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angelguk · 3 years ago

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so much happens in this it’s such a huge mess omg. the return of the angst plot line of jock!jk (aka pretty boy universe please check ml for the other parts). this time featuring: Angst (with a capital A), miscommunication that makes you want to scream, chayoung’s true nature, namjoon catching stray bullets (figuratively), and lucas being a gem. also jungkook is somewhat semi-violent in this one (in terms of thoughts and some actions but no one gets hurt) so please don’t read this if that makes you uncomfortable. in general just an angry heartbroken boy. also oc is finally doing something good. listen to mess it up by gracie abrams + if we were made of water by banks + i will by mitksi + save room for us by tinashe. roughly 4.2k

titled — old friends, new foes

The spring scavenger hunt is an enormous success, all thanks to your careful planning and Bina’s much needed support. While you excelled at organising, you heavily lacked in the social aspect, something Bina fulfilled with smart marketing and a bright personality that drew in a larger crowd than you thought would appear. It's partially expected–she was head of the Events Committee for a reason–but it felt a little strange to lean onto her instead of Jeongguk. He was the one who usually spearheaded that side of your event plans, more than anyone else, and while planning this one you felt his absence tenfold. Like a gigantic gaping hole excavating through your chest and leaving behind a lonely hollow.

That hollowness surges when you spot him meandering towards the third location at the university courtyard, his fingers tangled with Hyeri’s. You slowly turn away from them, heart aching with each thud against your ribs, hoping they haven’t seen you. Maybe Bina sees the fall on your features because she’s gently tapping your arm, leaning in with a graceful brush of her amber locks over her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft, feathering through the late afternoon breeze to reach your ear.

You’re about to say it, the pained ‘I’m fine' that had become a part of your routine. But then you hear him, loud effervescent laugh hitting the air, the sound striking your false demeanour down. Your vision blurs before you could choke the word out and suddenly Bina’s arm is firmly around you, guiding your heavy feet far away from the presence evoking your pain.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage to choke up, folding into yourself in the middle of a bench. She stares at you for a moment, before taking a deep breath and sharply clicking her tongue.

“You’re not.” Her eyes are gentle despite the harshness of her words. “I know this isn’t my place, but I do know why you stopped coming to committee meetings.”

The scoff you let out is instinctive. The jarring sound is a stark contrast to the action of your hand hurriedly wiping away the stray tears staining your cheeks. Of course, you’d avoided committee meetings – why the hell would you go when the president was your ex?

“And,” Bina continues, pointedly ignoring your reaction. Her hand reaches out moving to intertwine your fingers. You focus on the image of her sharp stiletto shaped nails that glitter under the glow of the sun settling on your lap instead of the thumping of your heart as she speaks. “Judging from what I’ve seen, it hasn’t been easy for him either. I know you’re probably thinking that you were the only one who cared about him–about your relationship, but I’m pretty sure he did too. So it’s perfectly okay for you to feel like this, no matter how long it’s been.”

Two months and three weeks, you mentally add. A lifetime and a single blink simultaneously.

“I didn’t need to know that,” you say, hoping to kill the hope fluttering in your heart. Bina squeezes your hand instead and gives it wings.

“You did. Also, Jeongguk’s kind of an asshole. Sorry if it’s too soon.”

It’s not, and you can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes from your throat. You glance up at her then, suddenly glad for the dazzling glossed coated smile that greets you.

“But,” she continues. “You’re doing the wrong thing too. I know you’re dating Lucas and it’s not fair to him when you’re still hung up on Jeongguk.”

“I know,” you admit. “And I’m going to fix that.”

She beams. “I hope you do. Don’t let him make you pick the wrong choices. You deserve better than that.”

Perhaps it was her words of reassurance that aided in getting you out of the house tonight. (Or it was Bina gingerly whacking your arm and insisting you needed to reward yourself for working hard). But a minuscule part of you is glad you heeded her advice. The music is louder than the words bouncing around your head, sound shoving your sorrow down as Chayoung hands you another drink. Everything is fast, bodies shifting wildly around you and the faint sound of a beer pong game capturing everyone’s attention. For a moment, you begin to forget. But then Lucas’s looming head materializes before you and guilt swarms your heart.

“Hey,” he offers, deep timbre sinking into your bones. You might just throw up.

You haven’t told him about Namjoon. You can’t bear to. But there’s something else more urgent that you need to say to him first.

Chayoung watches through narrow eyes when he leans forward to brush a light kiss on your cheek. He’s so sweet it makes your mouth turn sour.

“Haven’t seen you around,” Lucas continues, slipping beside you. A steady hand settles at the base of your back. You almost jolt away.

Chayoung’s face is hard, expression carved out of marble as she stares you down. You know she’s mad at you, rightfully so. Even Sieun hadn’t said anything for a few days after you’d told them about Namjoon. You were mad at yourself too. For what you did–for what you need to do to fix it.

“Been busy. Planning the scavenger hunt and all,” you say, gaze glued to a random lamp at the opposite side of the room. It’s easier than staring at Lucas, who’s still so warm and bright. Practically glowing like he’s got the Sun living in his chest.

You hope you don’t leave him cloudy.

He weaves his hand into yours, a pleasant noise escaping past his lips. “I know. Great job, by the way. You should be proud.”

Chayoung slinks away at that, the glower on her features burning your blood. You haven’t told anybody yet because you don’t want their advice on this. But you do need to end things with Lucas. It wasn’t fair to him. Yet, it feels nearly impossible when you tear your eyes off the fading figure of your friend and glance up to find him staring at you with the softest smile.

All you do is hurt good people.

It’s a terrible realisation but it forces you to croak out the words, a rip forming inside of you when that soft smile slips off his face at the sound of them.

“We need to talk.”

But the second they are out you feel something in the world click into place like you’re finally making the right steps toward the correct path even though you need to step on the hearts of others to get there.

Lucas lets you lead him in silence, the weight of it sinking onto your shoulders when he closes the door behind him, the music giving way to the noise in your head. When he turns to face you, watching apprehensively as you perch yourself at the edge of the bed in the room, it all begins to feel like deja vu. Except you’re on the other side.

“So,” you start, eyes on the wall. The feeling of the mattress dipping as Lucas descends beside you pulls your gaze back to him, heartstrings thrumming when the moonlight leaking through the opened curtains pools into his eyes.

How could Jeongguk have done this?

“We need to end this,” you say, realising as the air leaves your lungs that he did it like this. Like he needed to breath. It feels like cutting an anchor off your ankle, head breaking through furious waters to finally find air.

Lucas pauses, blinking slow. You don’t fill the emptiness with more words, afraid you’ll pour salt into an open wound. He lets what you said ruminate, eyes shifting to the scene around you. A random room, bathed by the glow of the room, and two hearts opposing each other–one already poised to leave. One that was never really there.

“Why?” It’s said lowly. You know why. You owe him this admission, after dragging him around on a sinking ship. But the words refuse to part from your throat.

“I’m not right for you,” you say instead, hoping he understands. By the flicker across his eyes, he doesn’t. “Like,” you try, your eyes dropping to where his heart lies. “You’ve got a lot of good in you and I don’t. We don’t match.”

Lucas cocks his head, staring at the ceiling. And this his gaze careens to you.

“You don’t think you’re a good person?”

“Well–” you splutter. But Lucas isn’t having it.

“You’re a lovely person, Y/N. With a lot of good in you too. You are kind of shitty for this though but every good person does shitty things.” It’s said factually like he needs you to understand this.

“I know that–”

“You don’t. You put yourself down too much. Why do you think Jeongguk loved you?”

Oh. That seizes that air from your chest, Lucas’s gaze slamming into your own with a surety that stings.

“Why do you think I like you?” He adds. You don’t know what to do, nervous system spazzing at this information assault. “And I know why you want to end this. You could have said it. I understand, though. The two of you did fight together so well.” He gets up then, towering like a God dictating judgment. “I didn’t expect you to stop loving him immediately, you know.” He’s near the door now, not fleeing but parting a new path. There’s a weird smile on his lips, like the forging of his steps hurts as much yours does. It’s like it’s been hung there, not pulled from his heart like you’d grown used to seeing.

“What did you expect?” You can’t help but ask.

He pauses, the door half-open. You could tell him to shut it, you could tell him to stay.

You don’t want to.

“That maybe one day you would love me more than you loved him,” Lucas whispers. He sees the fall on your features, knows the answer on your lips instantly. “But it’s okay that you never could.”

And then he’s gone, honey blonde hair swallowed by the crowd even with his impossible height. He leaves the door ajar, the music seeping into the room. But this time your head is louder, surer. Because Lucas just let you know something you weren’t even aware of yourself. There was no room for anybody else except Jeongguk. And it truly wasn’t fair to offer him your heart when it was half a world away.

—

Half a world away is apparently glaring at the shrubs flanking the back garden. Jeongguk doesn’t know who’s house this is. He doesn’t care either because at the moment he’s considering burning it down. He’d just seen you amble into a room, Lucas trailing behind like a stupid dog and his heart clenching hard in his chest. It took two seconds after the door shut for him to shove Hyeri off his lap and mumble something about needing air.

(What he needed was you).

The coolness of the night ebbed at his boiling blood, but nothing could ease the ache.

“You look like you need a drink,” Chayoung’s voice feels alien, creeping up his back. He turns to look at her, a polite comment on how he’d like to be left alone hanging on his lips. She interrupts it by handing him a cup, a tender smile gracing her lips. Jeongguk accepts it with a shrug, hoping the burn in his throat will be a distraction. It isn’t. But he forces another sip down as Chayoung slithers outside too, the room behind her glowing as if the building was on fire.

What store sells matches and lighter fluid in the middle of the night? And won’t ask incriminating questions?

“Why the long face?” She asks, peering at him from the corner of her eye.

Jeongguk shrugs, the words in his head refusing to form into understandable sounds.

“Hyeri not cutting it?” Chayoung murmurs. His eyes snap to her, but she’s not staring at him, her gaze fixed on the dark sky.

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk is baffled say the least. He thought his act with Hyeri was a little bit more solid proof. He liked her–somewhat.

Chayoung turns slow, almost sinisterly, a glint in her brown eyes that unsettles him. “I just don’t think she’s in your league.”

The scoff that leaves Jeongguk’s throat burns. He hated that stupid idea of leagues. You should like a person for who they are, not where they stand in foolish social hierarchies. But Chayoung reads his response wrong, suddenly impossibly close, a stray finger trailing along his shoulder. Her nails are talons. He shudders, trying to hide it by leaning away. Chayoung just leans closer, alcohol tainted breath grazing his own. For a moment, Jeongguk considers fleeing back inside to come ask you to collect your drunk friend (a perfect excuse to finally say something to you after months of radio silence) but then he remembers that might potentially end with him walking into the room and finding you with Lucas’s tongue down your throat.

And that would suck. A lot.

But before he can think of another solution Chayoung’s fingernails are scrapping his neck, leaving his skin prickled.

“But then again, do you seem to always pick the wrong ones.” That bristles him and his eyes are suddenly hard and narrow.

“What do you mean by that?” He spits it out, a spark igniting in his chest when Chayoung shrugs. The smile on her face disgusts him.

“You know what I mean.” Her finger is sliding down his shirt and Jeongguk feels branded even through the material. “When you look like this, running around girls like that is honestly a little sad.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He’s hoping he’s hearing this all wrong. That she’s just drunk and acting stupid. But when her eyes lift to him he knows she means it. Every word of it.

“You could do better, Jeongguk. So much better.”

“Chayoung you need to shut the fuc–”

Her lips taste like vodka and cherry lip balm, which is sickening because that’s what you taste like–sans the vodka. Cherry lip balm was your brand. It always was, you’ve got like five of them scattered around your room and a couple more hidden in Jeongguk’s. He recoils instantly, acid climbing up his throat as his hands find something–anything to push away. What he finds are Chayoung’s shoulders and when he pushes he pushes hard. They break apart and the floor beneath Jeongguk cracks wide open, his head spinning violently.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He doesn’t know what else to say, the circuits in his brain frying. Chayoung’s tongue skips over her lips, now wet and a little plush from the force she used to slam her mouth into his.

“Showing you that you can do better.”

He blinks, taken a large step back when Chayoung moves forward, a little sway in her feet.

“You’re drunk and acting crazy. I think I should call Y/N to com–”

“Oh fuck Y/N. Such a whiny bitch. Do you really think she deserves you? After all the shit she’s put you through?” Chayoung’s eyes feel like knives, sharp and striking deep with every word.

“Aren't you her friend? What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeongguk needs this to de-escalate. Chayoung wants to throw gasoline on an open flame instead.

“No–what’s wrong with you, Jeongguk? Moping around for a girl who never realised what she had when it was right in front of her? C’mon now.”

“You seriously need to shut the fuck up. You’re not gonna talk about her like that in front of me.”

“Why not? Cause you still love her? Even when she’s fucking Lucas?”

That stings, his heart bursting in his chest because Jeongguk didn’t know you were sleeping with him. He thought it would just be kisses or something. Not that–not Lucas touching you like he used to. But then Hyeri’s face flashes in before his eyes and he wilts. He can’t blame you for anything, not when he’s been doing the same horrible shit to you. And that makes him pause, the sudden realisation that he’s been hurting you smashing into his head. He didn’t want to hurt you–never. Not even if you were hurting him. He just needed a distraction, something to ease you off his mind. And maybe you did too, but all left you both with was gaping wounds that would never heal. And with other people hurt too.

God, this was a mess. And it dawns on Jeongguk that’s he’s made the worst mistake he’s ever made in his life.

“You should hate her,” Chayoung continues, venomous.

“I don’t,” Jeongguk returns, voice levelled. All he hates right now is himself. And Lucas (which is fair). Chayoung blanches, shaken by his firmness. “I really don’t, in fact, I need to talk to her. Right now.”

He moves fast, foot already past the threshold when Chayoung speaks again, her words aimed with intent to kill.

“She kissed Namjoon.”

He feels the nerves in his legs still instantly, before they nearly give way entirely, his grip on the door frame the only thing holding him up as his heart tears out of his chest.

“I thought you should know,” Chayoung adds. And he hears it then, that vile smugness in her voice. She’s lying. She has to be. You wouldn’t do that to him. And he says that, storming back to Chayoung with his chest ripped open, his body thrumming with barely concealed rage. And fear. Jeongguk feels so scared right now because if you did that means everything he felt–everything he feared–could be true.

“She did.” Chayoung is immovable, standing tall and staring him down. “I’m not lying to you. Go ask Namjoon if you don’t believe me.”

Which, Jeongguk realises as his eyes fall shut that is going to absolutely do. And possibly break a nose in the process. He turns, trying to blink away the blurriness in his eyes, before Chayoung stops him with a single sentence again, this one said a little softer.

“Jeongguk,” she starts, eyeing him down, her brown eyes aflame under the moonlight. “I mean it when I say she doesn’t deserve you.”

—

Someone is attempting to break down Namjoon’s door. Which is bizarre considering it’s almost three in the morning. He has to drag himself out of the comfort of his warm sheets to figure out which maniac is attempting to smash through solid wood with only their fists because it seems like they’re almost succeeding.

The maniac in question is Jeon Jeongguk, standing rigid when Namjoon swings the door open, moonlight bleeding over his features. He’s mad, staring at Namjoon like he wished his head was rolling on the ground instead of stationed square on his shoulders. But there’s something else there, doe eyes glossy.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are–”

“You kissed her.”

Everything stills, the two men fixated on each other. Jeongguk is so still he could have been mistaken for a statue. Almost as if he was waiting for the words that would break this moment, ease the tension seizing his muscles, tell him what he wants to hear. Namjoon can’t do any of that. Instead, he sighs, a muted, “Oh”, floating from his lips.

Jeongguk snaps the second he realises it’s true.

“Oh? You kissed her and all you have to say is oh?” Hands are digging into the soft cotton of his nightshirt and Namjoon’s feet are no longer on the ground. He’s apparently levitating, lifted solely by this hurt angry boy invading his apartment. His back hits the nearest wall with a thud that vibrates through his bones. When the hell did Jeongguk get this strong?”

“Whoa–relax,” Namjoon wheezes, his strong fingers guiding Jeongguk off him. But heartbreak tends to be enough fuel because Jeongguk pushes back with an ease that unnerves him. “Jeongguk, you seriously need to relax. Let go of me and we can talk about this.”

“Why did you do it?” That is what he gets in return. Jeongguk’s voice wavers, coloured a violent red in the velvet of the night.

“I didn’t do anything,” Namjoon returns, the words delivered gingerly.

“No–no you did. You kissed her. You–”

“She kissed me, Jeongguk. And I can seriously explain all of it if you just relaxed and we talked about it–”

“No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t do that to me–she wouldn’t.” And Oh God No, Namjoon thinks he just heard the sound of a heart breaking. It sounds like a weird mangled bird collapsing from the sky and its wing hitting the ground with a funny wet smash, fragile bones snapping like twigs.

Jeongguk’s fingers peel from his shirt and bury themselves in his hair, yanking at the cropped strands as his face twists.

This is far too much emotion for a single person to deal with in the middle of the bloody night.

“Hey–hey, calm down. It was a mistake, I promise you. She was just feeling a little all over the place and made a bad choice–”

“No–that’s the fucking point! She made a choice. She chose you.” Jeongguk’s staring at him in a way that hurts, like he’s attempting to transfer all the pain that’s writhing through his body into Namjoon’s from sight alone.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Jeongguk is frantic, almost like he’s trying to stop himself from pouring out onto the floor. A flood barely contained. “She chose you first. I was there–I was always there. But then you waltzed in and she saw something in you that she didn’t find in me and she chose you.”

Namjoon cocks his head, staring hard at Jeongguk’s round wide eyes, slowly coming to realisations that he was surrounded by idiotic people.

“I still have no idea what you are talking about, but I have to ask, don’t you remember a single thing I told you the last time we spoke about Y/N? You’re the reason we broke up.” That halts him and Namjoon takes that as a moment to press onward, somewhat tired of being dragged into this awkward mess. “And I’ll say this in the nicest way possible but you’re an idiot if you think Y/N wouldn’t pick you over me any day–over anyone really. I could be drowning and you could have a scrapped knee and she’d check on you first. We broke up because I realised I was just a placeholder until she felt brave enough to tell you she liked you. You were rather intimidating for her to approach. Or have you forgotten your track record of girls? It wasn’t easy for her–especially when she was risking losing her best friend.”

The silence that follows aches, Jeongguk’s eyes flashing like he never considered that in the first place.

“But why the other guys then? Why not just tell me after you?”

Namjoon’s going to bang his head into the wall. “You’re her best friend–what about that are you not getting? What if you didn’t like her back and it ruined the most important relationship in her life?”

“But I did–I always liked her.”

“No,” Namjoon nearly groans out loud. “You didn’t. If you liked her you wouldn’t have fucked Chaerin in the back of your car and then gone to report it to Y/N with a grin on your face.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon returns. “Oh. That’s the exact day we broke up too. Such a stupid fight because she was crying and that’s when I put two and two together and realised I was never going to take precedence over you.”

“I didn’t know I was hurting her,” Jeongguk murmurs, almost distraught.

A strangled noise erupts from Namjoon’s throat. “You’ve hurt her a lot more than you’ll realise.” But the second he says that and Jeongguk’s face twists into something unrecognisable he wants to take them back.

“She’s too good for me. Maybe we are better off apart.”

“No, no. You’re so wrong actually. This break-up thing has been miserable to watch and I’m not even in the centre of it. I’ve just caught a bunch of stray bullets.”

“You’re not getting me,” Jeongguk’s eyes swing to him. “She came to you at the end of it all. Maybe we are better with other people. Maybe you’re better for her.”

“She came to me because she missed you. She just needed someone to lean on during your absence. I wouldn’t have to do that if you were there. You know, you should just talk about this with Y/N.”

“I can’t, she’s happy with Lucas. I think.”

Namjoon wants to bang both your heads together so bad. Maybe finally the fact that you love each other would get through your thick skulls then.

“She doesn’t,” he says, instead. “And I know that for a fact. You should really go talk to her. Figure this whole mess out. And also finally get out of my apartment.” Jeongguk’s gaze withers. Namjoon shrugs in return. “It’s the middle of the night and I have a meeting in the morning. I really need to sleep.”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.” He’s so meek like this, nursing a shattered heart and a confused head. It’s slightly jarring to the image he usually presents, so self-assured and unfazed by whatever gets thrown at him. Never exposed like this, every emotion he holds inside displayed across his face.

“It’s alright. Just think about what I said and talk to her. Honestly. Not skirting over shit like the two of you tend to do. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, trailing towards the open door. Namjoon had registered a breeze billowing in, but he’d completely missed the fact that the door of his apartment was swung wide open. Jeongguk abruptly stops just as Namjoon’s sense of bearing returns, turning to face him with his face pulled down by shame. “I’m really sorry. For this whole thing. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that I was just–”

“I get it. You love her and it feels like she’s slipping from your fingers. Just don’t do that shit again and stop trying to push her away. I’ll say it again–you were always her first choice.” He sees it then, a slight flutter through Jeongguk’s chest. A broken bird mending.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk breathes. “Thanks.”

Namjoon sighs, offering a tight smile and shutting the door firmly when Jeongguk finally drifts out. He needs a drink before he hits the sheets again. A strong one.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts x reader #jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #i hope this redeems jj!jk in your eyes #i might rewrite this who knows

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dissonantdreamer · 4 years ago

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Hey hope you're doing good, do you have any dina/Ellie fic recs?? Much appreciated

First, I wish I was doing better than I am, but I am better than I was yesterday so tomorrow’s looking good. Second, this is where I reveal I don’t read as much fic as I probably should, because I’ve been hyperfocused on writing my own.

However I have a few I’m currently keeping up with and one pre-release fic that are *chef’s kiss*. Honestly, I always feel bad reccin’ fics because there are so many talented writers in this fandom I don’t think I can name everyone and I feel like an ass.

Which is why after a few of my faves, I’m going to toss this over to someone who can get real fuckin’ close, @unadulteratedcolorkid who is easily the fandom’s go to for all things fanfiction. Seriously, go follow them. They claim to be an amateur fanfic reader but I assure you they are a pro. They are super passionate about the community and deserve a whole bunch of attention for all the work they’ve done compiling fic reviews, chapter reviews, and lists that are so lovingly detailed I’m certain you’ll find something that grabs your attention.

So these are a handful I can remember off hand and I this is totally not limited to the sheer amount of talented writers out there.

Jumping into the time jump is a series of fics by @yourcandleonthewater and it’s one of my faves. The series takes place between Seattle and Ellie leaving for Santa Barbara (though they haven’t gotten there yet and the latest story is so fucking good) I think my words after finishing the first two fics were “Fuck you, that was beautiful.” And it is, so go have your heart wrenched from your chest, put back in, and then tenderly taped up.

Working It Out is a completely unique take on Ellie returning to Dina post game by @elliesjournals seriously the coolest. Each chapter alternates between Dina’s POV and Ellie’s except Ellie’s are told through pages of her journal. Which iirc (but probably don’t) the creator drew 80 plus pages for. Each page feels as if it was ripped from Ellie’s journal and the end definitely got me tearing up.

to call myself beloved by @watery-sun is something i haven’t caught up with because of writing, however I started reading around the time i started writing and from the first sentence i was hooked. it is a fic i’m looking forward to returning to when I’m done and most definitely considering it my reward. They’ve crafted a beautiful journey of healing, alternating the POV and strong explorations of Ellie, Dina, and Maria’s character. The author doesn’t shy away from the difficult aspects of coping with trauma (and writing about it) which I respect immensely.

everything you hoped for is a fucking joy of a read from @respectablesentiment its canon divergent where the fireflies plan doesn’t involve killing ellie and she and abby become friends in Salt Lake before returning to jackson once the vaccine is finished. The character interactions are on point and I love, love, love how lived in the world feels (shout out to brodie one of the most enjoyable OCs i’ve encountered) every chapter has me grinning like a fool at least five times.

everyone hates roses is a modern au by @silverislander that has absolutely surprised me with how much i enjoy it. I don’t care much for flower/tattoo shop aus because they don’t feel realistic, but the author makes it feel realistic in an unique way due to the update schedule being in real time, however much time passes for the characters passes for the reader, so i have to give it a shout out.

and finally

Valley of the Shadow of Death by paxbanana (i don’t think they have a tumblr) this was the first fic I read for the fandom and holy fucking shit is it a ride start to finish, gripping, emotional, extremely well-researched, this is the story i was certain the author had some sort of insight to the final game because it felt like someone from ND had written it. i cannot recommend it enough. This is pre-reveal of abby, so the story is canon divergent, but god damn is it a good read.

There are so many more I’m probably forgetting I read, and I’m so sorry cause I forget every thing I’ve ever liked, the second someone asks me to give recommendations for anything. which again is why you should go to @unadulteratedcolorkid they’ll have so many more fics to check out.

#thanks for the ask anon #hope you find something good to read #kind orb with sick shades #hope these sound interesting cause i suck at descriptions

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green-eyed-whumpster · 4 years ago

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My OC Universe: Rowan 130

Chapter 130 Summary: Marie comes for William. And surprises Rowan, seeing her after so long. (Tags: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long, @sky-or-something-idfk and @tears-and-lilies)

Trigger Warnings: PTSD whumpee, reference to previous abuse, reference to character death, threat, man-handling, verbal abuse

Peter and Rowan managed to figure out a way for Rowan to completely avoid William’s company. Peter leashed him outside for a few hours so Rowan could wash in peace, Rowan would grasp brief walks outside to stay active and get some fresh air. He always felt awful for Peter, though, who insisted on sleeping in full view of their prisoner. Rowan gave him pillows and blankets from his bed which he refused, in case the comfort allowed him to sleep too deeply or for too long. William realised soon that his manipulation wouldn’t work on Peter, and Rowan was nowhere to be seen, so he spent the days in almost complete silence, waiting in agony for Marie to arrive and drag him kicking and screaming back to his prison.

One morning Peter was preparing a cup of tea when he heard sounds outside. Multiple sets of hooves churning up the melting snow as they drew closer to the house. His eyes lit up and he abandoned his tea to turn to William, who had also heard the sounds and was waiting for the inevitable, his pale grey eyes dull and filled with dread.

“I have a feeling you’re finally going to be out of Rowan’s life forever.” Peter grinned. “But I promise, if you escape and come back here, I won’t hesitate to kill you.” William nodded weakly and turned his head away.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’m sure Marie will have me kneecapped to prevent it happening again.” He paused uncomfortably and looked up, flinching as Peter narrowed his eyes.

“If Rowan is going to stay here for the rest of his life,” He hesitated before continuing and shrugged. “Keep him happy –“ He jerked as Peter dragged him to his feet to glare at him easier. “I’m sure you will, but…he was a good creature, I am going to miss him.” He flinched as Peter struck him hard and attempted to blink through the pain.

“You’re so sick and twisted that you can’t even feel real emotions.” Peter hissed. “You never cared for him.”

“I may be cruel, but I still felt things.” William replied, grunting as he was shoved unceremoniously towards the door. “Most frequently pride. I never wanted to admit my fondness for him, and used his that remained to try and save myself. But still, his company was worth more than I told him. And I admit I took it for granted. You don’t have to tell him this if you don’t want to,”

“I won’t.” Peter snapped. “You’ve played with his head enough.”

The air was cold as he came outside, the horses bore the royal crest and the men dismounting them wore the formal royal armour, so Peter pulled William out as well. It was liberating to be able to drag William into the wet ground and push him forward, finally this creature would leave his property and his life.

A particularly impressive horse drew closer and as Peter looked it over he realised the creature mounted on it was a woman, and her dress was a thick crushed velvet embroidered with golden thread. He fell to his knees as he recognised the Queen’s face and lowered his head respectfully as she drew up to him.

“Are you the one who owns this land?” He had never heard the Queen’s voice before, and it was such a foreign concept that he struggled to process her words.

“Yes, your majesty,” His head jerked up as he heard the crunch of another approaching horse and immediately lowered it again as the Prince came beside his mother.

“Confiscate my husband.” She ordered and two of the soldiers moved to take William’s arms and drag him over to their company.

“Lovely to see you again, as well, my love,” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And speaking of your love, did he receive you as you predicted?” She taunted in reply and he flushed, with rage or shame it wasn’t clear. “Speaking of, where is the boy?” She wondered.

“He…he’s inside,” Peter said softly, reluctant to reveal Rowan’s hiding place.

“Fetch him.” He looked up as the soldiers nodded and threw himself to his feet.

“I –“ He hesitated nervously and swallowed the lump in his throat. “If you would permit me to go and get him?” He asked. “I’m afraid he may be hiding from your majesty,”

“Why would he be hiding?” Marie scoffed.

“Your majesty apparently made a promise to kill him if you ever saw him again.” Peter said cautiously.

“You did.” Alexander added and Marie let out a sigh.

“Fine,” She said flippantly. “Whatever will save the most time, I’ve already spent three days on horseback.” Peter nodded and took a step back.

“Thank you, your majesty,” He said. “I won’t be a moment.” He raced into the house and opened the door to his room. He could hear the soft squeak of fear and felt his chest tighten sadly.

“Hey, Rowan?” He checked the rest of the space before crouching down to look beneath the beds. “The Queen wants to speak to you,” Rowan’s eyes shone black with the little light available beneath the beds.

“Please, Peter!” He squeaked. “She’ll kill me!”

“I don’t care what it means, but she has assured me that it means I won’t need to think about him ever again.”

“No, no Rowan,” Peter soothed. “I won’t let her. I’ll be there the whole time,” He extended a hand beneath the bed and watched as Rowan considered the idea.

“All right,” He murmured, shimmying out from his cave and taking Peter’s hand.

“Good, I promise you’ll be safe,” Peter smiled.

“If I don’t she’ll just send in guards to drag me out,” Rowan reasoned and Peter sighed softly.

“Just take a deep breath, it’s almost over.” He said as he wrapped a blanket around Rowan’s slim shoulders.

As he left the house again he felt Rowan’s hand tightening in his. Marie was waiting impatiently, looking around the sparse clearing and glancing over to her enslaved husband who was antagonising her son. She looked up when Peter reappeared and he saw her piercing blue eyes searching past him for the one she was after. He knelt once again in front of her but Rowan stood stoically beside him.

“Your majesty.” The cold air swallowed up his soft and stern voice.

“Rowan,” Marie said in mild surprise. “You look much healthier, this man treats you well?” Rowan appeared to be startled by her question and hesitated.

“He-he does, thank you, your majesty.” He muttered. He was confused by her interest.

“Good, you look to be in good health.”

“And you, your majesty, considering,” The last word was barely a whisper, but both the royals heard it.

“The impertinence,” Alexander hissed, but Marie held a hand out to him.

“He was only enquiring.” She answered calmly. “Considering the damages that William’s presence certainly inspired, he is entitled to a level of respect not many others deserve.” Her voice was calm but firm, she wouldn’t punish him for mentioning such things, but she won’t allow her own power to be threatened.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Rowan whispered. “Your majesty always was far too kind to me,” She smiled slightly as his courage waned and he reverted to his more comfortable state.

The party all turned as another horse burst from the trees, the soldiers raising their spears in preparation to protect the Queen and guard against William’s release. Rowan and Peter were completely at a loss as to who the newcomer would be but as they pulled up their steed and leapt off they recognised her as Cordelia, and relief flooded in Rowan’s chest. She swept unflinchingly past the soldiers and the nobles to place a hand on Rowan’s cheek and the other press on Peter’s shoulder.

“You’re all right?” She asked breathlessly and he nodded gently. “Get up, you fool,” She directed to Peter, and he sheepishly rose to his feet, keeping his head bowed.

“Forgive my interruption, my lady,” She said, directing her attention to the Queen. “But I was held up in the city.” Marie only nodded in understanding and shrugged softly.

“Of course,” She said. “Who wouldn’t want to witness William’s recapture?”

“Look how powerful you are surrounded by armed guards,” The prisoner spat and grunted as a soldier struck the back of his head.

“You know, maybe this time I really will have your tongue ripped out.” She hissed to him. “Let’s go. I don’t want him to be in the open for any longer. Make sure he’s gagged.” Rowan fought to avoid staring as William’s mouth was wrapped tightly with cloth and he was thrown over the pommel of a saddle, much like how he had been transported when he was imprisoned.

“Here,” She said, tossing a heavy purse to the ground before them. “For your loyalty to the crown.” Rowan��s eyes turned to it and only dragged away from the reward when he felt her moving.

“Wait! Your majesty?”

She hesitated for a moment and allowed her horse to settle before indicating for him to continue.

“Would I be allowed to ask you something?”

She paused for a moment to consider the request as Alexander raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“If you want more money then you won’t get it.” He said firmly and Rowan turned his head down shamefully.

“Oh, hush, Alex,” Marie sighed, climbing from the saddle to stand before them. It was far more intimidating having her stand at their level. “What is it?” She asked and stepped towards them.

“I-I…”

Rowan swallowed heavily and fell instinctively to his knees, followed by Peter, despite Cordelia’s previous demand. Now that she was close enough that he could smell her perfume he was swept up with the dreadful memories that came with her refined scent.

“I heard an order that William was dead,” He finally choked out. “I thought you were killing him along with…” He hesitated but they both knew what he was referring to. “Wh-why didn’t you kill him?” His voice trembled weakly as he finally spat out his question and he heard Marie’s gentle sigh.

“We intended to punish him,” She admitted. “We wanted to keep him alive until we broke him. But his arrogance is so strong that not even torture managed to blunt his tongue.” She shook her head gently and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Alexander and I’s own arrogance wouldn’t allow him to win by killing him while he still retained some of his dignity. He feigned an injury and while a guard was moving him to another cell he escaped. It is our own fault and I’m sincerely sorry that he managed to find his way back to you.”

Rowan’s breath caught as his head whipped up to look at her, the notion of the Queen apologising to him was so ridiculous that he couldn’t hide his surprise.

“No-no, your majesty, really there isn’t anything for you to apologise for!” He squeaked and watched in bemusement as Marie chuckled softly.

“I hope you are trying to teach him to stop apologising so much,” She said to Peter as she stepped forward and cupped Rowan’s cheek gently, her soft leather glove sliding across his skin.

“I-I’m trying, your majesty,” He replied, flushing at her direct acknowledgement.

“I must admit, when we first came to the castle I was quite cruel to you, I hope you can forgive me, I didn’t understand the part you were playing was for your own survival.” Rowan couldn’t breathe as he felt the Queen’s touch on his skin. “Any creature who could pretend to be so devoted to a monster like William deserves respect.” Part of him craved the superior affection that he hadn’t felt since being released, but still his stomach pooled with dread at the dominating touch.

“Thank you, your majesty,” He breathed nervously and she gently took her hand away.

“I promise on my crown that William will never disturb you again. Alexander and I owe much to your loyalty.” Rowan was still unperturbed by this level of kindness Marie was offering him and barely knew how to answer through grunting softly in reply.

“My lady, would I be permitted to remain here for a few days to ensure Rowan’s peace of mind?” Cordelia asked and Marie nodded.

“Of course. I don’t need your reports until the end of next week, take your time.” She said and turned, climbing gracefully back onto her horse. “I am glad you’ve found a safe place, Rowan. Please let Cordelia know if you need anything in the future and I will make sure it is provided.”

“Oh…that-that’s too kind, your majesty,” Rowan gasped and she shook her head.

“As someone most impacted by William’s cruelty it is justified.” She said and glanced down as Alexander helped steady her horse. “Oh, also,” Rowan looked up timidly as her voice paused and watched her study his face. “Cordelia told me you were close to your bodyguard. I am sorry he didn’t survive.” Rowan looked down sadly and managed to bob his head in agreement.

“Thank you, your majesty, your condolences mean a lot,” He muttered.

“I hope you understand that there was never anything personal Alexander and I held against you, you were purely collateral damage.”

Rowan didn’t have the strength to lift his head as he heard the party turn to go, he didn’t want to risk catching William’s eye as he finally disappeared.

Hopefully this time for good.

#whump #medieval whump #my writing #oc #Rowan #Peter #William #Marie #Cordelia #PTSD whumpee #manhandling #verbal abuse #reference to previous abuse #reference to death

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stonebreakerseries · 4 years ago

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Day 6: Luxury + “that was impressive”

Day 6 of @oc-growth-and-development‘s OC-tober, as well as the Fictober20 prompt. This one takes place some time after the final round of the Red Fury, and basically continues from THIS piece I wrote a while ago.

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Series: Stonebreaker (Original Fiction)

Character(s): Riin & Crosus.

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When Riin walked into the South Gate tavern near the outskirts of Vetrose, he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. All around him, bodies were pressed close around tables, hunched over dice, deep in conversation, laughing raucously as they poured ales and wines and harder drinks down their throats.

Nose wrinkling, Riin slipped inside as casually as he could, doing his best not to stand out among the distracted patrons. Which was surprisingly difficult, all things considered. He’d put on quite a show in the arena, and already, eyes were fixing on him, flicking away the moment he looked. Idiot, he chided himself as he sidled between chairs and tables, stopping abruptly as a waitress cut past, a tray of thick brown stew balanced on one hand. He’d spent almost a full ten years in Talvera without revealing what he could truly do. Now, it seemed to be all anyone spoke about. The demand for him to compete in the arena - to engage in a friendly fight with a champion from one of the noble houses - had become incessant. It didn’t seem to matter how many times he refused, a new offer always presented itself the following day, the wording more insistent, the payment higher. Do us this one favour, before you depart for your homeland.

Huffing, Riin managed to pause in an empty space and scanned the room. It didn’t matter how much they offered, he could not be bought. He was a Kyriin; a soldier representing his people, acting on behalf of Kal-Kriyan interests. He was not a spectacle to be gawked at and gambled on.

It was a concept Talverans didn’t seem to understand. Not fully, at least.

A boisterous shout from his right drew Riin’s attention, his gaze snapping across. A drunken man stood, albeit barely, a card in one hand, a tankard in the other. Liquid sloshed dangerously as he ranted at the other players around the table, accusations of cheating and trickery being thrown back and forth among the competitors.

Luckily, seated at a table just past them, was the man Riin was looking for.

Crosus grinned wide, spotting him at the same time, his huge hands wrapped around a flagon. A collection of admirers crowded him on either side, partially obscuring him from view, explaining why Riin hadn’t been able to spot the giant sooner. As he approached, Riin glanced between Crosus and his companions, brow tensing into an uncertain frown. This… wasn’t what he’d been expecting. When he’d received the man’s message, he had assumed they would be speaking alone.

Luckily, Crosus either read the misgiving on Riin’s face or never intended for his sycophants to remain in the first place. Before Riin reached the table, Crosus was already shooing them away with his bear-like hand. “Right then, off with you lot,” he said. When the demand was met with hesitation - even disappointed whines - he tossed a small pouch of coins to one of young men with a good-natured wink. “Enough of that. Tavern’s got plenty of room elsewhere. Go on - get yourselves drunk on a champion’s coin.”

Apparently, all was forgiven. There was a collective whooping - loud and sudden enough to almost startle Riin into taking a step back. Bodies pushed past him, the men and women seeming utterly unaware of his presence as they rushed towards the bar.

“That was… quite a crowd,” Riin said as he finally approached the table. He paused, then gestured to one of the newly vacated seats. “May I?”

“Sure,” the big man drawled, raising a bushy brow. “Didn’t ask you here just to make you stand all evening, black-eyes.”

Riin’s shoulders tensed, but he hurried to mask it by sitting down, resting his forearms on the table. Unfortunately, as he feared, Crosus far from an unobservant man.

“No good?” the northerner asked, and to his credit, he seemed genuine. “Sorry. Heard folk calling you that lately. Figured it was proper.” He snorted, bringing his flagon to his lips. “Should’ve known it was probably an insult. Fucking Talverans…”

Riin had to admit, the man was oddly disarming. And relatable. So much so that he found himself relaxing into a smile, offering a resigned shrug of his own. “It’s not an insult. Just…” He hesitated, but decided it didn’t hurt to share. “I’d hoped no one would find out. That’s all.” He huffed. “I was so close, too. Being called that name just reminds me of my own failure.”

Crosus grunted. “Yeah. That kind of fame’s more trouble than it’s worth, isn’t it?” Raising a hand, he flagged one of the waitstaff, who seemed to have been loitering nearby. “You - yeah lad, you. Bring my friend here some of the good stuff.” He paused, glancing at his own drink. “Another for me, too.” Again, he tossed a small pouch of coins, the scrawny young man catching it between shaking, over-eager palms before scurrying away. Crosus just smirked, leaning in, brown eyes gleaming wickedly. “Turns out, tipping well gets you special treatment.” He leaned back again, laughing, and slapped the table with a thunderous palm. “Who knew, huh?”

Every soul in Talvera, Riin thought, amused. But he just shared in the man’s laughter, enjoying the luxury of being away from the palace. Of not having to second-guess every move he made. Soon, he had a drink in his hand, and before he knew it, half of it had already vanished. “I can see why you would come to a place like this,” Riin remarked loudly, fighting to raise his voice over the din. He glanced around, noticing a large number of watchful eyes flicking back and forth towards their table. “Being champion has made you well-sought.”

“Hey now - three time champion,” Crosus corrected, then chuckled. “The first time wasn’t nearly this rewarding. That said, they’re not all looking at me either. What you did out there?” He huffed, nodding to himself. “That was impressive.”

Riin just stared at his hands, wrapped firmly around his drink. It hadn’t felt impressive. He took another long, deep pull to delay responding. He could remember the moment so clearly, as though it had happened that morning instead of over a turn ago. When he’d seen Crosus land that blow… when Adiran had gone down and couldn’t get up again… he’d just...

“It was panic,” Riin said suddenly. He looked up at Crosus, mouth twisting into a rueful smile. “Not something I would call impressive.”

“Maybe,” the man agreed slowly, then shrugged. “Not sure your princeling would feel the same way, though.” Hesitating, Crosus sat back a little, taking a moment to regard Riin carefully. “I, ah... take it there’s no hard feelings about all of that?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Crosus barked a laugh. “True enough.” Then he jabbed an accusatory finger at him. “But you wouldn’t be the first person I’ve gone drinking with to tried to kill me after. Got my eye on you, Kyriin.”

A smile tugged at Riin’s lips. “I take it those men are no longer with us?”

“Who said anything about men?”

Riin grinned as Crosus bellowed a laugh, raising his flagon in makeshift salute. “Ahh... all the same,” he continued after draining another full mug’s worth of dark ale and setting it down with a thud, “wanted to thank you for what you did. Saving the princeling’s life.”

That was enough to stop Riin mid-drink. He lowered his flagon, eyes fixed questioningly on Crosus. “Thank me? Why?”

What did Crosus have to thank him for? As far as he knew, he’d done nothing to help the man. In truth, he’d barely even acknowledged him, when he’d leapt the barrier and rushed the arena. The most he’d done was shove him aside, sending him sprawling in the sand. In truth, all he remembered clearly from that moment was Adiran, lying there, suffocating inside his crushed plate...

“I know why people watch that tournament. The Red Fury...” Crosus' voice was softer, stirring Riin from his thoughts. The man’s mouth twisted, expression grim. “Everyone in that crowd wanted blood. Especially the ones who would never admit it. Must make them feel better about themselves, to watch good men die before their time. Your princeling…” Sighing, Crosus reached up, running a hand down his face. “I’ve killed plenty, Kyriin. Right bastards, most of them. But taking that young man’s life for a crowd? For sport?” Grunting, he just shook his head. “No. I have enough people looking at me like I’m no better than a wild beast. Don’t want to start believing it myself. I never meant for it to go that far.”

Stunned into silence for a moment, all Riin could do was look at the man - really look at him. The boisterous personality, the bellowing laugh, the tangle of dark hair that framed his face. For all of his strength, deep down, Crosus doubted himself. Who he was. What people thought of him. What he thought of himself.

It was something Riin understood all too well.

“Adir---” Riin caught himself quickly, “Prince Adiran knew the risks, Crosus. A fight is a fight, and it would be foolish to treat it as anything else. Even if I had not been able to…” Shei-tar’s gaze, the thought alone was enough to turn his stomach. He cleared his throat roughly. “The prince does not resent you. In truth, you might be one of the few men he actually respects.” He caught Crosus’ gaze. Held it. “As for me... I saw you by his side.”

Another memory, clear as day, flashed behind Riin’s eyes. It was of Crosus, crouched beside Adiran, a lone shape in the middle of the arena. It was of the crowd, roaring their shock, their approval, their delight at the blow that had flung Adiran, bodily, over and past the red-marked ring. It was of Crosus’ large hands, frantic but ineffective, tugging at the suffocating prince’s ruined plate...

Crosus just raised his brows. “You did, did you?” When Riin met his gaze and nodded, he gave another low grunt. “Huh. You know, most folk thought I was trying to finish him off. Already had three offer to buy me a drink for it.”

For whatever reason, that shocked Riin. “What?” He rose half-way out of his chair, heat and anger rising like a storm beneath his skin. “Who? Show me.”

“Easy,” Crosus said, voice concerned. He rested a large hand on Riin’s shoulder, urging him to sit down. “Relax. It’s nothing personal against your prince. Just their small way of spitting in the eye of that shit they call a King.”

Somehow, that didn’t comfort Riin. The indignation he felt on Adiran’s behalf rose like bile up the back of his throat. But at the same time... he supposed he could empathise. He’d like nothing more than to spit in the King’s eye himself, if he knew no one else would have to suffer for it.

Slowly, he complied with Crosus’ request, sitting back down, catching his flagon as the northerner slid it back towards him. He took another drink, still bitter. Still sure he hated the idea of people wishing harm on Adiran just to hurt his father. “The prince,” was all he said after a moment, feeling strangely tired. Simply correcting Crosus was easier than acknowledging the rest of what he’d just said. “Adiran is the prince, not my prince.”

If he’d bothered to look up from his ale, Riin would have seen Crosus raise a dark brow at that. Would have seen the way he smirked slightly and shook his head. Instead, the only thing Riin caught was his final, amiable shrug.

“As you say,” Crosus replied. Then he sent for another round.

#oc tober #oc-tober #fictober20 #stonebreakerseries #riin #crosus #talvera #prompt #riin prompt #day 6 #riin writing #crosus writing

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justathoughtfulangel · 4 years ago

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The One That Got Away (Draco Malfoy Mini Series, Part Two)

Hellllooooo! Here is the second part of my Draco Malfoy Mini Series, The One. If you’d like to see more details about the series as a whole and a summary of this part or the parts to come, you can do so here. If you’d like to read more about my OC, Amara Grimaldi, you can do so here.

PLEASE read part one, The One Who was Lost, before you read this one. You can find it here.

Word count: 13, 254 (literally twice as long as part one, YIKES)

Please don’t hesitate to message me if you have any questions/comments/concerns or if you’d like to be tagged whenever I post a new part :)

Whenever you see “~~~”, I’m transitioning to a different scene. If you see “~” instead, we’re in the same scene but different characters are being shown.

If you have a hard time following the scenes, please use this scenes list as a resource.

Happy Reading!

Amara Grimaldi stood outside her home, wanting to take it in one last time. Everything was the same. The fountain flowed beautifully, birds chirped happily in the mornings, and her father, strong and unwavering, was always there to welcome her.

Ambrosi Grimaldi had watched his daughter grow in this house. It was here she discovered her passion for potion-brewing. It was here she took her first steps. It was here where he and his Lucianna had brought her after she was born. Grimaldi Manor is and always will be her home.

“I’ll see you at the wedding in a few days, Daddy.” Ambrosi smiled as much as he could and held his daughter close. Both of them knew the dangers they were in. Yet, if only for a moment, they were safe with each other.

Miles away, Harry Potter watched his cousin, aunt, and uncle drive away forever. Elsewhere, Ron Weasley stared out to the horizon, watching the setting sun. Meanwhile, Hermione Granger erased the memories of her parents, walking away from her home with just a small bag in her hand...

~~~

Amara had been braiding Gabrielle Delacour’s hair when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone apparating. “Excusez-moi, ma petite cherie.” Gabrielle nodded and smiled at Amara. “Merci beaucoup! Je peux finir seule, Amara.” Amara smiled back warmly, ducking to kiss the top of Gabrielle’s head before descending down the long, winding stairs of the Burrow.

“Herein is set forth the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore…” Minister Scrimgeour released the parchment, letting it float near him as he read from it. “First, to Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, a device of my own making, in hope that when things seem most dark, it will show him the light.” Ron reached out hesitantly to take the Deluminator and clicked it once. Two orbs of light from the nearby lamps floated into it, and then returned once he clicked it again.

Amara smiled softly as Ron mumbled, “Wicked!” under his breath. Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow, but he continued. “To Hermione Jean Granger, I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard in hopes that she finds it entertaining and instructive.” Hermione took the book, flipping through its pages once. Ron babbled about the stories in the book while Harry and Hermione looked baffled. Amara assumed Scrimgeour was getting impatient, and he was. “To Amara Lucianna Grimaldi, I leave my copy of Hogwarts: A History, in hopes that she finds solace in the knowledge it provides.”

Amara took the book gingerly. The book was immensely fragile with age and she took great care in opening the cover. Its contents were very different from the copy Amara owned; Dumbledore’s copy was certainly an earlier edition, perhaps one of the first to be written. “Lastly, to Harry James Potter, I leave him the Golden Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch game at Hogwarts as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.” Amara’s head snapped up from the book. She shared a look with Hermione as Harry reached out to accept the Snitch. Yet, when his fingers grasped the cool metal, nothing happened.

Amara was expecting Scrimgeour to bid them goodbye but found he had more to read. “Dumbledore has left you a second bequest, Mr. Potter, the sword of Gryffindor. However, the sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. It belongs to-”

Hermione quickly interjected, “Harry. It belongs to Harry. He drew the sword from the hat in our second year. It came to him in his time of need.” Amara knew that didn’t make the sword Harry’s, and she would’ve said so had the Minister not beat her to the chase. In any case, Amara was thinking about why Dumbledore left Harry the sword.

Dumbledore did not do anything without reason. Everything they had received was given to them for a purpose; who received what item was equally important.

Amara was brought out from her thoughts when Scrimgeour tried to tell Harry to give up. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Mr. Potter, but you can’t fight this war on your own. He’s too strong.” Amara happened to be sitting closest to Harry and she placed her hand on his shoulder supportively. Harry had always known he would either win this war or die trying; he didn’t need a reminder of how difficult things would be.

~~~

For now, things were brighter. Bill and Fleur had a beautiful wedding. Laughter and smiles could be seen everywhere, despite the dark times. Amara’s hand went to her bag and she clutched it, knowing she had everything should she and her friends have to Disapparate without warning.

From the corner of his eyes, Ambrosi noticed his daughter’s fingers tightening anxiously around the handbag he bought her for her 15th birthday. His hand rested on top of hers gently. “Amara, everything is fine.” Amara took a deep breath and managed to smile up at her father. Worries still plagued her mind and Ambrosi could see them in her eyes, but he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Dance with me, sweetheart.”

This time, Amara beamed genuinely. Hermione happened to be nearby and took her bag from her, gesturing her head towards the dance floor which at the moment was occupied by Luna and her father as well as Fleur and Monsieur Delacour. Amara took her dad’s hand and still found peace in it. 17 years of life and her father’s hand was still the one she turned to for guidance. It was still what she needed to reassure her when everything seemed strange.

Ambrosi held his daughter close and danced with her slowly, fighting the tears welling in his eyes. When Amara noticed them, she very gently wiped one away. “Don’t cry, Dad. We’ll see each other soon.” Ambrosi smiled and kissed his girl’s forehead. “When did you get so big, my dear? I remember when I would waltz around with you in our living room. Now you’re about to run off and save our world. Before I know it, we’ll be at your wedding.” Amara’s life had seemed to drag on in her mind, but it was quite the opposite for her father. He hadn’t realized when she had transformed into a beautiful woman from his adorable little girl. Time had passed too quickly for his liking.

“I want you to keep this, angel.” Ambrosi’s hand slipped his heavy golden ring from his finger, placing it in her palm. It bore the crest of the Grimaldi family. “I know you have your own, but I want you to have this piece of me when you’re off with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Return it to me the next time you see me.” It was far too big for Amara to wear, so she closed her hand around it. “Thank you, Daddy.” She reached to unclasp the thin chain she always wore. That necklace had one of her mother’s rings hanging from it, and she slid the Grimaldi family ring onto it as well.

“This way, you and Mumma will always be close to my heart, no matter how far we are.” Ambrosi’s eyes twinkled as he hugged his daughter. “I’m so proud of you. I know your mother would be too. I love you with all my heart, Amara. Remember that, always.” Amara couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded. Eventually, she was able to speak. “Please stay safe.” Ambrosi smoothed Amara’s hair soothingly and kept his voice calm and reassuring. “I will, dear, I will.”

Before anyone had the chance to say anything else, Kingsley’s Patronus ran right in between Amara and her father, who held her close as it spoke. “Scrimgeour is dead. The Ministry has fallen. They are coming.” Ambrosi gave his daughter one more kiss before letting her go. “Get out of here, Amara. We’ll hold them off.” Death Eaters began Apparating into the tent and Amara frantically looked for Hermione, Ron, and Harry. “I love you, Dad!”

Ron and Hermione finally reached Amara and Remus shoved Harry to them. Within seconds, they had vanished.

Draco thrummed his fingers against his sleek, mahogany desk. He opened the first drawer to his left, one that he kept locked. Within it was a picture of Draco and Amara from when they were 10, among other memories he wished to treasure alone.

The picture was bright and colorful; Little Amara’s smile shined through her eyes and Little Draco, even then, looked at the camera only momentarily before looking at her. Draco closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he saw his Amara as she was now: kind, brave, loving, and still beautiful as ever.

He knew that she was likely at the Weasley wedding. In his cowardice, he was grateful that the Dark Lord didn’t force him to partake in the attack. Draco wouldn’t have been able to stand hurting Amara or those she cared about. He wanted Potter to win. He wanted all of this to be over.

Just as Draco went to put the picture away, he heard a woman scream downstairs. His first instinct was that the scream came from his mother. Leaving the picture on his desk, Draco Apparated down to his foyer to see his Aunt Bellatrix bleeding from her cheek as his mother hovered over her. Before he could sigh in relief at his mother being safe, he heard his aunt spit out curses and vow to kill every single member of the Order.

Draco closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. His thoughts found their way to Amara once more. Wherever they were, he hoped that she and her father stayed safe.

Up the stairs and through the door to Draco’s bedroom, Little Draco looked at Little Amara once more, his eyes gleaming with innocence and happiness. Draco hadn’t felt such joy in years, nor did he know if he ever would again.

~~~

A week or so had passed since they had run from the wedding. They had taken shelter at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry was exploring the house, and Ron was playing Fur Elise rather badly as Hermione tried to teach him; Amara could hear it even though she was in the kitchen. They had nothing much to do until Kreacher came back with Mundungus Fletcher.

Amara spent most of her time flipping through Hogwarts: A History, simultaneously looking at her copy and the one Dumbledore left her. She wanted to find the difference between the two, needing to know why Dumbledore left her this copy specifically. There was something hidden in here that he wanted Amara to find. She had already found numerous details that weren’t in her edition, such as more details regarding Slytherin’s thoughts behind making and sealing the Chamber of Secrets or a cup that Helga Hufflepuff created which was likely one of the first utensils ever used in the Great Hall. They must have been edited out with time or deemed irrelevant.

Amara was about to give up for the night before she paused. This page was entirely blank. She knew the Ministry had thoroughly examined each object bestowed to them. Whatever was hidden on this page would not reveal itself by a spell. “Hermione!” Amara wracked her brain as the piano keys stopped ringing immediately and Hermione rushed into the kitchen. “What is it?”

She took a minute to respond, the wheels in her mind churning with determination. “You know the Ministry has searched all of the items Dumbledore left to us in his will?” Amara turned the book to show Ron and Hermione the blank page. “They were looking for enchantments, spells, etc. What if Dumbledore hid something on this page using a non-magical method?” Hermione’s eyes lit up in recognition and summoned a lemon, a knife, and some cotton swabs.

“That’s ingenious, Amara. If Dumbledore has hidden something on this page in a non-magical manner, it would most likely be invisible ink.” Hermione was slicing a lemon just as Harry walked in; Ron leaned over to fill him in quickly in the background. When Amara gently brushed the lemon juice over the page, everyone watched with bated breath.

Gasping softly, Amara saw the message appearing beneath her fingertips. Noticing how faint it was, Harry quickly cast Lumos, his wand hovering over the page. It wasn’t a message, it was a riddle. Hermione read it aloud as Amara finally moved away. The four of them stood around the table, reading Dumbledore’s handwriting as it gleamed up at them.

“For one destroyed, false security was the answer.

He first tried with a memory.

Then, he relied on his grandfather.

He craved excellence, wisdom, and victory.

He had one companion left

When he tried to escape his downfall, he left himself there.

In the end, there was only him.”

Ron groaned in frustration. “If he wanted to hide a message, why did it have to be another puzzle to solve?!” Amara said nothing, still reading and rereading Dumbledore’s message. Harry sighed as well, though he was the one who discerned why. “Dumbledore must have known they would search his things. If he felt the need to hide this specific riddle, it must be crucial information Dumbledore didn’t want in the wrong hands.”

They were interrupted with the resonating crack of Apparation, and Amara slammed the book closed, the words imprinted on her mind. Kreacher and Dobby appeared, dragging Mundungus Fletcher along. “Dobby?!” Dobby began explaining why he tagged along as everyone in the room cornered Mundungus. “Look, I panicked that night, alright’?! Could I help it if Mad-Eye fell off his broom?” Hermione dangled the locket in front of him as Harry shut him up quickly. “While you were here, did you steal a locket- don’t deny it!- that looked like that one? What did you do with it?”

“Why, was it valuable?” He had quite the audacity to ask such a question. “Do you still have it?” Amara chimed in, while Ron scoffed. “He’s probably worried he didn’t get enough money for it.” This time, Mundungus had the sense to look remorseful. “Bleedin’ gave it away, didn’t I? I was scuffling ‘round Diagon Alley when some Ministry hag asked to see me license. Said she had a mind to turn me in, ‘til she took a shine to my locket.”

“Who was she? This woman. What did she look like?” Mundungus began to respond once more until his eyes fell to an old copy of the Daily Prophet. “Well, that’s her right there. Bleedin’ bow and all!”

Amara grabbed the paper to set it on the table, and the four of them shared a look. Though the image was black and white, Amara could see the sickening pink of her suit. “Umbridge.”

~~~

The clothes of Marietta Edgecombe’s mother, Madame Edgecombe, were beginning to loosen around Amara’s body while Albert Runcorn’s face bubbled and morphed back into Harry’s. Realizing they had no time to waste, Amara stunned Umbridge and Hermione ripped the locket from her neck. Ron took Mary Cattermole along with them and they sprinted into the elevator before the Dementors got too close.

Harry cast the Patronus charm and they were immediately off. By then, the effects of the Polyjuice Potion had worn off for everyone besides Ron, and Amara was sure she’d seen a camera flash behind them. Ron spoke to Mary Cattermole, instructing her to take the kids and run. As she pulled her ‘husband’ into a kiss, Ron began morphing back into himself. He looked rather embarrassed, even more so when the real Reginald Cattermole saw his wife kissing a stranger.

“Long story, sorry!” They had no time to indulge this awkward moment. Yaxley shot a spell aimed at Harry, and Hermione noticed that the grates to the fireplaces were slamming down one by one. The four of them managed to enter one, but not before Yaxley got a hold of Ron’s arm.

When Amara landed on her feet, she saw they had not returned to Grimmauld Place but had landed in some forest instead. Gasping softly as she saw Ron’s torn shoulder joint, Amara immediately opened her bag and dug around for Dittany. She threw the bottle to Hermione and tried to catch her breath. “Hermione, I thought-”

Hermione was soothing a whimpering Ron, trying to administer the searing droplets of Dittany. “Yaxley must have gotten ahold of Ron, Harry. It wasn’t safe for us there anymore.” Hermione nodded, wiping away some tears. “I had to get us out of there, but Ron got splinched.” Amara’s eyes softened and Harry looked like he was at a loss for words. She patted Harry’s shoulder gently. “The tent is in my bag, Harry. Set it up, please? I’ll do the enchantments.”

Harry was frozen for a few moments. So many people had gotten hurt for him. How many more would before this ended? Amara’s gentle hand to his shoulder broke him from his daze, and he went to begin building the tent.

Amara glanced back at her friends once more, worry flitting through her eyes. “Repello Muggletom, Salvio Hexia, Muffliato Maxima….”

~~~

Ambrosi sighed concernedly, setting the paper down. Amara was pictured, clear as day, running from numerous Ministry officials who fired various spells at her. When he turned the page, he saw his daughter’s face on a Wanted poster.

Artemis had come to settle next to him, hooting sadly and nudging Amara’s picture with her talons. Ambrosi brought his hand up to pet her gently and she nibbled on his finger affectionately in return. He was doing his best to keep his promise to Amara, but it was immensely difficult to stay safe. While Grimaldi Manor was protected, Ambrosi wouldn’t be should he have to leave for any mission for the Order.

He had lost his beloved wife because of this darkness; he hoped and prayed for his Amara’s safety every day. She would not lose him because of this War, he would make sure of it.

~~~

Amara was pacing around the perimeter of their safe haven, her arms hugging a black shawl to her body. From her neck dangled the two rings on a small chain, clinking softly as she walked. As she got closer to the tent, she overheard Harry snapping at Hermione for not doing enough for Ron. Amara, too, had been working on brewing a healing potion, but it was proving to be very difficult with the limited number of ingredients she brought with her.

Amara stood in front of Harry, stretching out her hand. “Take it off. The Horcrux.” Harry tugged the locket from his neck aggressively, immediately letting out a loud sigh of relief. “Better?” Harry nodded silently, and Amara clasped it around her neck. “We’ll wear it in turns.”

From inside the tent, Ron’s radio crackled, and Lee Jordan’s voice rang out clearly. The locket now hung right next to Ambrosi’s ring, chittering maliciously as always. As night fell, Harry, Hermione, and Amara headed into the tent. Amara had made her way into the kitchen, not quite thinking of anything but dinner. Deciding on some quick spaghetti, Amara got a pot of water boiling and dug around her bag for a jar of sauce.

“And now for some sobering news. We’ve just received word that our beloved friend, Nectar, has been murdered by Death Eaters just miles away from his home. Let’s all have a moment of silence in his memory.” The jar of pasta sauce fell from Amara’s fingers and crashed to the floor. Hermione rushed over to her but faltered slightly. Amara’s face was entirely expressionless.

No one spoke or moved for the next minute. The crackle from Ron’s radio broke the silence. “To those that knew him, Nectar was a benevolent man, an unwavering father, and a strong friend. He died a hero. In Nectar’s honor, the password for our next broadcast will be Grimaldi. Stay safe everyone, Potterwatch will be back as soon as possible.” Amara walked over the broken glass and clung to her shawl, exiting the tent numbly.

Ron came out from the bedroom, his eyes wet with tears and one trailing down his face. Hermione went over to him and hugged him close, both of them sobbing silently. Harry felt his heart shattering. Of all of them, he could understand Amara’s pain best. Ambrosi was beloved by all. He was one of the few men he trusted dearly, possibly the one he trusted most after Sirius and Remus.

Amara stood outside the tent, the snow falling around her, contrasting harshly against her black shawl. Silent tears were streaming down her face. The cold air was thinning around her, suffocating her until she couldn’t breathe. Her knees gave way from her shock just as Harry came out, quickly catching her. When she felt Harry’s arms around her, something in Amara snapped.

She let out a wail, one that could have been heard for miles had they not put up a sound barrier. That wail gave way to broken, choked sobs as Amara clung to Harry. The cold around them couldn’t compare to the shattering grief inside her, threatening to consume her at any second.

Inside the tent, Hemione placed a hand over her mouth and Ron closed his eyes in pain when they heard Amara’s scream. Harry didn’t know what to say or do besides holding her. He knew this pain, and in this pain, no one could say anything to make it better. Things would be dark until something -anything- gives you a glimmer of hope. Amara had been there for him the most after Sirius’s death, and he would do the same.

Bellatrix’s cackles rang through the foyer of Malfoy Manor. Draco gritted his teeth, not interested in another gleeful rant about which Order member or muggleborn family she had killed now. His fingers clutched his mug of tea, burning with the heat encircling them.

“I told you, Cissy! I told you I would kill that blood-traitor!” Draco managed to take a sip, the hot tea scalding his throat. He stood, about to make his way to his bedroom for the night. “That Ambrosi Grimaldi got what was coming to him.”

Draco’s mug hit the floor, shattering into tiny shards. The tea swam across the wooden floor. Draco said nothing. He couldn’t. He didn’t trust his voice, nor his ears in this moment.

In her cheerful reverie, his aunt ignored it completely. Narcissa’s eyes immediately shot to Draco. Lucius, too, hardened as he stood, unreadable as always. Somehow, Draco got his feet to move. The winding staircase to the bedrooms seemed even longer to Draco now, his feet dragging with effort as he moved.

While Bellatrix danced around the room, her sister’s eyes followed Draco as he trudged upstairs. She wanted to follow him but thought otherwise when she heard Draco’s door slam shut.

The Muffliato cast over his bedroom would have stifled his scream had he not gone out to his balcony. It rang out across the immaculate lawns, frightening the peacocks roaming around. He lost the man who cared for him just as Amara did. Amara…

Swallowing hard, Draco closed his eyes, letting himself feel the hot tears streaming down his face. How much more would she have to lose? How much more was this War going to take from them all?

~~~

Amara had been in a daze these past few days. They weren’t making much progress with the search, nor were they any closer to deciphering Dumbledore’s riddle. She couldn’t sleep. Should her eyes droop shut for even just a few minutes, the Potterwatch broadcast played in her mind like a reel on replay.

Hermione’s rhythmic snipping of scissors was nearly silent as she attempted to give Harry a haircut. Harry found it entirely unnecessary; it was just something to pass the time. His mind was elsewhere: the night of Bill and Fleur’s wedding when he last spoke to Ambrosi. He found it more important than ever to remember these words.

The wedding had transitioned into the reception seamlessly. Harry found himself surrounded by many red-headed Weasleys and members of the Order, the atmosphere high with celebrations. He was sitting at a table alone when he was joined by Ambrosi who put a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

Ambrosi knew they would be leaving tomorrow; before he went to dance with his daughter, he wanted to come talk to Harry. The war brewing and the lives lost had a devastating impact on Harry. Ambrosi felt the responsibility of lightening his burden as much as he could. “Harry… It can be very easy to blame ourselves for grievances in life, especially when we are there to witness them. For years, even before I knew of Sirius’s innocence and Pettigrew’s deceptions, I did not blame Sirius for the death of Lucianna... I blamed myself. I believed I should have been the one to go to Godric’s Hollow that night in her stead.” Harry swallowed softly, and Ambrosi’s eyes gleamed softly with his wisdom and kindness. It was the same look Amara often had in her eyes. She was more like her father than she knew.

“In some ways, that feeling has never gone away. And yet… When I think of our world now, I think of the other eleven people who were murdered that night and the countless lives being lost because of the darkness in our world. People leave this world and new souls are created every second. Our proximity to death doesn’t make death our fault.” Ambrosi’s voice never wavered. It was strong and reassuring, and Harry absorbed the words as much as he could. “This war has been building for a long time. Lives have been lost, and unfortunately, we’ll lose others we love as well. Remember who you are, Harry. Not what is happening around you, not what may happen. Remember who you are, and this war will not be able to steal you away from yourself.”

“Oh my God!” As the scissors clattered to the floor, Harry was pulled away from his thoughts. Hermione rushed to the kitchen, digging through her bag and pulling out one of her many books. Harry followed her quickly, ignoring the incessant crackling of Ron’s radio. Amara stepped into the tent, shivering from the cold outside. Her emotional numbness dissipated slightly when she took in the excitement exuding from Hermione. “The sword of Gryffindor… it’s goblin-made!” Amara’s eyes widened and she went to join Hermione at the table. “That’s amazing news!”

Harry looked at the two of them in bewilderment, completely not understanding why the sword being goblin-made had anything to do with the sudden cheer (and also because this was the first time he’d seen light in Amara’s eyes in weeks). Hermione exhaled in exhilaration and spoke, “You’ve already destroyed a Horcrux, haven’t you? Tom Riddle’s diary.”

“With a Basilisk’s fang! Don’t tell me you and Amara have one of those in your bloody little bags.” Harry reached across the table to see the book Hermione was flipping through. “You don’t understand. The blade of the sword does not rust or dull over time... It only takes in what makes it stronger.” A glimmer of understanding shined in Harry’s eyes. “The sword is impregnated with Basilisk venom. Which is why…”

“Why Dumbledore left it to me in his will! You are brilliant, Hermione, truly.” Hermione babbled in her exhilaration, humbly disregarding Harry’s compliment. “There’s only one problem, of course.” Before Harry could continue, the lights in the tent suddenly switched off, plunging them into momentary darkness. When they came on again, Ron was standing to their immediate left, the Deluminator clenched harshly in his fist. “The sword was stolen.”

Amara was the first to recognize Ron’s anger. “Ron… the Horcrux. Have you been wearing it all day?” He completely ignored her, plundering on as his emotions overruled his mind. “Yeah, I’m still here. But you two carry on. Don’t let me spoil all the fun.” His tone made the girls blanch with worry. “What’s wrong?” Ron scoffed as if Harry’s question was utterly ludicrous.

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Not according to you, anyway.” Harry’s jaw began to set, hardening with irritation. “Look, if you’ve got something to say, don’t be shy. Spit it out.” The argument escalated; Ron was seething internally, and it was only a matter of time before his anger bubbled over like lava and burned those near him. “Alright, I’ll spit it out. But don’t expect me to be grateful now that there’s another damn thing we’ve got to find.”

“I thought you knew what you signed up for.” Harry’s eyes were wide, not used to this kind of behavior from Ron. This wasn’t like him at all. “Yeah, I thought I did too.” Harry began to get up and approached Ron, ignoring Amara’s hand as she reached out to grab his wrist and hold him back. “Well then, I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand. What part of this isn’t living up to your expectations? I mean, did you think we were gonna be staying in a 5-star hotel? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you’d be back with your mum by Christmas?”

“I just thought, after all this time, we would have actually achieved something. I thought you knew what you were doing! I thought Dumbledore would’ve told you something worthwhile.” Hermione came to stand next to Ron, not knowing how to help. Ideas on how to deescalate the situation ran through Amara’s mind, but she wasn’t confident that anything would work at this point. “I told you everything Dumbledore told me, and in case you haven’t noticed, we have found a Horcrux already.”

“Yeah, and we’re as close to getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them, aren’t we?” Hermione reached for the Horcrux, begging him to take it off. “Ron, please... You wouldn’t be saying any of this if you hadn’t been wearing it all day.” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Do you know why I listen to that radio every night? I listen so I don’t hear Ginny’s name. Or Fred, or George, or my mum.”

“You think I’m not listening to? You think I don’t know how it feels?” “No, you DON’T know how it feels! Your parents are dead; you have no family.” The scathing words thundered around the four as Harry jumped forward, wanting to expel his anger but unable to hurt his best friend. “Fine, then go! Go then!” Ron tugged the Horcrux off furiously, not even faltering when he saw Hermione’s tears.

Amara’s heart panged, the cracks in it searing her painfully. “And you? Are you coming or you staying?” Hermione looked at Ron and then to Harry and Amara. She couldn’t say anything, but Amara nodded to her softly. Ron would need her with him; it was far too dangerous for him to leave alone, and it wouldn’t be right to leave Harry alone either.

Hermione wordlessly agreed, and Amara knew she would bring Ron back as soon as she could. Dumping some of her books onto the table, she grabbed her bag with the tears streaming down her face. Harry understood though he couldn’t honestly say he didn’t feel betrayed. Ambrosi’s words came to his mind as they Disapparated. Remember who you are, Harry. Not what is happening around you, not what may happen. Remember who you are, and this war will not be able to steal you away from yourself.

~~~

Harry came to join Amara outside. She was sitting with her back against a tree, her eyes closed as she breathed in the frosty, winter air. When she heard the scuffle of Harry sitting beside her, Amara didn’t open her eyes but rather just leaned to rest her head against his shoulder and made sure her blanket covered him as well. He hummed softly in contentment, asking her what she was thinking about.

“I was remembering a trip I took with my father and Draco one winter. His parents were taking a vacation and Draco hated being left behind, so he came to stay with us. We would spend the day skiing or flying or building castles of snow… My dad would turn in around an hour or so before we did, and we’d sit by a fireplace, reading together or just talking.” Harry’s arm came around Amara’s shoulder and he smiled softly. That didn’t sound like the Malfoy he knew, but he could hear a smile in Amara’s voice. She truly cherished these memories… she truly cherished him.

“You love him.” Harry didn’t ask a question. He knew, just as she did. “Yes, I love him. Even if he may not show that he loves me too.” They sat together in comfortable silence. A few birds chirped around them and a soft wind blew through the grand conifers. Harry and Amara were both hurting, but just for these silent moments, their pain could be pushed aside.

~~~

As Amara woke the next morning, the day felt brighter. There seemed to be a palpable hum of energy in the air, something that had all but vanished in the last few months. Harry was nowhere in sight, but Amara heard people talking outside. Shooting out of bed immediately, she grabbed her cardigan and rushed out of the tent, worry clearly etched onto her face. Her feet faltered once she made it out of the mouth of the tent; her features lit up with relief.

Hermione rushed to Amara and threw her arms around her. Harry was smiling for the first time in a while. From the corner of her eyes, Amara saw the Sword of Gryffindor in Ron’s hand, the morning sun reflecting off of the blade and shining onto the destroyed locket in his other hand. “You found it! Where?” Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, both of them remembering last night’s events and Hermione sighed softly as she thought of the locket’s torturous words to Ron.

The quartet headed into the warm tent and Amara began making some tea as she was brought up to speed with the events. The searingly harsh Horcrux was not a surprise to Amara; she remembered all too clearly how the Horcrux in Tom Riddle’s diary had wanted to kill Harry. It made perfect sense, actually. Twisted, dark souls could only bring pain and destruction.

Even so, the energy didn’t dissipate from around the four friends. There was a shining sense of hope when they were reunited. No one forgot at how quickly that hope could be torn away from them, but they all clung on to it anyhow.

When Amara gave Hermione her tea, she handed something to Amara in return: Dumbledore’s copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Amara flipped to the page that was marked, her fingers brushing against the inscription that followed “The Tale of the Three Brothers.” Harry peered over Amara’s shoulder curiously while the wheels in Amara’s mind churned away. Surely this wasn’t a rune she had seen before.

“I’ve seen that… Xenophilius Lovegood was wearing that symbol at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.” Amara’s eyebrows shot up as she experienced a stifled epiphany. She had an idea about what the symbol could mean, but voicing her idea was not the best way to go about this, not when Ron’s motive for leaving was based on more things they had to find. She would wait for Luna’s father to confirm or deny her suspicions before she brought this up. “We need to go see him.”

~~~

“That treacherous little… Is there no one we can trust?!” Ron’s agitation spilled from his mouth and echoed against the trees surrounding them. “They took Luna, Ron. He was desperate.” Harry was angered as well, but not at Xenophilius. He was angry with himself. The thoughts he often tried to dispel spun around in his head again. He did not want more people to get hurt for him. Before Harry could recall Ambrosi’s words and ground himself, Hermione froze in his peripheral vision.

Just a few feet from them, Snatchers lounged against the trees, looking for their next targets lazily. “Well don’t hang about, snatch ‘em!” Amara had to take Hermione’s hand and drag her out of her shock. In his shock, Ron stumbled and ran as fast as he could. Even as they began to run, Amara knew they would not make it away safely; they could not Disapparate away together, they wouldn’t get close enough.

As discreetly as she could, Amara sent a Stinging Jinx in Harry’s direction. His cry of pain was muffled by the bracken covered ground as he tripped. Hermione, now completely back to her senses, grabbed Harry’s glasses and stuffed them into her bag. Harry’s glasses were far too recognizable. At the same time, Amara took up some mud and caked it onto her neck and cheek. She knew it wouldn’t be enough. Amara Grimaldi’s face was next to Harry’s on the Wanted posters.

Wracking her brain for whatever she could do in the limited amount of time they had, Amara thought of only one spell: Crinus Muto. It was an exceedingly difficult spell, one of the last she had learned from Professor McGonagall. If performed incorrectly, the results would be disastrous.

Yet, by some stroke of luck (or perhaps by the skill Amara had), she was no longer recognizable. Her long, mahogany locks had transformed into short strands of blonde silk. The Snatchers had thankfully been unable to see Amara’s transformation and were stupid enough to assume that one member of the group got away. No matter. There were four more prizes to collect.

Four of the Snatchers grabbed each of the four friends while the leader sauntered around them arrogantly. He questioned them individually, trying to see which would crack first. Hermione chose to say she was Penelope Clearwater, and Ron said he was Barney Weasley. Amara’s lie had come to her quickly: Marietta Edgecombe, the pureblood daughter of Madame Edgecombe whom she had impersonated a few weeks ago.

Her breath caught in her throat when the leader, Scabior, paused in front of Harry. His eyes lingered on Harry’s forehead for much longer than necessary. “Change of plans… we’re not taking this lot to the Ministry.”

The days were passing. Each moment suffocated Draco more and more. His thoughts never strayed too far from Amara. Was she safe? What was she doing? When would he see her again? When could she be allowed to properly grieve? When would this all end? Would the two of them be able to walk away from this alive?

Narcissa paused at Draco’s door, observing as Draco’s shoulders slumped forward. Long gone was the laughter that warmed this household. Long gone was the light in his eyes. “Draco…” Her heart broke even further when her son looked into her eyes. Every inch of her was aching to grab her child and shield him from the horrors of this life, an instinct she had been attempting to ignore for years now.

“Yes, Mother?” His voice echoed his desolation. Draco had lost the capacity to feel anything. “Your Aunt Bellatrix is calling you. We believe you can identify some traitors.” Even before she came to get her son, Narcissa knew that these were no traitors. Traitors to the Dark Lord, perhaps, but not traitors to the good in the world. Amara had transfigured herself physically, which was a remarkable feat in itself, given that she was not a Metamorphagus. Human transfiguration spells were known to be exceedingly difficult and even dangerous to maintain. Amara could not, however, transfigure the mannerisms ingrained into her. How she carried herself. Her facial expressions. The way she pressed the pad of her thumb to her index finger when she lied, a movement so small you’d have to look for it to see it. Narcissa could see it was her almost immediately.

Draco stood and passed his mother. His lifelessness had scared him once, too, but now it was just who he was. It was who he had to become since he rejected Amara in the hospital wing months ago. Narcissa did not have time to warn her son; their house was no longer safe, their walls had ears. His descent down the winding staircase was not rushed. A memory flitted through his mind: Amara at age eight, daring Draco to slide down the banister. Would they ever know such joy again?

“Ah, Draco! So good of you to join us.” Draco looked up at the sound of her voice just out of habit. When he did, his feet faltered. He prayed it wasn’t noticeable. His eyes fell on Granger and Weasley, and then to the blonde girl standing next to them, mud drying on her neck and left cheek, obscuring her features. Draco’s confusion lasted only a fraction of a second. His aunt’s next words cleared them up immediately.

The Snatchers had not been dismissed. Bellatrix enjoyed an audience. Whether that audience would witness the Dark Lord’s reward to the family or if they would witness a murder by her hands was irrelevant. “I have reason to believe that the imp I am holding is none other than the chosen one himself.” The biting sarcasm tore through her voice, but he no longer heard anything. Noises muted in the background. If this was Potter, Granger, and Weasley… then the blonde girl was Amara. There was no other option.

Bellatrix tugged on Harry’s hair, revealing the scar which stretched across his forehead. “Well?” She looked at Draco expectantly, growing frustrated when his answer was weak. “I can’t be sure.” Lucius had been listening silently up until this point. His loyalties had never externally wavered, but he, too, wanted this war over. “Look closely, son. If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, all will be forgiven. All will be as it was, do you understand?” Draco swallowed hard and took a cautious step forward.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie. Come over.” Bellatrix pulled Draco by the arm gently, bringing him to his knees in front of Harry. “If this isn’t who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he’ll kill us all. We need to be absolutely sure.”

Draco was sure. “What’s wrong with his face?” The scar didn’t give him away, his eyes did. Draco had glared into them enough times to know what they looked like. “Yes, what is wrong with his face?” Bellatrix echoed the question. “He came to us like that. Something he picked up in the forest, I reckon.”

Harry was not entirely surprised that Draco had not given him away. He was slowly starting to see the Draco his friend loved. He was there, hiding underneath the surface, just as Amara always said. “Or ran into a Stinging Jinx.” Amara’s heart thudded in panic. Hermione glanced at Amara anxiously, but she held her ground as Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed on her. Narcissa clutched Lucius’s arm, frightened for the girl whom she loved like a daughter. She was unable to protect her, just as she was unable to protect Draco. “Give me her wand, I want to see what her last spell was.”

A pleased, evil giggle came from Bellatrix and she continued to step towards Amara. “Got you.” She paused then, her glee molding into fear. “What’s that?” Bellatrix’s voice was no more than a whisper. Her eyes gestured toward the Sword of Gryffindor which was being held by a Snatcher. “Where did you get that from?” Scabior seemed a bit bored, having seen many such encounters. “It was in her bag when we searched her.” He took the sword and pointed it at Amara. “Reckon it’s mine now.”

The grin on Scabior’s face was wrenched away with Bellatrix’s spell, casting him back towards the stairwell and the Sword flew into her hand. “Get out!” Exuding a whip from the tip of her wand, Bellatrix attacked the other Snatchers, beating them until they scrambled away. Her eyes came to narrow on Amara. “Cissy, put the boys and the mudblood in the cellar.” Ron, Harry, and Hermione were pulled away by Narcissa and then pulled down the stairs by Pettigrew. Their screams and protests fell on deaf ears.

Amara’s face had not changed, even when she had a very good idea of what was coming. “I want to have a little conversation with this one.” Bellatrix wasted no time with theatrics now. She made her way to Amara very quickly, pausing only when the necklace Amara wore gleamed in the light. Amara inhaled sharply, and her focus slipped. Her magic could no longer maintain the disguise. Even if it did, it would have been meaningless. The necklace held her father’s ring; the crest of the Grimaldi family was all too recognizable.

When Harry and Ron were tossed to the dungeon floor, they heard Bellatrix’s cackle. It was joyful once again. She had found another motivation for torturing Amara, not that she needed convincing. Amara’s blonde hair reverted to its natural state, and Bellatrix took a handful, using it to throw the girl to the ground. Despite her pain, Amara clenched her jaw shut, refusing to scream or speak. She would not give this murderer any form of satisfaction. “I had hoped to kill you the same day I killed your father, but I suppose that can be taken care of now.” In her taunting, Bellatrix did not see that Narcissa and Lucius had to restrain Draco. Attacking his aunt would only bring more pain to Amara, and a part of Draco knew that. How could he be expected to watch the girl he loved -he had stopped denying it long ago- be torn apart?

“How brave. Your father was brave too. But bravery doesn’t save anyone, now does it?” Something in Amara snapped. Perhaps it was foolish, she knew it would only invite more torture for her. She stood and grabbed Bellatrix’s wand arm, twisting it behind her back. “Don’t say another word about my father.” In their surprise at Amara’s actions, Draco was nearly able to wrench out of his parents’ arms. They caught him again before he could help her. Bellatrix freed her arm from Amara’s grip and backhanded her with enough force to send her flying to the ground once more.

Amara did not show her pain; her will was no match for the Cruciatus curse, however. Bellatrix’s bloodlust and anger fueled the spell. Amara’s body convulsed as the spell seared through her brain, and she could no longer hold back the screams of agony. It took all of Narcissa and Lucius’s strength to keep Draco restrained, and Amara’s screams were echoed by Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the cellars. “Not so brave now, Grimaldi?” The spell intensified for a moment before it relented.

Amara gasped, trying to prepare herself for more pain. The cries of her friends grew louder, and it took every ounce of control Draco had to not harm his parents and rush over to Amara. Bellatrix tucked her wand away and grabbed her dagger, harshly flipping Amara over and laying over her. “That sword is meant to be in my vault at Gringotts. How did you get it? What else did you and your friends take from my vault?!” Her voice started out as a whisper and crescendoed to a scream.

Draco felt unbelievably useless. In all the years Draco had known Amara, he had never heard her sound so broken. “I didn’t take anything. Please… we found it.” He could not stand this. Narcissa looked at her son once he slumped in her arms, sharing a look with her husband as well. Watching Amara writhe in agony was torture for them too. “I don’t believe you.” As silently as he could, Draco took the wands of the quartet and slunk off to the dungeons. His face contorted with pain as Amara’s screams echoed throughout the foyer and down the stairs to the dungeons. It only took seconds to stun Pettigrew and Draco faltered when he saw Dobby. “Dobby?” Luna and Ollivander were gone, to Draco’s relief. The cries were unbearable for all those who loved Amara. It didn’t seem possible, but they got even louder.

Draco had tears in his eyes, as did Hermione. Harry did not fail to notice them. The five worked on a plan to get them back upstairs and safely away with Amara. Draco had to sneak back upstairs first, leaving the wands with their rightful owners. Dobby Apparated them up to the top of the stairs. Amara lay on the floor. Her blood pooled out of her forearm; the words ‘blood traitor’ were etched into her skin. Bellatrix kicked her once more in anger and questioned Griphook about who could have possibly entered her vault.

Silent tears streamed from Amara’s eyes. The tears could have been from the assault she had endured, but she didn’t think so. Her heart thudded painfully when she saw Draco’s eyes, broken and helpless as he looked at her. “Liar!” The dagger that had torn through the skin on Amara’s forearm had grazed Griphook’s cheek. Bellatrix was not going to get any substantial answers from him because they had never broken into her vault. “Consider yourself lucky, goblin. The same won’t be said for this one.”

Amara did not have the energy to defend herself. Not anymore. Bellatrix was slightly disappointed. Having her victims struggle and scream was part of the fun. Just then, Amara’s friends ran from the shadows and attacked. Draco was bound by his love for his family as much as he was for his love for Amara. He pretended to fight against Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Should he concede too easily, his aunt would see and would kill Amara so much faster.

As soon as they came into sight, Bellatrix pulled Amara up to her feet. “Stop!” Hermione, Harry, and Ron faltered when they saw Amara. Draco bit down on his tongue so hard he drew blood. “Drop your wands” The dagger pressed against Amara’s throat. One slice and she would be gone. “I said drop them!” They had no choice but to obey. “Draco, pick them up, now!” Draco picked them up without hesitation, knowing well that he would return them as soon as he could.

“Well well well… look what we have here! It’s Harry Potter! He’s all bright and shiny and new… just in time for the Dark Lord!” Amara whimpered softly, and Draco had to look away. This was worse than any of his nightmares. “Call him.” Amara’s life was at the mercy of his deranged aunt, and he did not have the strength to watch. Her screams and his sheer helplessness would be etched into him forever, just like the cruel words would be on her. “Call him!”

Before Lucius could begin calling Lord Voldemort, the silence in the foyer was met with a squeaking sound. Bellatrix looked up to see Dobby on top of the chandelier, not realizing what he was doing until it was released. In her haste, Bellatrix shoved Amara away from her as she dove backward. Hermione caught her and in the chaos, Harry tugged the wands away from Draco who didn’t put up much of a fight.

“You stupid elf! You could’ve killed me!” Griphook had joined their little group and Hermione held Amara upright. It was taking all of Amara’s strength to stand. “Dobby never meant to kill. Dobby only meant to maim or seriously injure.” Narcissa swirled her wand around as if to cast a spell, though her movement made it only too easy for Dobby to disarm her.

“How dare you take a witch’s wand? How dare you defy your masters?!” Bellatrix’s screaming did not affect Dobby. The only one terrified was Amara. Her voice would haunt Amara’s dreams just as Amara��s suffering would haunt Draco. “Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!” They all reached for Dobby and he began to Disapparate just Bellatrix threw the dagger towards the group. Draco’s blood ran cold when he saw the dagger disappear along with them.

~~~

Dobby’s death had shaken all of them to the core. The four spent as much time together as they could, planning and recuperating. Amara spent much time mulling over the riddle Dumbledore left her. There wasn’t much else for her to do. She and Harry would remain hidden with Griphook when they broke into Gringotts. It was certain that Bellatrix was terrified of something else being taken from her vault… they just don’t know what it was.

Hermione stood at the doorway of the guest room where Amara was, her hand hesitating above the doorknob. She was not going to have her impersonate the woman that killed her father and tortured her, Hermione would do it instead. “Harry! Ron! Hermione!” Amara’s voice rang through the cottage. Her friends burst through the door without wasting another moment. “What happened?”

Amara was busy scribbling away on some spare parchment. Dumbledore’s riddle finally made sense. “I figured out what the riddle means!” Amara laid the riddle and her incomplete notes side by side. “For one destroyed, false security was the answer. He first tried with a memory.” Amara shook her head incredulously, not understanding why it took her so long to figure this out. “The riddle gives us clues to his Horcruxes.” She had to be careful not to say the name.

“A memory… his diary?” Hermione caught on quickly, relieved. “Then, he relied on his grandfather. Marvolo Gaunt’s ring.” Harry gingerly lifted the book up and Ron noted the next line. “He craved excellence, wisdom, and victory.” This gave them all pause. Amara took a moment to think not of Lord Voldemort, but of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the child with the dark life and past. Hogwarts had been his home. “Hogwarts. Excellence, wisdom, and victory… the traits of the Hogwarts houses. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor!”

The four huddled on the bed for another hour, trying to determine what each line meant. “Ron destroyed Slytherin’s locket! But victory… victory could also be a trait of the Hufflepuff house…” Amara was running her mind over what object of the Ravenclaw family could Voldemort have defiled. She was coming up with nothing. “If we know it’s an object of victory, perhaps we’re looking for a trophy… a cup of some kind.”

By the end of their brainstorming, they had concluded that four Horcruxes remained. One would be linked to Ravenclaw, the other to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. One was a companion of his… though they were unsure about who this could be. Voldemort had an army of followers; any one of which could be holding a Horcrux for him.

The last two lines bothered Amara. She believed she understood what they meant. ‘When he tried to escape his downfall, he left himself there.’ Voldemort had gone to kill Harry… A Horcrux was not going to be found in Harry’s old home, he would have already found it when they went to Godric’s Hollow. But what if Harry himself was a Horcrux. Amara didn’t want to entertain the possibility, but her rationality did not allow her to dismiss it. Harry had known for a long time that he may not live through this War; Amara could not be the one to confirm her friend’s death.

~~~

Before they knew it, the quartet was back at Hogwarts. Seeing Neville and all of their friends brought everyone a renewed sense of relief. Quickly, the came up with a plan to find the remaining Horcruxes. Harry explained that the Horcrux they needed to find had something to do with Ravenclaw. The suggestion of the lost diadem was echoed by Luna and Amara was about to leave when students were being summoned to the Great Hall.

They wouldn’t get away with ignoring the summon. If they tried, it would have brought about much torture. “I have a better idea.” Harry quickly changed into Hogwarts robes as Nigel made a Potterwatch broadcast announcing that the four were at Hogwarts. Amara, Hermione, and Ron were alerting the members of the Order.

The march to the Great Hall felt like a march of prisoners rather than students. Amara swallowed a whimper of pain as she watched. Where was the Hogwarts that was her home? Was it lost forever?

“Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you at this hour. It has come to my attention that earlier this evening, Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade.” A murmur rose from the student body. Harry was beginning to twitch with anger. “Now. Should anyone, student or staff, attempt to aid Mr. Potter, they will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgression. Furthermore…

“Any person found to have knowledge of these events and fails to come forward will be treated as equally guilty.” Snape left the head of the Hall and made his way down the center aisle, his eyes searching. “Now then, if anyone here has any knowledge of Mr. Potter’s movements this evening… I invite them to step forward…. Now.” His feet stopped. His eyes glanced directly at the old members of Dumbledore’s Army.

Harry could not stand it any longer. He stepped out from the group of Ravenclaw students as the student body gasped in shock. Snape’s eyes narrowed like those of a snake. “It seems, despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you have a bit of a security problem Headmaster.” The grand golden doors of the Great Hall opened, revealing Amara, Ron, Hermione, and numerous Order members. “I’m afraid it’s quite extensive.”

Harry blinked for one moment, imagining Dumbledore at the Head of the Great Hall, where he had seen him daily for many years. “How dare you stand where he stood? Tell them how it happened that night! Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man who TRUSTED YOU, and killed him! Tell them.” Snape brandished his wand, aiming to attack Harry; before he could, Professor McGonagall stood in front of him.

Amara, Ron, Hermione, and the others took a step forward. A few of the members of Dumbledore’s Army stepped away from the crowd of students. Professor McGonagall threw every spell she could at Snape. In his cowardice, Snape Apparated away. A cheer rang out through the Great Hall, and light returned to the flaming lanterns. Before the joy could last very long, however, a cold, shrill voice impregnated everyone’s mind.

“Harry Potter…” Harry’s eyes glazed over as he stumbled backward onto the stone steps. Two students began screaming, and before anyone could help them, the voice continued. “I know that many of you would want to fight. Some of you may even think that to fight is wise… but this is a folly. Give me Harry Potter. Do this, and none shall be harmed.” Harry’s face was blank. The words were a lie. They all knew it.

“Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched.” The voice of evil rang clearly, compelling obedience from those it tormented. “Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.”

~~~

Before the hour was up, Order members worked to protect the castle. Ron and Hermione went down to the Chamber of Secrets to retrieve another Basilisk fang while Amara and Harry split up in search of the Ravenclaw Horcrux.

Harry was starting in the Ravenclaw common room. If he brought this idea up to Amara first, she would have pointed out what a fruitless endeavor it would be. Instead, Amara found herself in the restricted section of the library. Perhaps there was some clue here.

Pacing through the bookshelves, Amara looked over the titles as swiftly as she could. One the side of one shelf, she found the crest of the Ravenclaw house. She stopped in front of it. Amara had been here numerous times and had never seen it before.

Suddenly, Dumbledore’s words rang through Amara’s mind. “Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” Biting her lip anxiously, Amara brushed her fingers against the wings of the eagle on the crest. “I wish to see what you hold.” The silence in the library was deafening. She waited with bated breath until the crest began to turn, slowly embedding itself into the wood. Above her head, a compartment opened.

Within it was a diary… the last diary of Rowena Ravenclaw. Amara took the book, gingerly opening it while trying to find anything she could on the diadem. Her fingers stopped on the last page. A drawing of the diadem greeted her; below it were the words “to be bestowed upon my daughter, Helena, after my death.” Her eyes widened. The Grey Lady. Taking the diary with her, Amara ran to Ravenclaw tower as fast as she could.

The hour was up; Death Eaters had begun attacking the protective dome around the school. It was only a matter of time before they would infiltrate the castle. Just as Amara rounded the corner, she ran straight into Harry. “Harry! You need to speak to the Grey Lady! She’ll know the location of the Diadem.” Harry caught her by the shoulders, stabilizing them both. “I already did. It’s in the Room of Requirement.” Her eyes widened with confusion and recognition both.

The battle raged on above them. Hermione and Ron, miles below the ground, had destroyed the cup. For a moment, they just looked at each other. The water trickled around them. Their arms came around each other in a loving embrace; their lips met for the first time. Both knew they might die tonight. It didn’t matter. Hermione and Ron had denied their love long enough. Ron took her hand, vowing to not let it go.

Amara and Harry rushed up many flights of stairs. Ginny began running towards him. “Ginny! I-” She cut Harry off with a sweet kiss. “I know.” Amara’s steps had faltered for a second but she continued, letting Harry have a moment with Ginny amidst the horrors around them. She swallowed softly, blinking away tears. It was quite possible she would not get to tell Draco she loved him ever again.

Within minutes, Harry and Amara began searching the Room of Requirement. They split up to cover more ground, and Harry was the first to realize they weren’t alone. Draco, Goyle, and Zabini were ten paces away from him, all three of them pointing their wands at him. “You have something of mine. I’d like it back.” Draco had willingly let Harry snatch the wands from his hands that night, a fact they both knew. “What’s wrong with the one you have?” This conversation was more for the sake of Goyle and Zabini. “It’s my mother’s. It’s powerful… but it doesn’t quite understand me.”

Amara found herself deep into the room when she spotted it. Pixies were hiding within the piles of forgotten items and a few flew out when she tried to grab it. She made it back to Harry just as he asked Draco another question. “Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix. You knew it was me.” Amara stepped into Draco’s sight just then, and Goyle urged him to stun Harry. Draco did nothing but slightly lower his wand. Harry was reminded of the night in the Astronomy Tower just a year ago. Draco had lowered his wand in the memory of Amara once again.

Draco looked to Amara. The air was thinning around both of them. Suddenly the few steps between them were like a chasm of miles they had to cross to get to each other. Harry just observed the silent moment, noting Draco’s eyes and reactions. He really did love her. He had no choice. He was bound by his family. Without warning, Goyle shot “Stupefy!” at Hermione while Ron disarmed Zabini. Someone -Amara couldn’t see who- cast Avada Kadavra. In her haste to deflect it, the diadem slipped from her fingers; it flew to the top of a heap of junk as the spell ricocheted off of it.

Ron ran after Goyle and Zabini. Draco and Amara were both frozen for just one more moment before Harry called for her help. She was the first to tear her eyes away. Draco watched her climb the precarious pile before he, too, ran off. Harry grabbed the diadem and tossed it down to Amara who let it fall into Hermione’s waiting hands. Just then, Ron’s screams and a strange light began to fill the grand room. “GOYLE SET THE BLOODY PLACE ON FIRE.” He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her along with him, running for the door.

This was no ordinary fire; this was Fiendfyre, a dangerous form of dark magic. Harry took Amara’s hand and pulled her along, but the fire had a mind of its own. It found them wherever they ran. Before it could corner them, Harry was able to cast a wall from Aguamenti to protect them. Ron stumbled to the ground and fell against four broomsticks. Before they could make their escape, Harry glanced back to see Draco and Zabini clutching onto a chest for dear life as the fire roared below them. “Harry!”

Amara’s eyes followed Harry’s and she immediately turned around. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS SHE DOING?” Ron screamed after Amara, but she heard nothing. “We can’t leave them!” Harry tried to reason with Ron, quickly following after Amara. “He’s joking, right?” Amara reached them first and tried to grab Draco’s hand without losing her momentum. His fingers grazed her palm before they came down to clutch the drawer once more. “If we die for them, Amara, I’m gonna kill you!” Harry’s hand grabbed Draco’s and Ron grabbed Zabini. Hermione and Amara led them out as the room began to crumble around them. The six hit the ground hard and Amara stabbed the Diadem, kicking it into the Room of Requirement and letting the fire engulf it.

Amara fell backward as the dark soul within it escaped, encroaching on hers. Draco made it to her before her head hit the ground. The pain in her eyes reminded Draco of the night just a month ago, when he listened to the girl he loved scream as she was tortured. He couldn’t do anything to help her then, but she was with him now. “Amara…” A soft sob escaped Amara’s lips as a tear rolled down Draco’s cheek. They were two sides of the same Galleon; they always had been. Draco kissed her deeply, almost furiously, as if he were trying to make sure she was real and alive. Amara clung to his blazer, her ashen fingers clutching the fabric and holding him close. He pulled away abruptly as his arm began to sting.

Walking away from her was the hardest thing Draco had ever done. He let his fingers brush against her cheek just once before he ran off. Hermione and Harry knew of their love for a long time now, and Ron had chosen to ignore it. He couldn’t any longer. When Amara straightened up, she saw Harry’s eyes glazed over as he fell into another vision.

~~~

The castle was silent and desolate. They had lost so many loved ones. Harry was nowhere to be found. Amara, Ron, and Hermione sat on the crumbling stone stairs. Harry was descending them, his eyes blank. “Harry!” Ron was the first to see him. His voice mellowed when he saw Harry’s expression. “We thought you’d gone to the forest.”

“I’m going there now.” His voice was determined yet lifeless at the same time. Amara and Hermione knew he had figured it out. “Are you mad?” Ron stood in disbelief, staring at the girls who said nothing. “No. You can’t give yourself up to him.” Silent tears began streaming down Amara’s cheeks and she reached for Hermione’s hand. She, too, nodded. Her lashes were decorated with teardrops that threatened to spill over any moment. “There’s a reason I can hear them. The Horcruxes.”

Amara’s breath caught in her chest and suffocated her as if it was being squeezed by a boa constrictor. “I think I’ve known for a while… and I think Hermione and Amara have too.” Hermione’s tears were no longer silent. “I’ll go with you.” Amara ran forward and threw her arms around Harry. He hugged her tight… his best friend… his sister. “No… kill the snake. Kill the snake and then it’s just him.” Hermione moved to hug him too; Harry and Ron looked at each other with broken eyes. Harry had to be the one to pull away. He couldn’t glance back as he walked towards his death. He couldn’t.

Harry walked the empty grounds, looking at the corridor where Fred and George showed him the Marauder's Map. Behind him was the fountain where he launched himself into the sky on his Firebolt for the first time. The Forbidden Forest was where he served his first detention. The Snitch weighed heavily in his pocket. He took it out and read the words once more: I open at the close.

“I’m ready to die.” His breath shook as he pressed the cool gold to his lips. From within it rose a black diamond stone. The Resurrection Stone. Harry took it in his hand and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he saw his mother standing before him. Next to her was his father. Remus and Sirius stood to his right, and Ambrosi stood to his left. Lily held her hand out to Harry, but he could not touch it. “You’ve been so brave, sweetheart.”

“Why are you here?” He swallowed softly, turning to look at them all. A soft, loving smile was on his mother’s lips. “We never left.” Surrounded by his loved ones, Harry’s fears began to resurface. “D-does it hurt? Dying.” Sirius absorbed the face of his godson and tried to reassure him as gently as possible. “Quicker than falling asleep.” His eyes fell on Ambrosi standing next to his father. “Ambrosi…. It was hard to remember them… your words. But I had to. I did.” Ambrosi nodded warmly, his eyes gleaming with the wisdom Harry found sanctuary in. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted any of you to die for me. And Remus, your son-” Tears brewed in Harry’s eyes now. They’d been held back for who knew how long.

“Others will tell him what his mother and father died for. One day, he’ll understand.” Swallowing his emotions away, he looked upon their faces -their mirages- one last time. “You’ll stay with me?” James was the one to respond, “Until the end.”

“And he won’t see you?” Ambrosi denied this, and Sirius pointed to his heart. “We’re here, you see.” A few minutes ago, Harry had said he was ready to die. Now, he was. “Stay close to me.”

“Always.”

~~~

As the early hours of the morning came upon them, Voldemort brought his army back to Hogwarts. At the sight of them, people came out from the Great Hall. Neville led the way, the Sorting Hat clutched in his hand.

“Who is that? Who’s that Hagrid’s carrying?” Tears spilled from Hagrid’s eyes. Nagini slithered at Voldemort’s side maliciously. “Neville, who is it?” Hermione and Ron stood silently, knowing what had happened but not ready to believe it yet. “Harry Potter is dead!” Amara’s eyes closed in pain as Ginny’s pained screams of anguish echoed around the broken stone. Draco held Amara’s hand. His face, too, was crumpled in hopelessness.

“Silence! Stupid girl. Harry Potter is dead. From this day forth, you put your faith in me.” Voldemort was victorious. It was time for his regime to begin. “Harry Potter is dead!” Behind him, the Death Eaters cackled. All but Narcissa and Lucius, whose eyes were on Draco and Amara across the courtyard. “And now is the time to declare yourself.”

Voldemort’s glee was met with silence. “Come forward and join us… or die.” No one moved. “Draco!” Lucius urged Draco to come, and he didn’t move. His grip on Amara’s hand tightened, and he looked into her defeated hazel eyes. “Draco… Come.” His mother’s voice was one he couldn’t deny. Amara gave him the briefest of nods, but she understood. His hand slipped away from hers once more. Something in Amara hardened painfully. She had loved Draco for years and would love him forever. Yet, he would always be the one that got away.

Draco’s feet felt like lead as he soldiered across the courtyard. Voldemort appraised him, wrapping his arms around him awkwardly. “Well done, Draco. Well done.” Draco went to join his mother, who pulled close to her. Her face was as emotionless as could be, but her eyes spoke volumes. If she could, she would protect Amara too. But she knew the chances of that were very slim.

Neville limped forward too. Ginny and Arthur Weasley looked at him in shock. “Well, I must say I’d hoped for better.” Voldemort’s followers chuckled again. From behind them, Hermione’s face was etched with pain and the tear stains seemed to never dry. “And who might you be, young man?”

Despite everything, Neville’s voice was strong as he said his name, once again earning laughter, some of it especially loud at his last name. “Well, Neville, I’m sure we can find a place for you in our ranks.” “I’d like to say something.” Neville all but cut Voldemort off. This manner of foolish bravery amused him. “Well, Neville, I’m sure we’d all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.”

“It doesn’t matter that Harry’s gone.” If Amara didn’t know any better, she’d have sworn Harry’s arm had moved. “Stand down, Neville.” “People die every day! Friends… family… Yeah, we lost Harry tonight. But he’s still with us! In here!” Neville pointed to his heart and Voldemort’s grin grew wider and wider as he listened. “And so is Fred, and Ambrosi… Remus… Tonks… All of them. They didn’t die in vain. But you will!”

Voldemort’s smile turned into laughter. Surely there was nothing else left. “Because you’re wrong!” Amara made her way up to Neville, standing next to him in solidarity. “Tom Marvolo Riddle…” Amara’s voice was quiet, but everyone could hear it. “How many of your followers know of your true identity? How many know that your blood is dirty, by your own definition? Do they know that you are the son of a witch and a muggle… one proclaiming himself a Lord?” Voldemort’s jubilation vanished. No one had the audacity to speak to him in this way. Ever. “Harry’s heart did beat for us! For all of us!” Neville brandished the Sword from the Sorting Hat. “No matter how many followers you gather, they will never respect you the way we respect Harry.” Before Voldemort could attack them, Harry fell out of Hagrid’s arms, attacking Nagini.

A renewed sense of hope spread across the crowd, a renewed will to fight. They would win. Harry ran, avoiding Voldemort’s attacks. Neville and Amara’s words hit them deeply. Death Eaters began Apparating away. From the corner of her eye, Amara saw Narcissa and Lucius running from the castle. It was then she gave up hope of seeing him again.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Amara regrouped in front of the gates. “I’ll lure him into the castle. We have to kill the snake.” Neville ran forward, the Sword of Gryffindor in the air. Before he could attack, Voldemort cast him back and Apparated away with Nagini. Spells were flying everywhere, and at times it was difficult to differentiate who to protect and who to attack.

Minutes later, when Neville’s eyes opened, he was disoriented as well. Green, red, and white bursts of magic were all around him. His eyes fell on the Sword a few feet behind it. He took it up quickly, rushing to find the snake. Nagini was being distracted by Hermione as Ron attempted to stab her with a Basilisk fang. Before he could, she turned to him, hissing and snapping at him.

Voldemort and Harry collapsed in the courtyard. This was it. Their wands met, just like they had three years ago. Hermione and Ron were running from Nagini. Amara attempted to cast spells to deter her but it was no use. She could not watch her friends die. Before Nagini got any closer, however, Neville sliced her in two. She exploded into a dark cloud.

There was just him. Harry felt Voldemort falter as a piece of his soul disintegrated. He cast against him with fervor, and Voldemort could not hold it back for long. He, too, disintegrated, crumbling into dust and ash like any other in the yard. It was over.

~~~

Harry walked through the Great Hall with a serene smile on his face. They had lost many, but they would not lose any more to darkness. Aberforth chatted with Dean and Seamus. Professor Slughorn believed it was his time to retire and was telling this to Professor Sprout. Harry walked to Hagrid, who gave him a loving hug with a chuckle of peace.

Amara was helping Madame Pomfrey administer healing potions when she saw Harry. Setting the potion down, Amara came to join him; Hermione and Ron did as well. The four walked out onto the bridge. The destruction wasn’t wearing down on them. The sun and the promise of a new beginning were both coming to fruition.

Harry stared down into the chasm below, the Elder Wand in his hand. “Why didn’t it work for him? The Elder Wand.” Amara sat on the ledge of the bridge, her feet dangling down over the edge. “It answered to someone else. When he killed Snape, he thought the wand would become his. But the thing is, the wand never belonged to Snape.” Harry’s eyes looked down at Amara, pausing before he continued explaining.

“It was Draco who disarmed Dumbledore that night in the Astronomy Tower. From that moment on, the wand answered to him. Until… the other night, when Malfoy let me disarm him at Malfoy Manor.” Amara laid back onto the bridge, closing her eyes and letting the sun sink into her skin. “So that means…”

“It’s Harry’s.” Harry came to lay next to Amara. “What do we do with it?” Ron seemed giddy with excitement. “We?” Hermione was flabbergasted at the insinuation. “Just saying… that’s the most powerful wand in the world. With that… we’d be invincible.” Harry stared at the wand for a moment, watching the sleek wood shine in the moonlight. Then, he snapped it in two, sat up, and handed half of it to Amara.

Amara twirled it over in her fingers for a moment. The wand once belonged to Draco. She had given up hope of being with him, but she had this small piece of him. They shared a look, and then, at the same time, Harry and Amara threw the pieces of the wand away below the bridge. Ron and Hermione stared at the pieces flying through the air in surprise. They came to sit next to Harry and Amara. Amara’s arm came around Hermione’s shoulders; Harry grinned at Ron.

It was a real smile. There they sat, hand and hand, just as they had years ago. None of the four friends were afraid. The bright depths spread out below them like the future ahead.

Our heroes have triumphed and can lead peaceful, calmer lives from now on.

Thank you to everyone who is reading my story. It truly means so, so much to me to share this with you. The Fall semester of my university has begun, but I am already working on the third and final part of this mini series!

Don’t hesitate to reach out to me, please! I’d love your feedback/comments/reactions/constructive criticisms :)

Lots of love, JustAThoughtfulAngel <3

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brazenbells · 6 years ago

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stretched on your grave

Happy birthday to my dearest @imindhowwelayinjune!

I wasn’t sure what to do this year for your annual dose of brotherfuckers, but then I stole an idea from @hylianthvs (SORRY I TAGGED THE WRONG PERSON WHEN I POSTED, OMG I’M SO SORRY IT WAS 4 AM MY BRAIN WASN’T WORKING) and decided to make some OCs in the Kingdom of Rust sandbox.

These OCs....may seem somewhat familiar.

(Also, please enjoy the titular song, which is eerie and terrific, as a sort of unofficial soundtrack)

Warnings for implied incest and implied dubcon/noncon. Everything’s offscreen though.

His half-brother was a complete bastard.

Oh, not in the literal sense, that was Taidgh himself—but in the common usage, yes. Indisputably.

Nothing stuck to him. His hands were, somehow, always clean—not the glamoured sort of clean either—and yet he advanced. In the cutthroat, smile-at-your-front-and-knife-at-your-back court, where ‘friends’ was a polite word for people low on your hit list, people genuinely liked him. What was that about? And it was a mystery how he found himself in their company to begin with. How did he get his title, how did he keep it? He could have killed their father at the height of his power, but instead he waited till the man was laid low, unable to conceal the pain anymore. A mercy killing. Who fucking did that?

Who did that and didn’t immediately get overtaken by a stronger adversary?

Fucking Gale, that’s who. He always came out ahead.

Taidgh had a little extra salt about that mercy killing, anyway. It was his kill to make. He’d struck the penultimate blow, the wound that wouldn’t put their father in the grave directly but finally made him weak enough to show pain. It had cost him dearly; he’d had to lay low for a month waiting to die or get stronger, and when he’d finally pulled himself together, his fucking brother had already put the man out of his fucking misery.

He wound through the dark garden, careful of the thorns (there were always thorns, in the gardens of Faerie). Gale would be here somewhere, and now Taidhg was ready for him.

In the distance, music welled up right at the edge of Taidgh’s hearing. Mysterious, directionless snatches of music weren’t unusual in Faerie, of course, but this wasn’t the usual haunting melody of not-quite-definable instruments. This was a soft, soaring baritone, with a distinct location; as Taidgh wove nearer through the hungry brambles, it resolved into a dark Irish ballad, because of course it did.

We’re not Irish, you pretentious fucker. Taidgh could overlook the hypocrisy inherent in thinking that, given what he called himself—because spelling it Tig and hearing people pronounce it with a short i was not to be borne.

“My apple tree, my brightness, it's time we were together…”

At least the singing made him easy to find. And, likely, masked any slight sound made by Taidgh’s approach.

“For I smell of the earth, and am worn by the weather…” Gale did smell of the earth, that was true enough. Not the damp graveyard soil of the song, though: dry, sunbaked earth, and nothing else. That made him stand out too, in the court, where everyone was masking something. It should have been suspicious. It was suspicious, to Taidgh, even if no one else seemed to catch it.

It didn’t matter. He’d killed their father, however pitifully, and now Taidgh would kill him; it was the way of things, the cycle proceeding as intended. The title would pass, justice would be done, and he would have all the power that was his due. It wasn’t the first time a usurpation had been short-lived.

Gale’s voice threaded through the hedges like a ribbon in a maze; Taidgh had only to reel it in, following its brightness through the moonless night.

There was a brazier burning in the clearing where the voice led to at last. Gale was facing away when Taidgh came upon him, the fire at his back; he wore a loose shirt of some gossamer nonsense that did nothing to obscure the fine musculature of his shoulders or the warm brown of his skin. The flame gilded his curls, tumbling loose to a little below his collar. He was sculpted very finely, even Taidgh had to admit; why had he never noticed it before? Maybe he should—he wanted—

He could swear he didn’t make a sound when he stepped into the clearing, but Gale broke off singing and turned, his face lighting in a smile that was far too genuine for someone in his position. “Tiger.”

Taidgh mentally shook himself—what nonsense had he been thinking? They were half-brothers, which was bad enough, and enemies, which was worse. You didn’t fuck with people you sought to eliminate; it was a good way to put all your vulnerabilities on display. Admiring (he didn’t even let himself think the word desiring) Gale would be positively unacceptable.

Not that he did—it had only been a strange passing thought. Maybe he wasn’t quite as recovered as he’d believed. Never mind, though. He was still hale enough to put a knife in his brother.

“Lord Nightingale.” He gave him the title, to keep his guard down.

“You heard the news, then.” Gale’s smile dimmed.

“I came to congratulate you,” Taidgh offered, and Gale’s expression shuttered completely. Pathetic. Soft hearts have no place in court.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said, and turned again, taking a few steps away from the glow of the brazier, staring moodily off into the darkness. It was inconceivable that he had survived this long. Who would turn their back on Taidgh in such circumstances, alone in a dark garden?

Taidgh took a silent step forward.

“I let him suffer as long as I could,” Gale said, and Taidgh stopped, confused. It was a strange sentence to hear in Gale’s voice; like his namesake, it was a sweet voice, cutting through the darkness with no darkness of its own. “I know it wasn’t enough, but you know I couldn’t leave him that way for anyone to see. I promise, I made it as terrible as I could.”

Taidgh didn’t know how to answer that. He also didn’t know why his arms were prickling, the hairs standing up; if anyone could startle him with brutality, it certainly wouldn’t be his brother.

Gale glanced briefly over his shoulder. “I’m sorry you weren’t here for it. I couldn’t find you, so I assumed you’d come to me when you were ready. We have a lot of work to do, you know.” He turned back to gaze into the night again. “Our name isn’t what it once was, and he let too many greedy hands take from what should have been our holdings. That will take time to build back up.”

Taidgh shouldn’t have lingered, but he couldn’t help the itch of surprise and curiosity. “We?”

“I need a lieutenant, of course. Name your terms. I assure you I can meet them.”

Maybe Gale wasn’t quite as much of a fool as he seemed. That might have neutralized a weaker challenger, forced teaming and the offer of reward without the risk of an open fight. It didn’t matter; there were no terms Taidgh would take.

“You want me at your side?” He let the slightest bit of reprimand slide into his tone; do you know you’re clutching the asp to your breast?

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Gale was impervious to the warning.

Taidgh didn’t have to be fair, but no one could claim he hadn’t been, even so. A flick of his wrist put his knife in his hand; he crossed the clearing to join his brother, opening the arm as if to embrace him.

Gale did not turn when he drew nearer. He seemed to have forgotten Taidgh was there at all; his voice raised again in song, a golden thread against the night.

“Do you remember the night we were lost? In the shade of the blackthorn and the touch of the frost…”

Taidgh hesitated.

Maybe—maybe this was a mistake. Was it really so unappealing, being Gale’s lieutenant? Especially when he could name the terms—assuming that was true. He could demand the manor. He could demand the right to come and go between Faerie and the mortal world as he pleased—he certainly hadn’t had that under their father’s command. He could demand all the resources at their disposal, for whatever pet project he might want to tackle.

He could demand—

“The priest and the friars they approach me in dread, for I love you still, oh, my life, and you're dead…”

Taidgh lowered the knife. He had come around halfway now, could see his brother in profile; even silhouetted in shadow, Gale was striking, the shape of his lips as he sang stirring something that shouldn’t be stirred.

“I still would be your shelter, through rain and through storm. And with you in your cold grave I cannot sleep warm…”

He could demand anything.

Yes, there were terms he would accept. He opened his mouth to say so; he tossed his knife away, somewhere in the hedges, who-cared-where. Gale was watching him now, still singing, still singing; then he realized he didn’t need to demand anything, because what more did Taidgh really desire than to please his brother?

The curve of Gale’s smile said that he understood; of course he did, because he was clever as well as fair. Taidgh came the rest of the way around, standing before him now.

“I am stretched on your grave and I’ll lie here forever. If your hands were in mine, I'd be sure they would not sever…”

Gale lay a hand on his shoulder, pushing him gently down to his knees. Taidgh went, with gladness; seeking to please, he leaned forward to nuzzle his face against the front of Gale’s trousers. Gale laughed softly and caught him by the braids, tugging him back. “Time enough for that later. I told you, we have a lot of work to do, first.”

“Command me,” Taidgh begged, and couldn’t make sense of the part of him that recoiled to hear the words. Why shouldn’t he say them? He was Lord Nightingale’s lieutenant.

What greater joy could there be?

But he had not pleased Gale either, it seemed; he sighed, looking almost regretful, and passed a hand over Taidgh’s braids like a benediction. “I did offer you the choice,” he said at last, shaking his head.

Maybe that was why he was unhappy. He had told Taidgh to name his terms, and Taidgh had not named any. He could do that, though, easily. “You. I want you.”

“I know,” Gale said, with exasperated fondness. “Maybe someday you will in truth. Or maybe,” he cupped Taidgh’s cheek, “you will go to your grave first.”

Taidgh would dig it himself, should it please his lord.

“For now, get up.” Gale put out his hands and Taidgh took them, letting himself be pulled to his feet; Gale took a half-step backwards just as Taidgh came to his feet, setting him off balance so that he had to catch himself against Gale’s chest. They lingered like that a moment, faces close, Gale’s gaze fixed on Taidgh’s mouth; but by the time Taidgh realized he should offer himself up again, Gale set him right and stepped back. “Later,” he said again, more to himself than to Taidgh.

He left Taidgh’s knife where it had fallen; made a short gesture to quench the brazier, and put them in darkness.

They didn’t need light, though. Gale knew the path blind, and went along it singing; Taidgh followed behind, leashed by the golden thread of the Nightingale’s song.

#my fic #incest tw #tiger prince #or at least #KoR/Tiger Prince crossover AU fic #the darkest timeline i guess #don't tell me it's pronounced 'teague'#the internet says 't-eye-g' is a valid pronunciation and i'm fucking relying on that #taidgh as in tiger prince okay #just go with it

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ghostlybearmilkshake · 6 years ago

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Qeltober week 2: Wisterias

So here is week two of Qeltober. Again the french version is here. This time I used canon characters and an OC so: Áed and Lasair are the canon characters of @Linkedsoul. Enjoy!

The night had fallen upon Qelt and only two light sources pierced its black veil. In the sky, the moonrays rained upon a clearing. On the ground, a figure advanced shining an orange liht. In its arm, a young unconscious girl was shining back though weaker. The light seemed to come from the man’s heart. It spread through his hands to the girl’s heart and then through her body. The girl’s leg however stayed as dark as the night. When she flinched, the young man’s light grew to soothe her pain. Áed hurried. He would have prefered to come by day, when he was stronger. He would had prefered to come by day when they were more reasonnable. Tuth be told he would have prefered not to come at all, but Lasair was running out of time. At his feet, flowers of all species grew. His pace was resolute, his gaze fixed on his goal, all his senses on alert. At the center of the clearing stood a curled up figure the base fo which was coverd in wisterias. He stopped in front of the figure and glowed a little brighter. The figure straightened up, revealing a human-like head. Their grey skinned face was spangled with blue along their forehead and nose. Their deep yellow eye were adorned with bright green irises. The rest of their body was covered by their long silk-like purple hair. The figure was the size of a tree a towered over Áed but he gazed at them with fire in his eyes.

“Well, Well,” a voiced whispered in his ear. “what a surprise to see you here.”

They spoke to him in the language of Fæs and the voice, not feminin nor masculine did not match the movements of their lips.

“I have work for you.” Áed answered in the same language. He then raised Lasair who was still in his arms. They did not answer for a while then the flowers at his feet were russled by a non existant wind. Áed’s annoyance grew again: they were making fun of him.

" who would have thought that one day Áed, Fæ of flames would come ask me to save a human."

Áed barely rmained calm and anger consumed him like like it seldom did. He had always hated them but this night more than any other night he would have liked to engulf their garden into flammes.

but since you decicded to askf or my help, you can say that it is favor a work.

– No. It’s w work. If you manage to save her I will reward you buy not burning your gardent to ashes" he hissed.

The Fæ stayed silent for a while and Áed enjoyed for an instant the fear he gave to ottheres

“alright then. Do it.” Áed’s eyes grew wide and if he didn’t knew he wa talked too in a maic he would have thought he misheard.

“ I once survived a blizzard. Let us see if I can survive a fire. But know one thing: this young girl wont.”

Áed was steaming. the truth was that he was not sure to be able to pose a real threat to the fae. There was no doubt he could have before but today when his powers were restrained he did not think he could burn the garden. Despite the appearences, Phærmos, Fæ of poisons and remedies was not bound to a færy circle. Once upon a time, the Færy Queen birthed them from a wisteria which had survived one of the harshest winter know by Qelt and ever since Phærmos had planted their roots so deep it had cross the frontier between worlds and drew magic directly from Fæqelt. THe Fæ had grown this garden and had not left it since. The færy queen had stolen his powers and freedom away from Áed, Phærmos had decided to never leave this place. Áed hated them for that.

He wanted to believe he could do without their help, that he could save Lasair alone but he knew that what plagued her would end up killing her if he left her like that. Áed was a destroyer, not a healer. TO destroyed what plagued her he would have had to destroy the witche’s legs with it and he refused to. He refused ot to see Laisair run across the forest, stomp with eagerness from the idea of going on new adventures, bounce with excitation when she discovered something new. Áed was the Flames. Heat had never bothered him, even the hottest flames. Still the very idea of admitting to Phærmos he needed a favor seemed to be burning his throat. But it was nothing compared to the cold he felt at the idea of hurting Lasair.

“Phærmos” he croaked, “I beg you to save my witche’s life.”

Phærmos seemed to think for a moment.

“put her down” he said eventually.

Áed layed her on the ground but kept her hand in his to keep on fuling her wih magic. Two arms came out from Phaærmos’ hair. He joined his long fingered hands together as a recipient. a whispered filled the clearing. Two new arms came out holding a flower each which they put with the previous ones. Then they made new flowers bloom from the palm of his hands and added them to the other. FInally he picked a wisteria flower at his feet and added thm to th prevvious ones. They made a large deep leaf appear and placed it under his hands. He then pressed the flowers so that the liquid would fall from his finger into the myth

“make her drink” Phæmos commanded.

Áed delicately raised Lasair’s head and made her drink. as soon as she had swallowed the last drop she started screaming and convulse.

“LASAIR !” Áed yelled.

The girl’s legs swolled and you could see orange strikes under the black life sparks under coal. Furious, Áed unleashed his power to get revenge on Phærmos. A Whirpool of flames rose aroudn him and Lasair but the flowers of the garden seemed untouched.

“Enough!” Phærmos yelled.

“you will pay for having lied to me! Áed roared”

“I am only saving her you fool”

For a moment,Áed’s flames flickered with hesitation.

“You only use your flames to destroy without leaving anything behind. It is normal that you do not undestand what is happening. The only finality of life is death but from death a new life can emerge. Like the body must suffer to fight an illness, This witch must suffer to vainquish what plagues her. The choice is her to succomb of bloom anew.”

On the flour, Lasair’s screams kept growing louder and her legs more and more swollen. With a lost stare, Áed called back his flames and took back the witch’s hand. The light emanating from his body grew even brighter as he gave more and more magic to Lasair. After long minutes of screaming and convulsing, the witch shouted one last time as her legs burst into a collumn of flames which blinded even Áed. When he oppened his eyes, Lasair was laying on a pile of ashes. He looked at her legs. They looked normal again. She had stopped screaming and her breathing became calmed down. Around her, flowers were already growing back

#qeltober #week 2: wisterias #stories of qelt #aed #lasair #my writing

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jacobmybeloved · 7 years ago

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Little Lamb - Ch.1 {Farcry 5 fanfic/prequel/OC Deputy}

Before you begin reading please refer to this post:

It gives a brief description of the story and possible triggers.

The target was in her sights. Nayeli took a deep breath as she drew back on the string of her bow, her eyes gazing down the shaft of the arrow. It was midday, and the Montana sun was beating down heavily on her. A dip into the river sounded like a great plan once she took care of the “rodent” problem. Some turkey vultures had set up shop on the roof of her mother’s hunting supply shop, swooping in on would be customers if they got too close. Nayeli figured she was doing her mother a favor.

She released the nook and bowstring, allowing the arrow to soar to its rightful destination. The vultures caught wind of the impending danger, but one was not able to make it off the roof as quickly as their comrades. The arrow pierced easily through its body, slumping down the slope of the roof to the ground. “Yes!” Nayeli cheered. That should scare the others away for now until they could come up with a permanent solution to keep them away.

Archery was her favorite pastime, though her mother wished she had chosen something more “practical”. Nayeli turned her head as she heard tires rolling across the gravel towards the shop. A woman jumped out of the truck immediately, eyes wide, her mouth already running at a hundred miles an hour, hands gesturing in the air. “Nayeli Lamb, what you think you’re doing!” Even screaming, Nayeli thought her mother to be one of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen. Her Salish characteristics stood out amongst the rest of the residents in Hope County: her raven black hair was in a single braid today, whooshing left to right as she marched towards her daughter, her tawny skin complimented by the glow of the sun, brown eyes the color of milk chocolate. While Nayeli shared many of her mother’s physical characteristics, her eyes were hazel and her hair was more reflective of her father’s genes. Though still dark, in the sun, hints of brown showing through. Her skin was also a tad lighter, once again, attributed to having a Caucasian father. It was part of the reason they decided to move away from their original reservation: children could be cruel, and at times violent, especially against the young Nayeli who they lovingly nicknamed “moon-walker” – poking fun as her parentage. Once her mother was within arms reach, she yanked the bow from her hands, exasperated. “How many times have I told you not to use this without my supervision.”

Nayeli’s kept her head up as she stared at her mother head on, “I know, but I thought I would surprise you-you know?” she smiled sheepishly, gesturing to the dead vulture laying at the foot of the shop. Her mother sighed, rubbing her eyes with her index and thumb respectively. “Nayeli…I’m not worried about the vultures. I am worried about what someone would have done if they saw a child without their parent wielding THIS.” Her mother tossed the bow to the ground. “Your father is making this custody battle hard enough. I asked you to look after the shop for one hour. We cannot afford to lose it, Nayeli..” She could see her mother doing her best to remain calm, but she could see her eyes begin to squint, holding back the feeling of tears. “I cannot afford to lose my only child.”

The divorce had been finalized over a year ago. Things weren’t going well for her parents for a long time, but they stayed together for her sake. After the death of her brother, it seemed like the last straw. Nayeli’s father had been adamant about getting her to move out to California with him after the divorce. Better schools, more opportunities, financial security. Sounded like a bore, to be honest. She enjoyed running the hunting supply store with her mother, though it did mean she often missed school. Her mother worked graveyard as a waitress, but this store was their main source of income. The guilt of adding more stress to her mother’s load was beginning to sink in. “I’m sorry mom. It won’t happen again.” Nayeli removed the quiver from her back, handing it to her mother. Her mother sighed and set the quiver down, bringing Nayeli into an embrace.

“It’s okay. Just…please be more mindful of what you’re doing.” Her mother ran her hands through her hair as she placed a kiss on Nayeli’s forehead. As her mother pulled away, Nayeli could see another vehicle pulling up to the storefront. The word SHERIFF was embedded into the side of the vehicle, which would have normally struck some sort of discomfort into others, but Nayeli could not help but smile. An older man stepped out from the vehicle: he had a bit of a gut, and he hid his receding hairline with his sheriff’s hat, but Sheriff Whitehorse had a kind face, and this was just a routine stop for him. He removed his hat as he approached, Nayeli’s mother turning to him with a smile. Everyone in the county knew Whitehorse had the most severe case of puppy love when it came to Nayeli’s mother from the moment they met so many years prior. He would often stop by the shop under the guise of the interest in buying a new handgun, but Nayeli knew he stopped by mostly just to see her mother. “Sokanon. Nayeli. How are my two favorite ladies doing?” Whitehorse gazed curiously at the bow and quiver laying on the ground and then to the corpse of the turkey vulture some yards away. “We’re well Earl. Just..having some mother-daughter bonding.”

“If you want to call it that.” Nayeli snickered. Sokanon glared, but in a playful way at her daughter. “Go inside the house and wash up. I’ll close up the shop and we can order some pizza for dinner.” Nayeli smiled, “Extra cheese?” Her mother laughed and held her close to her before letting go. “Extra cheese. Just for you.” Nayeli gleamed. Even in their worst moments, Nayeli and her mother usually made up within minutes. Before going into the house, Nayeli turned to the Sherriff. “Would you like to join, Sherriff?” Whitehorse was always kind to her family, even if her father was not very receptive to him. He probably could see the feelings he had for his wife radiating off his aura after all. If they ever had issues with anything, Whitehorse was usually the first to offer his full-fledged support. If he and her mother ever got together, Nayeli would not object, though she was not sure if the feelings were reciprocated anywhere close on her mother’s part.

Sokanon gave Nayeli a raised brow at the request before turning to the Sherriff. “I don’t mind. There’s always room at our table for you, Earl.” The Sheriff’s face, though already red just from sun exposure on the job, turned an even deeper shade. He cleared his throat before speaking. “I would be honored but I don’t want to intrude.”Sokanon walked towards the Sherriff, placing a hand on his shoulder. Nayeli could see his grip on his hat grow tighter. “It would be our honor to have you for dinner Sherriff, I insist.”Nayeli wasn’t sure if she should walk away at this point because number one, seeing men pining after your mother was always awkward in the first place, but now she was beginning to think that there may be mutual feelings. Not that she would mind if they did end up started dating. Her mother deserved to have something nice. Someone nice.

Whitehorse glanced at Nayeli as if looking for some sort of approval or gesture of what to say. Nayeli raised both thumbs, nodding. Earl cleared his throat once more smiling. “My shift is over in forty minutes. I’ll clean up and be right over.” For the most part, Sokanon’s back was turned towards Nayeli as she spoke to Whitehorse, but she could see her smile from where she stood. It was the most genuine smile she had seen in a long while.

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

Nayeli and her mother resided in the residential suite above the shop. It was a tight fit but Nayeli did not mind. Despite the living room having more room obviously to sit upstairs, her mother and the Sherriff took residence downstairs in the shop in the seating area designated or husbands or wives who were dragged along to look at weaponry. She could hear her mother’s laughter through the floorboards. Dinner had been over for over two hours now, but Sokanon and the Sheriff retreated downstairs to have some privacy to “chat”. Thank the Lord because if anything more were to happen, Nayeli would like to be exempt from hearing it. Nayeli’s room was simple: wooden paneled walls, pictures of her favorite bands, hunting magazines spread across her floor, mattress on the floor, and a desk with textbooks slowly accumulating dust. Nayeli was sitting cross-legged on her bed, shuffling through her CDs deciding what to play next on her portable cd player. Most of her music variety came from the 40’s to early 50’s. She had some contemporary music, but she found the oldies to be preferable. She continued debating on what to listen to when she heard a light tap at her window.

At first, she thought she was just hearing things but it was followed by another tap. Nayeli groaned as she dragged herself from her bed. She looked out and saw the figure of a boy standing down below, smiling and waving up at her. Nayeli smiled when she realized just who it was. She slid the window up and stuck her head out. “Staci Pratt, what are you doing here?” She did her best to keep her voice down. Despite her mother seemingly having the best of times downstairs, she did not want to risk the chance of her hearing her and Pratt talking. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d just say hi.” Pratt grinned. “You’re a terrible liar, Pratt.” Nayeli giggled. “You’re right. So are you going to let me up or what.” Nayeli took one of the pebbles that landed on the edge of the roofing and threw it down back at him, nearly missing him. “Are you nuts, my mom will kill me if she knew you were here.”

“Even better. The higher the risk, the better the reward,” he teased. Nayeli groaned. “You are the most ridiculous boy I’ve ever met. Don’t you have finals to prep for or something?”

Nayeli was only a few months older than Pratt, but because she missed so much school to begin with helping her mother run the shop, she had been held a couple times. He would be graduating within the next two months while she would barely be finishing her junior year. Guess getting her GED was always an option.

“You are…not wrong,” he beamed. “I wanted to ask actually…some of the guys are throwing a bonfire after graduation at the end of the semester to celebrate. Would you be interested in going? I mean, with me?” Nayeli rested her arms on the window seal, enjoying every moment of Pratt becoming flustered. Pratt was one of the few boys her age she actually found attractive, not that there was a large variety here in Holland Valley. He was a decent student, but at the same time had a bad boy vibe, but he seemed like he’d be too much of a huge flirt for anything serious. He was though probably the closest person she had to a best friend.

“Depends. Who’s all going?”

“Well, us obviously. Mary May possibly. Some of the oldies: Nick Rye, his girlfriend Kim. You know, most of the graduating class should be there. Boshaw said he would bring the fireworks and alcohol. We’re shooting for just outside of the reservation, so the cops don’t catch on and shut it down. Everyone knows the reservation’s security is lackluster anyway.”

Nayeli stood up, “Hold on, rewind. Boshaw? That Sharky guy? Isn’t he a bit old to hang out with a bunch of high school graduates? Plus, hasn’t he been arrested like a million times for arson?”

Pratt laughed and shook off her concern. “I mean, it was all in good fun. Sharky is a cool guy, you just gotta get past his weird humor.” Nayeli was all for a fun time, but this was sounding a bit risky especially adding fire, alcohol, and teenagers into the mix. “I don’t know Pratt…my mom has been on my ass lately, especially with…with everything going on between her and my dad.” Pratt looked disappointed, but he knew better than to push the matter further. “It’s cool. Maybe you and I can hang out another time. Maybe your mom’s place for a milkshake? After graduation? Start off the summer on a good note.”

Nayeli smiled, and that seemed to trigger one for Pratt as well. “Yeah, I like that plan.” Pratt nodded and looked around sheepishly. “Well, you have a good night Nayeli.”

“You too Pratt,” she spoke as she slid her window back down. She sat back on her bed, sort of staring off into space. Maybe, just maybe, if she was out front about it and asked, her mother would let her attend the bonfire. She knew she would have to leave out some minor details, such as possible underage drinking taking place, and resident arson Sharky Boshaw being present. There was no harm in asking though, and she had the end of the month to work up the courage. For now, she did not want to work up her mother any more than she was already though that did not seem to be a problem at the present moment. Nayeli could still hear her mother’s laughter from downstairs. The sound brought a smile to her own face as she laid her head down to sleep.

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

*Month and a half till the Bonfire*

“Nayeli. Nayeli!”

Nayeli groaned as she raised her head from her pillow. The blurry figure of her mother stood over her as she tried to focus her vision on the alarm clock beside her mattress. The ominous red numbers read 3:08am. On what planet was this an acceptable time to be awake on a Saturday morning.

“Nayeli, I have to go to the diner. One of the girls called in. Do you think you can open up and keep an eye on the shop until I get home?” Her mother was still in the process of getting ready it looked like. She just finished tying her white apron around her waist and was now securing her flowing hair into a messy bun secured at the top of her head. “Yes mom, I believe I can manage,” she mumbled as she stuffed her face back into her pillow.

“Thank you, sweetie.” Sokanon kissed Nayeli on the back of her head. Nayeli turned her head just in time to hear her mom mumble to herself before shutting the door to Nayeli’s bedroom. “Things will get better. I promise.” Whether it was directed to herself or Nayeli was up for debate.

Nayeli laid in silence for a few moments. Now was not the time for an existential crisis. But her mom’s words were like a gong going off in her head. She knew her mother must have felt some guilt for keeping her from completing high school like a normal teenager, but they were not a normal family. While her father was off in California in his bungalow or whatever, she and her mother were here struggling to stay afloat. It had been easier when her brother was…was still here. Not by much but his mere presence made things seem better. He had worked as a local car mechanic, and the boy could light up the room with his smile. Best mechanic in Hope County people would say. Bright future he had ahead of him. He would have graduated last year. Gone at the hands of a drunk driver. It was no wonder her mother seemed so high strung lately. This was a stressful time, to begin with, and now with her father breathing down their necks with wanting Nayeli to move to California to live with him instead.

Things will get better. I promise.

I know mom, she thought to herself.

Falling back asleep became more of a hassle than it was worth following her reflective episode. Nayeli sat up in bed and looked at her alarm clock. 4:43am. Might as well get this day started. Nayeli spent the next couple hours before opening the store tidying upstairs; one less thing for her mother to worry about when she came home. Not that there was much to clean, to begin with. They did not have much in terms of material items. The most extravagant item Nayeli owned, to be honest, was her portable cd player. Every ounce of the coin they had gone into this shop and keeping it open. It was a worthwhile investment when Sokanon and Nayeli’s father first married. Despite being in the middle of the wild, open country, Hope County did not really have a lot of places to buy hunting supplies. Sokanon would speak to Nayeli of how her people descended from skilled hunters which first inspired her to take up archery. Nayeli’s father cared less about the passing down of tradition and more of making a profit to keep the family afloat. Nayeli did not know all the details, just because she had no real interest but apparently, state-government interference with hunting laws kept people from being able to hunt, which dragged the business down to the current slump they were in. Money became an issue which sparked arguments, arguments sparked into pure disdain for each other, and that disdain was amplified with her brother’s death, thus ending in her parent’s divorce.

Nayeli did not hate her father for leaving. She simply just did not really care for him. Last time they spoke a few months ago, he had already started up a new business and was raking in the money, thus, why he wanted her to live with him instead of Sokanon. Nayeli could never get her mother to admit it but she knew her mother sacrificed a lot for her family: moving away from the reservation in the first place for the sake of Nayeli, the fact that she was subjugated to hate from her own tribe for marrying a “white devil”. All Sokanon had was Nayeli, and if cleaning up the house and keeping the shop operating helped her mother, then goddamn she was going to do it.

Apparently, cleaning had taken longer than expected because the next time she looked at a clock, it was 8:04am. Already four minutes past opening time. Shit. Nayeli did not even have time to fully get dressed. She threw on the basics: bra, tank top, and yoga pants and pulled her long-ass hair into a low-ponytail before sprinting downstairs. She had barely flipped the CLOSED sign to OPEN and unlocked the door when already she spotted a trio of older guys walking up. She recognized them immediately. These were the boys from the reservation who had given her the kind nicknamed “Moon-walker” when she was little. What the fuck are they doing here? She’s had her run-ins with them before, but it’s been a couple years since she last saw them.

Nayeli stepped back from the door as they entered. Mischief was written over their face. The leader of the group grinned as he took her image in. “Well, someone aged well didn’t she.”

Nayeli felt disgusted by his comment before getting straight to the point “What do you guys want.”

“There’s been a rumor going around that the locals are planning a bonfire at the end of the month. Problem is, they’re planning to have it on the edge of the reservation.”

Nayeli could see where this was going. “-and the reservation is dry.” AKA, alcohol was forbidden. “Precisely.” He replied.

Nayeli shook her head. “And? What does this have to do with me?”

“Well, you see moon-walker, we know reservation security is too lazy to actually uphold our values, so we are taking matters into our own hands. We figured you could pass the warning along.” At this point, the other two guys were browsing the variety of knives and guns enclosed away in the glass cases. Nayeli scoffed, “You’re joking. You’re going to shoot up the bonfire because they have alcohol?” The guy wasted no time getting into her face. He had at least a foot over her. “They’re on reservation land. Technically, we’re free to do whatever we want to them. And if they’re going to go into our territory, and disrespect our rules, then we’re going to react accordingly. So, you’re going to sell me something, so that I can act “accordingly.”” He chest bumped her at this point, which she was not expecting so she stumbled back, ending up with her back to one of the other fellows.

“I’m not selling shit to you assholes. Get out of my store. Now.”

“Oh, so it’s your store now. Thought your white-devil loving mother owned it- “

Nayeli wasn’t sure what she was thinking but by the time the palm of her hand slapped the ever-loving hell out of the main guy, she immediately felt some form of stupidity as the two other guys grabbed her by her arms, holding her in place.“You fucking bitch-“the one who just got bitch slapped looked like he was revving up to knock the life out of her when the bell to the front door rang, indicating a customer entering. It was a low, stoic voice. Almost like a growl. “Is there a problem here?” Everyone’s attention turned to the gentleman standing in the doorway. Nayeli’s eyes widened.The man was at least six feet tall, if not taller, built sturdy, reddish hair, dressed in what looked like army fatigues with J.SEED labeled on his right side. What was most noticeable were what looked like scars, or…some kind of rash on his arms and hands.

The two boys with their hands on Nayeli let go and stood beside their designated goon leader. He made a gesture to speak but the stranger raised his hand slightly, making a “nuh uh” gesture. “I suggest that whatever cogs are turning in that head of yours should probably decide that marching your ass out that door right now is going to be the wisest thing you do today.” It took less than actual seconds before the three idiots were out of the store. Nayeli’s hands reached up to the hand imprints left on her arms as she stared at the stranger, who was now casually browsing the store. “Sir…” He must’ve not heard her because he continued to browse. His eyes seemed calculated, focused. “Sir..?” Nayeli didn’t know why but when he turned to her she jumped back slightly. His gaze was intense, his eyes a shade of piercing blue she had never seen before. His face was covered in the same rash and scars that decorated his arms. She swallowed nervously, “I-thank you for your help.” The stranger said nothing but kept his gaze on her. This was incredibly awkward. After what seemed like a whole minute of staring, he spoke.

“Knife.”

“What?”

“How much for the knife.” He pointed to one in particular inside one of the cases.

“Oh. Give me one second.” Nayeli made her way around the counter and opened the case. Lifting the knife, she told him the price. It was just shy of the quadruple digits. A hard sell for sure. She placed it on the counter for the gentlemen to examine. As he reached for it, she could not help but notice his scars more in detail. What sort of hell had this man been through? His hands alone were large enough to snap her in half if he wanted to. His examination of the knife was followed by more awkward silence. What he did next made her gasp: he drew the blade across the palm of his hand, not too hard, but enough that it sliced through it like a knife through warm butter. For some reason, this brought what sounded like a sound of satisfaction from him. “Hmph.”

Nayeli was not sure what to do at this point, nor was she sure how to react when he pulled out two-thick rolls of cash from his pocket and set them on the counter. Nayeli knew that was way too much. “It will take me a moment to get you change sir, I have not opened the safe yet today.” The man glanced at her as he placed the knife into a holster that seemed like it was always meant to hold that knife. Like it was fate. “Keep the change…miss…?” Was he asking her name? She figured she could give him that much considering he saved her from a possible black eye, or worse. And his generous over-payment. “Nayeli. My name is Nayeli Lamb.”

“Nayeli Lamb.” He spoke, pronouncing each syllable individually. “Jacob Seed. My brothers and I are rather new here…any interesting points of interest, little lamb?”

#farcry 5 #farcry 5 fic #joseph seed #john seed #jacob seed #faith seed #oc deputy #nayeli lamb #farcry 5 prequel #little lamb #fan fiction

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archonreviews · 7 years ago

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The Archon’s Review of Sonic Forces

Sonic Forces is a 3D platformer developed by Hardlight and Sonic Team as part of the venerable Sonic the Hedgehog franchise. These are dark times for... wherever the hell the Sonic the Hedgehog characters live. Dr. Eggman has taken over the world, and a new horror, a beast named Infinite, has slain Sonic himself. There is still hope, however. Knuckles the Echidna has formed a resistance movement, and though its gains have been minuscule for now, their fortunes are about to turn. You, the player, are a new recruit for la resistance, known simply as “The Rookie”. And if that nickname doesn’t get on your tits within the first twenty minutes or so, then you must be a machine or something. You will be the catalyst that saves this world from robotic annihilation. Also, dress-up. So much dress-up.

Deviant-artists, rejoice! You can finally make your very own Sonic-OCs-do-not-steal, and even play as them! I would be lying if I said that this singular feature wasn’t what initially drew me to Sonic Forces. Hell, the concept actually got me kinda excited! Of course, if I wanted to play Sonic the Hedgehog: Dress-up Edition, I could Google it and probably have a competently executed flash game appear, so how’s this game actually do?

Well, we’ll begin with a rather sad statement. That is, you only really play about a third of the game as your OC. And that may be a generous estimate. Otherwise, you play as either Sonic, or the old-school Sonic from Sonic Generations. Sometimes you play as both your OC and Sonic; so as to combine your powers to perform a rare and dangerous team dash scripted section thingie.

Speaking of your OC’s interactions with Sonic the Hedgehog, they have some. And this actually ties with one of my fundamental problems with the game’s story; it characterizes your OC for you. Sadly, the character they decided was “Loves Sonic so huggy muggy much.” Honestly, the amount of time your OC spends thinking about, or hanging out with, or taking inspiration from Sonic the Hedgehog grates on me quite a bit. It also prevents your OC from being their own person somewhat, as most of what you see of their personality is filtered through this veneer of hero worship, and I mean, I like Sonic and all, but I don’t think my OC would like him as much as the game makes it out.

^(Pictured: Sonic helping my OC from beyond the Shadow Realm.)^

What, you want to know how each of the playable characters works? Well, it’s fairly simple. If you’ve played Sonic Adventure 2 or Sonic Generations, that’s regular Sonic. If you’ve ever played a 2D Sonic, that’s basically how OG Sonic rolls. The OC is a bit trickier though; superficially, they play like regular Sonic, going fast and platforming. However, the OC has a device called a “Wispon”, which allows them to swing on certain parts of the environment, Saul Spiderman-style. In addition, Wispons come in various elemental flavours, and each one has an attack ability, and a platforming ability that makes certain parts of certain levels super easy. So stages where you play as your OC are half-Sonic, half-swingy-elemental-bollock.

I have one little nitpick concerning difficulty. There are two difficulty modes: normal and hard. But the game locks achievements behind the hard difficulty setting. Except the hard difficulty setting is really not that difficult. Like, Hard is normal and normal is easy? It’s a bit weeiird is all.

So how about that plot? I’ve got to say, it’s actually really, really dark. Like, darker than Shadow the Hedgehog. And the game just sort of takes on this dark plot by accident. As I mentioned earlier, Sonic is killed in the second cutscene or so. Except, he’s not dead, he was merely captured by Eggman... who then tortured him for months on end. The only reason Sonic was kept alive at all was because Eggman wanted him to witness the birth of the Eggman Empire before Eggman ejects Sonic into the vacuum of space! And all of this is relayed to the player with the same tone of voice as one might relay a sad factoid to a friend. And Sonic himself doesn’t seem all that phased by the relentless torture. Like, damn, great fortitude on Sonic’s part, but it would be nice if the tone of the game reflected the seriousness of the plot.

^(Also, there’s a Death Star -- Sorry, Death Egg bit.)^

In fact, the entirety of the game has this very militaristic overtone that I actually found very interesting. The entire world seems to be inhabited by animal-people, all of whom seem to be engaged in a death-struggle with Eggman’s robot army, and (SPOILER WARNING) Eggman’s over-arching plan is essentially genocide. Like, this may very well be the most threatening Eggman’s ever been. If memory serves, the more recent Sonic games usually have Eggman being a secondary villain in front of some big, bad, true ending villain. (SPOILER WARNING CONTINUES) But here, it’s the other way around; Infinite is built up as this big badass, with reality-warping powers extraordinary, but he gets wreked near the end after a mildly frustrating chase-fight. After that, you fight Eggman, who has constructed a truly frightening mechanized horror, and as far as multi-stage mech bosses go, his transition from stage 1 to 2 is actually a bit grotesque. I’ll admit, this may have been because of my low expectations, but I was actually impressed with Eggman in this one. (SPOILERS OVER)

^(Like, I think this is the first time in recent memory that Eggman actually professed to hating Sonic with as much passion as he does here.)^

Another peculiarity, albeit a minor one, is that there are no Chaos Emeralds, or a Super Sonic, both of which are usually series staples. Instead, there’s a “Phantom Ruby”, which turns out to be the source of Infinite’s powers.

^(Plot phlebotinum.)^

But enough of that interesting plot nonsense; you want to play dress-up with your very own Sonic-OhSee-Donut-Steel. You acquire new options for dress-up and new Wispons by completing missions, such as finishing stages or getting a certain number of medals while playing as a particular species. However, the options for customization are a bit... limited. There are only 7 or so species to choose from, and only a few different eye shapes and voices. As for clothes, there’s enough variety to keep you going for one go of the main campaign, but after that, there’s little else to acquire. Also, I feel that they could have condensed certain clothing options into a single article, while allowing the player to choose the color for their clothes, instead of it being pre-set per article.

^(My Original Character, Greg the Dog. He will later replace that fedora with a tri-corn hat.)^

I have one more problem with the gameplay before the ending wrap-up. Basically, the 2D Original Sonic sections work well, being evocative of ancient Sonic the Hedgehog stages; however, every so often, the regular Sonic stages and the OC stages will shift from full 3D to 2D. Unfortunately, they keep the same physics, meaning that most of the time, your character will go too damn fast, especially when they throw goddamn piss-taking, assaholic precision platforming sections at you. They’re not fun, not engaging, and not a test of the player’s skill. These sections are asssssss. Plain and simple. The number of times I fell into a pit while in 2D mode because I couldn’t curtail Sonic’s ridiculous speed is proportional to the number of blood vessels I burst in rage.

^(This part haunts my nightmares. That pod thing there in the center has no hit detection, and constantly shoots spike balls at you.)^

Also, Shadow the Hedgehog is in there somewhere. He’s not a problem; I just figured I should mention that he has a little 3-part prologue thingie. There’s no reward for beating it, it’s just kinda fun I guess.

Is Sonic Forces fun? Would I recommend it? Well, ask yourself this: Would you play as your Sonic OchSea Doughnewt Stale if you had the chance? If yes, then I would totally recommend Sonic Forces. Otherwise... I mean, it’s not bad, per se, The plot’s a pretty big deviation, which I found interesting. But the mechanics are... okay. I’m not going to keep playing because I already beat it. The adventure of Greg the Dog is over. It’s fun while it lasts, but afterwards, I wouldn’t think about it too much.

Hey, this part is a later addition because I messed up and forgot to include one more point. That is: the music in this game is the most buttastic butt rock I’ve ever heard. I have a soft spot for butt rock; I Am... All of Me by Crush 40 is one of my favorite songs, and the cover of Live and Learn by FamilyJules and Jonathan Young is one of my favorite works of theirs. But this music... Arrrgh, is it ever trite. Like, Think of a middle schooler trying to write music for Crush 40 and having it sung by another middle schooler, and you’ve basically got the music for this game. Is bad.

^(Best shot of Infinite I could get.)^

#archon reviews #review #video game #sonic the hedgehog #sonic forces #platformer

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junker-town · 5 years ago

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What happens if Tom Brady and the Patriots really split up?

Tom Brady is in his 20th season with the Patriots.

This time, there are actual reasons to believe Brady might be ready to move on from New England after the season.

The end was always coming for Tom Brady and the New England Patriots. Each year, the speculation about the eventual breakup continues. We all take turns talking about how this might be Brady’s final season in New England, but then Brady, or someone associated with his camp, will explain how Brady will play until he’s 50. Come the new league year, he’s still on the roster. Rise and repeat.

As this season winds down and the Patriots roll to likely another AFC East title and a possible ninth straight AFC Championship Game, it would seem like the annual postseason discussion about a pending Brady-Patriots split is useless. However, Tom E. Curran, a journalist who rarely dabbles in #HOTTAKES, wrote a piece for NBC Sports Boston about the Patriots and Brady breaking up. It was not an article based on conversations with people in the “know,” but his opinion based on his long time covering this team and its quarterback.

Unlike previous years, there are actual reasons why Brady would leave the Patriots.

Reason No. 1 Brady would leave the Patriots: Money

Brady will be a free agent this offseason and cannot be franchise-tagged. So if the Patriots and Brady want to go their separate ways, it would be easy. That doesn’t mean feelings won’t get hurt — especially over money, like most of these negotiations do — as that’s typical in these high-profile quarterback splits. Joe Montana and Peyton Manning, in particular, come to mind.

Brady has taken “pay cuts” over the years, and it’s been a happy marriage between the parties. He’s currently 13th in average salary per season for a quarterback, far lower than his performance would indicate. He’s taken pay cuts, or team-friendly deals for two reasons.

The first reason isn’t rooted in fact, but more in common opinion, and one that Brady himself has suggested: His wife, Gisele, earns more than he does, so he doesn’t “need” more money. I’ve never bought this, because we all want more money. Besides having a larger bank account, it’s a pride thing for most players. We want to be tagged the “highest-paid player” at our position.

The second reason Brady has taken less money over the years is the more plausible one. The money the Patriots are saving in not making Brady the highest-paid quarterback is being used to pay for offensive weapons to help Brady as he ages. At least that’s what they are selling him. Except, they aren’t. And this is why I think Brady might think about leaving if he’s asked to take less than he believes is his market value.

Reason No. 2 Brady would leave the Patriots: Lack of weapons

The Patriots hardly have any offensive playmakers. Their offensive line has gotten worse. The money that’s supposed to be spent is not being spent. Draft picks being used on offense aren’t panning out. After losing Rob Gronkowski, Brady’s most reliable weapon, the Patriots did nothing to replace him.

There was a slim free agent market for tight ends in 2019, but Jared Cook was available and signed a modest deal to team with Drew Brees. He’s been successful this season. Tyler Eifert felt like a low-risk, high-reward signing for the Patriots. Nope. Pass. Instead, they went with Ben Watson, who can’t move anymore as he’s gotten older. The Patriots didn’t replace Gronk in the draft either. In short, they did nothing to help Brady.

The Patriots also needed a speedy WR to help them take the top off a defense and command double-teams, which would free up Julian Edelman for one-on-one situations. Remember now, Edelman isn’t a No. 1 wide receiver. He’s a No. 2. Gronk was always the first option.

They attempted to fill that role with Demaryius Thomas, a speedy wide receiver off a major injury. That did not work and they traded him after signing Antonio Brown, which of course didn’t work either. They cut Josh Gordon. They traded for Mohamed Sanu, but he’s better in the slot and has been banged up. They drafted N’Keal Harry in the first round, and even after coming off injured reserve, he’s been mostly a non-contributor for the team.

Not having viable receiving options that Brady trusts is killing this offense. Brady trusts no one outside of Edelman and for good reason. The receivers are either dropping passes or not running the right routes. They cannot get off press coverage, which is allowing teams to pressure Brady more often. It’s not that Brady isn’t seeing the pressures; he just has no one getting open. He still sees it all, and his arm strength is fine. He’s got to be upset at his lack of weapons.

This is why Brady would bolt from New England. The Patriots ask him to take less money, don’t use that money to upgrade the skill position players around him, and his play suffers because of it.

From the Patriots’ perspective, it doesn’t make sense to let Brady go unless they’re ready for a rebuild that might be without Bill Belichick. There’s no heir apparent to Brady, and there doesn’t appear to be a plan to make that happen soon. If Brady leaves, no quarterback in the NFL is coming to New England and winning without playmakers on the roster.

The Patriots letting Brady walk would signal this run is over, and it’s time for a reboot.

If Brady and the Patriots split, where would he play in 2020?

I’m sure Brady’s not retiring, so the question then becomes which team he would sign with as a free agent. We have to look back to Peyton Manning to get some clues. Manning signed with the Denver Broncos because he wanted a stable front office and more importantly, a defense that could complement him.

For Brady, there’s one obvious landing spot and two less obvious.

The less obvious spots are the Carolina Panthers and Tennessee Titans

Panthers team owner David Tepper just fired Ron Rivera and seems ready to do whatever is needed to win. They have the offensive weapons and plenty of talent on defense. What they don’t have is a head coach at the moment, and maybe Patriots OC Josh McDaniels is hired along with Brady coming to the Panthers. But, does he want to play in a division with Drew Brees and Matt Ryan? And are the Panthers a big enough market?

Tennessee should not pay Ryan Tannehill for the long run. A short-term deal? Sure, but a long-term deal? No. The Titans are coached by a former teammate of Brady’s, Mike Vrabel, and they can play defense. They have a run game and a general manager who appears to know how to draft. Brady would be able to stay in the AFC, where he knows all the teams well. Warmer weather and a lukewarm division could be appealing.

The obvious choice in my mind is the Dallas Cowboys

Of course, that’s if the Cowboys would rather have a 43-year-old Brady over a younger Dak Prescott. Hear me out with this one, though: Jerry Jones is getting up there in age. He wants to win NOW.

Hire McDaniels and sign Brady. Let Prescott walk. Brady now has the best offensive line in the league and an elite running back. Sign Amari Cooper to a long-term deal and draft a tight end. Weapons set.

On defense, they’d need to add some secondary parts and they’d be fine. It feels like a perfect match — that is, if Brady can handle playing for Jones, who loves the spotlight. Dallas is the market that can support a Tom Brady and Jones would let him do whatever he’d like in the facility. All of TB12 can be stationed in the facility if he’d like.

It feels bold, but something that can be pulled off.

In the end, it’s hard to know yet if this is really it for Brady and the Patriots. Maybe we all got suckered for another offseason. But it’s sure starting to feel like the breakup is coming, sooner rather than later.

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ethantherenegade · 7 years ago

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Holy Shit, I Wrote A Thing

So, this little drabble is for @catastrotaffy, for an art exchange. Taffy’s OC Brian “Bloodmouth” Sinclar meets my OC James Caldwell Jr. in Nuka World.

TW: References to blood and gratuitous violence.

November 2277

High noon. Caldwell sat in a booth in the Fizzletop Grille, looking out towards his domain as the door to his lair slowly creaked open. A young man, about his age, poked his head through the door.

“You wanted to see me, Overboss?”

“I asked Gage to send me someone competent. If that’s not you, you can leave now.” Caldwell didn’t bother turning around as he sat with a plate of food before him, “But… if you are up to the task, then by all means, have a seat.”

The young man shuffled into the room, puffing out his chest as he strode to where the bald man sat. As he took the seat in the booth opposite him, the Overboss finally took notice of who graced his presence. He was skinny and short with a puffy blue coat, a wool-knit cap, brown messy hair, and lastly he was missing a tooth.

“What do they call you, boy?”

“Bloodmouth.” The little man answered, a little nervous in the presence of his boss.

“Perhaps I should’ve made my question clearer,” Caldwell sighed, pulling out a Disciple-made knife and carving into his grilled Nuka-Lurk, “What is your name, boy?”

To his credit, the man didn’t show much fear when he answered, “Brian.”

“Hmm.” Caldwell took a bite of his food. He always hated Mirelurk, but unfortunately, there were not many options for variety. “You have an accent. Where are you from?”

“Brooklyn. Bada-bing, bada-boom.” Brian responded, chuckling a little at the use of the stereotype. However, the laugh died off as he noticed the stone cold look of his Overboss.

“I see.” Caldwell deadpanned. “Down to business. Rumor has reached me that someone has been sheltering survivors of Caesar’s Legion. Gage has led me to understand that you are not overtly affiliated with any particular raider group. As such, I entrust you with this task. Find the last of Caesar’s Legion and those harboring them, kill them, and bring back their heads.”

“Is that all?” Brian asked, sighing with relief, “I thought you were gonna send me to clear out Kiddie Kingdom alone or something.”

“That may be a possible punishment if you fail.” Caldwell smirked, “Or perhaps I may skip the foreplay and simply strap you into a chair with a feral, see how long it takes for it to crack the back of your skull open.”

With the threat of being eaten by a ghoul, Brian’s face paled a little, “Y-you got it.”

“There will be great rewards for success, and terrible discipline for failure.” Caldwell leaned across the table, “The question is… are you ready to kill, or ready to die?”

“Well, I finally get a chance to use this again.”

With a thud, the contents of the table shook and jumped as the scrawny man dropped an absolutely enormous weapon on the table.

“…Where the fuck were you keeping that? And how the fuck do you carry that thing around?” Caldwell asked, staring at the Gauss rifle on the table between the raiders. Brian merely shrugged. “Whatever, just get to work.”

Two hours later, Caldwell lounged on a couch. Music played through his Pip-Boy as he smoked a hand-rolled cigarette with some herbs that Mr. Brownstone had been growing. Feeling relaxed and loose, the Overboss quietly sang along to the song.

“When I was just a baby, my father told me, ‘Son, always be a good boy, don’t ever play with guns.’ But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die… When I hear that whistle blowing-“

The sound of several wet thuds on the coffee table next to him drew the warlord’s attention. Before him stood Brian, who’d placed the heads of two raiders on the table, and was reaching into a bag to pull out the heads of a member of Caesar’s Legion and a member of Nuka World’s indentured work force.

“Job’s done.” Brian smiled, the fact that he was missing a tooth clearly displayed.

“Already?” Caldwell couldn’t hide his surprise, “What the fu- how?”

“Well, it turns out people are fucking scared of being eaten.” Brian shrugged, “Take a bite out of one, and the rest fall in line.”

“Jesus.” Caldwell said flatly. “I’ll have to keep your crazy ass in mind when I have another problem. Now, about your reward- first could you put those away?”

Wordlessly, Brian shoved the four decapitated heads into the bag. Caldwell shut off the music on his Pip-Boy and walked over to a box he’d prepared.

“Now, Gage helped me prepare this… gift basket of sorts on the chance of your success. It appears I’ll have to add to it, but take a look inside first.”

Brian scrambled over to pry open the box. Inside was a collection of treats, boxes upon boxes of the assorted sweets Nuka World had to offer. Cotton candy bites, funnel cakes, a few bottles of Nuka Cola. And of course, a bag of caps.

“What’s this?” Brian asked, pulling an item out of the crate.

“Gage told me of your… interest in our DJ.” Caldwell said, pretending not to notice how Brian flushed ever so slightly at the mention of RedEye, “And I found a Pre-War singer that is remarkably similar. His name was Andrew W.K. and this is his first album.”

“I Get Wet.” Brian read the title as he looked at the record’s album art, featuring a man with blood pouring from his nose and down his face.

“And lastly,” Caldwell said, pulling an oak-wood baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, “This is Negan. I used him to beat the ever-loving shit out of Cato Hostilius for betraying me. And now, he’s your’s.”

Suddenly, Caldwell felt something grab hold of him. After mistaking it for an illusion brought on by Brownstone’s weed, Caldwell looked down to see that Brian was hugging him. After a moment, the smaller man let go and shuffled away embarrassedly.

“…I’m going to assume that was an impulse reaction and forget it ever happened.”

“Yes please.”

Caldwell passed the barbed bat over to the young raider. “Enjoy your reward. Use Negan well.”

“I will, don’t you fuckin’ worry about that.”

#Fallout #Brian In Boston #Writing #catastrotaffy

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kpopisagif-t · 8 years ago

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Elevator- Jonghyun POV x OC Fic

A/N Truth be told, I’ve had this fic kinda just shoved in a corner with a bunch of my other stories. I actually really like this one but I was being lazy and not posting it. I also felt it was a bit too dark to put it up, but now I figure, why the hell not. If you guys like really sad stories (or so I think) then you should read this. WARNING: It’s HELLA long. It wasn’t supposed to be a fic in the first place but don’t kill me guyz.

Inspiration for this fic was from Jonghyun’s song Elevator. I have a playlist for you guys to listen to while you read this. It’s a compilation of beautiful Jonghyun Ballads/Songs :) Hope you like:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzqG6sj9xMTuo4tWqFq-7bVyqY1_c91b5

A pair of slender arms snaked around the man’s built waist.

In his black muscle tank, and his dark washed jeans. With his tattooed arms and faded blonde hair. Displaying piercing eyes and a brooding look. The man could only be described by others as sinful.

And sinful he was. From his thoughts, to his looks, to his desires, to his fears… they were all sinful. He could only described himself as a fallen angel; someone shattered so deeply that the fragments could only be rearranged to make him seem like a devil. Once a perfection, once a ray of light… so flawless that the world couldn’t accept him, sentencing him, not to die as a devil upon earth, but to live as an angel in hell.

The name of the man itself could not be uttered. As the whole world would then hear his pain and agony, yet be able to do nothing to numb the torture this man suffered from. The people of this world simply played him, over and over. He was meant to draw the attention of others, to make them lust for him, only to have them flee from him in the end.

Such was the life of Kim Jonghyun. A prisoner in his own life, left to suffer the same loss, each and every day. Spend every breathing moment, repenting for sins that he’d never committed. Watching every single person, hoping eternally, to find someone to free him from this curse. Left to keep begging, to some ethereal being above, to send him someone different for once.

And so when the arms wrapped around him and brought him closer to a warm body, he felt nothing. He turned, like he always had, to face the woman who’d approached him. They all looked the same to him now. The same wild hair and smirking lips. They all tilted their head the same way as their eyes asked for permission to claim him. They would send a whisper his way, promising Jonghyun that they were different, when in reality, nothing in his world ever was.

Still, an indescribable force always compelled him to repeat his actions, despite his thoughts warning him against putting himself through another night of torment. Every time, he would simply return a small smile of his own and allow a stranger’s lips to attack his.

Every bone in his body would work against his rationality that fought to stop himself before he let the lust control him. No matter how solid he made his resolve though, Jonghyun found himself giving in to it all, knowing full and well that this was all just a way of chipping away at what little humanity he had left within him. A slow, excruciating, punishment that he had no choice but to bitterly accept.

“My name’s Luna,” the girl whispered, in attempt to be seductive. “What’s yours?” she asked, arching her back to allow her catch for the night, who was now kissing down her neck, better access.

As always, Jonghyun mumbled an incomprehensive phrase, unwilling to reveal his true name and muttering something along the lines of “Jjong,”; a comment that would never reach the other’s ears… This was fine by Jonghyun, for names held power. So much so, that this very power could piece him back together… or tear him further apart.

“Let’s go,” Luna smiled mischievously, separating Jonghyun’s lips from her collarbone. She laced her fingers through his hands, hopping off the dusty bar top. Luna brushed the dust off her skirt and straightened it. She beamed with a slightly childish grin that she knew men found quite endearing. Boldly, Luna grabbed the hand of the devilishly attractive man.

Jonghyun sighed internally and allowed himself to follow the beautiful girl out the door. He watched the way her hips swayed to the lulling silence of the night. Or the genuine, innocent way Luna’s smile brightened even the bleakest of moments. The most extraordinary thing was evidently the voice of angel which Luna possessed. A sing-song melody in every word she spoke, no doubt her most powerful way of enticing hopeless men like Jonghyun himself.

He couldn’t deny the glow of the girl. Though they all looked the same after infinite endless nights, his mind was convinced that there was a different sort of sparkle in Luna’s eyes. His thoughts attempted to persuade him into believing that there was a swirling galaxy of secrets hidden in Luna’s eyes.

This, he figured, was also something that happened every night though he could recollect no memory of ever finding one of the previous girls this captivating. Yet the dull throb in his heart told him that no matter how hard he sought to find something different, each night would only leave him colder than the last.

Still, he guided her to his home. The same path he took home every night, the same road he took to let himself be ruined once more. They stopped on the way, for a few more breathless kisses as Luna laughed. It sounded more refreshing than any spring breeze to Jonghyun. The way her eyes crinkled up as she lived in the moment and how she tightened her grip on Jonghyun’s hand almost as if she was assuring him that she wasn’t one to leave. The reality was probably far from all that though. Luna was a mystical siren and Jonghyun was just another one of her pitiful victims.

They reached an apartment no different from all the other ones that dotted the city with their flickering lights. They entered a dimly-lit lobby that hummed its own somber tune as air gushed through the vents. Luna and Jonghyun were in no hurry as they waited for the elevator, and each, for their own reason, wanted to stretch the moment.

Luna sought to make this night a memorable one, unlike the others she’d been with. Luna found her high in making sure the night would be unforgettable for both of them. The instant she’d spotted the secretive man, she knew he’d be promising in leaving a memory behind. And in the back of her mind, she secretly wished for her time with this man to last longer than a one-night stand.

Jonghyun, however, sought to prolong the inevitable end to this night. Hold off, just a while longer, under the pretense of somehow fighting his fate. He wanted to deny the feelings and need that welled inside of him despite having never met this girl before. He wanted to act as if he was in control of his meaningless life. He wanted to finally be able to make someone stay…

The ring of the elevator in a soft corner of both their minds brought them back to reality. Luna stepped in first and Jonghyun followed. Jonghyun saw the look in Luna’s eyes as the doors shut behind them. The wild eyes that clouded with lust as they took in every inch of Jjong’s impossibly perfect body.

Luna attacked Jonghyun’s lips, no longer innocent nor tender, giving the latter barely enough time to press the button to his floor. The instant his hand drew back, he held onto Luna’s hips as if it was his lifeline and as if it tied him to a heavenly fantasy instead of this miserable, hellish realm of reality. Jonghyun pushed the delicate girl’s body against the glossy wall of the elevator that seemed to defy time as it moved up ever so slowly.

Silky legs entwined themselves around Jonghyun’s waist as Luna deepened their heated kiss and begged for more. The serene melody of a piano that filled the elevator was of stark contrast to the impatient movements of Jjong and Luna. The less-than-timid girl allowed her fingers to roam the arms of the evasive man, tracing the tattoos she could see and then being rewarded with a shudder that ran through his body in response to her delicate tormenting.

Finally, the doors slid open, revealing a magnificent view that unravelled before Luna’s eyes. She was stunned, to say the very least, as she took in the entire penthouse that no doubt belonged to her mystery man. The skyline of a city embellished with glowing gems of light took what was left of Luna’s breath away.

As Jonghyun carefully stepped out of the elevator, neither of them made any move to pull themselves apart from the other. Luna remained entangled, clinging onto the sturdy arms of the man, peppering his face with butterfly kisses as she was carried gently to the bedroom of the lavish penthouse.

Jjong was just as, if not more, stunned as Luna but for his own reasons. For the first time since he’d been sentenced to nights of pleasure suspended in pain, the girl he brought back home hadn’t stopped to marvel at the sight of his grand yet lonely prison.

Instead, as he settled Luna onto the mattress, he saw her smile back at him, almost wistfully. He gently brushed back the hair from her eyes, but was caught off-guard as Luna yanked him down into an almost punishing kiss.

Luna gazed into his eyes, not with sympathy, but rather with empathy. “Talk to me… tell me honestly… Please don’t hide… don’t hide please…” she repeated the words, trying to coax the well- hidden secrets out of this undoubtedly broken man.

Jonghyun, however, was immune to the effect of these words. Or so he wanted to be. He knew well enough to not be affected by those words. The same words they’d all told him, over and over. All the false promises they’d made to understand him. Somehow, though, Luna’s words were washing over him worse than the others’ words ever had. Usually, his restraint remained strong for longer before all the emotions spilt.

Though it took great effort, he managed to hold it back, and remained silent as he always had. Luna sensed his reluctance and let it go. Instead, she spoke in a comforting voice, “You must be hurting tremendously. Don’t hide the pain. Don’t treat me gently and even if you can’t offer me any words, the least you could do is not hold back.”

Her request was granted as Jjong pinned Luna down onto the silk sheets of the bed. With heavy breaths, Jonghyun leaned down to capture Luna’s lips in a kiss. He could feel her smirk under his lips as her hands fisted at the black tank.

Just as Jonghyun pulled away, a wave of cool air hit his chest and he glanced down to find the fabric of his top in 2 pieces in Luna’s hand. He could tell she was challenging him, daring him to take the bait that he had to every night. A bait he should’ve been able to resist but couldn’t think of a reason to when he needed to. Jonghyun could feel himself lose control of his own thoughts. The same sense of falling through emptiness suffocated him. Fully conscious with no control.

Seeing Luna taunt him and bite her lip drove Jonghyun insane. Without warning, he ripped the buttons off Luna’s billowy top, exposing her bare chest. Jonghyun drew in a breath as he noticed the lack of undergarments. Luna couldn’t help but wear a smug and satisfied expression, knowing that she’d made him become like this. Then she remembered that if any of her suspicions had been correct, she truly had made him lose control in the literal sense. Something Luna herself knew was more than just dangerous.

She felt guilty for pushing him beyond his limits, but there was no other ending to this story she knew. All Luna asked for was a night worth remembering. Whether those memories held would remind her of a moment of ecstasy or a moment of regret was an entirely different story.

Jonghyun’s mouth found Luna’s breasts as he sucked on them, eliciting moans from the girl. His right hand kneaded the other, and though his touch was soft, the movements were rough and aggressive, coming together to form the perfect amount of pleasurable pain for Luna.

Her slender fingers clutched at the sturdy arms and her nails dug into the skin there. Jjong paused, for a brief moment, as he breathed heavily. His vanilla scented breath fanned Luna and she all but melted. Her gaze bore into the man’s eyes and she caught a fleeting emotion pass through him: fearful apprehension.

Dread washed over Jonghyun as he held himself up above the pristine body of Luna. Never had he felt so hesitant to cross the line. Never had he once thought about the girls he had slept with’s feelings because he knew what they craved. For that matter he was almost always resentful towards them for being able to play him over and over.

This time however, a different type of fear clouded his thoughts. No longer did he concern about revealing the darkness in him or the pain that he would suffer. No, this time the only thought that plagued his mind was the apprehension behind exposing Luna to the darkness that was him.

As always though, lust infused him and the need to sate himself with pleasure grew within him. Screwing his eyes shut, he let out a huff of air then reopened his eyes. He caught Luna’s eyes observing his every movement. She moved to wrap her hand around Jonghyun’s neck and he took in the beauty of the woman that laid beneath him.

He gasped as Luna’s fingers ghosted down his torso; a chilling sensation which brought blood rushing to his nether regions. The delicate pads of Luna’s fingertips pressed harshly down on the growing bulge. The other hand reached down to loop around the buckle of his belt and drew him closer with a hard tug. Now pressed against Luna, Jonghyun’s lips frantically sought to connect with Luna’s, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of her mouth.

The friction of their lips was indescribable. Rational thought was abandoned as the 2 moved their bodies in sync with each other. Each kiss reflecting and expressing the pain they suffered and all the perils they’d endured. The long, languid kisses begged time to slow down and allow them a blissful night beneath the dazzling stars that made them covet just a few more moments of ecstasy.

They allowed their senses to take over and took the time to explore each other’s bodies, as if the following day was a lifetime away. Ignorance was bliss, after all.

Jonghyun, unable to bear the pressure that coiled in his stomach any longer, yanked down Luna’s skirt and marveled at her beautiful, sturdy thighs that hooked themselves onto Jonghyun’s pelvis. Luna’s hands flew across the buckle and buttons of his pants, undoing them in a heated frenzy and pulling them down.

Their clothes were discarded in a pile, flung far across the room. The instant Luna’s touch reached Jonghyun’s core, a low, throaty growl interrupted the silence. As much as he ached to end this as soon as possible, he couldn’t help but want to please Luna as much as possible. He wanted to treat her like a princess. Like her name itself, Jonghyun planned on taking her to the moon and back again… Just to make this a night worth remembering.

He moved himself off Luna and closer to the foot of the bed. Jonghyun pressed delicate kisses along the sides of Luna’s thighs, occasionally nipping at the skin. He admired her wide hips as he spread her tense legs apart.

When the pair of lips that had just trailed her entire body touched her folds, Luna wanted to lock her legs and never let the sensation leave. Luna had been with plenty of others, but no one else compared to this. Her eyes rolled back as a muffled “Oh my,” escaped between gasps.

The feeling only intensified when a tongue slipped inside of her. Luna’s hands desperately clutched the sheets, grasping at the perfection of the feeling.

Jonghyun’s own needs called, and he reluctantly moved his lips away from Luna’s addicting core. The latter whimpered at the loss of contact only to feel Jjong’s length pressed against her at once. Luna rocked her hips, desperate to have him fill the void in her, prompting him to enter her.

No longer able to remain deliberate and delicate with his movements, Jonghyun thrust into her and allowed Luna’s nails to rake his back. Every whimper, moan, and shudder hit Jonghyun like a cold breeze, heightening his senses.

Unable to handle the immense amount of pleasure that shook her body as tension built up inside of her, Luna clung on as if her life was on the line. As much as she’d loved the sweet, sensitive kisses, what she craved was a faster pace. One that would leave her breathless and spent beyond her own comprehensibility.

Responding to the sounds that fell from Luna’s lips, Jonghyun’s movements became erratic and feverish. He leaned down to connect his lips with Luna’s once again, their tongues tangling as each held off their release for as long as they could.

Finally, neither were able to hold back and let go of themselves. A shudder shook Luna’s body as her legs trembled. They reached their highs and Luna’s velvety walls clenched Jonghyun, pushing him over the edge. Luna hugged Jonghyun close to her, mumbling that it was okay to release all the pent up pain, sorrow and frustration into her.

They collapsed onto the silken sheets, wrapped in each other’s arms. To call it an out of body experience would be an understatement. Even the moon wasn’t fit to describe the lengths the two had gone to. It was as if in the darkest corner of the universe they’d collided and scattered glowing stars.

Spent and exhausted, Luna and Jonghyun found themselves succumbing to sleep, unaware of the despair it held and oblivious to the fallout that would cost them something more than life itself.

***

Jonghyun was stuck in the nightmare once more. An eternity had passed since that day, yet the memory was still a fresh wound in Jonghyun’s heart. The only thing that changed was the girl in the dream. Every night, the girl he’d just slept with would appear. The only difference between the real girl and the one in his nightmares would be their eye color. They would never match. And they would be the last thing he saw before he’d wake up in the middle of the night.

Just like every night, Jonghyun found himself tied to a chair, forced to watch a horrendous scene unfold before his eyes.

The body of a lifeless Luna slumped against the cold cement wall. It was the girl who he’d just left after sleeping with. He’d figured they were just another one-night stand and left as the dawn broke, not bothering to check how the other was feeling.

Though it was an innocent mistake, what he hadn’t known was that a dangerous stalker had watched him leave the girl’s apartment. Jonghyun had no idea how much the girl would suffer due to his reckless abandonment. The instant he’d left, the stalker had gone after her and forcefully took her to a deserted building.

It was at this very building that Jonghyun found himself, tied up against a chair, every single night, to witness what the sickening bastard would do to the girl he had just been with. While he had left without a care, the girl was being punished.

Here he was, back in the same cell, resenting himself for not being more careful with his actions. The stalker came in and picked Luna up like a ragdoll, then placed her on a freezing metal surface. He grabbed Luna’s chin and gave her a punishing kiss.

“You like this don’t you? Pain is pleasure for you isn’t it?” he rasped. Luna whimpered and hid behind the locks of hair that framed her face. Jonghyun watched in horror as he grabbed her hair and hit her thighs with a short, chilling laugh.

Luna could only shake her head in denial. In response, the stalker grabbed a syringe and plunged it into the side of her upper arm. Luna’s body shook vehemently and stilled suddenly.

“Do you still want to deny my touch,” he asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. Restraint etched the features of her face but as the drug entered her system, her voice could only croak out a small and weak “Yes.”

Jonghyun averted his gaze as guilt filled him. Through the entire night, he could hear Luna’s screams and shrieks. He could feel her pain as it pricked him like needles throughout his body.

The following morning, when he opened his eyes, he watched helplessly as the mental stalker dropped a naked Luna onto the floor next to him. The stalker could neither see nor sense Jonghyun’s presence and left the basement.

Jonghyun wanted to scream and go after the horrible monster after what he’d just done to a poor, defenseless, kind women. It couldn’t right what had gone wrong, but if Jonghyun was to suffer, so should the fiend who’d stripped a girl of any of her own will. However, the ropes that bound him to the chair were not ones that could be cut with a knife. They were his curse; forcing him to watch the same horror story, night after night, all to make him repent his unintended, yet unforgivable actions.

Luna’s frail body shook beside him on the floor as she coughed, eyes still tightly shut. Then, suddenly, unable to sit up any longer, she collapsed. Luna gasped her final breath and opened her eyes and all Jonghyun could do was stare regretfully into her amber-golden eyes. Eyes that had once held light, life, and the entire galaxy were now clouded, pained and filled with despair.

It was this that shattered Jonghyun. It trapped him in a never ending cycle of loathing and resentment. The same way he’d left the girl in the hands of a devil, every night he would fall for a one-night stand, unable to control his actions as the girls in his nightmares. Subject to a drug that made them sell their bodies. He suffered just as they did. Girls would throw themselves at him and he’d lose his control. He’d let them use him only to have them abandon him once they discovered his night terrors.

Worst of all, were the words of admittance he’d spill to them. Forcing them to see the broken creature he’d turned into. It was his words that would ultimately drive them away. Left in a million pieces, unable to take his own life, he would watch his reflection on the elevator door as they fled his prison. His haggard reflection would remind him of the monster he was… and make him regret.

***

When he woke up from his nightmare, he found his head cradled in Luna’s arms as sobs wracked his body. He was taken aback by the display of affection, especially since he had been so cold to Luna. Usually the girls he spent the night would be disturbed if not revolted by his own weakness, but here Luna was, comforting him.

Luna ran her fingers gently through Jonghyun’s hair. She’d heard him gasp her name in his sleep and cry aloud for God to somehow protect her. Her own heart hurt to hear the sobs and she held Jonghyun close by her. “Tell me, honestly... Don’t hide, please,” Luna whispered.

“How long have you been crying? You…” Luna trailed off, asking Jonghyun with her eyes to reveal all of his truths and secrets to her.

He wanted to stop himself, he really did, but he knew he’d inevitably lose Luna as well. He clutched Luna’s hands and pulled her off the bed. He spoke with a cracked voice, “I believe I know all the trifling stories of the world,” Jonghyun started. It was the same admission he’d expressed every night. “I believe… I know them all…” his voice broke and faltered.

“I don’t know you… I don’t know you…” he started to deny repeatedly with tears streaming down his face as he pounded his fist into the wall.

“Tell me honestly, I know you’re feeling so lonely… Tell me honestly… You know you can’t go on like this. You can’t hide the pain forever…” Luna reminded him, her own voice giving out at the end as she trailed her finger down the side of Jonghyun’s cheek and cupped it.

Jonghyun nodded and led Luna to a mirror in the corner of his room. He faced the mirror and when Luna looked at him in it, she gasped. “Say hello to my haggard reflection,” Jonghyun croaked with his eyes bloodshot.

Scars lined every inch of his body. Scars from the numerous times he’d attempted to end his own life. But, in order for him to end it, he’d have to have lived in the first place. No, he was nothing but a remnant of a guilty soul.

They were the cuts and bruises that burned him for mere seconds only to heal themselves on the outside once more. When they saw his scarred body in the mirror, they ran. They all left. A new scar would mark his body after every girl left and after decades, there was no real beauty left in the truest form of himself.

Jonghyun expected Luna to flee out the doors, but instead she gripped his hand even tighter. She stepped in front of him and stood before the mirror. Jonghyun’s eyes widened at Luna’s golden- amber irises. The same shade and depth the Luna in his dream had.

When Luna turned around to face him, he found himself staring into her chocolate-brown eyes. Slowly, however, the color morphed into that golden-amber pigment that Jonghyun had just witnessed in the mirror.

Luna smiled forlornly up at Jonghyun. Finally she’d remembered as well. He was Jonghyun. The man who had made the last night of her previous life worth living in. She realized the moment she had seen him in the bar that he was a man filled with grief and regret. Luna realized that he’d been suffering unjustly all this time. After years of punishment, Luna had finally been sent to forgive the broken man of his sins. After all this time, she could liberate him.

“It’s me. The girl you left all those years ago. Thank you for that amazing night. I think you know what happened to me afterwards, but I hold none of it against you. You don’t deserve to relive the nightmare I went through. You don’t deserve any of this. I forgive you, Jonghyun.”

Luna uttered his name for the first time, but the world could not hear his pain and agony, for Luna had freed it all. She stood on her toes to kiss Jonghyun’s lips.

“Please, don’t leave me,” Jonghyun begged Luna. “I won’t,” Luna assured, but even as she promised that, she could see her hand beginning to fade. With that, Jonghyun collapsed out of sheer exhaustion into Luna’s arms and fell asleep. Luna tucked him into the bed and stayed beside him.

Jonghyun opened his eyes at the crack of dawn. It was the first time he’d slept peacefully. The bed was empty though, much to his dismay, and by his bedside table was a single note:

“I’m deeply sorry I could not stay,

It seems that I do not belong in this realm any longer.

Don’t worry, I’m the last that will leave you.

It’s now your turn to forgive me… Mianhe”

--Luna

He was betrayed once more. Jonghyun’s heart was on the verge of splitting apart into two. However, the sound of the elevator doors opening pulled him out of his trance as he ran out to meet the doors of the elevator that Luna stood in front of.

“Don’t leave me,” he wanted to call out, but his voice failed to work. Luna stepped inside and turned to face him. She smiled one last smile at him. Her amber eyes were flooded with tears that streamed down her face.

“Don’t worry, Jonghyun, I’m the last. We’ve spent 2 nights together but I’ll say what I didn’t get to back then. I love you, Jonghyun, please forgive me for the pain I’ve caused you. Annyeong.”

The doors of the elevators began to close, but before Jonghyun could even stop them, a single tear from Luna fell to the ground and she vanished into thin air, right before Jonghyun’s eyes.

Though Jonghyun had been left behind by countless people, and though they’d left all the scars behind, Luna leaving him hurt more than any of the others. She had driven the final dagger through Jonghyun’s heart, left the final scar.

Jonghyun stared at his own reflection, casted on the closing elevator door. “Annyeong,” he whispered to his haggard reflection. It was time he left his prison and the devil within him forever.

His entire being shattered into a thousand fragments and a single teardrop hit the ground.

Soooooo... that was not a very happy story. Did it make you cry? Lemme know if it did :P. In all seriousness, this is such a beautiful song, Elevator and I’m total SHINee trash so this was so much ‘fun’ to write. Obligatory Jonghyun gifs/pics below because the man is an angel...

#SHINee #shinee jonghyun #jonghyun #kpop #shinee fic #shinee fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #elevator #jonghyun fic #kpop angst #angst #R #sad

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