marriage part.”

“Which was?”

“In exchange for the marriage, we guaranteed to protect that kingdom. They’re smaller than us, so they really have no choice but to take the amended deal because it at least assures them of safety.”

Kagome was so torn in that moment about what to do. She couldn't tell him the truth yet, not because she didn't trust him, but because she didn't want to burden him with it. If anyone were to find out who she really was, they might notify her parents and her life at the palace would truly be over with. It was selfish, but could anyone blame her? This was the first time in her life she's experienced freedom and happiness. Ugh, why’d she have to fall in love with Inuyasha? Why’d Inuyasha have to fall in love with her? Is fate always so cruel? First the idea of an arranged marriage, but now to be stuck in a forbidden one. Was she cursed? Were they both cursed?

“Y-You’re sure your father won’t hold this against me? Because I-It wasn’t planned. I never intended for any of this to happen.” The tears had begun to fall down Kagome’s cheeks at the enormous weight levied onto her shoulders.

“Neither had I,” Inuyasha wiped at the tears and cradled her cheek. “Neither of us could have controlled what our hearts desired.”

“But I’m scared Inu…”

“I swear on my life nothing will happen to you and if it comes to it, we’ll run away, far away and hide just me and you.” He leaned their foreheads together. “I don’t care about my title. I just want to be with you.”

“I wanna be with you too,” Kagome breathed out.

“Then have faith in our destiny.” Inuyasha tilted Kagome’s face up and swept his lips over hers, earning a shivering sigh. He then centered and placed pressure into a deeper kiss.

Kagome melted into the kiss as her fingers moved up and gripped to his shirt. Let her fears be damned in that moment, for if this earned her banishment in the end, just tasting his lips this once… she could die happy knowing she’d felt love. It was more than she ever thought she’d achieve in this gilded life.

“I’ll try,” she whispered an honest answer. “In you… I’ll believe…”

#inukag #inukag fan fic #inukag fan fiction #inuyasha #kagome higurashi #inukag au #royalty au #inuyasha x kagome #inukago #ch 5 #the irony of fate #petri808

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harrysweasleys · 4 years

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Torture and Reward

Synopsis: After suffering punishment from Umbridge, the person that comes to your aid is one of the people you dislike the most.

Warnings: language, torture, blood

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: sorry this took so long!!! i’ve been feeling under the weather lately and have been resting but here ya go! my requests are open. :) gif is from google!

“Good practice today, guys,” Harry called out to the witches and wizards scattered across the Room of Requirements, each practicing different spells and jinxes.

A mumble of ‘thanks’ and ‘until next time’ sounded from the group and each of them slowly started making their way out as discreetly as possible. You walked over to where Ron and Hermione stood, both of them smirking as Harry made his way over to Cho on the other side of the room.

“See you back in the common room, Harry,” Hermione grinned, turning away and walking out the door, you and Ron in tow.

“It’s about time that lovestruck fool confesses his feelings for her,” you chuckled after getting the ‘ok’ from Neville and turning the corner down the hall, the coast clear of the Inquisitorial Squad and Filch.

Practicing in the Room of Requirements had become a much bigger struggle now with Umbridge’s band of suck-ups patrolling the halls at every hour of the day, hungry to catch students in the act of doing something they shouldn’t be. If you guys were caught, and the name ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ came to light, you’d all be screwed.

“Reckon he won’t be back in the common room for another little while,” Ron scratched the back of his neck, which was still hurting from when Hermione hit him with ‘stupefy.’ He had complained about it quite a bit, but his crush on Hermione was big enough for him to eventually drop it and accept her win.

You chuckled at his comment, noticing that the rain had picked up and become a heavy downpour by now. The sun had practically vanished, and all you could think about was getting back into your dorm and cozying up in bed, listening to the rain fall and wrapping yourself up in the warm blankets.

However, as you reached the portrait hole, you remembered you left your bag in the Room of Requirement, and so your bed would have to wait even longer.

“Bloody hell, I left my bag behind,” you stopped in your tracks, resisting the urge to slap your forehead due to your forgetfulness.

“Can’t you just go get it tomorrow?” Ron asked, and you could see himself crash on the couch by the fireplace.

“Can’t,” you started making your way back out of the portrait hole and down the stairs, “Homework!”

You could hear Hermione shout something to you but all you understood was ‘careful’ so you shot her a thumbs up and continued rushing down the stairs, hopefully without getting caught by any of the people on watch. As you made your way downstairs and then back up again, reaching the seventh floor, you didn’t get the chance to round the corner before you ran into a thick body.

“Watch where you’re — oh! Malfoy!” you instantly recognized Crabbe’s voice and your entire body went rigid. You looked up to face him and noticed that indeed, from around another corner, Malfoy came strutting up with a smirk on his face.

You felt your blood run cold, you knew that no matter what excuse you’d come up with for why you were here, he’d still end up dragging you to see Umbridge. You didn’t exactly have a good history with Draco Malfoy, and there was no doubt he’d take any chance he could get to make your life living hell.

“Well, well,” he sneered, “Fancy seeing you here. What’s got you in such a rush to get to the seventh floor?”

You crossed your arms, avoiding the gaze of him and Crabbe, who were immediately joined by Goyle once he heard talking.

“It’s really none of your concern but if you must know...” you brain scrambled trying to find something, “I was... running from someone.”

Malfoy laughed dryly, “Nice try, we’ll see if Umbridge believes you.” He grabbed your wrist forcefully and nodded at the two other boys, motioning for them to follow.

“Wait, no,” you resisted, tugging your wrist back, “Fine, fine, I was looking for someone. I was meeting Neville.” Why Neville’s name popped into your head, you had no idea. You hoped you weren’t going to get him in trouble by throwing his name out there.

“Well, we’ve been standing here for nearly fifteen minutes and Longbottom hasn’t shown his stupid face,” he crossed his arms, looking at you as if he could see right through your lie, “Rather unfortunate. For you, not for me. I get the joy in bringing you to Umbridge. My first official victim. Crabbe, Goyle, stay here. I’ll be back.”

Your heart sunk, but you tried not to show it. You scoffed as he grabbed your arm, dragging you down the hall with proud determination in his step. To say you weren’t friendly with Draco Malfoy was the understatement of the year. He had made it his life’s goal to torment your group of friends. Although you routinely snapped back and told him off, putting him in his place, he never seemed to lighten the blow any chance he could get.

“Famous Harry Potter not here to save you now, is he?” he turned back to face you, his grip on your arm tightening as you guys got closer to the devil woman’s office.

“I don’t need Harry around to save me, Malfoy,” you snapped, “Unlike you, I don’t need people around me every second of the day to feel braver.”

He stopped in his step, looking back at you with eyes that could kill, “You know nothing about me, Y/N. So shut your mouth and keep walking.”

“I would,” you raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one who stopped walking.”

He let out a frustrated sigh and turned around, dragging you behind him once more. You kind of had an idea as to what was in store for you once you reached her office. Harry had come back from detention with a bloody, scarred hand, the words ‘I must not tell lies’ inscribed into his skin. Chances are you’d be dealing with the same fate.

Now, detention you could handle. Merlin knows you’ve gotten enough of those running around with Harry, Ron and Hermione all of these years. But blood was a different story. Blood you couldn’t handle. You nearly passed out when Ron got his leg mauled by Sirius Black — or Padfoot, really — in your third year, and had to hold back a gag when Harry got scratched up after facing a dragon in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament in your fourth year.

Blood was not your thing.

But you were also not going to give Malfoy or Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing they had affected you.

After too short of a walk, the two of you had arrived in front of her door and Draco was knocking loudly, his chest puffed out in pride.

“Come in,” her sickly sweet voice was muffled from the other side of the door. Draco swung the door open and you felt your face turn into a grimace.

Umbridge was sitting at her pink desk, drinking from her pink cup of tea and wearing her pink robes — but not just that — she had hundreds of picture frames around the room, each one had a tiny kitten on it. The constant ‘meow’ was disturbing. There was something morally wrong with this woman.

Draco pushed you in and you stumbled over your two feet, too distracted by how disgustingly pink the room was to remember why you were even here.

“Well, Mister Malfoy, why have you brought Miss Y/L/N to my office?” she placed her teacup down and looked at you, an evil smile gracing her thin lips. You glared at her, and then to Draco, before going back to her.

“Found her wandering the seventh floor,” he let go of your arm and crossed his arms over his chest. You looked down to your wrist, noticing the red, irritated skin that was left where his hand previously was.

“Mind explaining why you were on the seventh floor, dear?” Umbridge asked you, eyes glistening.

“Don’t call me dear,” you muttered, “And I was there to meet someone, like I told Malfoy. I was meeting someone and we were going to go for a walk.”

She stood up and pulled out a chair next to her desk, pointing at it, “Sit.”

“No.”

Her smile faltered but she covered it, eyes boring into you with extreme resentment, “When I tell you to sit, you sit.”

You could see her hand reach the wand on her desk and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. You knew it was illegal, but you were also aware that she didn’t have boundaries when it came to how she’d treat her students.

You looked over at Draco — who also seemed slightly taken aback by her threat — and sat down.

She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. She placed them on the tiny desk in front of you and grinned, sitting back down in her giant pink chair.

“Malfoy, you may stick around, after I am done with her I must speak to you,” she nodded at him, and he took a seat, looking over at you, the prideful expression on his face having disappeared once he noticed how disturbed you looked.

You bit your cheek, looking down at the blank parchment in front of you with resentment, “What am I writing?”

“Watch your tone with me, I can very easily make this worse than it has to be,” she squinted at you, “Write ‘I must not wander corridors past curfew.”

Your head snapped up, “What? I wasn’t out past curfew.” You were certain that the reason you were being brought here was because she had suspicions about Dumbledore’s Army. There was no way it was past curfew.

“Professor, it wasn’t that—” Draco started to speak up but was cut off by Umbridge holding her hand up.

Her smile became more twisted by the second, “Just write it.”

You rolled your eyes, picking up the quill. You knew just what kind of quill this was and so didn’t even bother with the whole ‘I haven’t got any ink’ part.

“What’s she going to write with?” Draco leaned back in his chair, every trace of his cockiness gone as he took in the scene in front of him.

“My blood, Malfoy, it’s a Black Quill,” you smiled sarcastically, looking down at the paper and beginning to write. He didn’t reply, but you could see him eyeing your every move with caution.

As you started writing, you could feel the immediate sting on the back of your left hand. The pain moved up your arm, causing focus to become difficult. You bit your lip, turning your hand away and squeezing your eyes shut. The pain was said to be quite bad, but this was a little worst than you expected. Harry said it felt like being scratched by a cat. He never mentioned that it actually felt like something was scratching against your bones.

“Professor, sorry, is this even legal?” Draco asked, but his voice sounded distant over the painful ringing in your ears.

You didn’t dare look at the back of your hand, knowing that there was definitely enough damage to cause bleeding. You could feel drops of blood trickling down your fingers as you continued to clench your hand shut.

As you finished writing the first sentence — yes, only the first sentence — you felt the pain ease slightly. You let out a deep, shaky breath, not wanting to look up and have anyone see how much pain you were currently in. You were usually good with pain, except on your hands and your nose. Those somehow always manage to get the biggest reaction from you.

“As long as you don’t go off telling anyone, it’s perfectly legal,” Umbridge’s voice was loud and clear now, almost taunting you as you struggled to keep your face neutral.

“How many times?” you spoke through gritted teeth, still glaring down at the paper, the previous sentence you had written looking unfortunately lonely on the page.

“Let’s say... ten, shall we?” you could hear her taking a sip of her tea and you wanted nothing more than to pour it on her face and smash the cup against her forehead, but you controlled your urges and placed the quill on the parchment.

As you started writing again, the pain scorched your hand once more. It was as if you were digging even deeper than the previous sentence. You swore the cut was down to the bone, but you knew that was impossible.

Three sentences in, four, five, six. The pain never stopped. You could feel your entire body shaking, your left hand going more painfully numb with each letter you wrote. You didn’t notice Draco getting agitated, nor did you notice Umbridge basking in the glory of torturing a student.

Finally, after the longest three minutes of your life, you had finished writing the sentence ten times, and the pain in your hand stung like a bitch. You finally looked up at Umbridge, shooting daggers with your eyes and hoping she’d actually end up dropping dead.

“Well, did you get the message?” she asked, smiling at you over her pink tea cup.

You grit your teeth, clutching your bleeding hand to your chest and not even caring about it staining your robes, “Yes.”

“Well, you’re free to go,” she pointed towards the door, “Malfoy, stay behind.”

You got up with wobbly legs and shot a glare at Malfoy, blaming him for bringing you here. He looked almost apologetic, but you didn’t care. This was his fault.

As you stormed out of the room, you let out a deep breath and shut your eyes, letting a tear fall down your cheek as you continued clutching your throbbing hand to your chest. That wasn’t legal, there was no way she could just torture students like that. Harry has taken it way better than you did, but this wasn’t okay. She couldn’t do this.

You rushed back to the common room, walking in and storming upstairs to your room. Luckily, no one had noticed your forceful entrance and minded their own business. Or so you thought.

As you threw your body down on your bed in frustration, Hermione walked into your shared dorm and shot you a confused look, “You left to get your bag and returned half an hour later without it, what happened?”

You lifted your hand, showing her the words ‘I must not wander corridors past curfew’ cut into your pale skin. The bleeding had stopped, but the skin was still very much irritated and swollen.

“That witch,” Hermione seethed, sitting down next to you on the end of your bed, “Here, give it to me.”

You held out your hand and she placed her wand on it. A second later, your hand was wrapped tightly in thick white bandage, shielding your cut. The pain was still there, but it somehow felt better.

You gave her a tired smile, “Thanks, Hermione.”

She asked you what had happened, and you gave her all the details about running into Malfoy, down to every last thing Umbridge had said. She was furious, as were you, but the sudden exhaustion from tonight’s events hit you like a train, and before you knew it, you were completely dozed off.

---

Breakfast the next morning was awkward. Hermione had told Harry and Ron what happened, and the two of them were ticked off as well. When they weren’t shooting death stares at Umbridge, they were making sure you were okay. Harry had been through this before and knew how painful it had been, so he told you how to handle it and make sure it went away without leaving a nasty scar. His hand was almost good as new by now, the letters fading more and more by each passing day.

You were so focused on trying to convince your friends you were fine that you hadn’t noticed Draco looking over at you from the Slytherin table.

When you eventually caught his eye, he looked away immediately, a pink tint on his ears and his sad eyes looking at the vast array of food on the table.

You brushed it off, still mad at him for his proud manner last night, and continued picking at the fruits on your plate, your appetite lacking more than usual.

“We should get going soon, we’ve got Divination and it’s so bloody far. I’m not quick on steps,” Ron said through a mouthful of breakfast sausage, grabbing a goblet of pumpkin juice and downing it at the same time. You chuckled at Hermione’s disgusted expression and picked up your books, making a mental note to eventually go get your bag back. With the chaos of last night, you completely forgot about your bag.

As you stood up, you noticed Draco doing the same. You didn’t think much of it and followed your friends out of the Great Hall. Right as you were about to start up the stairs, you heard your name being called from behind you.

“Y/N, wait!”

You stopped walking and turned around, noticing Draco running over to you, his blond hair bouncing out of place with every step he took. You turned around, telling your friends to save you a seat in Divination, and turned around to face the Slytherin.

“What do you want? Coming to drag me to another fun torture session?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin as you instinctively grabbed your left hand.

He looked down at you, “No, I just want to say I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Do you even know what that word means?” you scoffed, trying avoid his gaze but it seemed nearly impossible. His eyes were burning into you with insane intensity and you were suddenly very aware of your close proximity. In the five years you had known the proud Draco Malfoy, not once had you ever heard him say the words ‘I’m sorry.’

“Listen, I went too far last night. I shouldn’t have brought you in to her. You didn’t deserve what she did and I’m sorry I caused it. I didn’t realize she was going to do that. It was awful to watch and I can’t imagine how it was for you.”

You were so ready for a snarky comeback, but the sincerity in his voice was so rare and faint that you couldn’t find the words to do so. You looked up at him and surprisingly, you found yourself smiling softly.

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day you’d admit your faults, Malfoy,” you grinned teasingly, a smirk on your lips. You had never seen him like this before, he actually looked genuine. And despite how often you two were at each others’ throats, you couldn’t find yourself wanting to make a comeback.

He nodded slightly, “Well, I could tell that last night was tougher for you than you let on. And, honestly, like I said, I didn’t enjoy it either. So, yeah, I apologize.”

You smiled at him, “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

His eyes met yours once more, “What’s that?”

“Don’t bring another student to her. I don’t want anyone else going through that. She doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.”

He seemed to agree with you because he gave you a curt nod, “You got yourself a deal.”

Maybe it was his honesty and vulnerability, but something about the way he was looking at you was different than any other time he had done so. His blue eyes seemed softer, and the platinum blond strands that were hanging in his face were almost asking for you to push them back into place.

Oh no.

There was no way you could find Draco Malfoy attractive. Your friends would kill you.

“Well, I’ve got class to get to,” you pointed to the Divination book clutched in your hands and bid him goodbye, walking up the staircase in a rush to get to class on time. You hated the fact that the whole way there, you were thinking of how gently he was speaking to you, and how close he was standing, and how good he smelled...

No.

You couldn’t think of him that way.

You had been so caught up in thinking of him that you nearly tripped over the last step, entering the dimly lit classroom in a stumble. You apologized to Professor Trelawney and sat between Hermione and Harry, mumbling a ‘thanks’ for your saved seat.

The class seemed to pass by quicker than usual, and as that was usually a good think because Divination was so boring, it had passed by quickly because you were thinking of Draco’s apology — which wasn’t a good thing.

There was something so different about the way he spoke to you that morning that you couldn’t get his stupid handsome face out of your mind.

“Y/N?” Hermione snapped her fingers in front of your face, eyebrows raised, “Earth to Y/N?”

“Yeah, sorry, I was thinking of... never mind,” you shook your head and faced her, “What?”

“We’re partnered up, we have to do each other’s palm reading,” she stated matter-of-factly, grabbing your right palm as your left one was still wrapped up.

You blinked, taking a second to process what was happening and then opened your palm wider so she could read it. She gazed back and forth between your hand and the wide open textbook, figuring out what everything meant.

“Well, you’re gonna die young,” she smiled sarcastically, “And of course, within the next week, a secret love shall reveal itself.” It was no secret Hermione hated Divination as well, and found amusement in the non-factual predictions that were made in class.

“Lovely, let me see yours,” you grabbed her hand and slid the textbook closer to you, looking over each description.

“So, apparently, you’re gonna have a falling out with a loved one,” you read, smiling at her with fake enthusiasm, “You’re going to fail at something important, and maybe lose a limb in the next three years.”

Hermione burst out laughing, shutting the book loudly. Professor Trelawney dismissed the two of you since you were finished and you both made your way out of class, giggling about your stupid predictions.

---

The weekend rolled around quickly and you had made plans with Hermione and the boys to go to Hogsmeade. There was definitely a butterbeer waiting for you at the Three Broomsticks. With the stress of exams and assignments in the coming weeks, you were in need of a good escape from the Hogwarts grounds.

Saturday afternoon, you all walked over to the village in the warm sunshine, soaking in the rays and admiring the mountains without the clouds interrupting your view.

As you guys walked in to the Three Broomsticks, the dull chatter and sounds of conversation filled your ears as the four of you picked a table in the corner next to a window. You grabbed the chair next to the window, admiring the people passing by outside, living their lives in a hustle and bustle.

Harry and Ron went to the counter and got four butterbeers, bringing them back with smiles on their faces. You took yours and drank a large sip, the warmth of the drink making you feel all fuzzy inside. You were all in light conversation, talking about something Flitwick had done in class last week, when your eyes darted outside.

The bell next to the door dinged and in came Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise. You had managed to go nearly two days without seeing or thinking of him, hoping your new found attraction was only a one-time occurrence, but as he looked over in your direction and smiled at you, you swore your heart did a slight leap.

Goddamn it.

“Why’d that ferret git smile over here?” Ron muttered, a thin line of foam above his top lip.

“I don’t think he was smiling at us,” Harry brushed it off, “Why would he?”

He did have a good point. Why would he smile at you?

You tried to ignore the way his eyes lingered on you from where he was sitting, your full focus being on Harry complaining about the upcoming OWLs, but it was tough when you could practically feel the gaze from the Slytherin boy across the room.

Too agitated to focus, you abruptly stood up and excused yourself, saying you needed to head to the washroom. You took off down the small hall and entered the ladies’ room, rushing over to the sink and looking at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were tinted with a slight pink hue, and you knew it was because of Draco and his across-the-room stare.

You cursed yourself, knowing that if you kept up this weird attraction, it would eventually develop into a crush. And there was no way anyone would be okay with that.

You washed your hands, shaking your head at yourself, and prepared to walk back out there. You were just not going to stare at Draco. Easy enough, right?

Wrong.

As soon as you opened the door to step back out, the man himself was standing right in front of you, leaning against the wall, the light from the window illuminating his face and casting a dramatic shadow on his other half.

“This is the ladies’ room,” you found yourself stupidly saying. You wanted to smack yourself. Of course he knew this was the ladies room.

“Uh, yeah, I’m aware,” he chuckled, crossing his arms. Goddamn it, he looked fine as hell. You took a deep breath and prepared to walk past him, but his hand wrapped around your wrist and stopped you in your step.

“Your bandage is gone,” he looked down to your left hand, which still had a clear mark of what Umbridge had your write, but it was closed up enough that you weren’t worried about it getting infected or anything at this point.

You didn’t know what to say back, so you were thankful he started speaking again.

“Uh, so, listen, I don’t know what happened that night, when I brought you to Umbridge, but I still can’t help the guilt that’s eating me alive.”

You smiled softly, “Seriously, it’s fine. It’ll heal, it’s not like she killed me or anything.” You tried lightening the mood, but he didn’t smile.

“I want to make it up to you,” he muttered, a light pink tint on his cheeks. You wanted to tease him about it, but you couldn’t. You were finally seeing a better, kinder side of him and you were gonna take it and run with it.

So, you walked closer and learned on the wall next to him, “How so?”

He mumbled something so quickly you didn’t understand a single word, but the fact that he avoided eye contact when saying it made you want to hear it even more.

“Come again?”

He took a deep breath and spoke clearly, “I want to take you to Hogsmeade next weekend. You and me.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. You leaned off the wall, heart pounding out of your chest. Had he just asked you on a date? A literal date? Draco Malfoy? Asking you on a date?

If this had been a week ago, you would have laughed in his face and stormed off, but now, he was like a whole new person to you, and you wanted to take him up on his offer. Something inside you — call it a gut feeling — convinced you that this wasn’t a twisted, insulting joke, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“Alright,” you grinned, “You and me.”

He visibly relaxed, a confident smirk making its way back onto his face, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

He walked off, leaving you grinning like an idiot, your cheeks warmer than ever. You couldn’t go out to your friends looking like this, they’d know somethings up. You actually got a date with Draco Malfoy. Those are words you never, ever expected to say.

You took a moment to cool yourself off, calming down the warmth in your cheeks, and made your way back out to the table. Your cheeks were less pink, but the smile was still on your face.

“Why’re you grinning so hard? Did you have a really good pee or something?” Ron raised an eyebrow at you as you took your seat once more, thankful that your hair was in your face to hide your stupidly happy expression.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” you nodded, taking a sip of your butterbeer and catching Draco’s eye across the room. He sent a wink your way and turned back to his conversation.

You couldn’t wait for next weekend.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy one shots #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy reader insert #harry potter imagines

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vercopaanir · 4 years

Text

Of the Mudhorn

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 16

Masterlist Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: While Kuiil takes care to save the life of the wounded fathier, you and the Mandalorian care for the foundlings in the desert, and you learn the secret of the child.

Words: 5.1k

Rating/Warnings: T, maybe for some romantic themes? I don’t know, man.

Notes: Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read and left comments. I cannot believe how this story has grown so exponentially! It could not have happened without your support. I am currently planning another PP character story. I’m not sure when it’ll be published, but I may be posting a preview of it sometime in the near future!

Please check out the newest artwork for this story here!

AO3

Recovering from your injuries has kept you asleep for a day and a half, so you’re not remotely tired when Kuiil offers you, once again, the use of his sleeping quarters. He had prepared a humble meal for you and the two children, and the Mandalorian sat quietly across from the table, one boot resting on his knee as he helps the petal eared infant in his lap drink bantha milk from a small clay cup. The Ugnaught speaks of the peace that had come to the valley, the steady work of his moisture farm, and the temperament of the blurrgs while you fill yourself on warm food and safety.

You stand to clean the table, grateful that he has lit several lanterns in the spacious living quarters so you can see better. When you gather the dishes, you don’t miss the way the two siblings yawn, sinking their elbows onto the table, but what surprises you most is the sudden jerk of the Mandalorian’s helmet when his head begins to nosedive forward.

Rounding the table, you gently extract the baby from his arms and smile softly when his visor tilts up toward you. Laying a cloth over your shoulder, you pat the child’s back with firm thumps and whisper, “Why don’t you take the bed? I’m not going to sleep for a time.”

When he doesn’t even put up an argument, you know he’s exhausted his physical limitations. He pushes himself to stand with a weary exhale from deep within his chest, and he practically drags himself to the back of the tent. He pauses as you turn away, and you hear his deep baritone rumble, “Come on.”

Corde and Venka slip from their seats at the table, gratefully falling in line behind the bounty hunter and rubbing their eyes with chubby fists. You smile when their familiar shadows disappear behind the thick curtain partition, and you smother a laugh to hear the baby on your shoulder belch and giggle triumphantly.

“I will tend the fathier, now. You are welcome to join me,” Kuiil says with a shrewd look, and you slide the baby comfortably into the crook of your arm, letting your free hand rest upon the Uganaught’s shoulder. He leads you outside, across the small yard to the blurrg’s pen. He shows you the stool by his workbench, and you set the child on the ground to toddle near your feet, enjoying the cool desert breeze while Kuiil begins sorting through husbandry supplies. “Will you tell me where this creature came from, and the children, or will I be left to guess?”

“I would be surprised if you couldn’t,” you say, smiling when he snorts and sets himself to work. The animal seems too spent to be able to fight or fuss under the handling of the Uganaught’s care, and you begin to tell the tale of everything that had happened after your last visit to Avarla-7.

Kuiil is an adept listener, sharing that quality with the Mandalorian. He doesn’t interrupt you, and he only makes affirming noises to assure you he is listening while he washes, tends, and treats the animal’s wounds. When you get to the story of Canto Bight, of your time in the stables, he returns to the workbench to remove his gloves and sit across from you.

“The children have burns on their hands, from what I suspect are brands. This is not uncommon in slave trade,” Kuiil says, and if he sees your face drain of color, if he notices the trembling that takes over your hands, he is too polite to comment on it. “I suspect, had the Mandalorian not come, you would wear a matching set.”

“Part of me will never let go of the guilt that he came back,” you confess, lowering your voice, and your chin to look down at your hands that were pristine beneath the lamplight. “So much could have gone wrong.”

“And do you think the small comfort you might have achieved would compare to the loss the Mandalorian would have taken?”

Kuiil has never spoken to you unkindly, but the terse, unforgiving growl makes you feel rather sick. You turn your eyes toward the child that is currently hopping after a toad that is nearly as big as he is, and you bite your lip. “I-I don’t know.”

“I do. And I suspect he does, as well.”

You watch the dim shape of the child at play, his world once again tilted decidedly in his favor without any knowledge of the hungry eyes following him from every corner of the galaxy. For something so small, so pure of heart, it overwhelms you, this knowledge that there is evil in the universe searching to snuff his little life out. Your hands curl in your lap, and you only realize you are gritting your teeth when your jaw begins to ache.

“I thought, when I first came here, that I was being traded a life of servitude for honest work,” you whisper, your voice beginning to choke with the tightness of contrition. A tear pearls in your eye, and when it falls to land upon your dress, the little child turns to look up at you as if he heard its descent. “I feel as if I somehow unwittingly cheated the universe. That one day the Maker will look down, see the excess of my happiness, and take it all back.”

The sounds of the frogs and insects and the quiet stream of the wind in the air is all there is to hear between two former slaves, for you know that Kuiil knows your fear first hand. There is nothing he can say, wise or brazen, that will ever quell the haunting in your heart of being a stranger without the yolk of servitude.

“Perhaps, your reward is great because you have saved two more souls from the worries you yourself now carry,” Kuiil grouses, looking down at his workbench and beginning again the task of organizing it. You turn your pale eyes towards him as he begins sorting through parts, fishing out a dirty rag to wipe the workspace down with. “And should the Maker find fault in that, I would no longer wish to know them.”

The child toddles up to you, gently hugging your ankle and pressing his face into the fabric of your dress. You lift him up into your arms, kissing his nose before pressing your brow to his. Six little fingers touch your cheeks, and you sniffle and smile. You stand slowly, the Ugnaught’s words going round and round in your head.

“Thank you, Kuiil. For everything.”

He says nothing, and you sit quietly until the sky nearly begins to lighten on the horizon. You turn towards the tent, the child nuzzling against your chest and yawning sweetly. You step quietly, slipping your boots off near the door and hunching down as you part the partition back. Upon the bed, the Mandalorian is flat on his back dressed in full armor, snoring quietly through his helmet, which weighs his neck down at an odd angle. Corde is asleep beneath his arm, hugging his middle and burying her face into the fabric of his shirt. Venka is curled at the foot of the bed, and you cover your lips to keep from laughing at the sight. Tucking the child into his pram, you gently nudge it so it floats silently beside the bed, and turn to the mess of bodies you now face.

You gently begin to situate the small boy, lifting his head to slip a folded blanket beneath his cheek to serve as a pillow. Next, you remove the Mandalorian’s boots, taking care with every buckle and tie so you can set them quietly on the ground. Just as you brush Corde’s hair from her warm cheek, a gloved hand grabs your wrist on instinct.

“It’s still early,” you murmur, lowering yourself so you perch on the edge of the bed by his hip, feeling the strength give in his fingers where he holds you. “Go back to sleep.”

His hand falls back onto the bed, and just like that, he’s out once again. You smile, gently laying down beside him, heat flushing your face at being so close. You’re on the edge of the cot itself, and you can’t help but remember his words from the hotel room when he took the space nearest the door. Your head pillows on his bicep, but you can’t be more comfortable than you are in that moment. You expect to be by yourself when you wake up, as is common with the bounty hunter you’ve grown to know and share your space with, but when next you open your eyes, there is an early morning light streaming through the hut’s meshing that catches on the beskar vambrace draping over your abdomen.

Quiet breathing through the vocoder is nestled in your hair that’s strewn across the pillow, and when you shift just slightly, you realize that someone has covered both of you with a blanket. The light is enough for you to see that neither child that had been asleep the night before remains where you left them, and when you look at the pram and the open shutters, it also sits empty.

Raising a hand to your forehead, you slowly sit up, fighting a yawn, before gently moving the dead weight of the arm pinning you down. There’s a muffled snort from under the helmet sinking back into the pillow, and his hand flexes on top of the blanket.

“Mphf-what’re you doing?” His voice is a rasp, scratchy and rough with sleep, and you wonder if he rested at all while you were recovering. You lay a hand on his arm soothingly, rubbing your thumb in circles. His voice is almost a plea, “Lay…lay back down.”

A smile dances at the corners of your mouth, and you whisper, “All the children are gone.” The utterly unimpressed grunt from under the helmet tells you exactly what the Mandalorian thinks of that, and your grin widens. “Sleep more if you like, but I would feel guilty leaving our host alone to mind all three of them.”

“As if they’d slow him down,” he mutters, but you feel him sit up behind you as you let your feet drop to the floor. You let your world settle upright, your balance and wakefulness coming together as the chill of the desert is chased away by the sun.

A gentle pressure between your shoulders inclines your head to turn, finding the Mandalorian pressing his helmet ponderously against your back.

“Really, you can keep sleeping,” you whisper, your heart aching at the sound of such a deep sigh.

His helmet angles to the side, and you feel his vambrace tuck beneath your breasts as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you backwards against him. Your head falls back into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and for a moment, you let yourself go limp, enjoying being handled.

“A tempting offer,” the rough baritone rumbles quietly. “But will you make it worth my while?”

Instinctively, your legs press together at the same time your lips part to breathe. Your heart begins to pound, heavy and fervent when his other gloved hand comes up to cup the front of your throat. There’s only the barest tease of pressure, and you know he can feel how your pulse is singing beneath the leather of his glove. Your own hands fall, resting firmly on his thighs that crowd either side of you, and you swallow hard.

Your breath rattles in your throat, and you lick your lips, turning your face toward his helmet that presses gently to your temple. “I…I don’t have anything to offer.”

His hum is laced with the static of his modulator, and you feel it deep in your belly. His arm around your waist tightens, and you bite your lip near enough to bleed when he drags you back hard against his body, leaving not even air between you.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, ner Mesh’la.” His voice is a growl now, so quiet that you can only hear it from beneath the helmet, and your entire body shivers when the beskar nuzzles your jaw, just beneath your ear. “You could have me on my knees, if you wished.”

You open your mouth, whether to whisper a plea to continue or beg him to stop, but both of your attentions draw to the giggling coo near the partition of the sleeping quarters.

The child stares up at the both of you, large, dark eyes blinking sweetly, and one hand drags his stuffed bantha behind him on the ground. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, and you feel a warm flush when you can feel the Mandalorian’s own chuckle in his chest at your back. His arms fall away from you, and you push yourself from him and the bed to stand up. Immediately, the child toddles at full speed toward you, huffing excitedly and waving his free hand upward.

Leaning down, you lift the infant up into your arms, and he drops his toy in deference to being up high, immediately grabbing tiny fistfulls of your hair in his fists. The Mandalorian moves around the small space, and you blow sweet kisses into the baby’s face until he falls forward, pressing his open mouth against your chin and gurgling happily.

“He missed you,” the Mandalorian says, his voice quiet as he sits to put his boots on. You tilt your head toward the child, bumping foreheads with him and smiling when he tries to kiss your nose next. He achieves biting the tip and grinning up at you proudly. The warrior’s voice catches when he says, “I didn’t think he would stop crying.”

Your heart sinks, and your smile falls, looking down at the little one in your arms to his father who busies himself with the ties of his boots. His view changes when you step between his feet, and he looks up at you through his visor. You think you can see his throat shift when he swallows.

“You’re a good father, you know,” you murmur, one hand drifting to cup the chiseled arch of one side of his helmet. You hear him exhale, his breath shaking when you smile. “Whether I’m here or not.”

His glove comes up to cup the back of your hand. You linger a moment before you turn and duck from behind the partition, carrying the child through the modest living quarters. You know your hair is tangled and your dress is wrinkled, but you step into your boots and begin preparing a small meal for the baby that hangs in the crook of one elbow. You want to give the Mandalorian privacy to eat or drink before you take up more space and time in the tent. The sun is shining bright, and when you step outside, you can hear Corde giggling from somewhere in the distance near the blurrg pen.

You sit at the workbench on the same stool you occupied the night before, leaning the child back so he could hold the little cup full of cold bantha milk comfortably and feed in the shade. Heavy footfalls bring your face up, and you smile at the blurry shape of your host.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Kuiil greets, picking up a tool from the bench in front of you. He seems to linger over the child, who blinks owlishly at him. “He’s eating more these days.”

“He is,” you agree, patting the child’s tummy with affection. “I think he must be going through a growth spurt.”

“Perhaps it is from his power,” Kuiil ruminates, rounding the workbench to the other side.

This draws your attention, and you blink slowly. “W-What power?”

Kuiil pauses, looking across the bench at you with a hard frown, his bushy brows lowering in confusion. “You do not know? The Mandalorian did not…tell you?” he demands gruffly, and you’re left feeling not unlike a fish, your mouth opening and closing helplessly. “Did he not speak of the mudhorn?”

You wrack your brain for any detail you may have missed from the story you’ve grown so fondly of thinking about, but you can’t recall anything about the child. He had simply told you the child had been present when a mudhorn was defeated.

Kuiil seems to interpret this misinformation from your face and throws the tool down so noisily, the child jumps and nearly drops the cup he drinks from. The Uganaught storms off toward the tent, and you flush with worry, sure you’ve just opened a door that was meant to stay closed. You heave a sigh, looking down at the little one you cradle, sighing, “I think I got your father in trouble. What could he be talking about, hm?”

The baby simply blinks up at you, his eyes falling slowly with drowsiness, and you can’t help the smile on your face. Movement out of your periphery draws your eye, and you see the Mandalorian stomping out of the tent, Venka trailing meekly behind him. The bounty hunter collapses near a small fire pit, his rifle across his knees with a cloth. The little boy sits near him, and Kuiil emerges a moment later, huffing up to you.

“That man is more muscle than sense, at times,” he growls at you, to which you blush and bite down a grin. “So I shall tell you the tale.”

Just as he had listened to your story the night before, you spend the entirety of his recollection sitting quietly and attentively. You only move to set the empty cup aside when the child has finished his meal, lifting him to your shoulder to burp him. Kuiil pauses to offer you a cleaning cloth, and you grow still when he describes the Mandalorian’s experience with the mudhorn.

“I…I don’t understand,” you murmur, looking down at the little one who’s nuzzling against your neck sleepily. “How is that possible?”

“I have heard stories, myself,” Kuiil rumbles, watching the little one dozing against you. “But they are not answers. I do not know what is true, but I do know that the Mandalorian would not lie about this young one.”

You lay one hand against the child’s back, feeling him breathe softly and curl against you for warmth. It doesn’t seem real, like something out of a dream, but it begins to fall into place with what you do know.

Why would the Empire seek out such a small innocent without something to gain? Something beyond what you could ever know. What does surprise you is how you feel no difference for the little one you cradle near your heart. He is still the same, sweet being you had given your heart to, and you press a kiss to his brow.

“I’m going to lay him down,” you murmur, standing and crossing the yard to the hut. You can feel eyes on you, following your every movement, but your focus is on the child you tuck into the pram waiting inside the tent. You leave the shutters open, in case he cries or wakes up to find you, and you arrange the blanket so it keeps out any unwanted chill.

Now with the sleeping quarters free, you take a moment to undress and change your clothes, sighing in relief at the feeling of clean, unrumpled fabric against your skin. You work the tangles out of your hair with a brush from your bag, and you splash cold water on your face from the faucet, taking care not to use too much.

As you dry your face, you can hear a quiet, rasping voice just outside the tent.

“Kandosii,” the Mandalorian praises, and you step close to the edge of the tent by the door to listen. “Again.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and you frown, wondering if you perhaps can’t hear as well as you think you do. When you peek around the edge of the door, you can see Venka leaning close to the Mandalorian by the fire pit, but you can’t make out anything that they’re doing. You step outside, trying to keep your feet light, but both of them look up as you approach.

When they lean away, there is nothing you can see, save for some scratchings on the ground in the rocky sand. The rifle still rests across the Mandalorian’s knees, the barrel pointing away from the boy.

“What are you two doing?”

You kneel down beside Venka, one hand brushing the boy’s shoulder companionably. He turns his face, still round with baby fat, towards the Mandalorian who nods encouragingly to him.

Venka reaches towards you and takes your hand, and you watch him curiously as he turns your palm upward. He uses one finger and begins tapping your palm in an uneven, stilted rhythm. You blink, glancing from his blurry outline to the Mandalorian’s shadow, which looks on silently.

The tapping stops abruptly, and Venka’s hands fall to his knees, now turning back to the warrior with the eagerness of a student. The gleaming visor nods once in approval, and the boy beams.

“I…I don’t understand,” you laugh softly, curling your fingers where they still hover upwards.

“It is called Dadita,” the Mandalorian explains, standing up with a ponderous sigh and rounding the fire pit to stand beside you. He uses the pronged barrel of his rifle to begin making long dashes and shorter nicks in the earth. “Every dash and beat represents a letter in Basic Galactic. It is a code we use in battle, to disguise messages so enemies cannot decipher our intentions.”

Your furrowed brows slowly lift up with understanding, and Venka takes your hand again, quickly tapping against your palm. The look of pure joy on the little boy’s face brings tears to your eyes, watching him tap earnestly to communicate with you. To speak and to be understood after so long of having no voice

The Mandalorian takes a knee beside you, watching as the boy taps his message quickly.

“What is he saying?” you ask softly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“‘I love my sister. We are happy.’”

Your hand not held by the child covers your mouth, more tears falling when you close your eyes. Venka holds your hand with both of his now, looking worriedly between you and the Mandalorian, and you feel a warm, gloved hand resting on your shoulder. He nods at the little boy once, and Venka stands up and wraps his arms around your neck. You gather him close, hugging him tightly, and cup the back of his head. He seems content to be held, so you embrace him until your tears dry salty tracks on your cheeks before you kiss his mop of fluffy curls.

“You will have to teach us all how to speak it,” you whisper, turning to face the Mandalorian. His visor bows silently in agreement, and you pet the boy’s hair back into place where you’d mussed it. “Go on, don’t-don’t worry about me.”

Venka hesitates, glancing between you both before running off towards Kuiil where he’s welding at his workbench. You sit beside the armored warrior silently, eyes closed and breathing deeply. You feel something shift within you that you had thought was unmovable, and now you can’t imagine what to do with yourself without those surrounding you.

“Why…why didn’t you tell me about the child?” you ask, your voice half a croak from the tears clogging your throat. You feel the Mandalorian sigh even though you can’t hear it. “About what he did? What he can do?”

The Mandalorian looks down at the rocky stand you both kneel in, resting the butt of his rifle on the ground and leaning on it. He’s quiet for such a long time, you wonder if he’s going to ignore your question, but you also know for someone who speaks so rarely, he chooses his words carefully.

Finally, he whispers, “I was…afraid you would leave, if you knew.”

Whatever you were prepared for him to say, it was not this.

“What?” you breathe, eyes widening. You hear the man beneath the armor let out a deep groan, and he lets his helmet fall forward against his rifle, as if in pain. You sit forward, grabbing the lip of his helmet and pulling his visor around to face you. He tenses immediately, and you blink the tears from your lashes. “Tell me, p-please.”

He lets out a strangled, quiet noise that’s near a whimper, and his hand not holding his rifle gently wraps around your wrist. “I was afraid you would leave if you knew how dangerous it was to…to be close to him. To us.” There’s a heavy, loaded silence for a brief moment before he whispers over the strain of his leather glove that tightens around his gun, “I-I don’t think we can go back to that, Cyare. I don’t think I can.”

With the firm grip on his helmet, you draw him down to you, pressing his helmet to your forehead, and you whisper, “You will never have to.”

The Dadita lessons begin the next day, when the sun is bright in the morning without hurting your eyes. You think he must have prepared for it, as you direct Venka how to wash the dishes from breakfast when he walks back into the hut carrying the drooling infant in one arm, asking the three of you to come outside when you’re finished.

You barely have Corde’s hair brushed before the two children are dragging you outside. The Mandalorian stands near the barn where the blurrgs are chomping upon great swaths of desert flora and vegetation, and the baby toddles after a rogue frog hopping about in the shade, giggling in its chase.

His amban rifle rests in the crook of his arm, the barrel opened at the end where it hangs from his elbow showing plain for you and anyone else that it isn’t loaded. He uses the pronged tip of the barrel to draw in the sand the markings for every letter in Galactic Basic, only stepping away when Kuiil asks for his assistance with a task or chore.

The code itself is not hard for you to master, but understanding it being spoken back to you is the true challenge. Venka picks it up with ease, tapping in your palm with rapid fire fluency. You huff, amusement and exasperation coloring your face as you shake your head.

“You are too clever by half for me,” you tell him, trapping his hand in yours and tickling his side. He wheezes, dancing away before coming back to you. “Alright, then, slower this time.”

Kuiil takes a break from farm work with you near the barn, watching as he eats a humble meal beside the Mandalorian of the children tapping various objects and upon different surfaces to speak to one another. At one point, Corde skips into the barn to tap through the wall, sharing secrets with her brother, and you move to sit beside the Ugnaught, your head beginning to ache from memorizing so many dashes and dots.

“Have you ever had to use this before?” you ask, folding your hands in your lap. Kuiil glances the way of the Mandalorian at your question, and you notice his fingers tapping along his cuirasse pause. “In battle or…otherwise?”

Venka runs from the wall of the barn around to the door to join his sister, ignoring your call to him not to touch anything inside.

“No.” He sounds like he’s frowning, thinking back to some memory he’d rather not bite into. “Though it would have been an advantage if I had.”

“There are not many Mandalorians to use it with,” Kuiil says, by way of an explanation as he gathers up the small plate he was eating from. “But now you have some to speak it with.”

The Mandalorian watches the Ugnaught amble off, and you smile after him, feeling warmth from the words. When you turn back around, you find the bounty hunter kneeling beside you, and you suck in a breath of surprise at how silent and how quick he is. He doesn’t leave you room when he cups your chin with one hand and lifts the edge of his helmet to his nose, stealing a kiss as soon as you’re both alone.

Your hands fly up to his helmet, holding the carved arches where his cheeks would be, and you can’t swallow the tiny moan that escapes you when he parts your lips beneath his. With one hand now free, he slides it to rest upon the flesh of your waist, the other drawing up your jaw to cup the back of your neck. You thought you had dreamed the sweetness you’d tasted upon the Razor Crest, and the urgency of his warm mouth leaves you floating the rest of the day.

He exploits his stealth around you more as the week passes. Stealing a kiss behind the barn or the curtain of the sleeping quarters becomes more sought after than water in the desert, always careful of his helmet or the light to protect his face. Your fingers find purchase somewhere new to titillate you-in the frothy, soft curls beneath his helm, on his slim waist beneath his cloak, even once, when the children slept in the mid-afternoon, upon the buckle of his belt to pull him closer when he crowds you behind Kuiil’s hut.

It becomes distracting in the heat, so you busy yourself with teaching the children things to keep them from idling and to keep yourself from gazing too long at the armored bounty hunter never more than a few steps behind you. Venka becomes an accomplished tailor under your patient instruction, hemming the baby’s robe while Corde assists the Mandalorian in bathing the small child. You marvel at the tenacity the little children have, following their guardian’s shadow and watching him with all the admiration of students.

One evening, they both go out with the Mandalorian so he can teach them how to look for tracks in the desert terrain, and you help Kuiil feed the blurrgs. When they return, stained with dust and dirt and their eyes brighter than crystals, you can’t help but laugh at the tired slump in the warrior’s pauldrons. When you can’t help a giggle, he grabs you around the middle with greedy hands and wipes his dirty helmet against your forehead, smearing dirt all over your face as you shriek with laughter.

You watch him lumber away, tossing Corde over his shoulder without ceremony while she screams giggles of her own, Venka trailing after him as he heads into the hut. Watching them, you hold such a pain within your chest unlike anything else you have ever felt that it brings tears to your eyes.

How could something you have never had before become all you know?

Mando’a Translations:

Ner Mesh'la - My Beauty

Kandosii - “Well done.”

Cyare - Beloved

Dadita - A code used by Mandalorians, similar to Morse code.

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thanksjro · 4 years

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Dark Cybertron Chapter 11: The Word “Logic” Doesn’t Even Mean Anything Anymore

Our issue opens up with a flashback to establish some things. 

Because despite the six literal issues of prelude, and all the ham-fisted exposition we’ve gotten throughout the “Dark Cybertron” event, we still don’t have all the information we need to understand what the hell’s happening.

I have a feeling this won’t quite cut the mustard, either.

Anyway, back during the events of MTMTE #1, when Rodimus was making his call to action to his fellow Cybertronians (and by “Cybertronians” I, of course, mean “Autobots”, because prejudice is a hard habit to kick, even for the best of us) Brainstorm was doing science on Hardhead. He was doing this science to make sure that the Dead Universe hadn’t killed him without him realizing. This is a very common issue in the world of IDW2005 Transformers, considering that zombies are a part of canon, so it’s just best to be sure. Nova Prime’s lifeless body sits in the corner like the world’s worst coffee table book.

This will take some explaining, because this is Phase One related.

In Spotlight: Sideswipe, Nova Prime beefed it, except he didn’t, because his “essence” returned to the Dead Universe. This is because he was chosen by the Dead Universe to enact its will on the other, much cooler, Not-Dead Universe. In short, he’s a weird robot zombie-ghost with a save point in the Dead Universe.

Brainstorm has his corpse in his lab to make sure this bastard is true and proper dead, or that the body he left behind is at least. That, in combination with Hardhead proving to be very much alive, means that today can be counted as a win for everyone! The “Alive-People-Counter” machine proves it!

…This is why we can’t have nice things.

Brainstorm being undead does have some precedence within the narrative, given what happened in MTMTE #3.

Though I can’t help but wonder what the guy’s been doing for the last year and a half, that he didn’t notice being dead, when his soul is a large, glowing orb with physical presence. I dunno, he just seems like the sort of guy to keep up to date on that sort of thing, if only for scientific purposes.

In the present day, in the beautiful city of Iacon, everything’s gone to shit, and Whirl’s gotten hot for some reason, as billions of Ammonites fall out of the sky.

Who friggin’ drew this-

I should’ve known.

Up on the Lost Light, Ultra Magnus is breaking out the fancy swears, as a… tornado, I guess, of Ammonites hits the underside of the ship. Bumblebee wants to evacuate the friggin’ planet- which, I don’t know if you know this, would be a little difficult to do, even with a ship the size of NYC. Unfortunately, that’s not gonna fly, however, because all the stars in the sky are blue-shifting.

Wikipedia tells me that this is probably a bad thing, and Perceptor agrees, calling it “the end of everything.”

Over in Shockwave’s Lair of Villainy and Magical Bullshit, everyone’s favorite purple science gremlin has stabbed a “time drive” into his chest. Galvatron is laying dead on the floor in the foreground, but this isn’t about him. Shockwave orders Jhiaxus to activate the time drive, I guess because he doesn’t have long enough arms to do it himself. Jhiaxus warns Shockwave to be mindful, lest he lose himself in time, and then we get a return to a Roberts writing staple that we haven’t seen in quite a while.

Waxing poetic on the nature of time- this time, in a visual medium!

Awful lot of fixating on your ritualistic amputations there, Shocky-boy. I suppose this is ONE way to try to cope with a lack of control in your life.

Of course, to those on the outside of Shockwave’s brain, this doesn’t look nearly as impressive- it actually just looks like him screaming really loud at the ceiling. Bludgeon isn’t sure that this course of action is a healthy one to take, but Jhiaxus is too busy being sapiosexual to worry about that.

I-

Sure. I’m not even going to bother trying to understand this anymore.

Jhiaxus orders Monstructor to go keep the Autobots away from Shockwave.

Also, Galvatron isn’t dead. Good for him, I guess.

Over inside Metroplex, Windblade’s face seems to be stuck in the generic “I am a nice, nonthreatening female character who is also pretty” position, as Ultra Magnus tells her that the universe is ending. Chromia watches in the background as this happens, likely wondering if being relevant in modern media again is worth this bullshit.

Hearing that Bumblebee plans to take the fight to Shockwave is enough to get Metroplex back on his feet, which is good, because I don’t think we have a lot of time to convince the guy to do anything- this event ends next issue.

As Metroplex windmills his arms through swarms of Ammonites, the Lost Light lands, and Bumblebee, Megatron, and all their experts disembark. Bumblebee makes an unsolicited comment about Megatron’s body. They go to meet Soundwave, who isn’t terribly thrilled with Megatron having become all buddy-buddy with Bumblebee. Megatron mentions that the Decepticons are going to have to rethink their strategy once this is all over, with the implication being that they’re going to- gasp- work together with the Autobots.

Then Starscream shows up with Metalhawk, Skywarp, Rattrap, Waspinator, and Scoop for some fucking reason, in tow. Skywarp is going to teleport everyone into Shockwave’s Bastardization of the Concept of Science House, even though he pretty clearly isn’t feeling too well. What a guy.

Starscream and Megatron have a bit of banter that won’t set your hair on end with how awful they are to one another, Metalhawk tries to apologize for attempting to kill Bumblebee, and we really don’t have time for this shit right now. The narrative knows this, because it shifts to focus on Prowl and the Constructicons. Things are looking real rough just about everywhere, and it’s coming down to the wire, so they gotta do the thing.

The thing Prowl really doesn’t want to do.

The thing he said that he wouldn’t do again.

So anyway, they form Devastator.

As Monstructor gets ready to get punched in the face by a bunch of construction workers and a cop, everyone down below is firing off laser blasts and gearing up for a teleporting adventure. However, there’s a small problem- there are too many people to teleport! Oh no! The only solution is for Soundwave and his cassettes, Scoop, Getaway and-

Excuse me, Hook?

Hook, my dude? What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be a leg right now, motherfucker, why are you here? GO HOME, HOOK.

Anyway, I’m really glad we wasted the time establishing that Soundwave and his band of merry little men were coming along on this trip, only for them to not come along after all. Love that shit.

I don’t actually love that shit. I’m sorry for lying.

With the load lightened, Skywarp teleports the rest of the gang to where they need to be, and Waspinator is immediately stabbed with a massive raging poisoning sword of doom. Bludgeon’s here to greet everyone, and Metalhawk is gonna try his damnedest to get the guy to come around to their side.

You remember when Metalhawk did things like connive, and scheme, and actually had more depth than a sidewalk puddle? Because I remember. Now he’s just... Beast Wars Silverbolt, but he’s not even attempting to be charming. I bet he wouldn’t even call his evil girlfriend “my soul’s delight.” Lame.

Bumblebee, Megatron, and friends book it for Shockwave, while Magnus and Skids get ready to kick some ass. Brainstorm isn’t feeling so hot, but this isn’t about him.

Starscream is having a minor crisis over the fact that Scoop stayed behind in a literal war zone for Starscream’s sake. I dunno that he did it specifically for Starscream, but Starscream seems pretty convinced that he did, and who am I to argue with the leader of a whole friggin’ planet?

The gang makes it to Jhiaxus’ ship, where they find-

I swear to god, if there’s not a fucking explanation for what the shit is happening right here I’m going to scream.

…So anyway, Metalhawk and Jhiaxus start beating each other up, Starscream gets bent out of shape by Jhiaxus’ trash talk, and we get an explanation for his new look.

Which, y’know, thank fucking god.

Jhiaxus has new reactive armor, which takes anything thrown at him and adapts it to his own body for personal use, which feels like some Grade-A Kids Playing Pretend bullshit, but WHATEVER.

While this is going on, Megatron and Bumblebee have run into the center of Shockwave’s Laboratory of Morally-Abhorrent Mystical Buffoonery Masquerading as the Scientific Method. Dreadwing tries to make a case for self-defense of his property, but unfortunately he doesn’t understand how property rights work, and gets blasted for his troubles. Galvatron reveals himself to be alive to Megatron, who immediately grabs the dude by the throat.

Galvatron’s feeling pretty down about having inadvertently helped end the universe, and is throwing himself a little pity party. Megatron’s not having it, however, tossing the man into the ground and revving up to fusion-cannon him to death. Bumblebee stops him, for some reason, and then starts rambling, I guess STILL trying to be Optimus Prime 2.0.

Bumblebee, you put bombs in people’s heads to make them fall into line. You don’t get to talk to Captain Warlord about moral nuance. And weren’t you also berating Metalhawk for trying this same thing not five minutes ago?

Bumblebee’s words reach Megatron, and instead of annihilating Galvatron, he offers the dude a hand up.

Then Bumblebee gets shot and dies, while Shockwave just… stares menacingly, I guess.

Cool.

The death of his very best friend in the whole wide world sends Megatron into a rage, and he punches Shockwave in the face. This doesn’t really faze him much though, as he bats Megatron across the fucking room like he’s made of papier-mâché and dreams, going on about how the universe will save Cybertron by being its power source “in an endless forever.”

Shockwave, you’re a man of science. You ought to know that “forever” as a concept, doesn’t fucking WORK scientifically. It’s nonsense. You’re nonsense, and I hate you.

Back with the Bludgeon Ass-Kicking Squad, Brainstorm’s having a bad time, while everyone else sort of awkwardly poses. Skids gets stabbed. Skids falls down. Brainstorm falls down. Ultra Magnus is concerned, but he’s too busy not being stabbed to help anyone.

Brainstorm’s in a lot of pain, and then a hand bursts out of his chest and-

GODDAMMIT JAMES.

Fucking- Team -Imus burst out of the Dead Universe from Brainstorm, who I will remind you, is undead thanks to Dead Universe lightning bullshit, making him a link between it and the much cooler Not-Dead Universe. Everyone is posing, even Cyclonus, who absolutely should think that sort of thing is beneath him, but whatever.

That’s the end of the issue. Go home.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #dark cybertron #issue 11 #rid #exrid #issue 27 #maccadam #Hannzreads #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #text post #long post #comic script writing

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akaluan · 3 years

Note

23 and 33, erich/kisuke, "Adam and Evil"? :D

(art by ser, as usual XD)

(23: One night stand turns serious, 33: Balcony Wooing scene Erich/Kisuke)

Kisuke eyes the slowly lightening sky, then glances over his shoulder at the bed where Erich is casually leaning back against the headboard, a book in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other.

“I thought you were going?” Erich asks as he glances up from his book, his gaze almost a physical sensation as he trailed it down Kisuke’s body. “You certainly got dressed quickly enough.”

“Maa… well…” Kisuke purses his lips and looks away, trying to focus on the town outside instead of on the awkward urge to simply turn back and crawl into bed with Erich once more. “I should… really head out,” he murmurs, trying to convince himself more than anything else; catching feelings certainly wasn’t in his plans when he fell into bed with Erich the night before, both of them jittery with the relief of surviving— of repelling— a full Otherworld Invasion practically on their own.

He’s proven his theory sound, proven that he can indeed predict the waves of monsters from beyond, and now… now he needs to move on. To the next town, the next critical point, the next lonely struggle.

(He has to do something to make up for all the mistakes he’s made in the past, and if this is all he can do, if running from town to town to fight the hoards until he dies is his penance, then he’ll do it.)

(There is no other option.)

Erich hums softly and turns the page in his book. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know,” he says, voice deliberately casual.

Kisuke hastily bites back a snort at Erich’s words; no matter how willing the man was to both fight at his side and later fall into bed with him, he truly doubts the man means the implicit offer of his words. The Quincy are a bold people, unafraid of living in the wild-lands under constant threat of Otherworld Invasions, but they are also a prideful people, and the idea that a Quincy would permanently ally with a Shinigami is ludicrous.

(Shinigami are the ones who, long ago, drove the Quincy out of safety and into the wild-lands beyond.)

(Nearly every Quincy he’s come across in his travels holds that grudge near and dear to their heart.)

(That Erich hasn’t shot him in the back already is enough of a miracle.)

(He isn’t going to push his luck further.)

“If you think I’m unaware that you’re a Shinigami, then you need to seriously stop and rethink your approach,” Erich tells him with a touch of amusement. “The sword alone is pretty obvious.”

“Ex-Shinigami, thank you,” Kisuke replies, a bit more sharply than he intends, then grimaces at the way Erich’s expression shades towards thoughtful. “Never mind,” he mutters in an awkward attempt to brush it aside. “Stay on your toes. There will probably be another invasion here in a week and a half.”

“A week and a— hey! Kisuke! Get back here and explain!”

Kisuke flinches at the rising anger in Erich’s voice but doesn’t pause. He vaults over the little balcony’s railing and the minute his sandals hit the pavement below, he darts away in a burst of shunpo.

He has other towns to visit, other invasions to thwart.

He can’t let unexpected feelings get in his way.

(Never again.)

(Never.)

\\\

The next time they meet, Kisuke is exhausted and wounded and fighting for his life, and Erich is a deadly storm that sweeps in and shoves the rising tide of monsters back.

Erich is… Erich is beautiful, Kisuke acknowledges numbly; the man’s every move carries intent almost as powerful as the monsters’ own, and he drives them back with furious ease, leaving dead and dying monsters in his wake. Not one manages to slip past him, not towards Kisuke, not towards the town Kisuke was trying to defend, not even towards the plains beyond. The only way they can escape is back through the Otherworld Tear, and with every minute that passes more and more monsters decide to flee back to their own realm, until finally the Tear collapses and a watchful silence settles.

Kisuke swallows as Erich turns towards him, hand clenching tight around the Benihime’s hilt, but he can’t force himself to move. Can’t force himself to run the way he should.

(He’s weary-injured-exhausted and Erich is fresh-powerful-furious and they parted poorly and he— he can’t— Erich will—)

“You foolish man,” Erich says as he closes the distance between them, gaze sharp and hands warm-kind-soft as he begins to assess Kisuke’s wounds. “Sorry,” he murmurs in apology as his fingers catch on a bloodied scrap of fabric and Kisuke chokes back a pained noise. “Come on, let’s get you back to town so I can actually treat these.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” Kisuke forces out while trying to bat Erich’s hands away. “I can take care of it myself, and I have other places to be.” Which is a lie, or at least the part about needing to be elsewhere is; his calculations don’t indicate another Invasion for more than a week, which is fine. He’ll just… find a place to hole up for a while as he heals. Maybe find Tessai to help. He’ll be fine. He will.

Erich narrows his eyes and steps back, arms crossing over his chest, his voice sharp-defensive-wary as he says, “You have five minutes to get out of my sight, then. Otherwise, I’m bringing you back to town with me.”

The breath freezes in Kisuke’s throat as he stares blankly at Erich, uncertain how to take the man’s words. Last time, they’d fallen into bed simply because they’d fought side-by-side and survived, but this time—

This time, Erich had to come to his rescue. This time, Kisuke is at his mercy, has turned down the (maybe honest?) offer for help, and now Erich wants him gone, so he—

Flees.

\\\

Tessai heals him, because of course Tessai does, and then Kisuke immediately flees before he has to listen to any further comments about his (lack of) common sense; Tessai doesn’t know why Kisuke ran four towns over in the state he did, and Kisuke’s not about to tell him about Erich, so it does probably look like a worse decision than it was, but that’s fine.

Tessai’s had opinions about Kisuke’s common sense since they first met, and it hasn’t changed their friendship in the slightest.

Kisuke makes sure to keep an eye out from then on, senses stretched to the limit in order to catch the smallest trace of Erich’s presence, and does his best to stay on the move. He doesn’t know what a third meeting will entail, but he doesn’t want to risk it; with his luck, Erich will simply shoot him on sight without giving him a chance to escape.

Still, he can’t just stop. He’s the reason for the rising tide of invasions: it’s his research, his experiments, his knowledge that Aizen is using to influence the worlds.

And Kisuke just let him have it.

(He should have seen through the man’s tricks, should have been more cautious, more wary, more alert!)

(Instead, he fell right into Aizen’s trap, too blinded by his own hubris to see the jaws closing around him and now—)

(No.)

(He doesn’t have time to wallow.)

(He’ll fix this.)

(He will.)

(…he has to…)

#art by ser #replies #prompt fic #there are multiple other sections of this #they will be posted as the days continue #erich/kisuke #prompt fill

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fanfictionaries · 4 years

Text

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 17 - Chasing Pirates

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Fred receives another letter from Angelina and must face some tough questions from George.

Hermione struggles with her want to keep Harry informed, but is happy things are finally back to normal with Ron and Fred -- but are they really? And how will she cope with some unsettling news?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

We’ve got internet babies!!!

As always, please, please, please feel free to like, comment, and reblog. I LOVE interacting with you all!!

Masterlist

<<<Chapter 16

In your message you said, you were goin' to bed,

But I'm not done with the night. So I stayed up and read, but your words in my head, Got me mixed up so I turned out the light.

And I, don't know how, to slow it down. My mind's racing from chasing pirates.

Fred figured it was just his luck that in the confusion of everyone running from his mother, he ended up in his bedroom with George and Hermione. He also figured it was just his luck he was too angry with his twin brother to censor his words.

“Are you fucking kidding me George?” Fred seethed, trying to keep his voice down as they were in fact still hiding from their mother.

“Oh lighten—”

“No! No, I will not just lighten up! Why?! What was going on in that evil little skull of yours?” Fred’s hand tightened on the towel around his waist as he paced back and forth. He was angry. Angrier than he had ever been at his brother, which was saying something because he’d never actually been cross with George before. Sure, he’d been miffed and on the odd occasion annoyed by his twin brother, and vice versa of course, but never like this. No, he was well and truly pissed off. Which meant this was entirely new territory for the both of them as Fred tried to manage his emotional tirade and George tried to manage Fred.

“Well, I—”

“You know how things are with Angelina right now and you knew how I felt and then you had to go and do this? I mean, why would you—they—”

“Fred—”

“—especially after what I told you this morning. I mean, I know we’re in it for a laugh and all most of the time, and to be fair this was quite funny. If it were anyone else, it would’ve been a real gut buster. But come on. This was just cheap!”

“Fred—”

“And to include Ginny in it? What? Did you tell her?”

“FRED!” George whispered harshly, putting a stop to Fred’s pacing, and clamping his hand over his brother’s mouth. At first, Fred’s instinct was to rip George’s hand off of his mouth and continue his rant. He was upset. Therefore, he was entitled to as much whinging and scolding as he pleased.

But then he saw George’s eyes flicker to a very confused and sheepish looking Hermione sitting on the edge of George’s bed and that instinct vanished. His eyes grew wide, realizing only then that he’d been freely ranting about Hermione and himself with the girl in question sitting right there. Fucking arsing balls, Fred cursed in his head. How much had he said? Enough to give anything away or only enough to make himself seem like a raving lunatic? He thought about subtly asking George but didn’t get the chance.

Their mother’s angry footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs followed by her equally angry voice, “Someone had better come out here and face me or I’ll be knocking down every single door in this hallway.”

Fred’s head swung from his brother to the door and back. “You have to go out!” Fred whispered in a panic.

“Me? Why me?” asked George.

Fred looked down at his towel-clad body pointedly and then to Hermione who was still sans shirt. “First of all, you owe us. Second, I wonder how mum will feel when she finds Hermione in here with us like this,” said Fred.

George’s face contorted in conflict as the pros and cons of taking the blame for waking up Walburga once again, or having their mother find a half-naked girl in their room. Finally he gave a sort of whiny sigh.

He was just shy of opening their bedroom door when he turned and pointed a finger in Fred and Hermione’s direction. “I want you two to know that I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart and that by going out here I’m fully proving my remorse for this afternoon’s prank.”

“Just go!” Hermione squeaked, shifting uncomfortably, and holding her arms tightly across her chest.

George took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before opening the heavy oak door with flourish and slamming it behind him quickly. “Mum! You’re looking lovely this afternoon,” said George, his voice muffled as he now stood in the hallway.

“I should have known—” she sounded aggravated and slightly defeated, thought Fred “—let’s go. You’re going to help me shut that old bag up and then I think the basement closet needs de-spidering, George Weasley.”

“Come now mum, surely by now you’d be able to tell that I’m Fred.”

Fred sighed, shaking his head, and smiling against his better judgement. Leave it to George to have the last laugh. “Wanker…” Fred mumbled as he crossed the room to his dresser. He dug into one of the drawers and pulled out an old shirt. Throwing it in Hermione’s direction, he politely averted his eyes and began to grab clothes for himself.

“I didn’t know you were a Puddlemere United fan.”

“What?” Fred turned, her comment catching him off guard. While it was a Puddlemere United shirt, you couldn’t know that unless you were familiar with the navy-blue colour and golden crossed bulrushes.

“Puddlemere United,” Hermione repeated, staring strangely at his hand, and then looking away with a slight blush. Fred look to his hand to find that he was still grasping a pair of striped, blue pants. He turned around again, grabbing a pair of trousers – a brand of muggle jeans Lee had turned him and George onto – before grabbing a clean white shirt.

“Yeah. George is a bit more of a Falmouth Falcons fan, but I’ve always preferred Puddlemere. I didn’t know you knew anything about quidditch.”

Hermione let out a snort that while rude, Fred found to be quite endearing. “Please, you can’t be friends with Ron and Harry and not know at least a little bit about quidditch. I’ve read Quidditch Through the Ages at least five times.”

“Never would have guessed it from the vacant expression you get on your face every time it’s brought up,” Fred laughed, pulling his shirt over his head. The cotton material felt nice and light in the warm room.

“That’s because it’s usually Ron going on and on about the Chudley Cannons or how much the Slytherin house team sucks. The same story gets a bit boring over time. Now, if he wanted to talk about the history of quidditch rules and legislature, or the statistical odds of certain teams winning or losing, I might chime in.

“Just when I thought I had you figured out, ‘Mione.” Fred turned but paused, looking between the clothes in his hand and Hermione staring at him once again. While he certainly wasn’t shy, he didn’t really fancy Hermione getting a full view of his…full frontal for a second time that day. Especially when she hadn’t seemed all too cheery about it the first time. “Do you mind?”

“Oh! Um, of course—” Hermione turned, covering her eyes with her hands “—sorry.”

“S’alright,” Fred laughed. Something about Hermione’s embarrassment made him feel a whole lot better about the situation. “You know, I guess I was right.”

“About what?” asked Hermione, still facing the other way as Fred zipped up his trousers.

“Last summer when I guessed you were trying to see me and George naked.”

“Oh piss off!” Hermione cried, the tremor of a laugh in the back of her throat.

If Fred weren’t trying to tease her to make himself feel more comfortable, he probably would have gaped in pure delight that Hermione Granger had just told him to piss off. But, he was, so instead he continued, “You know if you really wanted to get a look, you just had to ask. I’m taken, but George would probably say yes…and Ron,” Fred hesitated to say the last part. The words had come to the tip of his tongue without him even trying, giving him pause to wonder why his brain was at all interested in what Hermione thought of seeing Ron naked. Because you fancy her, you daft git, scoffed the little voice in his head. Ah yes, there was that he supposed.

Hermione made a disgruntled sound, “Yes, I suppose that’s why Ginny was involved. She probably told George all about how she thinks Ron has a crush on me.”

“You can uncover your eyes now. I’m all decent.” Fred crossed the room and settled himself onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione in a teasing manner. “I’ve been burned twice already today. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for a third time.”

“Shut up. You’re fine,” Fred laughed, throwing a pillow at the bookish girl.

“Oof,” Hermione grunted, the pillow knocking her to the side but making her laugh all the same. She brought her hands down, hugging the pillow to her chest.

“And how do you feel about that?” Fred asked Hermione, trying to make his voice sound as casual as possible.

“About what?” she questioned, running her hands over her mussed hair.

“You know, about Ron liking you or whatever.”

“Honestly?” Hermione asked, sounding like it was a topic she was entirely tired of talking about.

Fred perked up at this, watching Hermione crawl up George’s bed until she was parallel with him.

“I’d rather he didn’t,” sighed Hermione, tucking her legs underneath her and scrunching her nose in the way that made Fred’s stomach flip. He watched as his shirt hung on her frame, engulfing her upper half and the top part of her legs. If he didn’t know already that she was wearing shorts, he could have easily assumed she was in nothing but her knickers and his shirt. Merlin, he really needed to stop giving her his clothes if this was the direction his brain was going to go every time. He looked away, down at his hands that he’d moved to his lap, now laced together by the fingers.

“Why? Holding out for someone else?” It was more of a joke than a serious question really – a call back to her hesitancy to accept Viktor Krum’s invitation to the Yule ball. In fact when Fred said it, it was in such a sardonic tone that he never even considered that he might be hitting the nail directly on the head. Fred’s heart gave a sort of leap in his chest when she didn’t answer right away. He expected her to tell him off, or throw a pillow at his head, but instead there was silence.

Looking up he was surprised to see Hermione had gone slightly pale, mouth open and eyes wide in panic. “I—”

Before the girl could answer a tap at the window pulled their attention. Fred hopped off his bed and walked to the window where the same stately owl he’d seen a few days prior sat on the ledge. His stomach gave a strange pull as he realized who the owl was most likely for and from. He wasn’t prepared for the harsh wave of heat that washed over him when he opened the window. It felt like it had gotten at least five degrees hotter outside. How could it possibly be any hotter? Fred wondered, taking the letter from the owl, and closing the old window tightly as it flew off into the sun-hazed sky.

He held the letter addressed to himself in sweat-slicked hands. Glancing at Hermione who now looked curiously in his direction, Fred thought for a moment that he should perhaps open it later. That way he wouldn’t have any questioning looks, or expectant faces. On the other hand though, the curiosity was killing him. He had not written Angelina back since the last time she wrote. Truthfully, the letter didn’t feel like it warranted a response and of course he’d been quite busy with the troublesome distraction that currently sat in the room with him. He’d picked up a quill a few times since but staring at the blank page he felt at a loss for words. What should he write? All things currently of interest in his life felt quite shady and untoward and everything else felt inconsequential. Finally, he decided to just get it over with quickly.

The envelope only tore a little as he opened it carefully before sliding out a letter that was pleasantly longer than the last one he’d received from his girlfriend.

Dear Fred,

I finally got to reading the rest of your letters. I’m sorry to hear that your summer isn’t going as fun as you’d hoped. Where exactly are you anyways? From your letters it sounds like you’re in London. Why didn’t you tell me you had family there, you wanker? I would have made you visit them one of these past summers and we could have hung out. London has a lot of cool spots – wish I were there to show you around, but camp lasts all summer long. I guess the only upside to that, is I don’t have to listen to my mother whing on and on about my chores or my clothes or whatever else she’s decided to have a go at for the week.

Fred laughed lightly at the mention of Mrs. Johnson. Angelina had been in a tense war with her mother for the past two years. She swore up and down that her mother was unhappy with anything she did, no matter what. Fred could relate to that. The two of them often swapped stories about their mothers’ disapproval and the wild things they’d done to stir up trouble in their families. He remembered the amount of begging Angelina had had to do that past spring in order to convince her mother to let her go to the summer-long camp. Mrs. Johnson wasn’t too pleased with how athletically inclined Angelina was – convinced that her daughter should be a bit more proper. Secretly, Fred figured Mrs. Johnson finally relented to Angelina’s request just to have an end to the constant badgering.

Have you thought about taking the day off? You’re 17 now and you’ve got all those galleons from Harry (lucky bastard). Surely you and George could sneak off to Diagon Alley for the day or even muggle London! I can give you a list of places if you’d like.

Things are still busy here.

A large drop of smeared ink painted the parchment after the last sentence, as if she’d spent a long time contemplating on what to say next, allowing the ink to drop from her quill before messily attempting to clean it up.

Oliver’s been helping me a lot these past few weeks and it’s actually been pretty great! I know what you’re thinking, how can I possibly be surviving? Don’t get me wrong, he’s still obsessed with the game in that overly intense way, but he’s not nearly as bad as he was in school. Turns out when he’s not consumed by winning the house cup, he’s quite a cool bloke.

I’m making a lot of new friends as well! There are some guys from Ilvermorny here, the American school. They’re quite loud and brash – it reminds me of you.

Anyway, I should probably wrap this up. Oliver’s promised to show me and a couple other people some defensive techniques he’s learned from Puddlemere.

Best,

Angelina

P.S. – There’s something I need to tell you once we’re back at Hogwarts.

Fred was left with a sour taste in his mouth. What could Angelina possibly have to tell him that she couldn’t have written in a letter? And what was this whole business with Oliver being a ‘cool bloke’? Up until that point he’d only ever heard Angelina talk about how much she hated him. He was a crazy, obsessive, misogynistic pig – she’d said it at least a thousand times over. Especially in the times that Oliver disregarded the women on the team and referred to them all as ‘men’ or ‘guys’. And what about those guys from Ilvermorny? What were a bunch of Americans doing in England anyways? Didn’t they have quidditch camps in the states? Lastly, there was the fact that she’d signed it ‘best’ and not ‘yours’. It was a small thing, but she always wrote ‘yours’, even when they weren’t dating.

“Who’s it from?”

Hermione’s voice startled Fred. So immersed in the letter and his thoughts of Angelina and Oliver and guys from Ilvermorny, he’d completely forgotten she was still there.

Fred cleared his throat, “Angelina.”

“Is everything alright?” asked Hermione, furrowing her brow, and staring hard at the letter in his hand.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Fred’s voice came out high and crackly, making him feel foolish and completely invalidating his statement that everything was alright.

“Well…it’s just that you’ve been frowning at that letter for about five minutes now and earlier—” she took a deep breath “—earlier you said something to George about Angelina. It sounded a bit like it was something unpleasant.”

“Oh…you caught that?” Hermione Granger had to be the most annoyingly astute witch he’d ever met.

Hermione nodded and stood from the bed, crossing the room to stand before him. She looked nervous, like she was using all her courage to say her next words, “Do you want to—”

“Hey!” The door to the room opened and Ginny and Ron came barrelling through. “The coast is clear. Mum’s got George cleaning out spiders in the basement,” said Ron, now fully clothed and looking a bit pink around the ears as he avoided looking directly at Hermione.

“I just know he’s going to lord that over my head,” sighed Ginny, leaning against the wall and crossing her legs at the ankle. “The whole thing was his idea anyways. Seems fair that he should take the brunt of the punishment.”

“You still haven’t dealt with the punishment you’ll be getting from me Ginevra,” bit Hermione, sending a disapproving look at the younger girl.

“Oh come on, Hermione. You know I only had the best intentions. S’not my fault George mucked it up and you had to see Fred’s bits as well,” said Ginny, pulling a face.

“I very much would have preferred to see no one’s bits.”

“Can you please stop calling them ‘bits’?” asked Ron, frowning. Fred had to agree with his little brother. There was something incredibly emasculating about the word.

“Men—” Ginny rolled her eyes “—such fragile egos. Come on, I think there’s some lemonade in the kitchen and I’m parched. It’s so bloody hot!”

Ginny pushed off the wall and sauntered out of the room followed closely by Ron. Hermione hesitated for a moment, looking up at Fred and then back down at the letter in his hand. Fred quickly folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. It probably wasn’t the best moment to get into him and Angelina anyways.

“Come on, best not to keep them waiting,” he said and made his way out of the room and down towards the kitchen.

Fred didn’t see George again until dinner. His twin had emerged from the basement closet looking incredibly tired and slightly squeamish. This pleased Fred immensely as he still felt like George’s full punishment hadn’t been served. When everyone had sat themselves down at the long table for their meal, Fred made sure to put as much space between them and Hermione as possible. He needed to have a proper conversation with his brother about that afternoon. Thankfully, they had a few extra guests from the Order and so it was easy to do.

“So, you didn’t tell Ginny about me liking Hermione then?” Fred whispered as he piled potatoes onto his plate.

“Oh so now you’re ready to have a civil conversation?” asked George tiredly, taking the potatoes from him and serving himself as well.

“Oi, don’t get cheeky with me. You’re still the yob who started this.”

“You’re right, sorry—” George passed the bowl of potatoes to the wizard beside him who was currently in a deep conversation about transportation restrictions with their father “—no. I didn’t tell her. I thought she already knew but turns out she was talking about Ron. Classic case of miscommunication.”

Fred nodded. “Mmm, well that’s good at least. What were you thinking though mate? You couldn’t possibly think locking me in the bathroom with Hermione was a good idea.”

“I just thought it would be good to get you two alone together. You know, force you to actually have an open and honest conversation about how you feel,” mumbled George, cutting his ham into little pieces.

“And me being naked was supposed to aid in that?” Fred raised an eyebrow, reaching across the table and snagging a roll.

George looked down at his plate, suppressing a very pleased expression. “Thought it couldn’t hurt. You two looked very cosy this morning. Figured all you needed was a bit of provocation to get the subject flowing,” George admitted.

“You’re an idiot,” Fred whispered, laughing lightly, and shaking his head. While still quite displeased with his twin, he couldn’t dismiss the humour of the situation. “What makes you think Hermione and I don’t talk already?”

The question seemed to catch George off guard.

“What? You thought all those times we were working in our classroom and reading in the library, we were sitting there in silence?” Fred questioned hypothetically.

“Well, you certainly couldn’t have been saying anything of substance. Otherwise you’d both have finally admitted your feelings for each other.”

Fred let out a long breath. “Georgie, you know you’re my favourite person in the whole world—” Fred started.

“I’m touched, Freddie.” George brought a hand up to his heart.

“—some would say I even love you like a brother,” Fred went on.

“Not sure I could say the same, sorry.”

“But, at the end of the day I am in a relationship with Angelina. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I were to go behind her back with Hermione. And Hermione—”

“You can’t still tell me you think she likes Ron—”

“No. Actually she told me the exact opposite earlier this afternoon,” Fred confessed, trying not to focus on the way his heart lifted a little at the thought. “But it doesn’t mean she likes me either. Hermione is a nice girl. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me and even if she did like me, well like I said. That wouldn’t be fair to Angelina.”

“Is it fair to Angelina though for you to keep going out with her when you fancy someone else?” challenged George, bringing his voice to barely a whisper as they both leaned in to make their conversation more private.

“I… —” Fred struggled with the words “—it’s complicated. I still fancy Angelina too. It’s not like I’m dating her for nothing. She’s great. She’s one of my best friends, she’s tough, she’s fit, she loves quidditch, and we’ve known each other forever. I can’t just…I can’t just give that up because I also fancy someone else.”

“Do you fancy Angelina though?”

“What?”

“Do you actually fancy Angelina.”

“I just said I did, didn’t I?” Fred felt lost. What was George getting at?

“Yes, but you just listed things you like about her. Things most blokes like about her. Bloody hell, things I like about her – no offence. But, and correct me if I’m wrong, aren’t relationships supposed to be a bit deeper or some emotional crap like that? You know, something a bit more than just ‘we’re mates, and she lets me shag her’?”

“I…well on that logic then how do you know it’s not just the same thing with Hermione?”

“Are you shagging Hermione?” George asked, eyebrows raising high.

“No, but the idea doesn’t sound half bad. What if it’s more of a ‘we’re mates, and I want to shag her’ situation?” Fred took a large bite of his dinner roll and reached forward to grab his glass of pumpkin juice.

“Honestly, Freddie? That’s a bit out of my wheelhouse. But you should probably figure that out. Sooner rather than later,” said George lightly before taking a mouthful of stewed carrots.

Fred swallowed the bite of roll and scoffed into his glass. “Thanks for that. Great advice,” he said sarcastically before drinking deeply from his cup.

George grabbed his own glass and raised it lightly before answering, “Better advice than you get anywhere else. Cheers, mate.”

Dear Harry,

How’s your summer going? I hope your aunt and uncle aren’t being too horrible.

I really wish you were here. Maybe then Ron would have someone else to play chess with. You know how horrible I am at it…

I’m sure you’ve been reading the Daily Prophet and by now you’re aware of what they’re saying about you. I’m not really supposed to say anything but, I feel like you should

Dear Harry,

I hope your summer’s going better than mine. I know I haven’t said much in my last couple of letters but it’s only because I’m not allowed.

I really wish that I

Harry,

I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but I think that’s rubbish. I think you deserve to know that you’re not alone. Despite the lack of action from the ministry, I want you to know that there are people out there taking this seriously.

When you get here, you’ll understand.

Hermione crossed out her third attempt at writing Harry before crumpling the parchment and throwing it angrily in the bin beside her. This is impossible, she thought forlornly. She’d been having an internal battle for the past two weeks on whether she should follow Dumbledore’s instructions or go with her gut. Every fibre of her being wanted to tell Harry what was going on, to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this fight. But her foolish and incessant need to follow directions and stay out of trouble stopped her every time. Professor Dumbledore was a wise man. He was smart. Most importantly, he knew a lot more about what was going on than she did. So, it would make sense for her to keep her nose out of all of this and simply follow his lead. But despite her headmaster’s in-depth knowledge on most things, Hermione knew one thing to be true. He didn’t know Harry Potter nearly as well as she did.

Professor Dumbledore had insisted that they needn’t worry Harry on the comings and going of the Order and the efforts being put in place against a now fully risen dark lord. He needed time to heal from what happened the previous year with Cedric Diggory. That was all well and nice except that if you knew Harry at all, then you knew that he never stopped worrying. He was definitely the suffer in silence, woe is me, martyr type and usually the only thing that did stop him from worrying and obsessing was action. Harry Potter needed control, or he’d go insane. Usually this control came in two different forms. The first was distraction. If he couldn’t have direct control of a situation he’d resort to quidditch or flying or something else physical to take his mind off whatever it was. The second was involvement. Harry wouldn’t stop until he’d solved the mystery, and everything was put right in his mind. That’s why they hadn’t ceased their research first year until they figured out the secret to the philosopher’s stone. Or why their second year had ended in Harry fighting a basilisk underneath the school. Or why he’d declared to kill Sirius Black himself when he’d found out what he thought to be the truth of his parent’s deaths.

But Hermione knew that Harry, currently locked in the confines of his aunt and uncle’s muggle neighbourhood, was unable to do either and so she was certain the only thing he’d been doing the past month was stewing in internal misery. The fact that he’d neglected to respond to her and Ron’s letters thus far, not even their birthday wishes, only proved her theory right.

Dumbledore may be an expert on the innerworkings of the ministry, but Hermione was an expert on the innerworkings of Harry Potter. So, surely it would be best if she told him something. She had to be able to get some sort of message to him that wouldn’t reveal too much if intercepted by the ministry or Voldemort’s people. Just something that would quell the frustration that was surely rising in her best friend.

However, the right words simply were not coming to her yet, so she rested her quill back down on the table and corked her ink bottle firmly, before moving to her bed and sitting down huffily. She needed to focus on something else or before she knew it she’d turn into Harry.

Picking up the small ball of yarn and worn wooden knitting needles on her bed, Hermione started in on her practice. Recently she’d taken up knitting as both a hobby and a way to further her work with the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. This came entirely from an event that took place a week prior when she’d simultaneously met Kreacher and seen the horror that was the Black family’s legacy of house elves.

“What ARE those?!” Hermione screamed, jumping back, and toppling into Ron who had been following her into the fourth-floor study.

They had been tasked with cleaning out the old Black patriarch’s study.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. What?!” yelled Ron, catching her in his arms and putting her right on her feet.

But Hermione ignored his question, too overwhelmed by the sickening sight before her. On the wall, sitting above the bookshelves opposite the stately mahogany desk were the heads of house elves mounted to the wall. They hung stuffed, pale, and lifeless like common animals on display. It made her sick.

“Oh that is twisted,” said Ron, having now entered the room and seen what had made Hermione scream.

“I—why—who would do something like this?” Hermione asked, torn between her inability to stomach the sight of the house elves’ severed heads, and the sheer shock of it keeping her eyes glued to them.

“That would be my dear mother again, I’m afraid,” came Sirius’ voice. Hermione imagined he must have been nearby, most likely visiting Buckbeak in the attic, heard her scream, and came to investigate.

“This is disgusting…this is barbaric. How could anyone do something like this?” she asked, feeling tears begin to well in her eyes.

“You’d be surprised. It’s an old practice in pureblood families, not really done anymore, but at one time house elves saw it as a badge of honour to have themselves commemorated like this after they died—” Sirius strolled into the room, looking up at the mounted heads, hands casually in his pockets “—I never cared for it though. Absolutely refuse to do it for Kreacher when he finally croaks.”

“Kreacher?—” Hermione was finally able to pull her gaze away from the elves to look at Sirius “—you mean there’s a house elf here?”

“Course there is!” cried Sirius in surprise, tone laced with a bitter edge.

“Don’t worry Hermione. He doesn’t do any of the cooking or cleaning or anything like that,” interjected Ron in a reassuring manner that did very little to actually reassure her.

“How did I not know about this?” she asked, feeling overwhelmed and dazed.

“Well, my mum always said a good house elf was one that got the job done but was rarely seen. Can’t say that’s very true of Kreacher though. He clearly only holds up half of that statement. In fact—” Sirius, turned looking about the empty study around him “—Kreacher!”

With a pop, a small little house elf popped into existence before him. He was different than the house elves Hermione had seen before. He seemed older, more haggard, and dirty. His nose was long and droopy, and the cloth he wore for clothes was so dirty, it looked to be more filth than it was material. Kreacher sneered nastily up at his master and then around the room, spotting Ron and Hermione. Hermione didn’t think it was possible, but his expression turned even nastier once he saw them.

“Filthy mudblood, blood-traitors alike. Tarnishing my mistress’s house like this,” mumbled the little house elf and catching Hermione completely off guard. You’d think the words would hurt less after hearing them so much in the last four years, but they held a fresh sting every time. The only thing that had changed was her ability to better mask the hurt she felt.

“Give it a rest you vile little thing,” grimaced Sirius, surprising Hermione even more than Kreacher’s words.

Ever since she’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, she’d acknowledged that Sirius held a certain disdain to his childhood home. However, she had yet to experience the level of contempt the older wizard held for the house elf before him.

“Of course Master Black. Kreacher is sorry. What can Kreacher do for you?” responded Kreacher in a mocking tone. The words, while objectively respectful, held no trace of true respect whatsoever.

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” said Sirius sarcastically. “I need you to dispose of these disgusting relics immediately.” Sirius pointed up at the row of heads, looking as disgusted as Hermione still felt about both them, and the behaviour of the two individuals before her.

“No! Those are mistress’s! Kreacher refuses,” cried the old house elf in outrage.

“It was not a request, you disgusting beast. I am your master, and I am ordering you to take those vile things down and throw them away. Do you understand me?” spat Sirius, crossing his arms, and glaring down at Kreacher.

“Yes master Black. Of course.”

Hermione had been in such a shock after that that she had left the room and retreated to the kitchen. While she truly needed a cup of tea to calm her nerves, it was still too hot and so she’d allowed Ron to pour her a glass of pumpkin juice as she processed the event. Sure, the things Kreacher said were horrible and hurtful, but look at the way Sirius treated him! Maybe if Kreacher was met with a little kindness, he wouldn’t feel the need to be so mean. And the heads…she didn’t even know where to begin with the heads…

It was at that moment, that Hermione formulated a plan. The house elves clearly needed a way out, whether they knew it or not. So, that afternoon she’d gone to Mrs. Weasley to borrow knitting supplies and get a few lessons.

“Hey Hermione, have you seen Fred and George?” Ron’s voice from the doorway, brought Hermione’s attention away from the complicated mess of yarn in her hands. She’d gotten her knit and purl stitches confused and was currently trying to figure out which direction her yarn was supposed to be facing. Looks like she needed more practice.

“Why would I know where they are?” she asked, frowning back down at her work, and cursing under her breath. A few of her stitches had slipped off her needles.

Ron gave a short laugh, snorting through his nose. “Come on Hermione. You spend more time with them these days than anyone else.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t give me that ‘I’m helping them with their schoolwork’ excuse, Hermione. I’m not thick. You’re helping them with their inventions aren’t you,” said Ron, crossing the room and leaning against one of the posts of Ginny’s bed.

“Just a little,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. There was no point in lying to Ron about it now.

“I knew it!” Ron cried enthusiastically. “Are you also helping fund them? They seem to have a lot more money these days than not.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ve actually been wondering the same thing!” said Hermione with equal fervour. The last she’d heard, the two of them were still trying to get their money back from Ludo Bagman. Perhaps her suggestion of blackmail the previous year had finally worked. Though if it did, she didn’t want to know anything about it.

“Hmm, strange,” Ron commented, staring down at the heap of yarn in her hands in confusion. He was probably wondering what she could possibly be making, but thankfully he was kind enough to not make any comments. “You know helping those two is going to become a conflict of interest when you become a Prefect, right?”

“What makes you think I’m going to make Prefect?”

Ron snorted once again. “Come on Hermione, are you telling me you’ve thought there was any other alternative.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. As much as she tried to keep a level of humility to her, she had to admit that the notion that any other Gryffindor girl in their year would be chosen for Prefect felt preposterous. This was something she’d been working towards since first year.

“I don’t help them that much. Mostly it’s just a bunch of reading their notes and telling them where their magic is wrong. Nothing wrong with that – it’s educational really,” she half lied.

“Oh yeah. Educational,” Ron snickered, pushing off from the bedpost and walking towards the door. “Well if you do see them, tell them mum’s looking for them.”

“Will do—” Hermione went to return to her knitting but stopped, looking up at his retreating figure “—wait, where are you off to then?”

Ron turned, leaning in the doorframe now. “Professor Lupin’s downstairs. I convinced him to teach me how to play chess.”

“But you already know how to play chess…” Hermione gave him a wry smile.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. I’ve bet Sirius ten sickles I can go at least four games before he realizes I’m hustling him,” said Ron, a large grin spreading across his freckled face.

Hermione let out a small laugh and shook her head before saying, “I swear, you get more and more like Fred and George every day.”

“Those wankers? Absolutely not.”

And with that, Ron disappeared into the hallway, a little more pep in his step than usual. A smile remained plastered on Hermione’s face for long after Ron had left. She felt warm and content in the way only a cheerful and easy encounter with a friend could leave you feeling. Her and Ron had settled into an unspoken understanding after the mortifying bathroom encounter. Of course neither of them spoke of it, both choosing to act as though it had never happened. In a strange way, it was almost as if they needed the uncomfortable situation to become comfortable with each other again. Ron seemed less dopey and more relaxed around her, and as a result Ginny stopped talking about Ron’s feelings for her.

The same sentiment went for twins. It was as if the little bit of chaos was all the group needed to fall back once again into the comfortable friendships that had existed before. Hermione still felt her stomach flip and heartrate increase every time Fred entered a room or brushed past her too closely in the hallway, but she tried to ignore that as much as possible. That was her problem after all, not anyone else’s. And most of all she didn’t want to ruin her friendship with Fred over her stupid crush.

They had grown closer than ever over the past two weeks. Most likely due to their new tradition of late nights in the library of Grimmauld Place. When everyone had retired for the night, tucked in snuggly in their beds, Hermione and Fred would slip from their sheets and reconvene on the old couch of the library, till late in the night. They discussed Fred’s inventions, their interests, and their lives. It usually ended in some kind of debate, but Hermione always found herself laughing in the end. She’d never been able to talk so freely with anyone. It was both a blessing and a curse.

When her yarn had tangled for the fifth time, Hermione sighed and gave up. Instead, she opted to make her way down to the kitchen for a snack. Dinner was soon, but she’d missed tea that afternoon and was feeling too peckish to wait.

“Checkmate,” said Ron proudly as he stared smugly at the rumpled wizard sitting across from him at the kitchen table.

“Hi Professor,” Hermione greeted, eyeing a plate of Chelsea buns on the kitchen counter.

“Hello Hermione,” said Professor Lupin tiredly, his head balanced in his hands as he stared in bewilderment at the chess board in front of him. Sirius sat beside his old friend, snickering silently into his hand.

Hermione suppressed her negative emotions towards the suave, long-haired wizard. Seeing the way he treated Kreacher had left her less than pleased with him.

“You swear you’ve never played before?” Professor Lupin questioned Ron suspiciously.

Ron shook his head in mock innocence and Hermione had to turn away in hide her smile.

She grabbed a bun, taking a large bite out of it and sitting down at the table beside Ron to watch him square off with their old teacher again. The pair had gotten through exactly five and a half games before Professor Lupin had declared in frustration that there was no way Ron had never played wizard’s chess before.

Everyone in the room burst into laughter at that point, the twins and Ginny having wandered into the kitchen and joined in on the fun knowing full well that Ron was better at wizard’s chess than anyone they’d ever met. After that Professor Lupin refused to play anymore games, but Sirius and George stepped up to try and beat Ron in a combined effort.

Ron had just managed to corner their queen when Mr. Weasley came striding into the room with purpose.

“Hey dad!” Ginny greeted cheerfully. But her good humour melted away when her father ignored her greeting.

Arthur Weasley looked worried. Worried and frantic. Hermione had only ever seen that expression on his face once before – at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Remus, Sirius, emergency Order meeting now. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s upstairs I think, shall I go get her?” asked Sirius.

“No, I’ll go. Other members should be arriving soon, have them meet in the dining room.”

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George were all ushered out of the kitchen shortly after that. None of their pleas to stay or questions were acquiesced or answered of course. So instead, they opted to sit at the top of the stairs and gleam as much information as they could from the members that entered headquarters. Hermione assumed it must be serious. Ron told her that they had never had an emergency meeting like this before. This fact was only solidified in her mind when Dumbledore arrived looking quite grave, his long robes billowing behind him as he stormed down the entry hall and disappeared through the doorway to the dining room. Professor Snape was with him, a fact that caught Hermione by surprise.

“Professor Snape is in the Order?” she asked George sitting next to her.

He nodded and whispered back, “Unfortunately. The slimy git only comes around every once in a while. Always thought he’d be on the other side, but if Dumbledore trusts him, then he must know something we don’t.”

“It’s clear he knows a lot of things we don’t,” said Hermione, beginning to worry the inside of her bottom lip. It had to be Harry. Something this serious and this panicked always had to do with Harry.

That suspicion was confirmed a few hours later at dinner when Mr. Weasley told them that Harry had been accused of underage magic by the ministry earlier that night. Apparently, the ministry had tried to expel him outright, but Professor Dumbledore had insisted on a trial before they went to such extreme punishment. Hermione was more concerned as to why Harry needed to use magic at all than the thought of him being expelled. Apparently he had produced a patronus in front of a muggle. There was only one reason Harry would produce a patronus – dementors. Dementors in a muggle suburb? Now that was cause for concern on many levels.

Hermione ate very little at dinner, too consumed by the problem at hand. The ministry had complete control of the dementors. Only they could dispatch dementors away from Azkaban. Was this the Minister’s way of getting rid of Harry? To easily solve their problem of him? If this didn’t work, what else would they do? What lengths would they go to silence Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter?

A little voice in the back of her head proposed that perhaps Harry had gone looking for trouble that night. Or worked himself up so much that he imagined the dementors and tried to play the hero. Guiltily she thought of the half-finished unsent letters in the garbage bin in her room and wondered if this would have happened if she hadn’t been too meek to break the rules and give her best friend a glimmer of hope.

All these thoughts and questions stuck with her well into the night. Lying in bed, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling above, sleep evaded her worse than ever before. Sitting up, Hermione peaked over at Ginny’s snoring form in the bed beside hers and slipped from the covers. She padded silently out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs to the library. While the days events had been out of the ordinary, Hermione hoped that her and Fred’s tradition would remain, and she would find him in the library. The urge to talk to him itched at the back of her head fervently.

However, when she got to library, she found the door cracked and the whispered voices of Professor Lupin and Sirius drifted out. Hermione held her breath, turning away from the door and tiptoeing back towards the stairs. She didn’t need to listen in on their conversation to know they were most like talking about Harry. Once back on the third floor, Hermione found herself at a standstill. She should go back to bed. It was no use wandering the dark and grim house at night when she was already out of sorts. However, instead of making her way to her own bed, Hermione found herself walking not to her door, but Fred and George’s. Like an invisible pull at her centre, she gravitated towards it like a planet in orbit.

Not bothering to knock considering the late hour, Hermione quietly opened the door and slipped inside. She walked silently to Fred’s bed and found him sound asleep. She’d never seen him asleep before – up until that point she didn’t think she could be any more handsome than he already was, but up until that point she’d never seen him blissfully gone to the world.

As if sensing her presence, his eyes opened, blinking slowly as he took in her presence.

“’Mione? I thought you’d gone to bed. Went looking for you earlier but Black and Lupin were in the library,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

“I can’t sleep…”

They stared at each other in the dark for what felt like ages. It was as if they were experiencing group thought, both of them teetering on the edge of a decision they were both unsure of. Hermione should go back to her own room. She shouldn’t be sneaking into the room of a boy who had a girlfriend. She should be—

“Get in,” Fred whispered, lifting the covers, and pushing them both of the edge.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She slipped into the covers, burying herself deeply into their warmth. It had been a heatwave for the past two weeks, but the house felt colder that night than it ever had.

“Merlin, your feet are freezing,” Fred whispered when Hermione’s feet accidentally brushed his own.

Hermione moved them away quickly. “Sorry,” she whispered back in embarrassment.

Fred surprised her by reaching down and hook his hand around the back of her leg and pulling her feet flush with his own. “Give ‘em here,” he grumbled before releasing her leg and settling back into the mattress with a deep sigh.

Hermione smiled into the darkness and rolled over onto her side. She kept a safe distance of propriety between them, making sure the only thing touching was their feet. Her head fell heavy on the pillow and for the first time that night she was able to relax.

“Fred?” she whispered tentatively.

“What?” came the soft sound of Fred’s voice back.

“Thank you.”

Fred didn’t answer, instead he shifted, and Hermione felt his hand fall atop hers, gripping it tightly. It took barely minutes for Hermione to fall asleep to the firm and grounding feel of Fred’s thumb rubbing the delicate skin on the back of her hand.

Chapter 18>>>

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#fremione #fred x hermione #harry potter #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #fred weasley #hermione granger

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