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darling-heffron · 16 days ago

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A/N: Hello and Welcome! Here is the second instalment of Momento Mori! The next chapter will come next week, so stay tuned!

This chapter introduces my oc; Mars (I hope you guys like her as much I do). Also included is one of the Band of Brothers guys, someone who deserves way more attention than he gets, I only hope I've done him justice!

Who are you readers waiting to see in future chapters?

Until next time, -Sol ☀️

Chapter two: Outbreak

Mars’ POV:

Pressing snooze had to be the most satisfying feeling, knowing the day is void of commitments with the ability to roll over and go back to sleep; that alone is worth more than all the money in the world.

Marleen Finch smacked that snooze button with vigour; today was a rare gem. No morning classes and a day off from her under-paid part time job as a waitress.

The people she served were some of the rudest, uppity customers she had ever met, working in New York City meant she had to interact with real live New Yorkers. Mars was appalled by the audacity these city dwellers had, but had no choice to suck up to them in the hopes they would leave good tips.

Besides, Mars didn’t want to jeopardise her job, so if it meant smiling while customers berated her or running into the walk-in fridge to cry twice a shift, she did it.

She swallowed her pride daily by cleaning up after purposefully messy patrons and pretending she didn't mind. Mars picked up shifts that none of her coworkers wanted to do with no additional pay because at the end of the day; she didn't want to get fired or have someone mad at her, she’d rather just suck it up and get on with whatever menial hours she was assigned.

Today, however, Mars was able to do what she pleased, at least until her afternoon class started. With that in mind, Marleen snuggled further into her cosy sheets and screwed her eyes shut.

The next time her alarm went off the blonde easied out of bed, stretching her arms above her head as she made her way to the bathroom. Her apartment wasn't anything fancy; in fact, it was in a pretty shady area of The Bronx and that was saying something.

The dull wallpaper peeled in certain places revealing a sickly yellow underneath, parts of the worn down carpet were stained by who knows what and the faucets either leaked or were coated in lime scale, in most cases; both. But it was hers and hers alone. Sure, her parents chipped in with rent and utilities so she wouldn't have to share with some skeevie stranger from the internet, but the rundown, compact apartment was her first place away from home and no matter how broken it was, Mars loved it.

Marleen showered quickly, skipping a hair wash but decided to take her time planning an outfit; she had errands to run and looking cute while still being comfy was essential for the day. Mars decided on a pair of grey shorts, a baggy sage green sweatshirt and simple white lace-up sneakers. The weather was warming up but there was still a slight chill in the air. She tried to flick on the T.V for background noise but the screen remained black.

‘Must be another power cut.’ She thought to herself, it wasn't an uncommon occurrence but it was still just as inconvenient every time.

Instead, she began making breakfast in silence, humming to herself to make up for the lack of ambient sounds.

A high pitched scream broke the young woman from her current task. It wasn’t abnormal to hear distress from the street below, the area she lived in was a low income neighbourhood, filled with struggling students and wanting vagrants.

However, this scream sounded different. Unearthly, haunting, it chilled her to her bones.

Mars stood frozen in the kitchen, gazing at the dusty curtains that engulfed her window. Her feet took her towards said window without thinking. She got closer and closer to the curtain, arm reached out to draw the fabric back.

~ KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK ~

Mars gasped, her outstretched hand curled back towards her body and rested on her chest as she huffed and puffed, getting her breath back after the jumpscare caused by obnoxiously loud banging on her apartment door.

She almost wanted to laugh at herself, getting frightened because of an everyday occurrence. One measly scream and a few rough knocks shouldn’t have her so worried…. So why was she shaking? Why was she so nervous to step towards the door and answer it?

Luckily, her place had a peephole. She utilised it, sneaking a look through to the other side of her door.

A large figure she recognised immediately stood outside, his back facing the entryway as if he was checking behind him. Mars flicked the lock and swung open the door.

“Denver?” Marleen called out to him tentatively, her voice paired with the opening squeak of her apartment door alerted him, “Are you okay? What are you doing here?” Her words fell of deaf ears, Denver Randleman, her upstairs neighbour was visibly shaken.

A tough feat as Denver was a well built, muscular man with little to no fears. He and Mars had spoken quite a bit, living in the same building with similar schedules meant they bumped into each other frequently. She knew that he was a kindhearted gentleman who was often mistaken as a boorish brute.

He was sweaty and panting as he stepped past her and into her home. This only concerned her more, he had never behaved like this in the year she had known him. Mars stepped aside and allowed him to close the door behind him, he immediately locked the door and slid the chain on.

“Marleen.” His serious tone made her eyebrows furrow, she knew him as a happy-go-lucky man who was always smiling ear to ear.

“Denver?” She responded gingerly.

“I need you to listen very closely.” The blonde haired man gently placed his hands on her shoulders and lowered himself so he could look directly into her eyes.

“Denver, what’s going on? You’re freaking me out.” She knew she could trust him but this situation was a little peculiar to say the least.

“Something is happening. I don’t know what but it’s serious and we need to leave.” It wasn’t much of an explanation but it was all she was going to get. Marleen knew this man, if he was so shaken by whatever was going on, it was probably best to listen to him and go along for the ride.

“What, now?” Mars attempted to let the words sink in but her surprise at the situation was ever growing. He didn’t answer with words, instead rushing into her kitchen and opened the pantry.

“We’ll need canned food, bottled water, you got anything like that?” Denver shuffled through some tinned items, checking labels.

“Oh, I think I have some-“ The young woman began to explain, but cut herself off when she noticed the bulky man curl his arm the contents of an entire shelf and sweep it into the awaiting duffel bag she had only just noticed.

“Help yourself, I guess.” Mars watched her neighbour scuttle around, opening every cupboard and checking inside before darting to another. She saw him reaching for food items she had bought long ago with the good intention of making home cooked meals but never got round to and tried to stop him,

“I’m not sure if that’s in-date?” Her attempt to ease the tension was ignored and he tossed it in regardless, “I suppose we’re taking it anyway.” Her comment was quiet, more of a joke to herself as he didn’t seem to be in a listening mood right now.

“Denver, you need to tell me what’s going on? Why do we have to leave?” That seemed to grab his attention.

“Just trust me. We have to get out of the city. We’ll go North.” Denver was answering her question yet it seemed like he was talking to himself rather than her, he mumbled his words and continued searching her house for things to pack.

“Out of the city? Um okay? Should I pack clothes or something? How long will we be gone?” Marleen rubbed circles on her temples, she was making mental notes to call into work at some point as well as check in with her family.

If things were really that serious, she’d better get in touch with her folks, see how they were doing. And maybe her boss would understand? She supposed it depended on what kind of emergency this was, but Denver wasn't exactly explaining much to her.

“Mars, I don’t think you understand…” His actions finally halted all together and he turned fully to take her appearance in; Mars was a short, petite blonde girl who wouldn't survive a day out there, Denver promised himself that he would keep the young lady safe. They were friends after all, which is why his next words felt like he was breaking her heart, a gut punch:

“We won’t be coming back.”

———————

Marleen packed practical clothes, a small journal she was yet to start writing in and her personal items: toothpaste and toothbrush, moisturisers, deodorant, hair clips, ties and brush along with a bandanna.

Unfortunately, Mars never had a knack for camping, so there were things they needed she did not have in her apartment. However, Denver did. Swiss Army knives, ropes, maps of the area, sleeping bags and tents. He had told Mars that they would need to go up a few flights of stairs to his apartment to gather some more things. More useful things.

Mars hated the idea of lugging her backpack around but she kept that thought to herself, Denver seemed tightly wound today and she was currently occupying herself by trying to get in touch with her family.

Sounds easy on a typical day, but today, nothing was typical.

She had been in Denver's apartment before, only once when she had agreed to get his mail and water his plants while he was out of town. It hadn’t changed much. Marleen hardly looked around as she became more engrossed in her phone. Her notifications had gone crazy that morning, almost two hundred…then nothing. She had tried texting, calling, hell she even messaged her sister-in-law on insta, but nothing was working.

Scrolling through the endless messages got her more and more concerned. The first few were fairly normal, things like - “Have you seen the news this morning?” and “Did you go into work today?”

After her family realise she's not going to reply, it switched to doom and gloom - “We are praying for your safety.” and “We love you so much, don’t ever forget that.”

The woman's eyes began filling with tears, whatever was going on must be pretty serious. Reading her family's texts had made the outlandish situation a reality. Yet somehow, Marleen was still unbelieving. What was even happening?

Surely it had to be more serious than a flood or tornado but her mind couldn't think of what and Denver wasn't explaining.

No, he was darting around the room, collecting things and mumbling to himself. Not exactly a comforting sight for the distressed girl, so she went back to her phone, absorbing in the last messages she’d ever get to check.

“Marleen? I need you to do something for me, okay?” The country twang evident in his voice, gaining her attention, Mars put down her phone.

Denver didn't stop his task, he merely directed her to a certain drawer, telling her whatever was inside was important. Marleen did as he asked, the tears dispersed and her mind focused on the new task instead of the possibility of her family's demise.

It was a long wooden box. Curiosity got the best of her and Mars opened it, peeking inside.

Cigars.

The all important item Denver desperately needed was a box of cigars? She deadpanned, giving her neighbour a questioning look. He only grinned at her and stepped towards her, taking the box from her hands, whispering a quick ‘thanks’.

The distraction had been nice (and surely that’s what Denver had been trying to do) but Mars almost instantly went back to doom and gloom.

“Okay. We should head down now.” His voice broke her from her worst case scenario thoughts.

Marleen didn't want to fight it, she didn't want to put up a fuss or make a scene. She just wanted to know if her family was okay. Had whatever was happening here in New York, happened in Illinois? Were her family safe or were they also running around packing for the end of the world? The questions were endless in her head with no answers.

Her sacred day off to relax and unwind had become so chaotic and overwhelming. She should have been sipping overpriced iced coffee and staring into shop windows, not trying to flee the city while wondering if her family was dead.

“Marleen!” Her trance was once again broken by Denver, yelling this time like he had been trying to get her attention for awhile. She turned to face him where he stood at the door, bags in hand.

“We have to go. Now!” His tone was urgent, pushing her to move her feet and follow him out into the hallway. Out of pure instinct, Mars walked to the shiny silver elevator doors and leaned down to press the button before freezing. Her mind was on autopilot, numb and senseless.

“Powers out.” Denver watched his neighbour, as she stood there, dazed. He pitied her, she had no idea what was going on out there and he didn't have the heart to tell her.

The things he saw had freaked him out and he had seen some things in his years. Mars wasn't like him. She was sweet and innocent and yet to experience the bad parts of life.

At 20 years old she still saw the good in people, in everyone she came across. Her big doe eyes took in the world with naivety and only saw hope and love and everything positive.

“I know.” She spoke in a small voice, her eyes still focused on the doors like she was waiting to hear the ding.

Denver moved to take a step towards her, to reach out and tap her shoulder. They needed to get out of the heavily populated city and standing here was wasting time but he knew he would have to be gentle with her, she was still processing and she hadn't even seen the worst of it.

“We need to go, Mars.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Carrying backpacks and duffle bags down nine flights of stairs worn Marleen out. She huffed and puffed as Denver led her down the aisles of the parking garage. She didn't typically come down here, her work commute included the subway and the occasional bus. Not to mention, it creeped her out, the ceiling to floor concrete, no windows and flickering fluorescent lights did not give off a welcoming vibe.

“This one.” Denver told her, dropping the bags in his possession next to what Mars assumed was his vehicle.

A white delivery box-truck.

He jingled the keys out of his pocket and unlocked it. Marleen took that as her cue to put her bags down next to his and watch as he loaded them into the now open trunk.

With her neighbour occupied, Mars took a second to really look around the carpark. Not another soul in sight, completely empty except for her, Denver and about thirty beat up cars.

A throaty noise broke her from her scan of the room and her attention was brought to a van a few spots ahead of her. The shadows of another person, now visible to her from the gap underneath. Mars took a tentative step closer, intrigued.

“Hello?” Her voice was so quiet she wasn't sure if the newcomer had heard her, so she took another step, slowly inching nearer.

A woman stepped out and into Marleen’s view. She immediately noticed the blood running down her face like a stream of red tears, the spatter across the woman’s clothes concerned her deeply. Taking yet another stride towards the injured woman, Mars spoke out.

“Ma’am? Are you okay? Do you need help?” This time she spoke louder than she had previously. The lady in front of her hobbled in her direction, her neck bending at a ninety degree angle giving her an inhuman stance.

“Marleen?” Denver had heard her speaking and come to investigate, Mars turned to face him. He looked past the young blonde, directly at the bloodied lady. Her hands reached up and out, attempting to claw at Marleen while her back was turned.

“Get in the truck. Now.” He didn’t want to panic Mars but he knew what this strange woman would do if she got to any living person, the tearing, biting, ripping into flesh. Denver’s body involuntarily shivered at the thought.

“She’s hurt, she needs help.” Marleen looked at her neighbour with pity in her eyes, begging him to allow her to aid the stranger. If only she knew.

“Marleen,” Denver started out gently, his thought cut short when the rabid woman growled. He watched as Mars tensed and slowly began to turn, curious to what was happening behind her.

The pair watched in pure horror as the woman contorted her body, bones cracking as she twisted in every direction.

“Inside. Now.” This time Marleen listened. Scrambling toward the vehicle, right behind Denver.

The rabid let out a screech the second they started rushing back to the truck and raced after them. Hearing the urgent footsteps and eerie noises from the woman caused Marleen to panic and let out a yelp of her own. The pair split up at the rear of the truck, running down either side and flinging open the doors.

Marleen slammed her door shut just in time as the sick woman kept running to her.

It was like she didn’t know that the glass would prevent her from reaching her prey. She acted as if she was possessed, continually smashing her face and body up against the glass, smearing blood and other unidentifiable bodily fluids across the window, all the while letting out ear piercing screams, her voice creaking and crackling.

Mars’ breath was uneven, her chest heaving, partially from the running and partially the shock of the encounter.

What is wrong with her?

The box truck rumbled to life, reversing out of the car park, tires screeching as Denver took off. The ill woman let out a furious roar and took off after them, to no avail as the truck is much faster than a human, if she even was human?

Sunlight bleared into the vehicle, temporarily blinding Mars. She shaded her eyes, giving them a moment to adjust from the dark garage to the bright street.

Once she could see again, she wished she couldn’t.

Marleen’s mouth dropped open in shock. It was pure chaos, people ran through the streets; some human and some not.

There was blood everywhere she looked, crashed cars strewn across the sidewalks, smashed glass littered the road.

And the people - They were attacking each other, actually ripping fellow humans apart with their bare hands.

Marleen couldn’t stop herself from watching and the closer she looked the more she saw. People biting into one another, tearing away at flesh and consuming what they could; as if starved.

Each possessed person presented aggressive, filled with uncontrollable rage and hunger. Screaming, growling and strange gurgled sounds filled the city the pair of neighbours were now trying to flee.

Denver knew the backroads of this city well, driving a delivery truck daily had its perks, so he led them through the maze of streets with ease. The closer they got to the outskirts, the quieter it got; less people, less screaming.

“What is all this?” Marleen finally spoke after strained moments of stunned silence. Her voice was scratchy thanks to the muted crying she was unable to control. Denver sighed loudly, he couldn’t really give her a proper answer, all he knew was whatever this was; it was bad and they needed to get away as quickly as possible.

“Not a clue, sweetheart.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I appreciate it so much! (And i know Esra ✨ does too) Feel free to leave a comment to let me know what you thought

-Sol ☀️

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borealopelta · 5 months ago

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wip whatever

i'm gonna go ahead and consider myself tagged in @arokel's tagless tag game because i want to talk about My Wips :-) if anyone feels like joining in, please do!!

after posting my latest fic i was kinda like. hmm. i don't have anything to show. which is not true!! i have not one but two geologist!don fics in the wip folder. (now you could ask. hey finch why do you keep writing geologyfic. well a) i have this mental illness called degree in geology and b) it's basically just me trying to conceptualise what being a geologist (or studying geology) must have been like for someone who was doing it before the theory of plate tectonics was even proposed (not to mention accepted). the amount of stuff that was fully unknown to geology in the times these fics are set is limiting as fuck and that's what makes them endlessly fun to tinker with. i've done sooooo much niche research. this is what constitutes fun for me. apologies)

i've already talked about the first one in an ask game, don's horrible geology exam, which i've been slowly piecing together from semi coherent notes app scribblings from the height of my mystery illness, BUT the other is newww so. also i don't have titles picked out because i'm bad at that so the titles are. the file names. yay! snippets under readmore:

geologydonfic is the aforementioned don's exam misery fic

Bobby takes in Don – the line of his bracelet a red imprint on his cheek, bruise-black circles under his red-rimmed eyes, paler than ever, frown lines like deep etchings on his handsome face. It’s clear that he’s not dealing on his own. “Fine,” he says after barely any deliberation, “I can help you study.” He picks up Don’s textbook and flips to a random page. Most of it is taken up by a big, colourful chart, sort of like a repeating rainbow getting more and more washed out, with ray-like lines coming out of one corner. It’s utterly incomprehensible. Bobby puts the book back down on the table. “I can’t help you study.” The corner of Don’s mouth twists into an almost-smile.

argentina is the newer one, set in argentina in 1967. don is there for work, bobby is there for don, it's hot, it's dirty (so far only in the "the drill site is a filthy place in general" way but who knows)

The Jeep that had picked him up at the airport slowly rolled away to join the fleet of identical vehicles, all decorated with the letters YPF – the name of the company in charge of the work, Bob assumed. He barely had time to feel (or look) lost when he noticed Don coming his way. Or at least he guessed it was Don, from the familiar walk and the fact that the man was a good four inches taller than everyone around him. Dressed in grubby work clothes and wearing a hard-hat that cast enough shadow to hide his entire face however, he could have been anyone. Then the smile gave him away. Bob had not been twenty-two and a fool in love in a good while, but that toothpaste-commercial-runaway, all-teeth, bright-as-the-sun smile Don could smile when he really put his mind to it still made him go weak in the knees.

#sorry 4 the long ass preamble i feel like context is needed for geologyfic bc. it's geologyfic. augh #there's also the question of why do i keep writing post canon timeskip fic. well you see i'm a simple machine #you put in sports twink yaoi at one end and divorced sad old man yaoi comes out the other end #research is great also #among other things i now know when the michel-lévy chart the streckeisen diagram and the petrological microscope were invented #also. gas & oil exploration in 1960s argentina (shoutout to the aapg bulletin archives) and like. argentina in general. so many airports et #yes these fics are just excuses for me to overresearch areas of geology i'm not particularly interested in #and then infodump about everything else #if don had been a sedimentologist or a palaeontologist instead of an Oil Man i would be SO annoying and just generally unstoppable #the boys in the boat #tag game #SORTA #there are many disadvantages to being a geologist #<- geology tag #veni veni

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vukovich · 2 years ago

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Like a Felon Knows the Law

tw: lice and "Mudblood"

During their fifth year, Hogwarts had a head lice problem. Nobody was sure if it started in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff first, but the Hufflepuff common room was a likely suspect, owing to the amount of upholstery.

"None of our concern," Draco had told Pansy, tucking a bite of toast with orange marmalade in his cheek. "It's never been an issue before. Muggle problem."

Pansy's hum was unconvinced.

The next day, Longbottom showed up to lunch with his hair buzzed short. That night, all the brushes, combs, and hats in the Slytherin boys' dormitory had disappeared, and the pillowcases smelled like sanitising spells.

Theo absently scratched the back of his head in befuddlement, and Draco's pristine life flashed before his eyes. It was dull, as far as flashbacks go.

He didn't sleep a wink that night, and spent it over-invested in every tickle of a hair near his ear, or his neck, or down the centre of his back. And so it was with utmost exhaustion, irritation, and suspicion that he greeted Granger in the morning.

"This is all your fault," he said, sneering down at her on their way out of the Great Hall. "Filthy Mudblood, bringing vermin into the castle."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

A haughty chuckle came from behind Draco. He turned to find Justin Finch-Fletchley, local Muggleborn aristocrat, smirking. He was insufferable, given that his upbringing mirrored Draco's, but the optics were better.

Justin brushed past him, throwing him off-step. "At least," Justin said snidely, "Mudbloods know how to get rid of lice." He cast Draco a backward glance. "Good luck hexing your way out of this, Malfoy."

Draco didn't sleep that night, either.

Five AM found him sitting on the edge of a very peeved, very bleary-eyed Theo's bed.

"The fuck you want me to do?" Theo mumbled. "Avada Kedavra your scalp like some William Tell shit?"

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

Draco watched Theo fall back asleep. Then nudged him. "Hey."

Theo snarled with his eyes still shut. "What?"

Draco sighed. "Nothing."

But it wasn't nothing, it was a big, fat something, because Justin wasn't wrong. Draco went home for the weekend, and his parents had never heard of head lice. He went so far ask to ask the portraits, and then the House Elves, who after much pestering and shaking of their bald heads, finally looked him square in the eye and said, "Why would Elves know of Muggle hair parasites?"

Draco shuddered at the word 'parasites' and hid in his bedroom until Sunday night.

When he arrived back at school, two of the Ravenclaw First Year boys had fresh haircuts, and he chose to interpret it as further evidence of pestilence.

He hid in the library. Only, it wasn't hiding if he had a stack of books next to him on the floor, below the window seat. He turned the spines against the wall so no one walking past would know that they were exclusively texts on invasive species, magical extermination, and livestock management.

Potter was the first one to stop and harass him.

"You look like you're waiting for your mum to come pick you up after school."

Draco obliquely understood him and chose to take offense. He thumbed through a promising few pages on woodlouse habitat preferences and wondered if his hair was at all similar to decomposing wood fibres.

"Potter, I'm surprised they even allow you inside the library after you-"

With the toe of his shoe, Potter nudged the pile of books away from the wall, then adjusted his glasses to read the titles. His eyebrows rose, then dimples formed on either side of his lips as he suppressed a grin.

"Doing some research, are we?" he asked. Draco sat, mortified, and said nothing. Potter's ire thawed around the edges, and he looked down with something near pity. "You're not likely to get lice, you know. Or, not likely to get them and not notice, I guess. It's-" he gestured to his own hair "It'd be really obvious if you got them, I mean. Because your hair's so light. And it's easier to find them in straight hair."

"Oh," was all Draco came up with, because it didn't solve the problem. He rallied the bit of piss and vinegar he had left. "I suppose you'd know, wouldn't you, Potter?"

It was supposed to be a thrown lance, but it landed like a desperately tossed lifeline.

"Yeah," Potter said gently. "I mean, I never got them, but we had lice checks at St Grogory's." He rested his bum against the window seat, his knee next to Draco's shoulder. "I could check your hair. You know. If you wanted me to. I guess me and Hermione are probably the only ones who really know how."

Draco's burgeoning phobia won out over his inborn prejudice, and he replied with nothing but a terse nod.

Harry sat on the window bench and, in what he perhaps thought was a brazen display of oblivious male heterosexuality, swung a leg on either side of Draco's body. Giddyup-no-homo.

Draco's shoulders did fit rather nicely between Harry's knees. They both silently regretted wearing their tightest trousers.

Unable to reach his wand in his back pocket, and not having a comb with him, Harry pulled a clean quill from his robe and parted Draco's hair just a centimetre off from where it already lay neatly.

Draco's arms ran with gooseflesh at the keen touch of the nib against his scalp. He sighed the second time Potter drew it through his hair. By the sixth time, Harry had him lay his temple against the inside of his thigh while he stroked through the hair behind Draco's ear.

Eventually, Draco dozed off, and Harry didn't admit that he'd seen every square millimetre of Draco's scalp thrice over. He let Draco sleep against his inner thigh while he read more than anyone needed to know about the mighty woodlouse. Crabs of the undergrowth. Majestic shrimp of the land.

Harry fell asleep with his hand cupping Draco's cheek and dreamt of Fraggle Rock, but it was a coral reef, and Draco was there.

Nothing was found that day in the library. Nothing tangible, anyway. But just to be sure, they kept checking.

Thirty years later, Harry hikes a leg over Draco and sits himself on the shabby floral sofa, in the front room where the telly blocks the bottom of the bay window. Harry watches MASH reruns while Draco watches the street lights come on. His hands sort through Draco's hair by feel.

It's not a surprise to find Draco sitting on the front room floor. His Wizengamot robes were hung in the hall too neatly for him to have had a good day.

Draco lays his head against Harry's inner thigh, and they both sigh. It's not every day they sit like this, but often enough.

Harry doesn't bother asking about Draco's day, because if there were anything Draco could do about it, he wouldn't be sitting on the floor with a book in his lap. Most likely, a trial witness got cold feet, or a policy change was delayed by a committee.

Hermione takes her judicial frustrations out at the driving range, and Draco lets Harry skim them from his scalp with his wand, or a quill nib, or the blunt edge of his fingernails.

On the telly, Hawkeye says something clever, but Harry doesn't catch it, because the edge of his nail catches on the edge of something on Draco's scalp. Startled, he looks down to find a rough pink patch near the whorl at Draco's crown.

He rubs it, and Draco doesn't wince. "Did you hit your head on something?"

"No," Draco replies, closing his book. "Why?"

"Nothing," Harry says cooly, but a thread of concern worms its way in. "There's just a mark."

Draco hums and reaches up to rub it. "Odd."

Ultimately, it ends up being a big deal for blessedly nothing. A biopsy, a few months of a particularly obnoxious cream, and £800 in not-quite-right hats later, the spot is gone.

One evening, the street lights outside make the clouds orange, and on the telly, Klinger is having his sanity questioned while Harry rubs his thumb over the small scar on Draco's scalp and says, for the dozenth time, "So glad we caught that early," shortly followed by, "Could've been a lot worse."

Draco just nods, like he does every time Harry is obviously thinking of all the horrible outcomes that didn't happen. And then it occurs to him that if it hadn't been for the Hogwarts lice epidemic, they wouldn't have caught it early. It would have been a lot worse.

There's no one person in particular he can thank for the long-ago happenstance. He never did find out who introduced head lice to the Hogwarts class of '98. He does know, however, that there are feelings regarding the incident which still need addressing.

Apologising to Granger would be embarrassing, in the best case, and put him in an early grave in several other cases. They're both Mugwumps now, but Granger was long-established and climbing the ranks before they gave Draco his father's empty seat.

Granger had been the only vote against him. After his induction, she'd shook his hand grudgingly, looking as if she wanted to challenge him to a rematch of his own election.

"I suppose," she'd said, "it's time to see if we can entrust a ferret with guarding the chicken coop."

It was a lacking analogy for someone so clever, and it made him pause to examine her. She looked as though she'd been up all night studying. But the only thing on the Wizengamot's docket that entire day was the vote over his seat, and the following giving and taking of the oaths.

He licked his lips and hazarded a guess. "I think you put more deliberation into your vote than anyone else here."

She shot him a watery smile. "You don't sound upset that I voted against you."

He took a moment to think. "I never trusted professors who only gave high marks. It didn't feel as if they were doing their job."

Appeased enough for a bit of swottiness, she changed tack. "I still don't think you should be allowed in the Wizengamot until we're done with the Statute overhaul. Everything you know about Muggles, you learned precisely the wrong way."

He'd bitten his tongue then, metaphorically, and bit the inside of his lower lip in reality. "You're right, Granger. I know Muggle relations like a felon knows the law. But that isn't nothing, is it?"

She'd given him a trite hum, and, over the last decade, Draco had decided the expression meant she'd been hoping for a fight and didn't get it. Nowadays, she saves that huffy hum for the golf course, on days when the weather is too perfect, and par comes too easily, and everyone stands back and lets her play through.

Draco sighs, his cheek on Harry's thigh. He presses his lips to Harry's jeans. Sometimes, evenings like this end with Draco asleep between Harry's knees, just like that first time. Other nights, they're punctuated with an idle, lazy blowjob that's mostly lips and leads to Harry coming about half the times, and yawning and suggesting Chinese for dinner the other half. Draco is happy either way.

But tonight, he's going to fall asleep against Harry's leg before anything else can happen.

A week later, he's on the golf course with Granger and two senior Mugwumps who've been delaying the vote on Squib inheritance rights reform for three sessions now. Draco is there because the 'Malfoy' in his last name appeals to one Mugwump, and the '-Potter" appeals to the other. It doesn't hurt that he can carry two golf bags.

Draco leans against a shade tree and watches Granger tee up, both in their conversation and with her ball. The two elder statesmen respectfully go quiet while she lines up to swing, then whips her driver like a mace.

Both men are silent as they watch the ball arc through the sky. She takes the opportunity to restart, restate, and redirect the conversation while the next man tees up.

Silently, while the three of them watch another shot, Draco pulls a shiny new ladies' putter from his bag and slides it into Granger's. He rustles the clubs to settle them evenly in her bag. She probably won't notice for quite a while. When she's looking for her usual putter, she won't even register the existence of other clubs.

Dutifully, he scoops up both their bags and follows them.

He didn't put a note on the putter, just a red ribbon bow on the grip, which is hidden inside the bag. She may or may not know Draco gave it to her. And if she does, she won't ask why, because they've both learned that wounds that are already healing don't do well if reopened.

A gust of wind catches the brim of his hat, and he fumbles a set of clubs while catching it. His own clubs slide out onto the ground, but it's better than chasing his hat.

As he's picking them up, someone in a golf cart honks their obnoxious little robot horn at him. He's shoving his clubs into his bag, and he glances up to find a black and chrome golf cart with some Danish logo on the hood, and it's headed straight down the centre of the path toward him.

There's only one arrogant prat who drives a cart like that. Or, more accurately, who gets driven in a cart like that. Finch-Fletchley. The Muggle-prince-turned-wizard-pauper-turned-smarmy-solicitor, who was famous for introducing the magical world to the concept of fraudulent class action lawsuits.

The driver honked again, a sound more suited to a child's toy than a motor vehicle, but Draco stepped to the side and let them pass. He set down Hermione's bag and raised an arm at the elbow for a perfect parade wave.

In passing, Justin flashed him a mouth full of veneers without making eye contact.

Quick as lightning, as the cart goes by, and Justin isn't looking, Draco reaches out and snatches a club. His instincts see a silver Snitch, and in a split-second, he holds one of Justin Finch-Fletchley's golf clubs in his hand.

His fingers unfurl to reveal a shiny new driver, engraved and lacquered in reds and oranges. A Honma driver. He flips it over and wraps his hand around the grip. Very nice. At minimum, a £15,000 club. Appalling.

After a short wait, Justin's cart goes round the curve. Draco sets the other bag down, then squares his shoulders, centring them up with the nearest water hazard. It's a small pond, about ten metres away.

Without a second thought, he hefts the driver onto his shoulder like a javelin, gets a three-step running start, and flings it into the water. It hits the surface with a wet slap, briefly sends the grip up as a flag, then sinks like a periscope.

Much better.

Draco scratches his head, readjusts his hat, and picks up his bags.

#peculiar prompts #drarry #tw lice

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mythicamagic · 3 months ago

Text

Kauaʻi ʻōʻō - a Xiaolumi oneshot

Rated G

Words: 2,500

Summary: Intrigued by the mournful birdsong that carries across Liyue's mountains, Lumine enlists the help of various friends to help her 'answer' the lonely call.

AN: This fic was originally created for the Xiaolumi Zine "Moonlight Rendezvous".

Kauaʻi ʻōʻō

When setting out for a commission earlier that day Lumine hadn’t really stopped to examine her party members. Sucrose had been traveling with her as a means of gathering more data on how Liyue’s mountainous terrain affected mint-leaf samples in comparison to those found in Mondstadt or Dragonspine. Before picking up her daily commissions list, they’d stepped inside Lumine’s Serenitea Pot and promptly found Faruzan and Zhongli inside; one having visited to pick up a book, the other to lounge around and enjoy free tea.

They’d both accepted her invitation to travel through Liyue for the day and help with the commissions, following Lumine’s lead as she scoured the terrain in search of a lost artifact.

That was how the Traveller came to realize she’d unwittingly picked up three of the most intelligent people she’d met in Teyvat.

If I don’t ask them now, I’d be letting this opportunity go to waste…

They were already near the location. It would just take a little more hiking.

Slyly leading her companions, Lumine glided down from Mt. Aozang toward lonely peaks. She made a show of using Elemental Sight, pretending to track the commission's lost artifact, touching down and climbing up the smooth rocks just below Qingyun Peak.

“M-might we- hah- stop for a rest?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Zhongli reaching down, offering a hand to a panting Faruzan. She accepted, allowing him to pull her up and over a ledge, huffing and adjusting her skirts with a flutter. “Thank you, young man. At least someone around here respects their elders.”

Zhongli blinked, giving a bemused smile. “Not at all.”

Opening her mouth to apologize, Lumine froze as a sound graced her ears. Lonely, long and mournful. She whipped her head around to look up at the lonely mountain peaks before them. By some miracle they’d made it on time.

Everyone in the group fell quiet at the noise. The sound- strange and foreign to their ears- repeated its sad song once more, allowing the rocks of the mountains to echo its noise, carrying it so far Lumine wondered if its cries reached Dihua Marsh.

Only when the sound drifted off and everything fell quiet once more did everyone look at each other; its haunting melody lingering like a gossamer veil, preventing them from raising their voices too high.

“What on Teyvat was that?” Faruzan monitored the dark skies above. “Certainly nothing I’ve ever heard before.”

“Curious indeed,” sitting down upon a fallen log elegantly, Zhongli laced his fingers. “Any guesses?”

“Well I’m no forest ranger, but it sounded like an animal of some sort,” tapping her chin, Faruzan frowned to herself. “Much too otherworldly to be a common finch though.”

Lumine nodded. “I know it’s silly to say- but I almost thought of a whale the first time I heard it. In other worlds, they had similar creatures who communicated through sonar, and they sounded similar over tracking machines. Not that there’s any sky whales around here…” she hoped. “Next I thought it could be a whistle, or a flute-”

“No, not that.”

The group shifted to find Sucrose standing further away. Furious scribbling noises could be heard as she took notes. “I’ve never met one of course, but logically it could be assumed that the noises were from one of the Adepti. The power, reverb and scope is unlike a regular animal cry.”

Lumine bit her lip, catching Zhongli’s calm gaze. In truth, she’d suspected as much, but needed confirmation before doing anything about it.

“You’re right to suspect a bird, Madam Faruzan. My first guess is…ah, what was her name, Cloud Retainer?” Sucrose hummed. “Or it could be Alatus, also known as the Golden-Winged King. I read about him in a book once. As a scientist, I’m sure you know I don’t put too much stock in folklore though. This is just an initial guess.”

And there it was. So achingly simple. The answer she’d long since suspected but hadn’t been sure what to do with, how to confront it. Lumine’s chest tightened. Her breath stalled.

Against her better judgment, she looked to Zhongli again. He smiled softly, turning severe golden eyes to the misty mountains.

“...And they say: 'Hark, the yaksha calls to summon his old friends to their homeland,’” he uttered, eyes softening at the memory of something that had long passed.

Sucrose lit up. “You’ve read the book too, Mr. Zhongli?”

“Oh yes, and that cry was indeed from an Adeptus. A melancholy sound, to be sure; for the song is intended as a duet you see. If it has no answer, then the lone singer feels the silence all the keener. Don’t you agree, Traveler?”

Avoiding his knowing gaze and joining Sucrose at the cliff side, Lumine let out a long exhale.

A duet.

A call waiting for an answer that would never come.

Xiao.

Had he really been calling for his companions all this time? Mourning them every night, hoping beyond hope, that one would answer? Or was there no hope in that song? Just a moonlit cry of grief and aching heartache. The Chasm had snatched away any lingering hope of seeing Bosacius again, and yet Xiao’s mournful singing had not stopped even after their return.

Rubbing her eyes, Lumine set her shoulders back. “Right. I see.”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to answer then, if I can.”

Faruzan spoke up, skeptical. “How are you going to do a thing like that?”

The Traveler couldn’t help but smile a little. “I know some…special little guys who are well versed in music.”

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

Returning to Vanarana again never failed to put her at peace. The static noise of worries and stresses died down, soothed by the happy hum of a thousand voices in the forest breeze. The village greeted her warmly. To her delight, a familiar face was also there amongst the crowd.

“Oh wow, what luck it is running into you here!” Nahida beamed, waving from within the cluster of Aranara. “To what do we owe your joyous visit?”

Sitting among the Aranara with their Archon, Lumine began explaining her idea. She’d returned to Liyue’s mountains not too long ago, but this time she’d brought along a device from Fontaine.

Everyone gathered around the small box, gasping as Xiao’s birdsong blared out of it. Lumine quickly adjusted the volume. “It’s a recording,” she explained, smiling at the wood folk as they tittered amongst themselves. “This is what he sounds like, pretty isn’t it?” taking a breath, she felt her heart tighten. “Do you think you can help me answer him?”

The group got to work immediately. The first thing to settle on was the right instrument. The Aranara brought out a variety of wooden instruments they’d made themselves, inspired by various Sumeru instruments. Nahida tracked the pitch of each one, seeming to mentally sync up with Xiao’s birdsong enough to hear which strum of strings or musical notes matched the melody via the use of a digital dendro screen simulating volume and pitch.

Lumine tried every instrument, strumming on the Oud, Baglama,Tanpura and Riqq before moving onto instruments Nahida seemed to produce out of nowhere; saying they should try Liyue inspired music. Though proficient in a few instruments, blowing notes into a Guanzi, Dizi, and Hulusi flute proved challenging. Lumine didn’t complain once though, drinking plenty and enjoying the process of playing each new thing. She particularly liked the aptly named; Xiao Bamboo Flute, but sadly Nahida found the sound too reedy to sync nicely with his birdsong.

Though it took several hours, eventually with their combined efforts, they selected the right pitch to match Xiao's birdsong. Since it required a combination of different flutes, Nahida turned to Lumine with a smile.

“You should carve a flute yourself out of wood.”

“Are you sure? I don't know anything about making musical instruments. It'll be a back scratcher more than anything,” Lumine pointed out.

“That won't matter,” unfathomably kind eyes twinkled, “trust me!”

Deciding to trust her, Lumine sat down with a long piece of wood, hollowing out the middle and crudely poking holes through it. As predicted, it looked awful.

True to her word however, Nahida took the flute in hand. After a moment, a faint green glow began seeping through the rosewood. As it left her hands to hover mid-air, the Aranaras began to sing. Sweet, joyful and childlike, their melody wrapped around the instrument, giving it a pale shine.

Lumine’s eyes were wide as the flute floated down into her open hands. She could feel the blessings of countless souls vibrating within. Well wishes, a desire to connect.

For some reason, her eyes stung.

It was perfect for Xiao.

She lifted her head and smiled tearfully. “Thank you, everyone.”

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

He couldn't verbalize, let alone explain to himself, why he needed to call out.

Bosacius was dead. He'd confirmed it himself back in the Chasm. The rest of his Yaksha comrades were gone, the stories of their time serving Morax wrapped up with overexaggerated glitz into various mortal books and otherwise largely forgotten. Xiao had no reason to fold and change himself into his original form, to give voice to his grief and longing via song.

The feelings that had once inspired him to start singing near Mt. Aozang had somewhat changed at least. No longer was he plagued by uncertainty about the fate of the last Yaksha- and though he mourned, the birdsong that burst out from his throat was meant for many lives that had come and gone, not just his brethren. He pictured Pervases, Guizhong, and other Illuminated Beasts and Gods that had once walked their world. If he reached back even further into his mind, he pictured his parents, and sang for them too.

Being honest, he’d learned his birdsong from listening to his parents perform a duet. A question posed, and an answer. Their faces were hazy, worn and blurred by the passing of thousands of years, but their song had stayed in his memories, and become transformed by his own voice and feelings.

As he perched that evening upon a high outcropping of rock, Xiao looked out at the misty mountains, allowing himself to be lulled by emotion. Folding his ragged, teal wings that had seen better days, he let himself call out.

Long, lingering notes escaped him instinctively. Mournful, longing. The vast emptiness above the cloudbank made the answering beat of silence all the more apparent. The mocking answer of his own cries echoing back to him as they bounced off Mt. Aozang’s rocks had felt like extra salt in the wound during his earlier days.

But Xiao didn’t expect an answer. Though he paused after each segment of his song, it was not out of hope a kindred spirit might reply. It was just out of learned, instinctive politeness when performing a replica of a duet. He had no mate to sing his heart to.

He could long for a gentle touch to run across the calluses of his skin or ragged feathers but the spaces between his fingers would remain empty of another’s hand clasping his own. A flash of golden hair entered his mind- before being roughly shoved aside. There was no use in dwelling on such impossible things.

His voice carried, settling over the ravines and valleys below. He readied himself for another trill, wings shifting, the wind combing through his tail feathers.

A long, gentle melody sounded out from below. Xiao froze, voice dying in his throat. Everything in him stiffened, falling silent. He sucked in a breath so sharply his lungs protested.

The music notes were drawn out, before fluttering into a tune that was lifting, lulling, reminiscent of his own. The only difference was that this tune was full of hope. He waited for the lilting noise to die down, listening keenly a few beats longer. Reluctantly, carefully, as if afraid he were dreaming, the Yaksha called out again, his voice becoming stronger the longer he sang.

When the music came again shortly after his segment, its purpose was unmistakable. His heart began to thrum erratically. Blood sang through his veins with renewed vigor.

A question and an answer. His eyes stung.

It sounded…strange. So very foreign and previously unthinkable, to hear the hills be filled up with a tune that wasn’t carried by him.

Awkwardly, and with a slight tremor- Xiao tried to sync up. He chirped a new notes, before calling out in time with the stranger’s notes. They began to sing antiphonally, or at least that’s what the music sounded like to him. The person playing their instrument was singing, no matter how he looked at it. They’d learned his song enough to replicate it almost perfectly.

Their combined songs rose to a crescendo, notes overlapping until one couldn't be separated from the other.

Before the song could end, Xiao pushed off from the mountain face, freefalling downwards. Wrapped in the warmth of the stranger’s lingering music, he followed the sound’s pathway, beating his wings.

Weaving around a few stone pillars, his gaze locked on a familiar figure.

It's you…

Lumine's eyes flew wide, lowering the flute from her mouth.

Teal feathers tangled in gently swaying blonde locks as he halted inches before her, breath stalling. Of course it was her. It hadn't occurred to him beforehand, but suddenly the answer was so simple and fitting. A puzzle piece slotting into place. It only ever could have been her. The music had even sounded like her; strong, yet simultaneously gentle and encouraging.

Lumine smiled a little, drenched in his shadow as his form dwarfed her in size. He lowered his head, neck craning down for her hand when she reached up.

“I heard you, many, many months ago now,” she said softly, carding her fingers through his feathers. “I only recently found out your song was a duet. I hope it's okay that I joined in.”

Bedraggled feathers shuddered. He couldn't stop the noise that escaped him: a soft keen of long forgotten wanting. Something he'd long since denied himself.

His wings reformed into arms, feathers shedding, discarded around him in a burst of dark energy as he stumbled into her waiting embrace.

“More than…okay,” he breathed, hiding his face in the juncture between her neck and shoulder, breathing her in. Lumine's fingers shifted to comb through his reformed hair, leaning into him just as his arms curled around her in a rare moment of indulgence. There was no Karma in those stolen touches, no war, no loss or pain. The squeeze and press of their limbs and torsos was an acknowledgement, a wordless vow.

‘I'm here. You're not alone.’

—--

End

#xiaolumi #xiao x lumine #genshin impact #xiaolumi fanfic

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coraniaid · 9 months ago

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There's so many good ones so I wanna ask one more! (Feel free to ignore of course!) Fuffy + 91. "I can't breathe." Happy writing! (Tbh I am team full season rewrite tho if/when you feel up to it! 😂 I'd love to see another! You did so incredible with the first one)

You sent this prompt in months ago, I know, but ... uh, better late than never?

(This is canon compliant and set in late Season 3, so I hope you like angst.)

In her whole short life leading up to today, Faith's only ever memorized four phone numbers.

The first of them was the phone number of the tiny apartment she’d lived in with her mother ever since she was a kid. The dismal too-small box back in Southie that she’d spent years dreaming of escape from. Not that she ever had any reason to call that one, or to invite anyone else to call her either. Unlike some people, she didn't exactly have a fawning little gang of sycophants and hangers-on to arrange late night gossip sessions with.

She used to have to give that number to teachers though sometimes. Before she was smart enough to just take the hint and drop out of school entirely. They used to demand it after summoning her to some principal’s office or some classroom for after-school detention, then get pissed at her when nobody answered. As if it were Faith’s fault her mom was too busy enjoying the drinking and passing out parts of life to pick up the phone. As if she’d ever asked for her to do that.

(Hell, maybe if she’d just asked her to carry on drinking herself to death then her mom would’ve stopped. God knows she’d never given Faith anything else she’d ever asked for.)

Anyway, that was one number she could go ahead and forget. Good riddance to that.

Then there was Diana's number. Diana Dormer.

Diana was her first Watcher, and – in every way that mattered – her last Watcher too. Snobby Rupert Giles had only ever looked at her like she was a cheap, flawed copy of his favorite golden Slayer, and lying Mrs Post had only ever been using her to get her hands on that stupid glove, and that jailbait-chasing creep Wesley was somehow worse than both of them put together. But Diana had been okay. For a Watcher, anyway. She’d been all right.

Diana had given her her number early on, shortly after she’d first invited Faith to stay at her place. "In case of emergencies," she'd said gently. “Or if you just want to talk.”

Faith had never known when to use it. Never been sure what Diana wanted from her until it was too late to ask. Her Watcher's house had been real nice, the few times she’d gone round to visit, but she'd worried that there was some kind of trick she wasn’t spotting, some strings attached that she’d not be able to escape. So however much she’d wanted to, she'd never actually called her on it. Not really.

She'd rung the number once, for the first time and the last, only after Diana died. When even a stupid little kid should've known it was way too late. Driven by some weak childish impulse on a very bad night, after a string of at least a dozen bad nights, when she was already halfway across the country. It rang and rang and rang and however long she waited nobody had ever answered.

Well, what had she expected to happen anyway? Diana was dead and she’d not been good enough to stop it and no amount of wishing would ever change that.

She could probably go ahead and forget that number too.

The Mayor had given her his number, as well, last of everyone. “Saving the best till last as usual, are you Faith?” he might have asked her, beaming at her in his office over another plate of cookies. (The Mayor hated crumbs and mess and disorder, that wasn’t a secret, but somehow he never seemed to mind her eating at his desk.)

It was his private office number, direct line. Not the one most people had to call. The real one: the one Trick had used, and Mr Finch, and maybe some other dead losers Faith had offed without knowing it. That was good. it meant he trusted her, that she was useful to him. That she was safe. She didn't think she'd ever call him on it either though. What if she said something stupid and pissed him off? What if he decided he could do better?

Mayor Wilkins wasn’t Diana. The Mayor wasn't all right. Not really. He was a monster, and a killer, and he was wicked gross. Only … he was on her side, wasn't he? He’d set her up in this place, hadn’t he? A little nicer than that dump of a motel she’d been left to rot in. He’d given her a chance. He got her, the way nobody else in this town did. The real her. After all, she was a monster too. Everyone knew it. She belonged, with him, in a way she’d never belonged anywhere before.

Use it or not, she'd be hanging onto his number for a while. It wasn’t as if she had a choice.

And then there was the third number. The one she didn’t want to think about. The most important number. Her number. Buffy Summers’s number. The Buffy Summers, the one Diana had told her about almost a year ago. The one Faith had known about, somehow, even before that, the face she’d glimpsed in her dreams the night before she’d woken up stronger and stranger and different than before.

The other Slayer – the real Slayer, Faith supposes, the good Slayer – had given her number to Faith herself on her third night in Sunnydale, after the big fight with Kakistos.

They’d been hungry, after dusting that old monster. Both of them. Starving. And, maybe, they'd both been feeling something else. Something that Faith had been sure she’d seen, deep in Buffy’s eyes, that very first night they’d met. A feeling she’d never been able to talk about it with anyone else, because they wouldn’t have been able to understand. The feeling she’d always gotten after a good slay. The high that kept her going, night after night, vamp after vamp.

They were hungry, but the only place open that late at night was a crappy little diner a few blocks away from the vamps’ old hideout. It had been nearly deserted when they’d shown up, no other customers at all, and for a minute Faith had been worried they’d be turned away. She probably would’ve been, she thinks, if she’d been on her own. Something about her just had that effect on people. She was trouble, she was a problem, and it was like everyone could smell it on her. Like a stink she couldn’t ever wash away.

But she’d been with Buffy, Sunnydale’s golden girl, and nobody in the world had ever known how to say no to her. That was why, not long after arriving, they’d been sitting together squashed up at a little plastic table, a table piled high with more burgers and fries and milkshakes than Faith had seen in one place for a long time. More food than she’d ever had since she’d lost Diana.

Buffy might have claimed to crave nothing more than low-fat yogurt back when she was with her friends, but Faith hadn’t bought it. No way that could be true. And that night, when it was just the two of them, Buffy hadn’t bothered to pretend. She’d torn through the burgers almost as fast as Faith, almost as if she didn’t have a mom at home who’d stay up late waiting for her and cook her hot food any time she asked. Almost as if she was as empty inside as Faith was.

At one point, she’d looked up at Faith, mouth still slightly smeared with sauce, and Faith had had the weirdest feeling. Because, fuck, this was Buffy Summers, the girl she’d dreamed about being the first night she was Called. This was the girl whose death she’d lived through in her nightmares, just like she’d lived through a second death bleeding out on the library floor at some vampire’s feet, and falling through the air to the ground far below, and hundreds of other deaths before that.

Buffy Summers, who Diana had told her stories about as if she were some kind of fairy tale. Buffy Summers, who she’d dreamed about again as she fled across the country, running for her life, not knowing where else she could turn to. Buffy Summers, who’d drowned but lived to joke about it, who’d never lost a fight, who blew up demons with rocket launchers and was really real. Who was real and alive and warm and sitting so close to her, and who – even disheveled and dirty after a fight, even with fading bruises on her arms and ketchup stains on her fingers – was the most beautiful girl Faith had ever seen in her life. Buffy Summers, who was like her, but better. Perfected. Perfect.

She’d looked up at her, and Faith had felt her heart lurch in her chest in a way that had nothing to do with all the greasy junk food they were eating. And for the first time in the longest time, she’d dared to let herself hope that maybe everything was going to be okay.

If things had been just a little different back then, if Buffy had given her just the smallest, slightest sign, Faith thinks she might have kissed her right then and there.

Not a quick kiss on the forehead, like she had after their big fight back in Angel’s mansion, but a proper kiss. The sort of kiss a girl like Buffy deserved. Romantic. Slow and deliberate. Gentle and soft and forgiving in a way that Faith could never make herself be.

But things hadn’t been different. They never were. Everywhere you went things were always exactly the same forever. Buffy had glanced away; a tired-looking waitress had shown up to ask if they were going to be done soon; the moment had slipped out of her fingers, unseized.

So Faith had just helped herself to the last few fries on Buffy’s plate when she was almost finished, smirked at her with her mouth full when the other girl protested, then left her to foot the bill and made her way alone back to her motel room.

Alone.

She’d been alone for months, out on the wrong part of town, and nobody had cared. Not really.

Giles had come round to see her once, much too late, almost a week after she’d arrived in Sunnydale. He’d looked over the place, peering over his glasses, barely managing to hide his distaste, and asked her haltingly if she was looking for somewhere else to stay. Well, nice try. Faith wasn’t about to fall for that one. What was he going to suggest: putting her up in the spare room in his place? Out of the goodness of his heart, or something? How dumb did he think she was?

“I’m five by five here, G-man,” she’d smiled insincerely, almost as keen to see the back of him as he obviously was to leave.

You couldn’t trust guys, even older guys who seemed okay at first. Even guys you were supposed to be able to trust. Especially not those guys. Faith wasn’t naive enough to think otherwise. She hadn’t been that naive for a very long time.

Buffy had come around to see her a few times, too. Not so much after they’d fought over Mrs Post’s glove – well, to be fair, Faith hadn’t exactly wanted to see her then either – but a couple of times. The last time was just before Christmas, when Buffy’s mom had guilted her into inviting Faith over for the night.

She might have kissed her that night, too. She might have, if she could’ve gotten away with it. Found some way to play it off as a joke. Lurked around the mistletoe and surprised her with a shy and furtive peck on the cheek at the stroke of midnight. She might have kissed her, if that damn vampire hadn’t shown up to ruin everything.

As it was, Buffy hadn’t even hung around to open Faith’s crappy little presents. She hadn’t even cared. Just abandoned Faith again, the way everyone else did. Left her to guard her mom like she was some kind of dog. Like she was a stray she’d briefly felt sorry for and invited into the warmth for a night, only to regret it when she realized how flea-bitten and mangy and disgusting she truly was.

She always thought she was better than you, Faith reminds herself angrily, hating the way she always forgets. Right from the beginning, and you never ever let yourself see it.

Sometimes she still thinks about calling her, even now. What for, she isn't sure. It's not like they were ever friends, is it? Not really. Buffy was just using her, same as everyone else. She gets that now, even if she'd never wanted to admit it. There was no way Buffy had ever been going to let her into her life for real. There was no way Buffy was going to admit that they were alike.

Still, she thinks about it, some nights. Most nights. She’s been thinking about it tonight.

It’s idiotic. She’s idiotic. She’s embarrassing herself again. it's just like Red had told her, back in the Mayor's office. It's too late, it's way too late. She knows that. She’s known it for a while. She’s not a stupid kid anymore.

Only … she’s never going to get another chance, is she? One way or another, it’s all going to be over soon.

It's well after midnight when she finally screws up the courage to pick up the phone. Not long to go until graduation day now. Not long to go until the Mayor's big ascension. This town will get what’s coming to it, and so will Buffy Summers. And so will she. Everything will be different.

"Willow?" Buffy says sleepily on the other end of the line, when Faith finally has the guts to dial her number. "Is that you? Are you okay?"

Faith feels herself scowling at the mention of that little witch's name, the smile she’d not been able to stop when she heard Buffy’s voice curdling on her face.

Red. That smug little witch. Of course Buffy would ask about her. Of course Buffy would choose her over Faith, again and again. Willow’s not a Slayer. She isn’t like them, she isn’t important. She’s soft and weak and shy and coddled and she’s got a family and a house and a future. She doesn’t need Buffy the way that Faith needs her. Why can’t Buffy see that?

Too late, she realizes how long it’s taking her to answer. Now Buffy's getting impatient. Sounding a little more stern.

"Who is this? What do you want?"

Faith freezes. The little script she’d pieced together in her mind all evening fades into gray nothingness. What does she want? Forgiveness, maybe. Absolution. For somebody else to really see her and agree that this was the only way that things could go. That, really, none of this was anybody’s fault. Or maybe she just wants a chance to say goodbye.

I should have kissed you, back then, she thinks. That night after we dusted Kakistos.

She can see in her mind exactly how it would have played out. Like a scene from a movie – not one of those grainy black and white flicks she used to watch on the broken television in the motel after patrol, but a real movie, on the big screen, so bright and colorful and sharp and real that it almost hurts to look at.

You'd have tasted sweet, but just a little salty, between those fries you were demolishing and the specks of strawberry milkshake waiting on your upper lip. You’d have tasted just like I imagined, all those summer nights on the run. And afterwards … afterwards, you’d have gone all shocked and wide-eyed for a second and neither of us would've said anything. Then you'd have turned all pink and protested and pretended you hadn’t been into it at all, and maybe you’d not have talked to me again for weeks and weeks afterwards. You’d probably have been weird about it for months.

But I think it would’ve been worth it. To show you. Who I was, and who you were. To take what I wanted, just for a moment. To have what I was sure we both wanted, deep down. What we both needed. To know that I was right, and that the two of us were the same. To taste it.

And now it's like ... it's like I'm drowning, like I can't breathe. I’m in that quarry the kids used to fool around in, back in Boston. I’ve jumped in from way up top like always, only something’s gone wrong. I'm stuck. I can’t get out, I can’t even move, and I'm waving for help but nobody can see me. Nobody wants to see me.

It’s just like it was back then, after I failed Diana, except I know nobody’s going to take my hand and drag me out this time. I know there’s nowhere left for me to run, and no other Slayer I can trek across the country to find is going to save me. I know the only way out is down into the dark. The only thing left to do is let the water in and drown.

Faith opens her mouth. Hesitates again, for the last time. Buffy doesn't give her another chance.

"I don't know who you are or how you got this number, but I know this isn't funny," the other girl whispers furiously. "It’s the middle of the night and I’m trying to sleep. Don't ever call here again."

The line goes dead before Faith can say a word.

#btvs #fanfiction #fuffy #asks #thanks!

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aquadestinyswriting · 11 months ago

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When Forever Comes Songfic

Summary: You know what? Since I've been giving some thought to the way the early parts of the Selene/Edwin relationship is going to unfold, I might as well post the songfic I did for this song on my playlist for The Wizard's Tale. I haven't written a songfic for nearly 14 years, so this doesn't live up to my usual standards. However, I am way past caring now. Green text is for the parts Edwin is "singing", purple is Selene. I've also modified the lyrics a little to make the song for this fic make sense.

Words: 1,189

Warnings: some spoilers for To Heal a Broken Soul and Confessions of a Troubled Heart. There's nothing graphic in here, just fluff and a little angst.

tags: @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes, @warriorbookworm, @mariahwritesstuff, @writeblrsupport, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch

The flowers gold Will softly sway To reunite the lost And lead us on our way

Edwin frowned as he tried to figure out what on Titan Selene meant by Daffodil Field, at least until Chrackle started squawking ‘Yastie’ at him over and over. Thanking the bird, the cleric cast his Scry and waited for his old friend to pick up on the other end.

The glow of soul Will light my face The river's current Flows inside each act of grace

The light of the Cure spell lit up the cleric’s face as he cast. He smiled as the gash on the little boy’s leg healed over. Selene waited in the doorway until he was done, the young boy hugging the new Abouna gratefully before dashing off with a happy wave.

Walk the garden breathe the scent of life Take this moment just to feel Comfort in my tiny paradise A place for lonely hearts to heal

Edwin had just finished tending to the back half of the Garden of Galana and was walking around to the front to work on the rosebushes by the front doors, when he noticed a shock of auburn hair out of the corner of his eye. Startled, the cleric looked over to the oak tree in the corner only to find the Grand Magus sat underneath it, her nose stuck in a book of some kind and totally oblivious to the world around her.

And when forever comes to be Will you remain inside? A little light of empathy To keep us unified Let me inside

“I know you’ve never been one to talk about personal matters with other people, Sel.” he said, “But this is getting completely out of hand.” The wizard shook her head,

“I can’t… not right now anyway.” she replied, her voice tight, “Look, just drop it. Please.” Edwin noticed the tension in his old friend and relented. Heaving a sigh he rubbed at his forehead,

“Alright, fine.” he agreed with a grumble, “But you need to talk to me sooner rather than later. You can’t keep carrying the weight of… whatever this is by yourself.”

The warmest smile A waiting hand A friend to free my heart And help me understand

Selene glared up at the laughing man above her. Edwin shook his head, a warm smile on his face as he extended his hand and helped the wizard up,

“Sorry, but...your face.” he giggled. Selene’s glare lifted as she too started laughing as she stood,

“Yeah, well don’t expect me to save your sorry behind if you end up in the same situation, mister cleric.” she retorted.

Through life and loss Through thick and thin You help all others Face the pain they hold within

“How do you even do it?” Edwin looked up, a confused frown on his face as he looked up at Selene,

“Do what?” he asked. Selene gestured to the door where the grieving family had left a little earlier. Edwin shrugged,

“To be honest, I never really thought about it.” he admitted, “It’s just something I’ve always done.”

Eyes of greed are ever watching me Lonely rooms and broken time Plots and plans to pluck the petals free To drain them of their golden shine

~I can’t get him involved in this Chrackle. It’s bad enough Schreiber has it in for me, I don’t want him getting rid of the only other one of us left!~

~You honestly think Schreiber doesn’t know he was with you guys? His statue is in the plaza outside along with yours.~

~That’s not the point. Edwin isn’t on the Council so Reginald has no real reason to feel threatened by him.~

~You really think that once he gets word that the new Abouna is another Hero of Toreguard that he’s really just going to leave the man alone just because he’s not on the Council? Schreiber wants you all gone, or did you forget that little detail?~

And when forever comes to be I will remain inside A little light of empathy To keep us unified I’ll Keep you outside

“What happened?” he asked, keeping his voice low and body language as relaxed as he could manage. For several long moments there was no reply, or even any indication that the woman had heard him. Eventually, however, the wizard shifted a little, and buried her head in the crook of her arms,

“I don’t want to talk about it.” she muttered, her voice muffled.

When I learn of the loss that defines me Can I hold to the promise that binds me And carry on into tomorrow's sorrow

“No, damn you! You can’t do this to me, not now!” he cried, falling to his knees and burying his face into the bedding as Selene’s body finally relaxed, rattled out a sigh and stilled. Edwin squeezed the rapidly cooling hand he still held tightly, ignoring the sharp pain in his palms, “I love you.”

When I'm facing the ghosts of my destiny Will I turn or remain in the memory And choose to stray or choose to follow

“Alright then, let me rephrase.” she said, “You said that I was still needed but that heading back or not was my choice. What then, is the point if either one of us ends up dead for good shortly after?” she asked. Greg looked up at her through his highlighted fringe with a soft smile,

“Then you make the most of the time you have.” he replied easily.

And when forever comes to be Will you remain inside A little light of empathy To keep us unified

Edwin frowned, worried, as the pink tinge in Selene’s face darkened somewhat and spread to her ears,

“Selene are you..?” he was quickly cut off by Selene waving her free hand,

“Nono, I’m fine.” she assured him, “It’s just… she trailed off, flailing a little as she tried to find the right words, “Cur ita velim Durus.” she hissed in Draconic. Edwin’s frown deepened, having no clue what it was the Wizard in front of him had just said. He took both of Selene’s hands in his own,

“Ok, breathe. What’s the matter?”

I’ll let you inside

“I heard you, you know.” she said quietly. Edwin’s head snapped back round, his heart skipping wildly in disbelief.

“You… wha..?” he stammered. Selene squeezed his shoulder to stop him from babbling, took a shaky breath and continued, “That’s why I came back. I didn’t want to leave this world before I got a chance to tell you that… I love you too.” she finally admitted…

#aquadestinyswriting #titan fighting fantasy #the wizard's tale #selene frigidwake #edwin goodwin #edwin/selene #songfic

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whinlatter · 2 years ago

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author's note | chapter 3: nocturnal 🌙

here is the author's note for chapter 3, with a few short reflections on writing, headcanons, fic recs (and a tiny sneak peek of chapter four). for an explanation of why i'm inflicting these author's notes on you see here!

✨ spoilers for this chapter below the cut (and a tiny sneak peek of chapter 4…) ✨

thank you for reading the third chapter of beasts! this chapter follows ginny’s first (proper) day back at hogwarts after the war, from morning til night. we have some familiar faces back with us, as well as a couple of new ones. lot to talk about - let's get stuck in...

[ nocturnal, adjective: being active or happening at night rather than during the day:of the night, or relating to the night ]

acknowledgements:

thanks to @pebblysand @evesaintyves and @takearisk-ao3 for their extremely helpful suggestions on introducing and sketching out O.Cs. and thank you to @incalculablepower on TTB for clarifying what did or did not happen with ginny’s OWLs!

writing notes and headcanons:

on canon references (or: back to the prisoner of azkaban): i’m having so much fun pilfering and borrowing my favourite tropes or moments in canon and sort of interpolating them into the vibes of certain scenes for this fic. for this chapter, the book i kept going back to for this chapter was PoA. this is the book we see ginny the least in, save for a brief intro in diagon alley and her traumatic experience with the dementor on the train, where she and the trio all meet remus, but we know, for her, it’s the aftermath year of her deeply traumatic first year. it only seemed right to do PoA here, as we find ginny, again, starting a new aftermath year now that the war is won. there are references to PoA throughout - remus’ DADA lessons, obviously the hippogriffs and the care of magical creatures lessons, but also werewolves, dementors, the press, and the beginnings of criminal trials. with the opening scene i was trying to do a call-back to the opening of PoA, which begins with harry in the middle of the night, writing in bed, quill between his teeth, worried about getting ink on the sheets, receiving the daily prophet clipping and letters from his friends. two soulmates mimicking each other i die i die. (also time-turning because you know ya girl loves a flashback)

on letters: letters, writing, handwriting, reading between the lines: these are really crucial in canon - there’s often a romance and magic to them, and they serve a rich way of characters connecting across distance and time (lily potter’s little wave to her son through her letter Gs!) as we know, though, writing to others is canonically also a loaded theme, fraught with risk and danger and secrets, the threat of interception. ginny more than most has reason to feel wary when she picks up a pen. expect lots more letters and refections on this in future chapters…

on the camera and the nimbus: when i one day put out the summer ‘98 fic that i write and re-write and scrap every so often, you’ll get the story of how harry and ginny come to possess these two items - but for now, i’m keeping hush, you're going to have to forgive me trust me

on head boys and head girls: as we see in this chapter, hermione and justin finch-fletchley are the first postwar heads of school. these are symbolic appointments as well as reflections of the staff and governors' faith in them - two muggleborns, both plainly bearing the scars of their, very different, wartime experiences. there’s been some super interesting discussion about this (here and here) and although i don’t think hermione should be head girl, i think she would be, in ways that make for an interesting arc for her. stay tuned on this...

on lavender: i just don’t think she’s dead, i’m sorry 🥲 it’s just too brutal for her to have died and her only plot service to be ron’s clingy ex! my girl was a proud DA member and fought in the battle and deserves a chance at having a meaningful life after her injuries ok

on ginny and mcgonagall: i strongly suspect ‘forgot to brake, sorry professor’ was not the first time these two gryffindor ladies clashed. i assure you, in this fic, it will not be the last.

on professor graves: i’ve always been so so so fascinated by the department of mysteries and the unspeakables, and so introducing a former dept of mysteries guy to take the defence class - already a tricky posting, especially after the students have had a year being taught how to do dark magic by death eaters - seemed really compelling, especially as we play with some of the themes about beasts and the darker parts of a person's nature. stay tuned for more prof graves action...

on ginny and remus: we have only tiny hints that ginny and remus have some kind of friendship that harry doesn’t really see in canon - the poa interaction, moments in ootp where remus stays with ginny and the twins on the night bus (ofc he’s also living at grimmauld with ginny and her family in that book, too); ginny’s closeness to tonks; and that fantastic moment in DH where remus vouches for ginny to her parents and persuades molly and arthur to let ginny stay in the room of requirement during the battle, so she’ll know what’s going on. i’m absolutely not the first one to suspect remus lupin might see something of himself and try and look out for ginny in her second year, but i am loving thinking through their dynamic here, and the idea of remus and hagrid also having their own existing friendship and rapport

on little women: fraught, fiercely loving sisterhood, matriarchs, writing, war… hermione just had to be rereading little women, didn’t she?

on siegfried sassoon and the death bed: i know it’s extremely pretentious wanky of me to start with a poem but one of my favourite favourite books is pat barker’s regeneration, which is about soldiers at a scottish convalescent home suffering with PTSD during the first world war (it’s a fictionalised account of real people, including sassoon the war poet, who were patients at craiglockhart during the war). there are lots of themes and dynamics in that novel that i’m shamelessly trying to play with here, strongly recommend a read, and i’m also just a massive huge sassoon fan and this is one of two of his poems that i keep coming back to for this fic. (graves is actually a reference to robert graves, the poet and classicist, who appears as a character in regeneration). the vibes are very much this!

reading list for chapter 3

on epistolary fiction and letter-writing (esp. harry/ginny):

castles by @pebblysand warm front by flagpoles (@jiilys) enough of both by @takearisk-ao3

on harry calling ginny ‘gin’:

you’re the only one who gets to call me that, you know by @hiinnys (AO3)

on postwar ron and ginny:

hide-and-seek by stuckwithminusharry

on postwar hermione:

Failure by @floreatcastellumposts

on mcgonagall:

Autumn is a Time of Change by wasureneba

on hannah abbott:

naive: in defense of hannah abbott by dirgewithoutmusic

on remus and food:

It’s just what you do to get by by anonymous for remus lupin fest 2023

songs from the playlist particularly for this chapter:

plus a very short sneak peek of chapter four... 🧹

‘Right,’ she says. ‘You can all put your brooms down over there.’ Thirty blank faces stare back at her. ‘You know,’ she says, raising her eyebrows, ‘an important part of being on a Quidditch team is following direction.’

🦉 thoughts & questions? ask me anything!

#authors note #beasts #writing #author's note

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canonickero · 2 years ago

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Hey!!!

I gave you my two cents on Shellington’s favorite sea creatures, so I was wondering if you had any of your own headcanons for him!

Best fishes,

Finch

Shellington would probably befriend a red urchin and Pearl would eat it and he would cry

He'd probably point his magnifying glass at his friends and make obvious observations to cheer them up

Shellington would cry if he stepped on a bug

He'd be fine with a jellyfish stinging him for the sake of studying it

Has lied to the crew before because he thinks it's funny

Has been yelled at by a bird before and holds a permanent grudge

His shells are his pride and joy, only second to the vegimals and his crew

Enjoys pronouncing very strange names of strange animals

Takes the "what do you call a fish with no eye?" Joke very seriously

Probably carries at least one shell in his satchel at all times

Is the best marine biologist ever

Prides himself on his creature knowledge

Probably loves some obscure ass fish nobody's ever heard of("You don't know what a Rosy Lipped Batfish is?!???!!!!)

Would hug an angler fish. Doesn't give a shit if the big ones are biological females because he respects your pronouns 💯

Devil's Hole Pupfish enjoyer, because look at them. Why do they look like that? What's behind their evil little eyes? We'll never know. And that's why he loves them so much(Also bcs of his sister but whatever)

Probably loves the creatures in the midnight zone and will show you pictures(Much to many of his crew's displeasure, sorry Peso)

Sarcastic Fringehead lover. Would explain everything he knows about them to you while you screech at the top of your lungs as it lunges at you

Unironically loves Boobies(The bird) despite their very unfortunate name

Has a huge ass fossil collection, longs to study the creatures like he could the Coelacanth

An overall enjoyer of all creatures, but certainly has favorites

Likes sitting in the river when on land or in a Gup, pointing out creatures

Learned that the Giant Pacific Octopus' eggs don't usually birth many children/the children don't live despite there being so many because of predators, cried over it

Regularly saves animals from litter and helps clean up the ocean

Prefers to be in the ocean but doesn't mind being on land, will sit in any body of water he can be in at the time

"OH MY OCTOGOD IS THAT A MYXINE CIRCIFRONS?!?!?!?" And nobody knows what he's talking about because he likes using scientific names

Never says the word "cool" to describe something he genuinely likes or is interested in, it's always "interesting" or "fascinating"

Probably picked up a lot of his speech from inkling, they're literally best friends

Knows everything about like every creature

Has so many notebooks. So. Many.

Has and will befriend a clam despite eating them, has many moral dilemmas over it

#octonauts #random #shellington #shellington octonauts #silly #hyperfixation #little guy #silly little creature #silly little fella #silly little funny guy #octonauts shellington #fish #ocean creatures #batfish

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ardent-fox · 11 months ago

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✨ Tag Game Master Post ✨

Hi, all! Catching up on these two games I was tagged in during the holidays 💖

First up, thank you to the lovely @lupeloto for creating and tagging me in this fun Tag Game! 🥰

📺 Favorite tv show? At the moment, Our Flag Means Death (shields self from tomatoes being thrown at her 😁)

🕴️ Favorite character? Oof, this is difficult. Gonna have to go with my precious baby boy, Stede

💋 Favorite relationship in the show? Blackbonnet (shocking, I know)

👯‍♂️ Fav sibling relationship in the show? No blood relations but the entire crew is chosen family, so… all of them?

🎨 Favorite art form? Music, with a heavy focus on lyrics/words

⚡️ A talent you wish you had? Being able to draw would be cool

☀️ What is one thing that can always make your day better? My toddler nephew saying the most hilarious things, he's barely 3 and already the funniest person I know

🎬 Favorite fictional character of all time? Atticus Finch (any works he appears in besides To Kill a Mockingbird do not count)

🌅 Dream place to travel to? Thailand or Ireland (either "land" would do, get it? 🧍‍♀️ ...I'll see myself out)

🎈 You’re planning a huge party, what’s the theme? The Masque of the Red Death, get fancy and spooky, bitches 🎭💀

🍕 Favorite pizza topping of all time? All kinds of cheese and extra mushrooms

🥂 You can pick ONE celebrity to have dinner with… Who? Andrew Garfield, {Marge Simpson voice} I just think he's neat

🎥 Favorite movie that you kinda know is bad but you still love? Rocky Horror Picture Show 👄

👖 How would you describe your style? The "I gained a substantial amount of weight in the past 5 years and haven't bought anything new since, so I now wear whatever I can fit into and lots of dresses and skirts cause pants are uncomfortable and shopping for them is a nightmare" style 😬

🖤 Finally, something making you smile this week? My mom's reaction to a present she really wanted, seeing her that touched was soul ascending ✨

----

Next, I got tagged by @deedala, @tanktopgallavich, @suzy-queued and @lupeloto to complete this round of Weekly Tag Wednesday, thank you my darlings! 💙

Name: Lyds

Location: Unknown location in Europe

Astrological Sign: Taurus squaaaad ♉

What's a TV show or movie you plan to re-watch this year? Hubby has never seen Giant, so I'll be rewatching it soon as well as some other classics like Some Like It Hot and Philadelphia Story, I'm sure I'll rewatch Frankie and Johnny for the umpteenth time as well. As far as shows go, I rewatch Our Flag Means Death at least once a month since it's my comfort show, and might do a Shameless rewatch since I've only seen the whole thing once (excluding all the Gallavich scenes)

What's a book or fic you will probably re-read this year? The entirety or The Menagerie by @crossmydna and Honeycomb by @metalheadmickey with artwork by @heymrspatel 💕

What is a song you will likely continue to play on repeat? I've been replaying One Of Your Girls by Troye Sivan for days and don't plan on stopping anytime soon, also still listening to Hozier's entire Unreal Unearth album whenever I'm chilling

What's a tasty treat you look forward to eating more of this year? Gonna steal Ri's answer here and say cinnamon buns, as well as my husband's homemade pizza rolls that I previously mentioned, as they're our favorite thing to eat while binge-watching

What's a time sink that you will continue to sink time into this year? Scrolling this beloved hellsite

Did you pick up any habits in 2023 that you plan to continue? Only unhealthy ones that I plan on ridding myself of in 2024 👋

What's your toxic trait? Inflexibility and freaking out when things don't turn out the way I've planned

What is a coping mechanism you will continue to indulge in this year? Staying in my burrow with my hyperfixations

Tell me something you like about how you look! My full, rosy lips against my smooth, pale skin

Give me at least three adjectives describing things you like about yourself. Honest, open-minded, creative 🌸

I'm out of the loop (which is about to change since I celebrated the last of the festivities today) and haven't been keeping up with the tags lately, but am still going to tag some peeps if you want to do either or both of these: @heymrspatel, @stocious, @too-schoolforcool, @xninetiestrendx, @krysmiss, @sleepyfacetoughguy, @michellemisfit, @whatwouldmickeydo, @vintagelacerosette, @metalheadmickey, @rereadanon, @francesrose3, @darlingian and anyone who sees this and wants to play! ✨

#tag game #fandom friends #personal

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hershelchocolate · 4 months ago

Note

out of All of your ocs which group would make for the best sleepover party. who would make for the worst. this is like the nightmare blunt rotation joke but for people who dont smoke weed

Villain squad kids literally have a sleepover chapter where they all brag about their backstories and they're all so funny except for Oliver that guy is a downer get him out of here

Wally for SURE he makes cookies and gets everyone cozy blankets. Willow Whisp would be cool she'd know so many spooky stories (though you'd have to get her a few stories in before she tells one that isn't just an average day in customer service) Finch as well obviously. They are simply. Very silly

Blackjack would be fucking awesome to have if you can stand at least one person who won't go to bed on time but she'll crash if you give her snacks so it's basically the Blackjack Tax.

OH ABBIE OF COURSE she would get so into food challenges tbh. And also her spooky stories kinda fuck cause she doesn't know what humans consider scary so she'll say something horrific in a normal tone and that makes it worse but she's silly so we love her

As for who would be awful,,,,,I could easily say all my antagonists but I wanna keep it to people who would actually show up if you invited them

Lilith is kidnapping everyone at the party Do Not Let Her In. Oliver as previously mentioned (just doesn't know how to be fun at parties tbh). Lyra would make everyone watch a 30 slide presentation on her evil plans and when you ask her a very reasonable question she kills you and moves on. Girl CANNOT take criticism.

Blackjack goes here again cause she'd drink all the Pepsi and call you a bitch. On second thought I think she only belongs in the good group if Cordelia is also there

Rose would show up to stare ominously from the corner for 2 hours and then burn your house down but she would remember it fondly as a really good party so pick your poison I guess

#ask #arcaneyouth #thinking of it as a blunt rotation is also kinda funny tbh. i think wally would just die

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casperheights · 2 years ago

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Welcome to your official introduction into the AU/Rewrite of DP known as “Gravewalking.”

This au will be tagged with #gravewalking au

(fun fact I didn’t know that was an actual word until like 2 minutes ago I made it up like 3 months ago as a play on Grimwalkers from TOH)

A little summary of what you’re getting into, at least with season 1 winky face (this is the summary i wrote for when i eventually post this on ao3 or smth): After an accident that leaves Danny with ghostly abilities (because no, there’s no way he’s dead), said creatures seem to be coming out of the woodwork, sometimes quite literally. The 15 year old High School Freshman takes it upon himself to keep the town safe since his accident is the reason they’re getting through. Oh, and he keeps breaking the lights. That’s probably not important.

–

OR; A rewrite of Danny Phantom as a fruity No One Knows AU and I’m changing his powers to electricity based. Homie was electrocuted it makes more sense imo

Basic info you might want:

The AU itself: This is a no one knows au!!!! Sam and Tucker do not know. While they heard about the accident, in classic nok aus fashion, Danny is refusing to give them details and is pushing them away. In a classic Finch fashion, I made the death of a ghost correspond to their abilities. As such, Danny has electricity-based powers.

Genre: Superhero, obv, thats what DP is, a little comedy, but mostly HORROR ELEMENTS!!! I love horror. Psychological? Probably. Body? Definitely.

The ghosts: While some ghosts will not make an appearance (most likely at least. Look man i'm still working on it), your favs are going to be completely revamped! Every ghost that will show up I hope to flesh out well :) except maybe one-time villains/cameos. I have created a whole system of ghost typing ranging from Will-o-the-wisps and Shades to Liminals (who are often called, ahem, Gravewalkers) and Lords/Ancients. Each ghost typing has their own abilities and whatnot (think like the ghosts in Phasmophobia). And since some of my typings would BUTCHER a few characters including Danny, ghost types can overlap :D For example, in this au Danny is a liminal banshee, and by the end of the series he’ll be a liminal banshee and [REDACTED]! This mostly applies to higher level ghosts since those are more titular than anything, but it will also apply to a few of the main cast of full ghosts.

The characters: The characters you know and love are back, but a few with a bit more substance. Team Phantom is overall pretty similar, just adjusted to fit headcanons I’ve inserted into the au. Vlad is not an incel anymore and now is taking Daddy Issues to the extreme! This definitely won’t have any negative consequences for Phantom. Oh, hes also like, 5x more manipulative. Danielle is back and BETTER. While I quite liked her in canon, now she makes more sense. Instead of going by “Dani,” she decided to be less confusing and pick a cooler name (her words) and goes by “Elle!” Pronounced like the letter L shes built different (its not because I keep reading “Ellie” wrong or anything). She is also physically the same age as Danny. She also has a dual ghost type, but you can wait for that I’ll do like a proper character intro or smth.

Season 1 (the only season i’m giving you a peak of rn): Season 1 is mostly a learning period for Danny. Unlike canon where the origin story is left to the intro until a retcon in season 2, the Accident is told through flashbacks, Daredevil style. Overall, this season will be the slowest, as it’s more for building the world, establishing characters and motives, and other stuff to make the next seasons flow as well as possible. Think like the Owl House where season 1 has more filler that progressively gets fewer and further between as it continues. This season ends with what very well might be a rewrite of one of everyone’s favourite episodes from canon. You can speculate what one that is.

Hope this sounds interesting. None of it is set in stone atm and if you have any questions about it feel free to ask!!!

#gravewalking au #danny phantom #dp rewrite #danny phantom reboot #no one knows au #danny fenton #i started this on halloween and its gonna be until next before its anywhere near complete #for season ONE #its okay i like suffering

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fluffydavey · 2 years ago

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concern for others aka how many times can i hurt davey || prompts

don’t move. i’ll be there in ten minutes for @anotherdaveyjacobs which i accidentally deleted the ask, but she’s in the mood for hurting the boy xo

It’s a slow news day, and Jack is dreaming of some hot food and an early night, tired from standing around all day, practically getting ignored by anyone who walks past him. He’d split up from Les and Davey, trying to see if they could reach more people, and he wonders if they’re doing any better than he is currently. He’s kicking a stone as he sits on a bench, looking out to see if there’s anyone he could sell to, when a worried looking Henry comes rushing over to him. “Boss, you gotta come quick!”

He rushes after Henry, and doesn’t have a clue what could possibly get Henry looking so worked up. That’s when he turns a corner, and sees Davey lying on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding him. Les is crying, holding onto Race who’s trying his absolute best to get the younger boy to go home with him, but he’s putting up a damn good fight to stay with the older boys.

“Did he see?” he mouths to Race, who shakes his head. That’s something, at least.

He kneels down on the floor beside Davey, trying to assess the damage done, and he can see that Davey’s awake and alert, which is something. “Les,” Davey breathes out, wincing at the word. Even as badly beaten as he is now, his only concern is for his brother.

With dread in his stomach, he stands up and picks Les up. “Don’t move. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he says to the boys, as he carries Les back to the Jacobs household. Les is still uncontrollably crying, calling out for his brother the entire run to Davey’s home, and kicking and squirming under Jack’s hold, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make it back to Davey as soon as humanly possible.

He makes it to their home in a record speed time, and as soon as Meyer lays an eye at the sight ahead of him, he realises something is very wrong. Jack tells him the little that he knows, and reassures him that Davey will be alright - he has to be - and he’ll bring Davey back as soon as possible. He can see the anguish in Meyer’s eyes, with his injury, he won’t be much help. “I promise, we’ll take care of him and bring him straight back.”

Jack turns his back to begin rushing back down the streets, when he hears Meyer call out to him. “Be careful, son.” And god, the words weigh down on Jack, not knowing how to respond. Even not knowing just what’s happened to his eldest son, Meyer’s worried for his safety. The journey back is a blur, running through the streets until he finally finds a larger crowd of newsies surrounding Davey, who’s now sitting up against the alleyway, holding onto his ribs.

It’s Finch who spots him first, who promptly moves some of the boys out of the way for Jack to get to Davey. “Seems like some newsie from another borough tried taking his money,” Race tells him, and when Jack looks up he’s surprised to see Spot standing beside him, looking equally as concerned.

“I’ll find out who it was,” she says, venom dripping from her words. If word has made way to Brooklyn, he’s sure it’s spreading fast and wide by now. Jack kneels down to Davey’s level, and places a gentle arm on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, we’ve got you,” he says, watching as Davey stares blankly ahead of him. When he stands, Race takes him aside to tell them what they know. Les had run off ahead, finding a group of women to sell to. When he finally returned, Davey was lying unconscious, so the young boy ran to the nearest newsies he could find - Henry and Romeo, although Davey had woken again by this point. He’d been hit on the head with something, and by the looks of the many scars on his face, it hadn’t been a one-on-one fight.

“How are you feeling Davey?” he asks, his stomach churning at the sight before him. If only he hadn’t tried seperating from him he could have been there to stop this. He’s furious, but he knows that won’t be of any use right now. He’s going to make sure Spot lets him come along to visit these kids who dared lay a finger on Davey.

“Like shit,” Davey answers, his words slurred slightly. He’s got a concussion then.

“Did they hurt you anywhere else?” Spot asks, her voice softer than Jack’s ever heard. Davey shakes his head, but the blood seeping through his shirt says otherwise. He’s not even sure Davey can remember what happened.

“We need to get him back to the lodgings, it’s closer than his home,” Race says, as all eyes drop to the injured boy. “Dave, this is gonna hurt. But we can’t help you out here in the streets.” Jack and Race bend down to slowly lift Davey up from the alleyway wall, Jack doing his best to ignore the pained sounds coming from Davey. He leans against Jack, as they begin walking back, the other boys following behind.

When they get in, Albert quickly runs to get some fresh wet cloths from Kloppmann, and Race gathers as many bandages as they have. It’s Crutchie who’s able to get everyone to leave Jack alone to sort Davey out, although he can hear their friends waiting behind the closed door.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warns Davey, who actually laughs at the comment. He carefully and slowly watches the cuts on his face, and he feels Davey’s determined eyes watching him. “You still with me?”

“Always,” Davey answers, wincing as Jack washes a particularly deep wound over Davey’s left eye. “Les? He okay?”

“He’s at home. You gave him a real scare,” Jack says, gently titlting Davey’s head back to see if there’s anything he missed. “Gave us all a really good scare. Even Spot’s here.”

“She is?” he askes, closing his eyes. Jack’s about to shout at him to keep his eyes open, afraid that Davey will lose consciousness again, but notices Davey take a deep breath as he opens his eyelids, seemingly trying to take control of the situation himself. “Don’t let her do anything - we run things differently now.”

“That was before you got attacked,” Jack quips, his anger returning. “No newsie hurts their own. How many where there?”

Davey takes a moment to answer, and Jack isn’t sure if he’s hiding the truth or if he genuienly can’t remember. “Three.”

“Three?!” he repeats, louder than he should. By the sounds of the voices at the other side of the door, he thinks their friends have heard him. “Davey, you couldn’t have done anything to protect yourself. This isn’t a matter to settle in a union, this is bigger than that.”

“No one else gets hurt,” Davey repeats, sounding the most like himself since he’d been hit.

Jack wants to fight him on this, but he knows it’s not the time. “Where else did they get you?”

Davey sits up straighter. “One kicked me when I was down. Not hard enough to do anything,” he says, which Jack isn’t sure he believes. “I don’t remember anything else.”

His parents will probably get a doctor to look over him properly, so he does his best to clean him up as best as he can, even convincing Davey to let him bandage up his ribs just in case. There’s more than one bruise, but he doesn’t think any of his ribs are broken, thankfully. “Jack,” Davey says, pulling at his shirt. “Jack, it looks worse than it is.”

“No Davey, it isn’t. They teamed up against you and you - ” Jack stops himself, a lump forming in his throat. What if Les hadn’t found him? What if he had been hit harder? What if something worse happened? “No one gets to hurt you.”

“What’s so different about me?” he asks, and of course, Davey doesn’t get it. “You’ve said it yourself, you’ve all gotten into fights.”

“Because I can’t see you like this. I just can’t, okay? Do you know how terrified I was when I saw you first? I thought you were gone.”

“Jack - ”

“All I could think was I haven’t even told him,” he says, pathetically. This wasn’t how he planned on telling Davey how he felt, but what if it had been worse? “I’m not good with my words, but I’ve been trying to tell you just how much you mean to me. But I can’t waste anymore time, because things could have been much worse, and I don’t know what I would do without you. Please, just, don’t do that again.”

He brushes his thumb against Davey’s cheek, leaning down to press his forehead against Davey’s lightly. “I am only going to say this once, so you better listen - I love you.”

“I’d kiss you if I hadn’t just coughed up some blood,” Davey says, giving Jack a minor heart attack.

“You owe me one then,” he says, as he moves away, taking in the sight in front of him. Davey’s bloody and bruised, but he’s alive.

“I owe you,” Davey repeats, and gives him a slight smile in response, as much as his busted lip will allow him.

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, but I’m gonna get you home. You think you can handle it? I’m sure some of the boys will be helping us out,” he says, helping Davey up, who’s putting most of his weight against Jack still. He calls out for Race, but it’s Spot who runs in, placing her arm around Davey’s side to help Jack.

They take their time walking back to the Jacobs household, with Race and Crutchie coming along for support. Meyer opens the door, and Jack sees that Sarah and Esther have already set everything up that he’ll need in the living room. “We’ve got it from here,” Esther says, as they gently sit Davey down on the sofa.

Jack stands tall, watching Sarah fuss over her brother. “Thank you for looking out for him,” Meyer says, patting him on the back. “All of you, please. We can’t thank you enough.”

“As long as he’s okay,” Jack says, his eyes not leaving Davey.

“Come back tomorrow if you want to see him,” Esther says, placing her hand over Jack’s, but she leaves the invitation open for the others too. “I know it’ll mean the world to him.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it,” he says, quietly.

“You did everything you could to help him,” Esther says, as he wraps her arms around Jack to give him a hug. “You brought back both of my boys home to me, that’s what matters.”

"Jack?” he hears a small voice call out just as he’s about to leave with the others, and he turns in time for Les to jump up and give him a hug. “Thank you for helping Davey.”

“Anytime kiddo,” he says, brushing the kid’s unruly hair. “You know how much I care about you two.”

It’s Spot who finally gathers them all to leave the family in peace. As soon as they’re outside, Jack finally feels like he can take a breath. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says, placing her hands in her pockets. He thinks she knows best just how it feels to see one of your own hurt like that.

“I know,” he says, and he thinks he almost believes himself. “Still doesn’t mean I wish I wasn’t there to stop them.”

Spot leaves them to go back to Brooklyn, Race offering to walk her home. He heads back to the lodgings with Crutchie in silence, and returns to his room to find that someone’s cleaned up all of the evidence of the night that’s just passed. He climbs into bed, trying to forget the image of Davey all bloodied and bruised. He’s okay, Jack tells himself, they’re going to be okay. A mantra he repeats in his head until he finally falls asleep.

#my writing #tw: blood #tw: violence #jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #alex you said hurt the boy #this got long so i've put it under a read more

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the12thnightproject · 2 years ago

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Chapter 19: Very Bad Things - Sasuke channels Atticus Finch, Kenshin channels Othello, and then it gets worse.

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Previous Chapter: here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret

Very bad things?

Sasuke disappeared back into the ceiling, and I vaguely heard him say, “reinforcements,” but it’s not easy to pay attention to ninjas in the ceiling when the God of War is at your throat. When I finally breathed enough to take in the situation, to look beyond the immediate danger, it was to see that another set of Kenshin’s men had Mai surrounded at sword point too.

Very bad things indeed.

One of the guards took my sword and daggers – not that they’d have been useful given that (a) I was outnumbered, and (b) would have been outnumbered if only Kenshin were in the room. Even so, without them, I felt vulnerable.

Nobody spoke.

While I was tempted to ask what was going on, I didn’t know exactly what I was being accused of (for all I knew, it might have been something I had actually done) and figured it was best to keep my mouth shut until prompted otherwise.

From the back of the room, a man strolled up to us. It was Iekane. Of course it was Iekane. He’d gotten more muscular since the last time I had seen him, and he’d let his hair grow long, but there was that same damn smile. He reached toward me, and I ducked automatically back, memories of the last time I had seen him as vivid as if I was still locked in that crate – but he didn’t touch me.

Instead, he reached for my sash, and pulled out the hand towel that Mai loaned me earlier. Silently, he handed it to Kenshin. Behind Kenshin’s frozen expression was a flash of pain. I still had no idea what was going on, but clearly, we had just become the prom from hell.

“Now do you believe me?” Iekane said to Kenshin.

Kenshin folded up the towel and stuck it inside his kimono. “I gave this to Mai. How did it come to you?”

“Mai gave it to him.” The fact that Iekane sounded so disappointed in us added credence to his lies. It was as if he had news that he could barely believe himself. “I saw them together.”

Alright, I think that got me up to date on the story that Iekane was trying to sell. At least the ‘what.’ The why, and the why me, I was still fuzzy on. “Loaned it to me.”

The point of Kenshin’s sword was back at my throat. “I didn’t ask for your contribution.”

Actually… he did, but bad idea to disagree with the crazy man pointing the sword.

Sasuke rushed into the room, with Shingen, Yukimura and Yoshimoto at his heels. Ah… his reinforcements. “What the hell is going on here?” Shingen asked.

I was still wondering that myself. I mean, unless Iekane had amnesia, he knew full well that I’m female, so picking me to star in this tragedy seemed like a … choice. Granted in this era, gendered relationships were not viewed in the same way they were viewed in the absorbed-Christian-taboos-future. Here it was common for men of all classes to take both male and female lovers without anyone looking or thinking twice, although women didn’t have as much freedom. But, yes, I could buy that Kenshin was so possessive that my gender would be immaterial. Still, there were plenty of other people in Mai’s orbit whom Iekane could have chosen as her lover. Did Iekane want me out of the way for some unknown reason? And where, if anywhere, did the new information about Yoshiaki fit into all this?

Kenshin spoke in a voice that had been marinating in a freezer overnight. “Your courier and Mai have been…” He couldn’t finish.

Iekane could. And did. “Consorting. I witnessed them together on multiple occasions.” He hung his head in an attitude of sorrow and commiseration.

If I had been of mind to analyze Shingen, I might have wondered more about what made him flinch when he heard that, but Yuki jumped in. “That’s crazy. Mai would never. Maybe he forced her.”

Really Sasuke? That’s your idea of reinforcements?

As Kenshin looked slightly hopeful at that, Yuki hurried to add, “Not that I think Katsu would either.”

Better late than never, I guess, Yuki.

Shingen strode forward and tried to take control of the situation. “Perhaps we could sort this out with less of an audience?” He nodded to the contingent of Uesugi, Takeda, and Imagawa vassals, who were watching the proceedings with fascination.

“Why?” Kenshin gestured around the room. “They’ve all seen me gut someone before.”

“Kenshin, this situation does not call for gutting.” Sasuke walked a fine line in tone between talking a man off a ledge and placating a toddler. “Now put down the sword.”

The sword swung toward Sasuke. He calmly pushed it away with one finger. “Or, keep the sword handy, but not so close to anyone’s vital organs. That behavior would be out of character for Katsu, and as for Mai, you have to know she’s completely in love with you.”

Kenshin better hope that the latter is true after all this is sorted out. If it’s sorted out.

Growing more articulate, Sasuke turned to Iekane. “Do you have any evidence of this or is it just your word against theirs?”

Iekane smiled. God, I hated that smile. I still saw that smile in my nightmares. “Mai gave him her hand towel – a precious memento from her beloved lord. Katsu was carrying it around.”

Is he kidding? It’s a flippin’ hand towel. Talk about overdramatizing.

“It was raining, and s ….. he was dripping all over the floor,” was Mai’s first contribution to the conversation. “Kenshin, you’re everything to me. Since we met in Azuchi, I’ve never even thought of anyone else.”

Alright Cathy, go wait over in the corner for Heathcliff to return from haunting the moors.

Sasuke, apparently getting his Atticus Finch on, turned to me. “Is this what happened?”

“Yes. She loaned me the hand towel. I was going to wash it and return it later, but I got interrupted by … this.” I tried to pitch my unspoken you ridiculous overdramatic murderous ass to Iekane alone… but I wasn’t feeling exactly fond of Kenshin either.

“Hmmph.” Stabby McStaberson didn’t seem fully mollified, but at least he appeared to be listening.

“Wonderful, I’m glad that’s settled,” Yoshimoto said in a bored tone. He opened his fan and flapped it as if to dispel evil spirits. “Let’s all drink and someday we’ll laugh about this.”

I side-eyed Sasuke. Again… reinforcements?

Sasuke turned to Iekane and said in as stern a voice as I had ever heard him use. “It appears you misinterpreted what you believed you saw.” Yeah, he had an unspoken you ridiculous overdramatic murderous ass in there too. But… ridiculous and overdramatic as Iekane was, he’d been trained by Aki, which meant he probably was playing a long game here, and likely had a murderous Plan B.

“I can confirm that I sent Katsu outside in the worst of the weather, so I would think very carefully about how you answer Sasuke’s question.” Shingen had his hand on his sword, and those grey eyes of his had turned dark with anger.

And there was that damn creepy smile again as Iekane turned back to Kenshin. “I admit the incident with the hand towel could have been innocent, however, I was influenced by a previous incident, when I witnessed the two of them together. He followed her into her room – it was the night you were visiting Norimasa.”

“I-I-I’ve never been in Mai’s room. I don’t even know where it is.” Probably useless to protest at this point, since my life depends upon being judged honest, and I’ve been lying so long I doubt I know how to appear truthful anymore.

“Yes, of course you would say that,” Iekane said. “However, are you saying that my own eyes are lying to me?”

“Yes, your eyes – or something about you – is lying,” Mai spoke up, reminding everyone that I was not the only person accused here. “That was twelve nights ago, and I was alone in my room.”

Why was she emphasizing the date? Iekane’s story was a lie, but he could lie about any date he chose, so what was so special about twelve…

Oh.

Mai didn’t happen to have an alibi for that night. But I did.

He just didn’t know he was.

Mai gave me a pleading look. I got it. Even to save her skin, she wasn’t going to break her promise to me. And… even at this moment, I realized I could still run. I could be out of here and no one would ever catch up to me.

But that would leave Mai alone to face the consequences.

“Twelve nights ago? I wasn’t even in the castle at all,” I said. Would that be enough of a denial for anyone? Unlikely.

“Where were you?” Sasuke asked, latching on hopefully, but oblivious to the fact that he was about to pull the pin out of a truth grenade.

Alright, I guess we’re doing this.

I took a deep breath. “I went to take a bath. In the lake.”

Sasuke still pressed on, apparently determined to book his guest appearance on Law and Order. “Perhaps someone saw you leave, or return, and could confirm your story?”

I looked directly at Shingen and saw the moment he realized who he met in the lake twelve nights ago. Those eyes got even darker and there was a tightening of his jaw. These nearly imperceptible physical reactions might not have been evident to everyone, but I knew him well enough to recognize behind the initial shock, he was barely keeping his anger in check.

If I was at all lucky, he’d at least back up my story without going into the rest of the details to the room at large. From the expression on his face, I was not going to be anywhere near that lucky.

He walked over to me, his eyes daring me to look away. I tried to send a silent apology to him, but he clearly wasn’t receptive. His hand gripped my chin, forcing me to look up at him. He grabbed his own hand towel and rubbed it across my eyebrows – the ink I use to thicken them into a more masculine shape was fairly waterproof, but some came off on the towel. He tugged my braid out from where it was tucked down the back of my kimono. With brisk movement, he undid the leather string that tied it, and combed his fingers through to release my hair. Even then, in the middle of his fury, though…reverb.

He looked down at me for a long time. I looked back. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I refused to blink first.

Finally, he spoke. “Yes, that night, this woman was with me.” He spoke flatly, without any more inflection than if he had said, ‘yes this morning I had fish for breakfast.’

In my peripheral vision, I saw Sasuke nod as if the answer was a surprise, but one that made sense in retrospect. I heard Yukimura say, “Wait, what? Katsu’s a girl? How?” and immediately after that Yoshimoto’s dry response to him, “the usual way, I would imagine.”

Kenshin gestured to the guards surrounding Mai, and they immediately put aside their swords. That… was a mistake, because Iekane took that opportunity to turn her into a human shield, with his dagger pressed to her throat. He half-carried, half-dragged her toward the door.

Everyone looked to Kenshin for leadership, but for the first time since I had met him, he seemed unsure. He couldn’t attack Iekane, because the only path to Iekane was through Mai.

Partly to try and stall him while someone else – anyone else- came up with a plan, and partly hoping to startle him into revealing something, I asked, “Are you working for Yoshiaki?”

Unfortunately, it was Yoshimoto who looked the most startled by that bit of information. Iekane didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Let’s just say that at the moment, he and I have mutual interests.”

Mutual interest in Kenshin going against Oda again, I imagined. Without Mai to talk him out of it, I could see that happening. And if Oda had to deal with Kenshin, it would give Yoshiaki an opportunity to swoop in. But again, I still didn’t see what Iekane was getting out of this. And why he picked me. Why me?

I hadn’t realized I’d said that out loud, until Iekane laughed at me. “Kaya, don’t hurt yourself thinking so hard – you were the most convenient tool.” Clutching Mai to him, he inched backward a few more steps. “I was going to use Sasuke, but the opportunity was too great to pass up when Mai loaned you the hand towel.”

Sasuke patted his chest, the unspoken question evident in his posture. No, he didn’t get it, but I did. The only thing worse than Mai betraying Kenshin, would have been Mai betraying him with Sasuke. He would have lost two of the people closest to him.

From the look on Kenshin’s face, he understood the implications of that as well. “Let her go, Iekane. If you have a problem with me, then fight me. Don’t hide behind a woman like a coward.” He took a step closer to Iekane, but that only resulted in Mai getting poked with Iekane’s dagger. She bit her lip, but a little squeak of fear escaped.

Kenshin eased back, but I didn’t trust him not to attack Iekane before Mai was safe, and I definitely didn’t trust Iekane not to hurt her. This wasn’t his first rodeo when it came to murder. “Was the opportunity too great to pass up when you tried to kill me before?”

Iekane was only partially be paying attention to me. “I’ve tried to kill you a few times… can you be more specific?”

He has?

“Box.”

Iekane sounded over it. “Oh, the crate. That one I just left up to fate whether you survived. If Motonari had let you out before you died of thirst, I imagine he’d have found some use for you. It didn’t matter to me as long as you were gone.”

From somewhere outside came a sharp whistle. At that sound, Iekane backed up another step, threw Mai to the ground, and dashed out of the room.

Kenshin hurried to her side and helped her up, but she finally found her spine, pushed him away and ran off. Kenshin hesitated a moment, then went after her.

Somewhere outside, came the sound of hoofbeats – three horses at least – pounding away.

“On it,” Sasuke said as he, Yukimura, and Kenshin’s guards took off running.

Wait. I want in on this! I started after them, but a pair of strong arms grabbed me from behind, trapping me in place. “Yoshimoto! What the hell? Let go of me – I want to go after him.”

“You’re not even armed.” Yoshimoto held me firmly to him, even as I wiggled to get free.

“Give me your sword, then.” I had no idea where Kenshin’s guards had put my own weapons.

“I don’t have one.”

Oh. I felt suddenly sapped of all energy.

Once I stopped struggling, Yoshimoto released his grip and stepped back. He smiled, and picked up my hand, pressing a European style kiss to the back of it. “Kaya, was it?”

“Katsuko. If we’re being accurate.” Iekane had always refused to use either my birthname or ‘Katsuhira.’ He knew I hated being called Kaya.

“I’m very pleased to meet you.” He looked down at my hand. “Katsuko, just because you’re a fighter is no reason to neglect your skin care regimen.”

Then he spun me around to face Shingen, who had been ominously quiet since my gender reveal party. “Cousin,” Yoshimoto said. “I believe this one is your responsibility.”

Hey! I am my own responsibi- Yoshimoto had already glided off in a whisper of lush fabric, off to do his Yoshimoto thing.

And I was left alone in a room with one very angry warlord.

#TBT12lies #throwback thursday #twelve lies i told shingen takeda #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen shingen #ikesen kenshin #ikesen sasuke #ikesen mai

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