#i always wanted the-deep-fog to be something else but they were all taken. eyes-on-the-weather is sorta iffy; i feel like

[t3tr0m1n0]

i still don't think i'm ever going to find a better url to use than pareidoliaestimate

[emilyhufflepufftlk]

Cornflowers - Osferth x Reader

Masterlist

'Also known as boutonniere flowers or bachelor buttons, legend has it that cornflowers were worn by young men in love; if his love was returned the flower would remain bright and fresh, however, if the man’s love was not returned, the flower would fade quickly.'

Word Count: 2308

Warnings: none

‘Good morning, Elfreda,’ Osferth said nervously, a small smile on his face as he glanced up at the woman in front of him.

‘Good morning Osferth,’ she replied, batting her eyelashes at him. ‘Are those for me?’

‘Yes,’ he replied quickly, handing her the flowers he had picked for her that morning, ‘I saw them and thought they were as beautiful as you.’

‘Oh, Osferth they are wonderful. Thank you.’ She smiled sweetly at him as she bid him a good day before she threw a smug look in your direction. Elfreda walked over to where you sat mending some wicker baskets outside your house in Coccham, a smirk on her face. ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’

You don’t answer, trying your best to ignore the woman standing in front of you.

‘Look at these beautiful flowers Osferth picked for me,’ she said smugly, pushing them into your face.

‘Not that you’ve done anything to deserve them,’ you muttered under your breath. ‘Everyone knows that you don’t truly care for him.’

She gave a you a harsh laugh. ‘And yet he still pays me more attention than you. How does it feel to pine after a man for years without getting a single glance in return?’

Your cheeks began to burn, and you turned your gaze back to the basket you were mending, refusing to rise to the other woman’s taunts. She let out one last harsh laugh before she turned and carried on her journey through the village.

Her words hurt you because they were true. You had known Osferth ever since he had first joined Lord Uhtred when you were both scarcely older than children and had been almost inseparable ever since. You had both grown so much since then and so had your feelings for him. However, he only saw you as a friend.

It was one thing for your affections not to be returned, but it was another to watch him fall in love with someone else – especially one who didn’t deserve it. Elfreda was beautiful, with long dark hair that glistened in the sun, a perfect figure and emerald eyes that sparkled like jewels – she would put even a princess to shame. You on the other hand, well, you were you, and his eyes had only ever been for her. She of course did not return his affections; she simply enjoyed the attention and was happy to accept any gifts he gave her. She knew how much you loved him and loved to flaunt Osferth’s affections for her in your face.

---

‘Do you think Elfreda loves me?’ Osferth asked you one day whilst you were lazing by the river. You were supposed to be doing laundry, but he had come to keep you company and had distracted you. Instead of cleaning your family’s clothes, you lay next to Osferth with your feet dangling in the water, enjoying the Spring sunshine.

You looked up at him, surprised at the question. ‘I’m not sure,’ you replied quietly.

Osferth seemed to think for a moment. ‘I think I’m going to ask her to marry me,’ he said confidently, a smile on his face.

You sat up abruptly, moving so you looked down on him. His smile faltered when he saw your face. ‘Y/N? What is it?’

‘You deserve better, Osferth!’ you told him. ‘She may be beautiful, but she doesn’t love you, not really! Not like I-‘ you stopped yourself before you admitted your feelings and made a fool of yourself. You sighed deeply, looking imploringly into his eyes. ‘She’s not the person you deserve.’

‘But she’s perfect!’ he said, confusion on his face. ‘Unless you don’t think she’d say yes, has she told you something?’ he asked you suddenly, panic in his eyes.

You knew Elfreda wouldn’t marry him; the real reason she kept up the pretence of returning his advances was to make your life more miserable, to rub in the fact that she could have him if she wanted and you couldn’t.

‘I don’t think she would,’ you tell him honestly. He looks heartbroken but it would be worse if he asked and she rejected him.

‘Are you sure?’

You looked into his desperate eyes; the eyes of the man you loved. You didn’t answer for a moment, desperately dreading killing his dreams. ‘There is a way I have heard of – of finding out if your love is truly returned,’ you offered, trying to give him a smile. ‘You carry a cornflower upon your person and if the flower remains fresh and bright it means they love you in return, if it fades quickly then they do not.’

‘It sounds like pagan witchcraft to me,’ Osferth replied wearily, a small frown on his face.

‘It is not witchcraft, Osferth,’ you told him with a slight smile. ‘Do you think I’m a witch?’

‘No, of course not.’ He thought for a few moments more before finally getting up to leave. ‘Thank you for the advice, Y/N. You are truly my greatest friend.’

You smiled back at him but inside your heart broke, knowing that he would never see you as anything more than that; a friend.

As you watched him walk back towards the walls of Coccham, you hoped he would find someone to love who deserved it, who gave him happiness. Even if it wasn’t you.

---

Despite his misgivings, Osferth decided to pick a cornflower to see whether Elfreda returned his feelings. He had spoken to some of the other residents in Coccham and, although Finan had laughed at him, Sihtric said he believed the method to work, as did the old, Saxon baker’s wife.

Feeling slightly embarrassed to be seen wearing a flower (he was a warrior after all), he placed it inside his tunic, tucked just over his heart. He was sure that she thought of him in the same way he thought of her; surely, she would have said something by now if she did not care for him, he had been courting her for months.

However, when he took off his tunic at the end of the day, he found the flower had wilted and by the next day it had shrivelled and faded. He tried to tell himself that it was simply due to the unseasonably warm weather they had been having recently, that it didn’t mean that Elfreda did not return his feelings. He told himself again that it was pagan nonsense and that he didn’t believe it, however a sense of dread had settled deep in his bones.

After a few days wrestling with his feelings, he decided that he had to talk to her.

---

You were sat in your small home, mending some of your father’s shirts, when Osferth burst through the door. ‘Osferth!’ you exclaimed a smile on your face, happy to see you closest friend.

However, your smile fell when you saw him. His face was forlorn, and his eyes brimmed with tears, as he slumped into the nearest chair, his head in his hands. He looked utterly broken – it broke your heart.

‘You were right,’ he said in a low, shaky voice. ‘She doesn’t love me. I don’t think she ever did.’

You quickly closed the distance between you and wrapped him in a hug, stroking his back. ‘Oh, Osferth…’

‘I’m such an idiot! Everyone could see that she didn’t feel the same and I refused to listen,’ he sobbed, ‘I bet everyone’s having a good laugh at the fool I’ve made of myself!’

‘No! This is not your fault,’ you reassured him, ‘you are a good, kind soul and she took advantage.’

‘I’m a gullible idiot, that’s what I am!’

‘Perhaps,’ you smiled, ‘but I wouldn’t wish you to be any different. Don’t ever change, Osferth. Not for anyone.’

He finally lifted his head and looked you in the eyes, a small smile growing on his face. ‘What would I do without you, Y/N?’

‘Well I’m not going anywhere, so luckily for you, we’ll never find out!’

You both laughed lightly before you brought him back in for another hug. Although he was heartbroken, you knew Osferth was strong – he would get through this, you knew it.

---

Almost a year had passed, and Summer was once again fast approaching. Elfreda had married a rich merchant and had moved to Winchester earlier that year. Your life had continued as normal, looking after your family, helping to bring in the harvest, and spending time with Osferth. Nothing had changed.

In contrast, everything had changed for Osferth. His training sessions with Finan had begun to fully pay off and now he was truly the warrior he was supposed to be. Uhtred had begun giving him more responsibility and he no longer felt like a distraction or a liability, instead he felt like he belonged among Uhtred’s men.

However, the greatest change was in his feelings towards you. It had happened slowly, almost without him realising. He had always valued your friendship and enjoyed the time you spent together, but it became the highlight of his day. When he entered a room, he’d always look for you and was disappointed when you weren’t there. He found himself making excuses to touch you, whether it be tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear or brushing his hand against yours as you walked.

It had taken many months for him to get over the heartbreak of Elfreda’s rejection but when he did it was like a fog had lifted and he could finally see clearly. He could finally see you.

He couldn’t put into words how he felt about you; all he knew was that he was happiest when he was with you and he wanted to be more than just your friend. However, his new feelings scared him; if he admitted them then everything would change between you and he was terrified of losing his best friend.

He was walking outside the walls of Coccham one day when he spotted a cluster of cornflowers in a nearby field. He picked one almost absentmindedly, not really thinking about why he did it. He placed the flower in his tunic and returned to the hustle and bustle of the village.

When he walked through the gates, he was immediately called for by Finan, telling him to get the horses ready. Danish raiders had been spotted and they were to ride to meet them. He hurried to get ready for the journey, the cornflower he had picked moments ago immediately forgotten.

---

Several days later, Osferth sat around a campfire with Uhtred, Finan and Sihtric. They had successfully found and repelled the raiders without much difficulty and were on their way back to Coccham. The men were teasing him again, which wasn’t anything unusual, however he was a little surprised when they brought you up. He hadn’t realised that they had noticed his feelings towards you. It made him blush immensely which only fuelled their laughter.

They had camped near a river and so Osferth decided to have a wash. It was the first time he had removed his clothes in days, having been constantly on the move tracking the Danish raiders across half of Mercia. As he removed his tunic something fell to the floor at his feet. He looked down to see the cornflower he had picked before he had left Coccham.

It had dried out since he had picked it, however the colour was still strong, and it hadn’t shrivelled or faded significantly. The sight made him smile. He picked the flower up carefully, taking great care to not damage the delicate petals. You had told him that the flower remaining bright was a sign his love was returned; he desperately hoped you were right.

---

When he returned to Coccham he immediately went to your home, finding you preparing your family’s evening meal with your mother. After exchanging pleasantries, he asked to speak with you privately which your mother reluctantly agreed to.

He led you out of gates to your favourite spot on the river where you had both spent so much time together. He took out the dried cornflower out of his tunic and handed it to you, much to your confusion. ‘I’ve had it with me for days,’ he told you gently, ‘it is dry, but the colour is still bright.’

‘It is,’ you agree, examining the delicate flower in your hands, ‘but why are you showing me this?’

‘You told me that it was a sign that your feelings were returned.’

‘I did,’ you smile at him, still not quite taking his meaning. ‘Does this mean you’ve fallen in love, Osferth?’

‘I have, I think,’ he grinned at you.

‘That’s wonderful.’ You tried to give him a smile. It had been inevitable that he would fall in love with someone eventually, but you had hoped the day would never come. ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’

‘I’m looking at her.’ You stared at him dumbstruck, not taking in the meaning of his words. Surely you had misheard him, he couldn’t possibly be in love with you. ‘Unless you don’t feel the same that is,’ he added quickly, wringing his hands together.

You stared at him for a moment longer. Osferth was sure you were going to reject him, but then your face broke out into a smile. Closing the distance between you, you pulled him towards you and your lips met. You had kissed boys before, but this was the only kiss that mattered.

---

A few months later you walked down the isle of the small, ramshackle church in Coccham, a huge smile on your face and a bundle of cornflowers in your hand. Osferth beamed at you when you came to stand next to him at the alter; it seemed all your dreams were finally coming true.

Tagging: @morosemagick @magravenwrites @solinarimoon @obipoelover (please let me know if you'd like to be added)

also tagging @maggiescarborough because I know you love Osferth 💜

[heliads]

Being Miss Misery

Based on this request: “a fic with newt based off mr perfectly fine by taylor swift”

masterlist

If you were going to describe the one thing you looked forward to each morning, the one person who made you want to fight your whole life to escape the Maze, you would say it was Newt. How could you not? You love him, after all. Or, you loved him. There are days when you wish you could go back in time and tell yourself that you had gotten it all wrong, that some dreams were just meant to stay dreams and never become real. Then again, if you had never let yourself jump this time you’d spend the rest of your life thinking about the fall you could have had.

In the end, you suppose there was no way you could have ever chosen differently. No matter what happened, no matter what words were said, you could never quite forget how happy you were before, even when you were stuck in the Maze. That was the best thing about Newt, after all- he made you smile like no one else ever could. There’s always a second side to every coin, though, and that means that he has hurt you in a way so unique to him that no one else could ever hope to mimic it. No matter how many times Janson or WICKED tried to hurt you, nothing would ever cut quite as deep as this.

With every story, there’s a start. A reason why things ended up the way they did. Yours begins with the Box, the same way every other Glader remembers their first day. There is no before, not in the Maze. Just the Box, and what comes after. Everything else has been wiped from your mind, cleared away like fog from a glass. Gone, never to be found again.

You had been pulled from the metal box and stood, squinting, letting your eyes adjust to the sudden bright sunlight. You had looked around, taking in the sight of the massive stone walls surrounding you and felt your pulse start to skyrocket. Before you could really start to panic, though, a voice sounded out from behind you. It was quiet, peaceful, and you knew from that second that you would be alright.

“That’s the Maze.” You had turned to face a blond boy, one with a limp and a slight accent that tinged his words the same stilted gold as a piece of bronze. “The Maze?” The boy had nodded sagely. “You’re in the Glade now, greenie. The Maze keeps us stuck in here.” You had nodded again, and the boy apparently took pity on you, softening his tone even more, folding it up into a more peaceable sound. “I’m Newt, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

You had started for the usual greeting, the fine, thank you, and I’m- but the problem was that you couldn’t remember your own name. No place, no history, no name. It’s like you were a blank canvas, but one that had once held the most brilliant of landscapes if you could only remember it. Newt had clicked his tongue softly. “You won’t remember it, love. It’ll take a while before your name comes back to you. Don’t worry, everyone forgets.” You had stared at him. “Where are we? I know it’s the Glade, but where is it?”

Newt had shrugged. “Nobody knows. We all just showed up here, one at a time, with no memory or anything except the shirt on our backs. You can ask all the questions you want, but we won’t have any answers.” He had looked at you sideways then. “Actually, don’t ask all the questions. We told that to Chuck-” he points to a young boy with a mop of curly brown hair, “-and he took us too literally. Don’t think we slept for a week. All we heard was questions.”

You bite back a laugh. “Sounds good, Newt. I’ll keep my questions in the single digits.” Newt flashes you a smile that seems as bright as the sun. “I like you already. I think we’re going to get along very well.” If only he had known how true that would be. If only you had known, so that you could stay away.

You’re not sure you can remember quite when you realized you loved him. In the end, the exact date doesn’t really matter. It happened, you couldn’t shake it, and it felt like the most beautiful mistake you might ever make. In the Glade, you couldn’t count on anything- not the weather, not the people, not even the Maze, which changed each night. When Newt had told you how he felt one night by the campfire, you were sure that it would haunt you for the rest of your life, that it was too good to be true or too good to last.

You had started to stand up, ready to hurry away and pretend like you hadn’t heard a word. Newt had stood up too, taking your hand and keeping you by his side. “I’m not going to break your heart, Y/N. I promise. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ve been waiting for you all my life, and I want to be here with you. Right by your side, until the end.” You had smiled at him then, finally letting the last of your walls down. When he kissed you, even the whoops of the other Gladers weren’t enough to dissuade you.

There was nobody like him, that much was true. He made the Glade better, made even the stormiest days feel like a cloudless blue. You came to trust him, to depend on him. You believed that he wouldn’t leave. It was like he said, right? He looked you in the eye and told you he would never go away. You two were practically inseparable, and it was the best feeling on the entire planet.

When Thomas arrived, bringing with him the destruction of the Glade and promises that he could get everyone out, you thought it was the best thing you’d heard in a while. You had held Newt’s hand while you ran through the Maze, dodging Grievers and doing everything in your power to keep the other alive. That was what you did best, after all- loving each other, staying together. You can still remember that one night before you left, when fires had been burning the homesteads down and the shrieks of dying Gladers echoed through the night. It drives you to run faster, to move farther away from everything that had happened and all the horrors you had seen.

Newt had taken your hand in his, pulling you close in the dark of the night. “We’re getting out of here, alright? Promise. I love you, Y/N, and we can finally have a life outside of all this.” You had smiled at him, letting him press a kiss to your cheek. It sounded perfect, that was the problem. Perfectly fine, and none of it was true, although you’d have no way of knowing it then.

That day seemed to pass in a blur, and the next day, and the next. You made it out of the Maze, out of the nest of Grievers, and into a pressed-clean WICKED facility. They promised you safety, shepherding you into groups of other boys and girls who’d managed to make it out of their respective Mazes. When Newt gestured for you to talk to him separately, away from the other boys from your Maze, you had assumed nothing of it. How wrong you had been.

His voice was quiet, eyes darting over to the other boys as if wanting to make sure that they didn’t hear. “I want to break up with you, Y/N.” You had stared at him, not able to understand. “What?” He swallowed, then repeated himself. “I want to break up with you. I’m really sorry, Y/N, but I don’t think this is going to work out. I just- I stayed with you for longer than I should have in the Maze, because I thought we were going to die, but-”

You cut him off, feeling your tone turn icy. “You’re done now because our lives aren’t at risk anymore? You don’t have to feel guilty about it?” Newt winces. “It’s not like that, Y/N. Honest. You’re a great girl and all that, I just don’t think it’s working out anymore. Sorry.” With one last insincere apology, he turns and walks towards the rest of the boys, his step considerably lighter as if a sudden burden has been relieved from his shoulders. You’re left to stand there, alone and mute and utterly heartbroken.

There’s nothing left to do except pick up your broken pieces and go back to the table with the others. Even this brief moment of weakness, this one last hesitation by the door, has drawn looks of confusion from the Gladers. You force a smile, a spring in your step, and sit down next to them. If you make sure not to sit next to the backstabbing blond boy, well, that’s nobody’s business but your own.

The days blend together, one into the next. You didn’t realize how much you depended on seeing Newt, talking to him, saying something clever and warranting a smile, until it was all gone. You were still a Glader, and that meant that when everyone escaped the WICKED compound he made sure you stayed alive like the others, but for once, there are no more strings attached. No promises to make it out, no lies told to make it through the night. This is what it was like in the beginning, you remind yourself, and you have to learn to deal with it once more. If only it was as easy to do it as it is to say it.

Now you sit alone at a campfire in the Scorch, watching white-hot sparks cascade into the open air. Your friends from the Glade have met up with the girls from Group B and some members of the Right Arm, meaning that you’re in a crowd for the first time in a while ever since entering the Scorch. All around you, people are taking advantage of the sudden numbers to mingle and chatter with the din of a flock of birds, but not you. No, you use the overwhelming mass of people to hide away, blending into another silhouette in the desert.

It appears you’re not to be alone forever, though. Someone slumps down into the seat next to you. You smile ruefully at the expression on her face- the same heartsick, stupidly trusting look that you have no doubt has been on your own. Brenda, it appears, is not doing well with the sight of Thomas parading back and forth with Teresa. 

“Having a good night, Brenda?” She gives you a look. “About as well as you, I think. How are you, by the way? I heard you were dating Newt in the Maze but if looks could kill I think he’d be worse off than the Cranks.” You sigh. “We were dating, that much is true. He broke up with me out of the blue, broke my heart for no reason other than the fact that he didn’t feel like he had to protect me anymore as we were out of the Maze.”

Brenda stares at you, all thoughts of Thomas banished. “He didn’t say that. Tell me he didn’t say that.” You nod, smiling bittersweetly. “He did indeed. Mr. Casually Cruel, that’s his new name from now on.” Brenda looks over at you. “If he’s Mr. Casually Cruel, what does that make you?” You prop your chin up on your hands, staring with unseeing eyes at the throngs of people around you. “Miss Misery, I guess. He’s perfectly fine, I’m falling apart.”

Your eyes find a familiar figure in the crowd, one you’ve been doing your best to avoid but always seeming to return to. “The worst part is that he moved on so quickly. You’d think he’d forgotten he’d ever heard my name. I mean, look at him.” You jerk your chin towards a pair of figures on the opposite side of the roaring campfire: a blond boy, arms wrapped around Harriet. He smiles at her, lingering traces of his face disappearing into a haze of heat from the flames in between you. 

“I’ve been picking up the pieces of my heart, he’s been picking up her. I’m starting to think that I never meant anything to him at all.” Brenda clicks her tongue indignantly. “That jerk. Hey, if you ever need someone to accidentally push him off a cliff-” You cut her off, laughing. “I’ll look to you first. Don’t think we’ll need that quite yet, though.” Brenda folds her arms across her chest. “You don’t need him, though. Honestly. He wants to promenade around here like he’s Mr. Always Wins, fine. He just walked out on the best thing in his life and he doesn’t even realize it.”

You smile at your friend, a true smile this time. “Thanks, Brenda. Now, if you could keep your same advice around Thomas-” Brenda holds up her hands, starting to laugh. “We’re not talking about that! I changed my mind, let’s go back to Newt.” If you’re so distracted by the conversation and laughter with your friend that you don’t notice a certain blond boy looking your way, eyes drawn to you again and again even if he does his best to pretend otherwise, maybe it’s for the best.

The night is late, stars hung in the sky as if by some absentminded hand. The fire has died away to ash and coals, tendrils of smoke starting to creep up to the horizon. The din of the gathering has proved a little too much for you, and you’ve chosen to fade away into the night, your feet carrying you further and further from the center of the group. You lean against a rough rock face, letting your eyes trace the curves and stars of the night sky. You’re distracted enough by the sights that you don’t hear the uneven footsteps coming up behind you, the telltale lurch of a boy with a limp.

“You always liked looking at the stars, didn’t you?” You startle at Newt’s voice, appearing out of nowhere. You shake yourself, forcing your shoulders to sink and relax once more. “They’re beautiful. Always have been.” Newt’s smile is as sure as a running river, always strategized, always well-placed. There’s a confidence there, too, an edge. Proof that he’s so far above you in every sense, above feeling anything at all. “Just like you.”

You raise an eyebrow. After everything he’s put you through, after everything that destroyed you but never fazed him, you’ve learned to doubt a careless compliment like this. That may be all you’ve learned, but it is enough. Newt takes your silence as an invitation to keep speaking. “I think I’ve made a mistake, Y/N. You’ve always been so good to me, you know? Always here to stay, always at the right place at the right time. I hate to speak too quickly, but would you consider giving me another chance?”

You’ve thought about this moment for a long time. Mr. Perfectly Fine, Mr. Casually Cruel, finally seeing you in new eyes and realizing that by leaving you he was giving up everything you might have had together. But you’ve seen this moment through a hundred times in your head, and for once your head is clear, eyes bright and looking forward instead of on what might have happened. You know your answer, once and for all.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Home

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: With the wizarding war finally put behind you, Draco feels as though it’s time for a change.

Warnings: mentions of the war, mild angst, mentions of anxiety, fluff, lots of kisses

It had been rather dreary when morning finally rolled around at the Manor, puffy gray clouds covering the expanse of the sky as rain drizzled steadily. The weather appeared to be sticking around for a while, and it left Draco grumbling over his morning cup of coffee in disapproval as he watched the rain drops trickle down the windowpanes one after another.

“Is that a hint, Draco?” You inquire, raising a curious brow at him as you tried to pull any bit of information from him you can. You make your way around the large kitchen table to where he leaned against the marble counter, standing on your tip-toes and kissing his cheek sweetly.

“Consider it your only one, my Darling. I’m not allowing you to spoil any more surprises.”

That last part is spoken against your lips, lips that soon meld together in a lovingly gentle kiss that tasted of coffee and cream. You sigh softly when you parted, but your longing for clues is just barely appeased for the time being. However, you were not letting this go and he knew it.

He was beginning to regret telling you about such surprises the day before because you hadn’t stopped asking for bits and pieces since, even going so far as to waking him in the middle of the night. You claimed you couldn’t sleep from the excitement, and he hadn’t minded the sweet kisses you had given to wake him. But now he was rather tired.

He watched after you with a soft smile as you disappeared from the large room momentarily, coming back with your coat and shoes on.

“Are you ready, love?”

Your tone was ever so sweet with more than a hint of excited impatience laced amongst your words. He was ready, save for his shoes. You had thought he’d looked absolutely handsome, though his choice in clothes had given no indication of what the plan was for the day. He was dressed in a simple gray t-shirt and a pair of black pants, rolled up once or twice at the ankles. At first he thought it looked absolutely ridiculous, but with a lot of wearing down on your end, he finally caved. His hair was a mess, icy blonde strands dipping down in his eyes as a chunk stuck out rebelliously in the very back. He had a habit of leaving his bedhead untouched much to his mothers dismay.

He set his mug down with a soft sigh and brushed past you with a tired kiss and a hum in response, moving to slip on his shoes. He grabbed his keys from a curved iron hook at the large double doors after he slipped on his jacket, laughing to himself as you eagerly skip ahead of him down the grand stone steps of the Manor and towards the car. The two of you could easily apparate just about anywhere in a matter of seconds, but Draco found he liked the experience of a road trip better. It was a way for him to clear his head when he found himself overwhelmed; that and it gave him more time alone with you. So he bought a car.

It wasn’t brand new or extravagantly fancy like one would expect from a Malfoy; it was a vintage Volkswagen Beetle. In all honesty, it hadn’t been his first choice and maybe not even his second or third. But you lit up immediately when you saw the little yellow car and he didn’t have it in him to get anything else. He found he’d do anything just to see you smile.

“Come on!” You call out, ducking into the car as he shakes his head with a chuckle.

He rushed to the drivers side before the rain could pelt on him too much, brushing the dampened hair away that stuck to his forehead.

“Have you always been this impatient?” He quips, laughing out when you swat his arm lightly in protest. His smile is nothing short of adoring as he leans across the center console, his fingers splayed over your cheek. “I’m only kidding, darling.”

His words are soft against your lips as he kisses you sweetly, reluctantly pulling away to start the car. However, his hand quickly finds yours as he drives down the stone path and away from the Manor, his soft smile never faltering as your fingers intertwine out of absentminded habit.

“Am I dressed too casually?” You ask, playing with his fingers as your enveloped hands sat in your lap.

“You look beautiful.”

You bite back your smile as you look ahead with a fluttering heart, and he sneaks a glance your way at the lack of response.

“What?” He asks.

“I’m starting to think you’ll always say that,” you sigh, looking at him with a raised brow.

“Because you always are,” he counters without second thought and you’ve got nothing else to say. He smiles triumphantly as a rosy blush stains your cheeks and you settle for playing with the ring on his finger instead, but not before turning on the radio.

A quiet laugh left your lips at his immediate grumbling, loathing the choice in music, he wasn’t too fond of ABBA and Fleetwood Mac just yet. But if it meant he’d gotten to hear your voice when you sing he’d listen to it everyday.

It was a concept that scared him a bit if he lingered on the thought for too long. From experiencing very little love at all to feeling an insurmountable desire for it was something new to him. Something he had been apprehensive to fully accept in fear that it’d slip from his fingers if he basked in it too much. He wasn’t used to things working in his favor after all. But you came into his life and turned his very world upside down in the best of ways, and he found it impossible not to give in to the love blossoming in his chest and taking over his entire being, nor did he want to.

But he still had his doubts, he still wondered how someone as truly magnificent as you could give your heart to a Malfoy. That simple fact still baffled him each and every time it crossed his mind, had you not realized? Regardless, he had intentions of loving you for as long as you’d let him.

You found yourself looking over at him with a smile after a little while, admiring the way waves of platinum hung over his forehead and brushed over his dark lashes. The way his thumb absentmindedly tapped at the steering wheel as he hummed softly along with the radio; he’d insisted he hated this song in particular but you knew that to be false. He looked nothing short of adorable as his gaze flickered around the little town you drove through, concentration etched into his expression.

“I’m aware of your staring, you know,” he says with a knowing smirk, looking over to confirm his suspicions. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re madly in love with me.”

Without hesitation, you leaned over and brought him close, pressing a kiss on his cheek and another to the freckle on his jaw. His smile was instant, the softest of blushes coloring his cheeks.

“Love, if you keep doing that I’m going to miss my turn,” he chuckles, glancing over to you.

You sigh as your thumb runs along his cheek softly and he tries his hardest not to flush any deeper than that. Though in a matter of moments, luck seemed to be on his side as the traffic light ahead turned from yellow to red. He pulled your hand from his face gently and leaned over, pressing his lips on yours in a tender kiss. He’d been dying to do so the very moment he pulled away from the Manor and he took advantage of the opportunity the second he was given one.

A horn soon blared behind him and with a startled glance his eyes land on a very green traffic light, but still he steals another quick peck before continuing on with the trip with a racing heart.

“Am I just too distracting?” You jest, sticking your hand out the window to feel the breeze now that the rain had subsided for now.

“You have no idea,” he chuckles softly as he smiles fondly at the road ahead.

—

Another twenty minutes had passed before Draco pulled into a smaller neighborhood, promptly telling you to close your eyes. You did so, but not without a dramatic sigh from you, and you missed the way a soft look of excitement had painted its way across his face.

A few turns were made before the car had come to a stop, Draco instructing you to stay put with a kiss to your cheek. He rushed around to the other side of the car eagerly, opening your door. With gentle actions he got you from the car and kicked the door shut behind him, snaking his arm around your waist.

“Don’t look yet, darling,” Draco urges, his hand over yours to ensure you weren’t peeking as he carefully guided you to wherever it was you had been. You playfully try and do the opposite of his words, laughing out when he squeezes you close.

He turns on his heel and steps in front of you to pull his hand away, allowing you to drop yours as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

“Ideally, I could have done without the rain, and maybe it could be a bit warmer too—” His words are quickly cut off by your protest, and he kisses your lips once more. He takes a breath as he looks at you for a few fleeting moments, stepping to the side.

A cottage stands before you, nestled comfortably amongst many others in the quiet neighborhood. You look at him with a puzzled expression, but he’s got a smile that won’t seem to go away.

It was obscenely beautiful, ivy tangling on every corner of the house, sticking to the gray stone slabs of its walls. The rooftop was slanted downward with dark slate colored shingles, a matching chimney on either side. Deep green shutters line each slightly fogged window and colorful flowers reached just under their windowsills. A beautifully aged wrought iron fence surrounded the perimeter, creaking rather noisily when opened. The door was hardwood, painted a matching green with a small arched window at the very top.

Clusters of wildflowers had dotted amongst the lush grass, and a blossoming tree stood on either side of the pathway, sending flower petals fluttering to the ground like rain.

It looked like a place taken right out of a fairytale.

“Why are we at someone’s house?”

He stands there timidly, his smile growing as rain droplets catch in his platinum hair.

“It’s not just someone’s house,” He laughs softly, scratching the back of his neck. The nerves swirl in his stomach as the words catch in his throat briefly. “It’s ours.”

Not completely, a few documents needed signing, but it was yours. It had been Madam Pomfrey’s home, but as of late she’d decided that a smaller residence much closer to Hogwarts would be far more manageable. Draco had been her first and only choice to offer her beloved home to, considering him to be an honorable young healer who made a concerted effort to turn his life around.

The generous offer was one Draco couldn’t object to, finding that another minute living within the Manor would surely be maddening. It wasn’t that the two of you had outgrown it in the six years you’d spent there after the war. He’s not sure if even the entire student body of Hogwarts could outgrow it, it was large and luxurious. But it wasn’t comfortable to reside in a place that held such undesirable memories, he felt as though it wasn’t allowing him to move on from that time in his life just half a decade prior.

His father had just over half his sentence left in Azkaban and he wouldn’t be coming home in the near future, but he wasn’t fond of running into him again. Draco felt being on opposite ends of the Manor was not enough distance, especially when his father had an unwavering distaste for the love of his life. He wanted a place where he could live freely, a place where he was able to kiss you and love you wherever he pleased. And this was it.

Your confusion had only grown in that very moment, your brows knitting together as you narrow your eyes curiously at him. You opened your mouth to speak, but weren’t exactly sure what to say as shock still had its hold on you.

Before you could find the words, Draco grabbed your hand, tugging you along the mossy cobblestone walkway. “Come on.”

He plucked a small silver key from under a flowerpot and stuck it in the lock, turning back to look at you with a sheepish grin before twisting the copper doorknob.

The moment he opened the door you were hit with the scent of cinnamon and sugar, the sweet air adding a certain warmth to the place. The cozy living room was furnished with an armchair in the far corner and you assumed it was intentionally placed by the window for reading, a yellow knit blanket strewn across the tattered leather. An aged brick fireplace was paces away from it, and a loveseat adorned the opposite wall with a worn flannel blanket draped over the arm. The walls were painted a beautiful sage green, wood beams stretching across the ceiling as a lamp or two lit up the room in a warm glow.

Your hand immediately slipped from his the moment your eyes landed on the bookshelf along the wall, nearly full of books that looked quite familiar. Too familiar not to notice.

“So this is where my books have disappeared to?”

The quiet laugh behind you was confirmation enough as you ran your fingers across the worn spines. A framed picture came into view, a picture of the two of you captured within it. When you turn to him with an amused expression and a raised brow his cheeks flush a pale pink as he shrugs his shoulders, scratching the back of his neck once more.

“I wanted to see how it’d look,” he defends, clearly flustered the more you linger on the subject.

You roll your eyes as you kiss his cheek, taking his hand again. “Alright, Malfoy, take me to the next room.”

The kitchen was noticeably different than the one at your current home. Instead of obsidian black cabinets, these were a light rusted color. Rather than a large mahogany kitchen table, there was a small circular one located just below a window. Small plants resided on the windowsill over the sink, teacups hanging by their handles on a set of brass hooks on the soft yellow wall. What was quite possibly the cutest part was the jade colored oven and it’s matching fridge. It was a delightfully vibrant contrast to the color palette of grays and charcoals and whites adorning the furniture at the Manor.

You were seconds away from tugging back the frilly cream curtains over the windows when Draco stopped you.

You gave him a curious look and he gave one back as he pulled you along to another hallway. With each and every room the two of you had looked at, the more anxious Draco had become. He hadn’t told you about it first, after all. He was starting to wonder if you’d even liked it, he was starting to wonder if you’d been mad that he went out and did this on his own without your input.

“Draco!”

He’s quickly pulled from his thoughts before he gets too tangled up in them, finding you running your hands over the navy blue velvet pillows of the window seat in your soon-to-be bedroom. The look on your face is nothing but one of excitement and joy, and it eases the tension in his body and the nerves bubbling in his stomach.

You’d been mentioning your desire for a window seat ever since sixth year when you sat along the grand windowsills of the castle. You insisted there was no better place to read than that, and he hadn’t forgotten. He certainly knew it’d be more comfortable to sit in when you inevitably fall asleep on his chest. He didn’t know how much more his body could take of slumping against cold stone when you fell asleep after hushed stories of classic novels had been abandoned in empty corridors. However, he couldn’t bring himself to wake you when you were so content.

“I knew you’d like it the moment I saw it,” he chuckles, bringing you close by a grip on your hands.

“You remembered,” you say softly, the tip of his nose brushing against yours as he laughs against your lips.

“How could I forget?” You respond with a sweet kiss, his hands squeezing yours gently before letting them go in favor of wrapping around your waist. His lips parted from yours to press chaste kisses to your nose, to your cheek, ever so tenderly to the underside of your jaw, and perhaps the softest to ghost over your neck. He has to stop himself before he becomes to distracted with you. “There’s one more suprise, darling.”

His words are whispered against your hair as he kisses your temple, and you’re quick to grab his hands. “What are we waiting for?”

You follow him down the curved staircase and once you reach the bottom he asks you to close your eyes once again. This time you do so without protest, his hand warm in yours as he pulls you outside. The chilly spring temperatures were a noticeable contrast to the warmth inside the cottage but you didn’t mind it very much.

“I thought you would like this the most,” he smiles, squeezing your hand before you open your eyes.

The sight before you was unlike any other you’d ever seen. Vibrant green grass served as pathways amongst the flowerbeds that curved around them. Dozens of meticulously placed floral bushes filled the space, neatly trimmed and well cared for. Wooden pergola’s with beautiful archways had stood between arrangements of fluffy hydrangeas, curls of vines snaking up its rain soaked beams to form a cluster of greenery and flowers atop it.

The gardens at Malfoy Manor seemed to have paled in comparison to this. It may not have been even half the size of Narcissa’s, but it held a different kind of beauty, one that cannot be put into words. Perhaps you deemed it better because it was your own. One that didn’t house memories of secret rendezvous’ in the late hours of the night to share hushed kisses behind moss-covered statues as teens. Staying up running hand in hand through rows of pristine red roses, sharing whispered ‘I love you’s’ under glowing moonlight and twinkling stars.

It was new and it was beautiful. It was yours.

New kisses could be shared with disregard for prying eyes, declarations of love could be shouted without repercussion. Draco could pluck as many flowers as he wanted to for you without being scolded by his mother for missing blossoms.

Utterly enchanted, you walk along the winding green paths, your fingertips brushing over soft flower petals as the light rain droplets collected across your cheeks. Draco was in tow, but found himself too enamored by you to put one foot in front of the other, deciding he was perfectly content with admiring you from afar.

The scent of flowers and rain flooded your senses with every step you took, and as if you weren’t already in love with this place, surely you were now.

You twirl once in the blooming garden, it’s flowers vibrant and thriving against the pale gray sky. It was when you stopped to stand still with a jovial laugh that your eyes landed on Draco. He stood there, hands by his sides as he looked at you with such fondness your heart fluttered in your chest and a soft shade of scarlet colored your cheeks.

You were quick to close any remaining gap between you, your arms wrapping around his neck as you lean on your toes and kiss him. He drops the keys he’d been holding as his hands settle on your rosy cheeks, and he steadies himself from your sudden embrace. Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck gingerly, a small laugh escaping your lips and breaking the kiss. But you weren’t quite finished, chasing after his lips for another soft peck.

“Does this mean you like it?” He asks softly, tracing his finger down the length of your neck and back again to rest under your chin.

Your smile was bright as you look up at him, your fingers trailing down his shoulders to play with the buttons of his coat. His pale blue eyes were full of hope as his thumb brushes over your jaw before dropping to your waist to pull you closer.

“I love it,” you murmur against his lips. His breath fanned across your own in an airy laugh, his forehead resting on yours only briefly. “You bought us a house!”

“Well, technically Madam Pomfrey—”

You put your finger over his lips with a laugh, effectively quieting him as a soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He grabbed your wrist softly and pulled your hand away, sighing as you turn around to admire the sweet little home once more. His arms circle around your waist as you lean back against his chest, stifling a laugh when you feel the soft kisses he’s peppering across the crook of your neck.

It really was beautiful, down to every last detail one could possibly think of. It was almost unbelievable how a place so wonderful could exist, how it could be yours. But Draco had always been full of surprises, you learned that rather quickly.

In a matter of moments, the rain increased to a pace too hard to ignore and you gasp at the cold droplets hitting your skin. You were quick to grab his hand, rushing off to the nearest pergola for some form of shelter from it. The flower covered trellis only gave way to a few splashes but it didn’t seem to matter in that current moment.

Your laughter died down to an airy giggle, your hands resting on his chest. His cheeks were flushed from the brisk spring weather as he gazed down at you, his thumb tracing over your lip before his fingers swept over your cheek. He was completely obvious with his admiring, his eyes bouncing from the freckles on your cheeks—ones that could only be seen at such a proximity— to your very irresistible lips, and back to your eyes.

“Are you sure you like it?” Hesitancy has woven its way around his quiet words. It was a big commitment after all, and it wasn’t something he was accustomed to just yet, especially at twenty-four. But what weighed on his mind was the possibility that you would come to regret making such a choice—with him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you pretended to ponder the question, but you couldn’t bring yourself to continue for a moment longer with the way he’d been looking at you. In a wordless response you press your lips on his softly, parting for only a moment before he pulls you closer for another. Any doubts he may have held had vanished from his mind your lips meld with his in a lingering kiss.

His cheeks are more flushed than before as you pull away to look at him, the sight of your kiss swollen lips making it hard to focus on anything else.

“Draco Malfoy, I’d go anywhere as long as I’m with you.”

—

Tags: @amourtentiaa

[yourdeepestfathoms]

i have been working religiously on my book, so here is another part for y’all!

— — —

“I’m sorry, Mister Proctor,” Mary whispered as they approached Proctor’s horse.

“For a mouse that squeals and cries as loudly as you do during punishments, you sure love doing things that will warrant such treatment,” Proctor said.

Mary lowered her head. It still hurt. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses. Help me onto my horse.”

Mary obeyed.

“Do try to keep up. I don’t want to be waiting on you. A storm is coming.”

“Yes, sir.”

Proctor was right: a storm was coming, and it hit with the regular ferocity of a Massachusetts winter tempest. Now she understood why Proctor was wearing so many layers.

By the time they were halfway to the farm, Mary was completely soaked and shivering, the cold having crept deep into her bones, turning them into rods of ice. She wondered if this freezing rain had been sent by God Himself to punish her for her wrongdoings. It certainly felt like a lashing from the Lord.

“You could have been back inside by now,” Proctor mused atop his steed. Mary could barely hear him over the crunching of gravel and pattering of rain. “But instead you had to go galavant through Salem.”

“I was worried about my friends,” Mary said, daring to defend herself.

Proctor scoffed but didn’t say anything.

In the distance, a farm swam through the sheets of icy rain. It wasn’t the Proctor property, so there was no point in stopping, but someone called out to them anyway.

“Ah, John! Have you come to accuse me some more? If you haven’t noticed, it’s raining. I can’t set anything on fire in this weather.”

Proctor ground his teeth. “I already apologized to you for that.”

“And yet, here we are!”

There was an old man leaning on the fence bordering the property, white hair clinging to a balding scalp, deep blue eyes sparking with mischief in the half-light. He had a wrinkly lizard’s face and hands more befitting for a skeleton. Despite his age, Mary knew he had enough vigor to best any of the younger men in the village. She heard he once beat a burglar to death with a cane. He was a lot of vex and a little well-mannered, and he loved nothing more than to irritate the people of Salem Village, especially John Proctor.

“It would be a shame if this would be the year your land floods, John,” Giles Corey said. No person in their right mind would be out in this storm; he had definitely been waiting for Proctor to go down the road so he could prod him. He would risk getting ill if it meant he was able to dig under the younger farmer’s skin.

“If this is some kind of attempt to get the deed to my farm, then you can save it,” Proctor said, spurring his horse into motion again. “I’ve heard it all, Giles.”

Corey huffed. His expression brightened once again when he noticed Mary holding onto the saddle.

“Ah, Mary Warren! How are you, dearest? Is the back of your head alright?”

Proctor was quick to step in: “Don’t talk to her,” he snapped at Corey. Then, to Mary, “Don’t talk to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re going to kill that girl, John!” Corey shouted after them. “If you ever need a place to flee to, Mary Warren, Martha and I are willing to take a servant!”

His words were washed away by the rain, but they remained rooted inside of Mary’s brain. If only she could switch employers. If she weren’t an indentured servant, she would have gone to the Putnam’s a long time to work with Mercy. Maybe then every day wouldn’t be such a pain.

And speaking of pain…

Mary winced, tentatively touching the back of her head. She couldn’t tell if the dampness she was feeling was blood or just rainwater. Didn’t matter now. She dropped her arm.

Above her, Proctor was muttering in his saddle, casting a dark look at the road in front of him. He said something about Giles Corey and something else about the farm and something else about wanting to rip out the old man’s gizzard. He seemed awfully worked up about the confrontation.

“If I may, sir…”

Proctor looked down at her, eyes narrowed. Mary nearly stopped talking right then and there, but she swallowed her nerves and continued on.

“If Mister Corey is such a bother to you, why not do more to stop him?”

“Are you lame, girl?” Proctor snapped. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do all this time? Ever since the fire, he’s been a thorn in my side.”

The fire referred to a fire that started in Proctor’s house, a time before Mary went to work with his family, which she was grateful for because she wouldn’t have been able to handle that drama. Naturally, Proctor said Corey was responsible for the fire, which made Corey file a lawsuit against Proctor. Later, one of Proctor’s sons would come forward and admit to being the one to cause the fire. Proctor begrudgingly apologized, but that didn’t stop Corey from continuously bringing it up whenever he got the chance.

“Why do you bring it up?” Proctor then asked. “What would YOU do? Since you think you’re so clever.”

“Me? Well, I-- I, uhh… Maybe raise the price on the land? Make it to where it would be too expensive for him to want to buy.”

Proctor opened, then closed his mouth. Then, he squinted at her. Finally, he actually laughed and took off his broad-brimmed hat, batting her over the head with it.

“I guess you aren’t so stupid after all,” he said affectionately. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Mary cracked a small smile. The bad outweighed the good when it came to her master, but she knew John Proctor wasn’t all cruelty and lashings. He had a strong softness for all of his children and a deep love for his wife. Sometimes Mary would hear him reading light-hearted Bible stories to his younger kids at night. Sometimes she would stand outside the room and listen.

Through the glistening shroud of mist and drizzle at the side of the road, the Proctor property unfolded from the fog like a proper country castle. Acres upon acres of emerald green grass, sturdy barns, a fine house, fields chock full of crops and livestock. Their cattle were fat and happy, slick with rain, water streaming from their round bellies and mud splashing up from each delicate footstep. It darkened their coats and made them look like they were soaked in blood. It was no wonder why Giles Corey wanted the land so badly. It was thriving with wealth.

“Put my horse away,” Proctor said after sliding off the chestnut stallion’s back. “Tack him. Then come inside immediately. Do not run off.”

“Yes, sir.”

Proctor gave her one last warning stare, then handed her the reins and walked to the house.

Mary would have taken her sweet time putting away the horse if it weren’t for the fact that she was freezing and her head was killing her. She tacked the stallion, put him into his stall, and fed him in record time, ready to get inside and change out of her wet clothes. However, when she finally entered the house, she didn’t get to do that. She was stopped by her master and mistress.

Proctor and Elizabeth were speaking to each other, but Mary could tell they were arguing, despite their level tones. They both turned to her when she stepped inside. Proctor was already in dry clothes, standing beside the roaring hearth. The flames looked so comforting and warm.

“Stay where you are,” Proctor ordered, noticing her desire to go to the fire.

“Yes, sir.”

“I understand she is in trouble, but at least let her warm up,” Elizabeth said.

Elizabeth Proctor had always been Mary’s favorite Proctor. Twenty-two years her husband’s her junior, though she looked a lot younger than that, she was kind and patient, never using the whip and rarely ever raising her voice. She wore dresses in soft shades, greatly mirroring her soothing nature; right now she was wearing a pale green gown with a white apron. Her hair was champagne blonde and her eyes were a pretty hazel with flecks of gold near the pupils. Mary craved her warm, maternal gaze so much it was almost painful.

“No,” Proctor said. “This is a part of her punishment.”

“She is going to freeze. Do you want our servant to freeze, John? Then what shall we do?”

“Get a better servant, perhaps? One that won’t run off?” He shot a glare at Mary, reminding her that he was, in fact, still mad about that, in case she had forgotten. She hadn’t.

So much for their moment on the road.

Elizabeth opened her mouth, then sighed. She looked at Mary. “Yes, you should not have run off. You aren’t allowed to go anywhere without our permission. You know that.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.” Always obedient, always agreeable. Mary knew her place.

“Why did you leave?” Elizabeth asked.

“Mercy came to see me, ma’am,” Mary answered. She didn’t want to throw her friend to the crows, but she also knew better than to not be dishonest, especially when she was already in trouble. “We wanted to go check on Abby and Betty. We heard that they weren’t well.”

“I heard that, too,” Elizabeth nodded slowly. “How are they?”

“Strange. They slept like the dead, but woke up out of nowhere and started screaming. Betty tried to jump out of the window!”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “Did she?”

“That is none of our concern right now,” Proctor growled, butting his way back in. “This disobedience cannot go unpunished.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Yes…I suppose you’re right. I say no dinner tonight.”

Proctor rolled his eyes. “You coddle her, Elizabeth.”

“I do not coddle her!”

Ignoring his wife, Proctor looked at Mary, “Fetch me a switch.”

Mary released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Her heart leapt out from the pit in her stomach. She nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

[isuspectyouhavefantheories]

The Crossroads to the Sun 🌞

Takemura/Female V

Rated: M for mature themes and explicit content NSFW 18s only

Trigger Warnings: Themes of death, suicide, gallows humour

Part 1 of ???? “The Sun Series”

Link to part two :

https://isuspectyouhavefantheories.tumblr.com/post/641314624666468353/search-for-the-sun

Will eventually be posted on my AO3 account when I get this beta’d. 🤟

———

She had decided she wanted to be away from night city when she pulled the plug. If anything, she wanted it to end under the blanket of the starry skies, part of her hoping they would guide her into the next world safely. Driving through the neon jungle felt like a technicolor funeral procession. Or perhaps a walk to the gallows? She was thankful she still had most of her senses as she pulled herself from her morbid reverie just in time to avoid a badly placed bollard on a sharp turn straight down the road heading towards the city limits. She swore under her breath but continued. The pain was dull, but festering in her mind, less so than before, but enough to keep reminding her of the internal ticking clock that was getting louder with each passing hour as it neared to zero. She breathed deeply though her nose and steeled herself. But more doubts began to drift through her, like a slick fog encircling her mind she thought of all the people she would be leaving behind and hoped they wouldn’t hate her after tonight.

Goro’s name flashed up on her biomon and it took her a minute to register. She nearly rear ended a truck at a traffic light before finally answering.

“Yes?”

“Where are you?” His voice was gruff, demanding and her eyebrow crinkled in irritation.

“What’s it to you?”

“Let me help you V. Just take the deal with Hanako, we make this right and you get back your life. If I were you, I would not waste the chance.”

“You mean you get back your life.” She spat, Takemura went quiet on the other end for a moment, his eyes flinching at her tone. “Don’t try and pretend this is concern for my well-being and as far as making this right goes... You really still think you and Arasaka can fix this? Goro I know when I’m beat. Nobody can fix this. I’m done for and it’s time I just fucking faced facts and made my peace. I’m done. I’m calling it.” She hadn’t realised how hard she was gripping the steering wheel until she felt the alloy begin to crunch lightly under her guerrilla cybernetics.

There was a long pause and she thought for a moment he had hung up until she heard the shuffling of erratic, hurried movement on the other end.

“Where are you V?” He demanded, his voice was direct, to the point, no room for nonsense, no room for anything but answers.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve left a data chip with Misty. It contains all the relevant evidence, via brain dance, you need to get the vindication you so desperately require.”

“V, tell me where you are right now. ” It was sharp this time.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help more. Goodbye, Goro. It was a pleasure to have known you.” She hung up and looked down at her phone, closing her eyes a moment only to be jolted by Takemura calling again. She took a deep breath before turning it off and throwing it in the passenger seat and popping into third gear as she trolled though the gates past the city limits to security. She was quickly flagged through with little bother from security. They seemed more interested in what was coming into the city that what was going out.

It took her an hour to get to where she needed to go. The edge of the badlands. The final touch stone before she headed further in, back to all she ever knew. Just another busted down prewar gas station covered in sand, nature already claiming back its land. She parked her car outside and managed to pry open the front door after digging some accumulated sand from the way.

—————

She woke to the whistling of the desert storm on the shutters, the dilapidated old outpost rocked shakily. She almost felt as if she was in the belly of a ship at sea being pulverised, to and fro, by an onslaught or roaring waves.

She sat up, listening to them a while, until eventually the weather died down to a gentle lulling breeze. She stepped outside for a moment and thanked whatever powers that were out there that the sky was clear enough to see the moon and a dim scattering of stars. She climbed from her make shift cot and stepped outside.

“Still think you made the right call? Those Saka assholes might have fixed you up all nice.” Johnny flashed back into her peripheral vision, sitting on a bench under a busted canopy with his guitar slung across his lap.

“I dunno. I guess we’ll see.”

“Val.”

She looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

“They were just going to extract you and dump me the moment it suited them. What, you think I was just gonna put my head in a hungry lions mouth and just hope everything would just sort itself out? For all I know they would have just cut me open the minute they got me up there. I’d rather die out here, on some dusty ass terra firma in the wastes than lose my mind up in some space prison.” She flipped out Evelyn’s cigarette case, only three left in place making her sigh before pulling out one and lighting it up.

Johnny groaned at the sensation of the nicotine flooding her system from her first drag. It had been a while since she’d allowed herself such little pleasures, but for the first time in months she wasn’t on deaths door, bringing death so someone else’s door or trying to kidnap an heiress, so exceptions can be made.

“Weather out here huh? Never notice it in the city but, fuck. Mother nature sure is a feisty broad.”

“You have no idea.” She chuckled.

“Pretty good we got here before the worst of of the storm hit earlier. I would not want to be the sorry sack of shit that had to drive through that.” Johnny chuckled.

—————————

It was about 5am, sun already shining and blistering the ground, she had scavenged a few things from the outpost to keep her and Johnny going long enough to get to the Aldecaldos

Or just long enough. The thought of kicking it just before saying goodbye to Panam and Saul and the others churned uncomfortably down into the pit of her stomach but she attempted to occupy her mind, busying herself with prep work and repairs on her gear. She was going to try at least.

Before she could think of the next task, Johnny materialised again, already on edge.

“Someone’s coming.”

“Raffen? Cops? Arasaka?”

“Can’t be sure. I’d get ready if I were you.” He was gone again, and all she could think to do was get back to the gas station and ready herself for the visitors.

A Herra Outlaw that looked as if the chemical desert had taken a shit on it, genuinely one of the most out of place thing she had ever seen in the badlands and that was saying something, pulled up with a soft screech as the brakes engaged and the engine shuttered off. The pop of the car door made her grip her baseball bat tighter as she edged closer to the door, so as to be on the hidden side when it opened.

The door flung open, nearly ramming her in the face had she not hugged the wall so closely, she held her breath as a darkened figure entered the room, but the rasping baritone that filled the air made her freeze.

“V?” Takemura’s voice cut through her and all she could do was stare in disbelief.

“What the fuck?”

He whipped around like lightening, his wild searching gaze landed on her and his eyebrows all but flew up into his hairline and his eyes widened in disbelief but seemed to relax after a moment, a wave of relief washing over his features as of up until this moment he had been in a panic.

It was all a blur, he pulled the rusted metal door closed, nearly wrenching the door off its screeching hinges before his arms suddenly reached for her. He pulled her forcefully into his chest into an embrace that should have shattered her spine with the implants this man had. The newly back online ones, she noted.

She scrunched her eyebrows incredulously at him when he pulled away, his fingers tracing down the length of her arms until they still rested on her shoulders as he continued to look at her as if he was afraid the moment he took his eyes off her she would disappear into thin air.

“What are you doing here?” She breathed, still struggling for air after the uncharacteristic ribsplitting hug.

He looked down now, almost sheepish in his manner but he did not waiver when he returned his gaze to her.

“Stopping you from making a foolish choice.”

She sighed deeply.

“And since when do you have any right to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

“I do not. But I can try at least to make you see reason.” He wasn’t budging, she wasn’t budging.

“Goro...” she pinched the bridge of her nose and temple in an attempt to quell the newly forming tension migraine.

“You could have your life back. You would be good as new, Arasaka would ensure it if you testify at the board meeting. Arasaka always rewards loyalty.”

“I know that’s some rhetoric you’ve been spoonfed your whole life but unfortunately I have a very different opinion on the subject of ‘who Arasaka serves’ and it most certainly isn’t people who have a history of stealing from them.” She dead panned, making Goro groan.

“If you would just listen to me you would know that is not the case. Hanako-sama has extended this life like to you V do not waste it.”

“I’ve been listening. And watching. From the very start. I’ve seen them from an angle you have yet to even comprehend and part of me fears even then you wouldn’t see the truth.”

“They are-.”

“Only in this for themselves. I won’t argue with you about this, there is nothing you can say that will change my mind. I’m not selling my souls to the fucking devil, man, I’m sorry but that’s how this situation feels to me. I know there is nothing anyone can do for me, not you, not Arasaka, not Hellman, not even Alt fucking Cunningham’s AI ghost from beyond the Blackwall knows how to undo this so fuck this. I refuse to spend the last days of my life scrambling for answers only to whither away to nothin and die anyway. I’m leaving this hellhole on my own fucking terms. So just let it go. Just forget about me and go back to your cushty little life as Arasaka’s cheerleader or body guard or whatever the fuck it is you do.”

She couldn’t remember how, but during the course of their verbal spat, he had pushed her against the adjacent wall from the door and upon hearing her retorts he snarled in frustration and slammed his hand into the wall beside her head, denting the already disintegrating plaster, sending a cloud of dust in the air around them. The pluming cloud fluttered and caught the small rays of morning light seeping through the crags and cracks in the windows and walls of the abandoned gas station. She managed to push him off with a forceful shove only to have him lunge back to her. His martial arts clashed with her own brand of badlands fist fighting. She was flexible, contorting her body out of his reach before rounding on him with a left hook followed by a hasty jab aimed for his face. Unfortunately, he had reach, countering her wild strikes with a wave of his arm and tugging her to him. She lifted her knee between them to vault herself from his grasp but lost her footing at the end and it took only a single low sweeping kick to her other leg that sent her off kilter, but Goro followed her to the ground where he pinned again, this time on the floor with both her hands above her in each of his. She struggled against his vice grip, twisting and squirming beneath him to roll him off but he refused to be moved barely even flinching as she thrashed beneath him, awaiting her to finally stop. She roared in frustration but refused to give up. If she couldn’t knock him with her strength then she could knock him with her words.

“Hanako knew!” She spat at him, the intensity of her glare ripping though him.

“Knew what?” He asked with narrowed eyes.

“She knew it was Yorinobu who murdered her father. She knew you were telling the truth, that you were being framed and she still let you go down. Then guess what the kicker here is?” She laughed bitterly. “Saburo’s not even dead. He’s being kept as an engram, he’s been planning something with Hanako this whole time and they were going to let you go down regardless!! They were going to discard you, who served them faithfully your whole life, for their own fucking agenda. So tell me, why you think for one fucking second that they will actually help me?” Takemura was quiet, his hold on her waining enough for her to flip them, her hands balled into his shirt begging him to look at her but it was as if something had been shattered in him. They both were panting from their verbal and martial exchange, but they were far from done.

He suddenly reached up, his hand cupping her cheek gently, tracing the cybernetics of her face with the tips of his fingers before pulling her down to him without warning, his lips finally met hers in a heated kiss.

She gasped into his mouth, giving him the chance to shove his tongue in to explore her. He didn’t know when he would get the chance, if he ever would again after this. But she had yet to bite his face off so he took that as a good sign. In fact she had nearly gone limp from the shock of his sudden advance. He pulled away slowly, his face still inches from hers but his eyes bored into hers with a renewed intensity.

She pulled her hand from his now loosened grip and reached down gently and placed a delicate hand on his cheek, only for him to lean into it with closed eyes. He pressed his own hand over hers and took a deep calming breath.

“Goro, look at me.”

His eyes opened again, staring down at her with so much hope yet one word from her could shatter him into a thousand shards. And fate was a cruel mistress.

“I’m going home.” He looked down at that, his brow tugged in an unreadable expression but she chased after his gaze and held his chin so he had no choice but to stare wordlessly at her.

“I’m going home. To the people I love. To say goodbye. And maybe... maybe, for once in my life just try to do some good in this world, not for eddies or cred or some fucking illusion of grandeur, but just to do something worthwhile. I want have something real. Before I... before I can’t anymore.” She stroked his cheekbone with the back of her knuckle. “I don’t expect you to understand. But it isn’t up for debate.” Not what he had wanted to hear, but the finality in her words left him no room to argue. And so he was then left to stare down the inevitable horribleness of a world with no V.

He rested his face in the crook of her neck, her soft sun kissed skin, slick with sweat from the desert heat.

“Then let me have this at least.” He whispered against her, causing her to shiver under the weight of his words.

He returned his lips to hers, an even more energised passion driving his need and to his surprise she returned it, hands cupping his face gently. She then pushed him back down on his back and dove back to his lips. He began unbuttoning and loosening her clothes as fast as his hands could allow him. He pulled off her tank top and stopped a moment to admire her perky little breasts before pulling her back to him and lavishing her chest adoringly with bites and kisses that made her mewl against him.

“You have been taunting me since the day we met. Not wearing anything but that tight blue netrunner suit.” He growled against her chest, biting at the underside of her breast, his eyes primal and burning hers with an unspoken need to be closer.

“I’m a net runner you gonk, ah-!” He bit a little harsher around her nipple at the comment but lapped at it gently afterwards. “I-it was for practicality’s sake.” She shivered against him.

“It was to torture me.” He chuckled.

He lifted them suddenly, his hands under her thighs again as he deposited her on a near by countertop, her legs wrapping around his hips as he ground himself desperately into her while trailing his lips from her ear lobe to her jugular and back before biting then tugging sharply causing her to yelp softly.

“Maybe a little.” She gasped, casting him a delighted grin which elicited a growl from deep within his chest. He leisurely ran his hands along the hem of her jeans, tugging at them slightly before slipping his hand down underneath to grab a handful of her ass, squeezing it appreciatively before moaning at how soft and pliant her skin was under the extra sensitive touch of his cybernetic hands. He allowed himself to become lost in her for a moment. Mapping her every contour in his mind, committing each breathless sound that fell from her lips to memory, savouring her sweet breath on his tongue and wondering if he would ever again taste something so perfect as her. He felt her pull away lightly, a few centimetres from his face to gasp for a breath and still his lips chased hers. It was as if she could read his mind sometimes, she was looking at him with those confounding purple eyes, her smile faltering as if she could see how banefully torn he was.

“This won’t change anything.” She whispered sadly against his lips .

His brow creased under the weight of his anguish, another growl, not so carnal as before but instead a roar of frustration and he attacked her body with a new found, punishing fervour. He pulled her up effortlessly once again and threw her into the cot, her body’s weight caused the springs to groan and he had managed to discard his shirt fully, then turned to her. She was now only in her underwear, her golden skin glistened in the low orange morning haze. Her body was lithe yet athletic, her skin tantalisingly smooth to the touch yet disturbed by stray scars scattered about her person. Her years of fighting for her survival in this hellscape had shaped her and moulded her into this picturesque model of strength and beauty. He kneeled before her, nipping his way down her navel to the hem of her panties that he then quickly slid off in one fluid motion. He dove between her legs, basking in the sweet gasps she made as he drove her wild with his tongue. Her hands twisted and twined themselves into his ebony and silver locks, pulling his bun loose to let his hair cascade down his shoulders, grazing her nails over his scalp delicately. He introduced a single finger to her and pumped deeply inside her yet at a controlled pace, eliciting another quivering gasp that made him smile against her.

“Goro...” the way her breathless lips formed around his name drove something in him. She was able to bring out the strangest and most wonderful of feelings in him.

He was sure from her cries she was nearing her climax and before she could taste the sweet precipice of her release, he rose up to kiss her. Her taste on his lips had a lewd yet arousing effect on her, but her climax, once so tantalisingly close was now receding and the heat biting and curling in her abdomen made her squirm against him. She pulled away after a moment and gasped a quick breath.

“You ass.” He pressed his face into her neck again and she felt the rumble of his chuckling. He continued to kiss her neck and his hands pinched and rolled her nipples in a torturously teasing manner. She writhed under him, a mewling mess.

“Stop teasing me.” She pleaded, her own hands cupping either side of his face to pull him from his ministrations on her neck that she was almost certain would be bruised to absolute fuck in the morning.

He nudged her legs to open and she obliged eagarly.

He teased her entrance lightly running his tip up and down coating himself in her essence before sliding steadily inside of her. He had to stop half way and swallowed a guttural moan. She was so tight. Like a warm vice pulling him further inside her and dragging him impossibly closer to her. Her legs had wrapped around his hips, her thighs quivering around his girth. He took another moment to make some experimental, shallow thrusts and groaned once more at how deliciously slick she was.

“Oh... V...” his forehead pressed against hers and his grip around her hips tightened.

“Don’t.... stop...” she was barely above a whisper, which made Goro want nothing more than for her to be louder.

He took this as his moment to flip her onto her stomach against the cot.

His right hand held both her arms behind her back, folded and solidly trapped there. His left hand was holding her hip, dragging down to guide her over his girth once again. He rather enjoyed the view of her at this angle, he was so lost in the way she bounced against him, the feeling of her walls rubbing so exquisitely against his length, that he was sure he wouldn’t last long. The thought of having their tryst cut so short however did not appeal to him, the feeling of being fully encased by her was so unequivocally amazing he never wanted it to stop, so he forced himself to slow down to a languid yet laborious pace, favouring drawn out leisurely strokes.

“Jesus Christ...” she gasped, arching her back in a way that made him want to go back to pounding her within an inch of her life but he was controlled, no foolish young man driven by a cardinal need, but a mature and tentative lover who wanted to make his partner see the stars before this was over.

He reached around, dragging his hands from the underside of her bellybutton to glide along her ribs, up and over her breast, giving it an appreciative squeeze before cradling her throat gently and turning her head to look back at him as much as she could in the position which granted wasn’t much. He leaned forward, still thrusting inside her at a restrained pace, and ravaged her neck, suckling the flesh at the junction of her shoulder and neck before trailing his bites to the underside of her jaw, then to her ear where he nibbled her lobe gently.

“Tell me what you want.” He breathed against her, the lewd sound of their bodies meeting in their primal dance and the soft gushes of wind rattling the shutters were all she could hear above their own crescendo of panting and haggard moans.

“Don’t... be a dick...” she gasped, earning her a sharp smack on her ass cheek.

“Tell me.” He thrust inside her, harder but not hard enough to satisfy her fully, leaving her trembling for more.

“Ah... fuck! Please...” she breathed, trying to shove her own hips back into his for more friction but his hand migrated back to her hips, a solid anchor, preventing her from getting her way.

“That’s not what I asked you.” She could hear the underlying cockiness in his tone and it pissed her off almost immediately.

How could this man illicit such polarising reactions from her, she thought. One moment she wanted him to bend her over a desk, the next she wanted to snap him in two. But the sentiment remained, she wanted him.

“Please... Goro... fuck me... harder...” he hummed in satisfaction and released her arms from his vice grip.

“Then I suggest you hold onto something.” He had leaned forward his lips against her ear, the vibrations of his bassy timbre tickled her in an irresistibly tantalising way.

But her inward musings came to a hault when he began his unforgiving pace, she could feel him hitting her cervix with every thrust and she cried out, hands barely holding on to the edge of the cot as her body rocked against the force of his hips.

His hand came down to tease her slit, circling her sensitive nub in a maddeningly delicious way that caused more mewls to erupt from her lips.

Goro stared down at her, enraptured by every twist and twitch she made. Her arching back defining her musculature and he’d be lying if he was doing any better than her right now. He was holding on for dear life, dragging this out for as long as he possibly could. But eventually, the warmth and curling in his abdomen could not be ignored and he quickened his circling around her clit to drive her to her end. She screamed softly into her hand as her release rolled over her in wave after wave, his continuing thrusts helping her ride out her climax to its fullest. He followed her soon after, nearly collapsing on her, his forehead resting between her shoulder blades as he struggled to regain his breathing. She recovered before Goro and pulled him further onto the cot where they crumbled into it. He curled around her, his arms pulling her flush against him as he savoured the feeling of her skin on his. He pressed his nose and lips to the top of her head, inhaling her scent deeply, attempting to sear these details into his mind for a later date. He tried his best to keep his eyes open, but she began to stroke his chest in a soothing circle, and before he knew it he was out like a light.

——————

He woke with a jolt, the room now completely darkened by the night and a sudden anxiety disquieted his mind. He reached for where V had been but his hand grabbed nothing but empty space.

“V?” He called, sitting up and listening for anything, then scanning the area. He could see from his thermal scan she had been gone from his side for nearly two hours.

He pulled himself up, dressing quickly and wrenching the front door open to see that her Thorton was gone, whatever tracks that were left had been swallowed by the desert wind and he stood in silence.

“This isn’t going to change anything.” Her words echoed in his mind and he clenched his hands into fists, a slight shake evident from his barely controlled emotions on the cusp of breaking through to the surface.

“They were going to discard you, who served them faithfully your whole life, for their own fucking agenda.”

He tried to quell his anger, his hurt, his inescapable feeling of betrayal. He fought to keep his composure but the memory of her touch was seared into his mind and body yet it did nothing but only make him ache to have her back in his arms. He would never feel that again, never experience that intense, intrinsic connection to another human being. The thought did nothing to disquiet his mind. Eventually he broke and turned to punch his hand nearly completely though the wall of the garage as he breathed in ragged and strangled chokes. Unshed tears burned in his eyes and he wrenched his arm back to completely break through the wall altogether with the force of his strike. He didn’t stop. He pummelled the wall until his cybernetics were scuffed and cracked. Warning signs flashed in his peripheral vision but he ignored them, slumping to the ground he cradled his head in his hands and roared in futility. He stayed there a moment, still, quiet and thoughtful. He raised his head with a thud against the nearly dilapidated wall and he looked off into the distance. On one path, the further reaches of the badlands, down another was the fluorescent and blinding lights of Night City, beaconing him back with a curled finger.

And not just night city, but the ominous red looming glow of Arasaka Headquarters illuminating the night and further banishing the stars. The only life he had ever known was within Arasaka’s ranks. All he had ever been was a vassal, a loyal one at that. Traded his life and limbs for them. Let them carve him into an instrument of their empire from the moment they had deigned to elevate him from the slums, only after he had skinned his fingers to the near bone scrubbing his clothes in the chemical sickened canals. He had given Arasaka his life.

Yet Hanako knew he was innocent. Not only her but Saburo, his lord tono, his idol. He had known. It stung him to his nucleus, like nothing ever had. He was stilled, inaction gripping him to his core. He found his gaze always defecting back to the badlands. To her lands. He didn’t make a choice so much as follow an instinct.

He rose from his seated position and opened the door to his car, looking back at Night City one last time, not saying goodbye to the city, but farewell to all the possibilities it held. They were not meant for him. A defiant grin stretched over his lips before a determination set in his eyes, looking back to the badlands. He dove into the front seat and revved the engine before backing out to the edge of the main road and quickly pivoting into position then tearing out onto the dusty highway, sending a plume of dust in his wake as he made for the badlands, his spirit lightened and rejuvenated. He undid his top shirt buttons, ripping off the front Arasaka logo to his cybernetic neck plates and throwing it with a quick flick out the car window, then looking down at the Arasaka patch logo on his arm which he also tore from his jacket then sent it too flying out the window. With each metre he put between him and the city, the younger he felt.

“I’m coming V.” He whispered under his breath as he pressed harder on the gas.

[queen--kenobi]

Missed Connection

Summary: You know the Entity had a reason for dragging you into the Fog. You could never figure out why. An old friend is more than happy to remind you.

Pairings: Jed Olsen/Danny Johnson x survivor!reader. female!reader but no gendered language is used.

Author’s Note: Here’s my Danny fic set in the DBD world! It’s connected to Triple Trouble (here) but can be read as a one-shot.

Warnings: A Lot. Major character death (but not permanent), canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of torture, graphic depiction of murder, abuse. Danny shows his true colors in this. A Mori is also involved. This is a DARK fic

The air is cold.

It’s always the first thing you feel when being pulled into a Trial. The air. No matter where you go, every realm is a stark contrast to the campfire. Most maps are chilly. Anything in the swamp and the saloon are the only two places the air isn’t on the cold side. You know the feel of the swamp right away; it’s sticky and hot and cloying. All of the humidity of a swamp without any relief that night usually brings. The saloon is odd. It starts dry and hot but cools rapidly as the trial progresses. You aren’t sure if that’s the Entity mimicking the weather conditions outside of this hellscape or if it’s how the Deathslinger remembers it. You’re not sure if you’d get an answer if you asked.

This cold is... It’s not Ormund cold. You don’t feel like you’re walking into a snowstorm. It’s colder than others, though. Maybe it’s about to snow? Something else, too. A different kind of cold. You open your eyes, and ah. You were right. The ground has a very thin layer of snow blanketing it. You can see some flakes falling. The other source is from the open doors in front of you. Something similar to AC but not quite comes blasting at full force from the building.

You bite down on your tongue to suppress a groan. You look to your left. You let a small smile grace your face.

“Adam!” You perk up, the delight evident in your voice. Despite the match just starting, you know better than to speak too loudly. Adam smiles in response. The two of you pad over to the door together.

“I fucking hate Lery’s.” You groan as the two of you step into the old hospital. Adam lets out a soft noise of amusement. 

“Not my favorite either.” He murmurs in response. His eyes are darting from side to side, already becoming hypervigilant. 

“I just came from a trial with Myers.” You assure him. His shoulders visibly lower some. “I don’t think that’s the game the Entity wants to play right now.”

You know for a fact that this killer isn’t going to be Michael. A feeling deep within your gut tells you so. You just aren't sure who. You know that the pull this time was different, more malicious. As if the Entity had something terrible planned for you. You had seen a flash of light, the type from a camera, and heard a click before you'd been pulled under. You move and wince. Your back hurts like hell, as if old wounds were reopening. Adam looks at you. The terror shifts into a much softer expression.

"Do you still not know? He asks. 

“Nope.” You shake your head. You don’t remember much of what happened before... this. You remember two boys who broke your heart and another man. That’s where things got foggy. Everytime you think of this man, things get hazy. You remember that he was dangerous, and you remember he helped you somehow. He wasn’t kind or nice; he was clever and manipulative. Yet he seemed to be as nice as he could be towards you, as if he had some sort of soft spot for you. It made you think of Kill Bill with how Bill only made an effort to be sweet when it came to the Bride. Well, until he shot her. Something about that comparison seems too on-the-nose, though, so you don’t linger on the thought. You know that you were running away from someone or something, but it wasn’t serious. Yet it was at the same time. A deadly game seemed to be the best way to describe it. 

It had been a foggy morning. When you were taken. You were looking at a newspaper article about how a man, The Man, had disappeared. The article made your head hurt and not in a pleasant way. Like the beginnings of a crying headache. You went into your room and pulled a shoebox filled with pictures from its hiding spot. You dumped them all out onto your carpet and began to comb through them. Some made you smile while others made that pounding in your head worse. You must have left a window open because the fog began to seep into the room. As the fog began to curl around you and get denser, your vision got weird. You kept on seeing flashes of light, the kind that come from a camera, and your hands were red and sticky. The room began to smell more and more like blood and rot and cold and Death. 

When you came to, you were at the campfire. The photos were gone, and your hands were clean. You were cold, though. The campfire didn’t do much to get the chill out of your bones. Others around the campfire made their way to you when you started to move.

The beeping of the monitor and loud static brings you back. You wrinkle your nose as you step over a reddish-brown stain on the floor. Despite the blood being old and dry, it still smelled fresh. The smell of iron was strong. Adam makes a noise to get your attention. You look at him.

“Generator.” It’s not that far off. The two of you walk your way over to it, taking care to crouch some. The annoying clacking got louder as the two of you approached it. Thankfully, it seemed to be a three person generator. Adam took one side while you took the other. You liked working with Adam. Some survivors were too talkative. Some seemed almost too nervous to speak with you. You liked Adam for a lot of reasons. He clearly chose his words carefully when he spoke, he was well-educated, and he knew when to take calculated risks. A small smile makes its way onto your face. The first trial you were in with him, the Hag had seemed to be right on your ass. You had hid, but you knew that she was going to find you. Then, a sound distracted her. She went off in that direction. The sound had been Adam throwing a pebble. He admitted later that it didn’t always work, but he felt it was worth a shot.

As you worked, you took a moment to close your eyes. There was a way to see how the other survivors were doing, but you had to close your eyes to see it. You shake your head. It doesn’t tell you much other than everyone seems to be doing okay. Some weird sort of aura seems to be coming from one of the others, but you’re not sure what to make of it.

You know what to make of it soon enough. The generator comes to life, light flooding the area. You and Adam nod at each other before heading different directions. No doubt the killer would show up any moment now. You’re making your way towards the center of the map. Maybe you can get the generator in the middle quickly. A loud yelp of pain comes out of nowhere. Not the yelp of being hit but the one when someone gets knocked to the ground. You grind to a halt. That’s not good. You hadn’t heard anyone get hit, and everyone was at full health not too long ago. Whomever the four of you were up against, they had a one hit down. Not to mention, you were close to them. You crouch and move over to the wall, flattening yourself against it. It had sounded like Kate was the unfortunate victim. You peer around the corner, trying to see if the coast is clear. A loud scream rings out. Your eyes widen. It was Kate who got hooked. At least you were decently close to her. You could probably get her off the hook safely. You would need to wait, though, until you were sure the killer was far enough away. You move quickly and quietly across the hall to the other side of the doorway. You hazard a peek around the corner.

The hallway you look down leads to one of the bigger halls that border the hospital. Kate is on the hook, forcing herself to stay limp. Something is moving in the grass. You hope it’s Claudette and not a killer. You weren’t up to go against Amanda right now. The figure stops, as if he knows he’s been spotted. A chilling breath sounds in your ears, and you shudder. You can see Adam around the other corner. He’s closer to Kate than you are. You nod to him before stepping out into the hallway, hitting the wall with your shoulder to make as much noise as possible. Not that you needed to do that. The elongated white mask, which thank God it wasn’t Amanda, is facing in your direction. For whatever reason, the mask alone sends a chill and a familiar zing up your spine. 

The cloaked figure stands slowly. 

Your eyes widen. You... 

It feels all too familiar. The way he stands up and looks at you. He tilts his head, and you don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning from ear to ear. Your heart beat intensifies. It feels like it’s all you can hear. The robes are the same as you remember them. The mask is the same. You can see a camera strapped to one wrist and a knife in the other hand. Your breath is coming quicker now. It feels like you might pass out. Your feet feel stuck, though. The cloaked man then waves at you. 

You know. You know who it is.

“J- Danny.” Danny. That was his real name. Not Jed like he had told you when you first met. All of your memories are slamming into place with a force so hard you’re surprised you don’t topple over to the floor. Danny had been the man in those photos you were looking at when you were sucked into this realm. Danny had been the one in the newspaper, although they called him Jed in that. He’d been the one at the hospital and the house and the park and the-

He says your name. 

Danny says your name.

The inflection makes your skin crawl. It does sound as if he's genuinely happy to see you, but it's not entirely pleasant. The dark tone is evident. It’s the tone of a man who has spent all of his free time thinking about the ways that he can hurt you, both little and small, when your paths cross again.

“Missed you.” He practically purrs. You can tell he winks at you.

Finally, you find your feet. With speed you didn’t even know you had, you launch yourself down the hall. 

You don't have to look behind you to know Danny is chasing you. You aren't sure where you're running and how you're going to lose him. You’re just moving as fast as you can. You can’t stop to think. If you stop to think or plan, you’re dead. You whip around a corner so fast that you slide across the floor for a moment, nearly toppling over. You don’t, thank God. You see a pallet. You aim towards it. Behind you, you can hear Danny breathing. He’s closer now. You push yourself to go faster. A tingle runs up your spine, letting you know they got Kate off the hook. Good. Maybe you can play distraction long enough for them to get a generator or two done. You reach the pallet. The knife makes a noise as it arcs through the air. You slam the wooden pallet down as soon as you’re on the other side, knowing that Jed is close enough for it to smack him. He makes a noise and stumbles back several paces. 

You step back away from the pallet and stare at him over it. Your side, just shy of your back, hurts. You touch it, and your fingers come away covered in blood.

All of your instincts are telling you to run, but you can buy your teammates time. He’s not going to be able to resist taunting you. He stares at you over the pallet. Your chest heaves with each breath.

“What did you have to do to get me in a trial with you, huh?” You speak first. If you can get him talking, maybe you can stall long enough for them to get at least one generator done. He laughs. It makes your skin crawl.

“Stalling, huh?” A teasing lilt enters his voice. “Even after everything, you like to pretend you're a good guy. That you’re selfless. You and I? We both know better.”

“I can be better than I was.” You press on your side, hoping that applying pressure will make it easier for you to heal the wound. Assuming you get the chance to do so. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, you know. Wrote a letter to Santa Clause telling him I’d been really good this year.” Even though you can’t see his face through the mask, you can hear the feral grin. “What do you think?”

You shift your weight from foot to foot. Your eyes dart from side to side, trying to figure out which way would be faster out of this loop. A shockwave of light with a loud click sound surges through the arena. You smile. Two down, three to go. You don’t think you can run him for four gens, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. Danny tilts his head and regards you for a moment.

“Let me help you make a decision.” His tone is condescending. Danny raises his foot. You take off before he finishes kicking the pallet. You wait for him to go through the area the pallet used to be before you turn. You practically dive through the nearest window. You can hear him running around to the door of the small room. Thankfully, you’re in one of the rooms with two windows, so you dive out the second one and haul ass.

“Kid.” You don’t know where Bill is, but you can hear him. You keep on running. You don’t have time to look. You keep running. Danny’s footsteps are getting closer. You hear Bill swear, and you see him move to start running. You keep on moving. You know that Danny isn’t going to pay any attention to them. Bill starts to run in the opposite direction. True to your prediction, Danny doesn’t let up. You take a turn and then another, Danny getting closer and closer. You dodge his attacks the best you can, you try to push yourself farther faster, but you know that it’s only a matter of time before you get hit. You see another pallet and are headed for it. Danny’s knife hits you right between your shoulder blades. You let out a scream as you hit the ground.

Danny laughs. He at least sounds out of breath. He deftly plucks the knife from between your vertebrae. You try to push yourself up enough so that you can crawl, but he places a boot right on top of the wound. He bears down with all of his weight, and you yowl. He chuckles. The pain is so much that you need a minute after he lets up. You don’t have time to try again. He grabs you and slings you over his shoulder.

“Let’s see. Where do I have the best sightlines...?” He muses as he heads towards a hook. You snarl. You kick and punch at him. He makes a noise when you hit him in the solar plexus but doesn’t drop you. You aim for that stop again. He lets go of you intentionally, and you fall to the ground. You try to twist, hoping to grab his foot and bite before he can touch you again. It doesn’t work. You roll, and he plants his boot on your side. The side that he’d slashed earlier. You bite down on your tongue to hold in your scream. 

Danny downright chuckles. He moves his boot for a second. His knee goes right under where his foot had been as he kneels down. You think you might be able to throw him off, but he’s two steps ahead of you. He brings one of his hands down to the nasty gash on your side and digs his fingers into it. You feel blood running out of your mouth as you bite down hard on your tongue to keep from screaming. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He grunts, clearly displeased. He hooks his fingers into the side of the wound and under your skin. 

That makes you scream.

You nearly don’t hear his delighted laugh over it.

“I have missed you so much.” Danny’s voice is filled with dark delight. You want to kick him again, but you can’t. Instead, you glare at him. You wonder what kind of deal you could cut with the Entity so that you could hunt Danny down and torture him. He clicks his tongue. “Don’t give me that look. You’ve had your chance to be like me.”

“Fuck you.” You spit. Blood hits his mask. He stares at you for a long moment. You brace yourself from him to dig his fingers into the slice, but instead, he surges forward to grab your throat. He slams one of his knees into your chest as he does so, making you wheeze.

“I taught you better than that.” He hisses. “Now I’d behave, or else I’m going to make you watch as I slice Adam up right in front of you.” He pauses. The look on your face must have betrayed you. “Yeah, I saw the way you two looked at each other. I have half a mind to send you the pictures I have of me gutting him like a fish.”

Your nostrils flare. You can feel a sneer of your own making it onto your face.

“You can’t kill me yet.” You wheeze. “You won’t even be able to hook me a second time before I get out of here.”

To emphasize your point, another surge of light pulses through the arena. Danny merely grins at you.

“I only need to hook you once.” He hisses before standing back up and throwing you over his shoulder again. Your eyes widen. You see Adam round the corner, and you shake your head. You don’t want to yell at him about the Mori because you don’t want to give up his location. He trails behind you.

Getting thrown up on a hook is never a feeling you can get used to. It always hurts just as much as it did the first time. It hurts even worse now because Danny angles you so it goes through another vertebrae. You scream. Danny steps back to admire his work. 

“You know. We could have been a lot of things, you and I.” He comments idly. 

“Yeah, yeah. We could have had it all.” It’s hard to talk. You really shouldn’t, but you can’t help yourself. Danny laughs.

“Go on. Dig yourself deeper.” He sounds positively delighted at the thought of hurting you even more. He steps back. “I’ll see you later, dear.” He steps back several more paces before crouching down and disappearing into the shadows. You don’t look at Adam. You just watch where Danny disappeared, not trusting him to be gone yet. You see someone out of the corner of your eyes. It takes you a moment to realize that Bill is the one here. He grabs you, and Kate scuttles out from around a corner as well. The two of them lift you up off the hook and help you down. You want to stand up, but Bill speaks before you can.

“He’s not coming back.” His gruff tone is even gruffer, thick with disappointment. He and Kate begin working on patching you up.

“Where’s Adam? He’s going to go after Adam.” You try not to swear as they work.

“Adam’s distracting him.” Kate’s voice is soft. The two of them finish. You stand up.

“No.” You shake your head. “The three of you can get out if I distract him.”

“Kid.” Bill glares at you. You shut your mouth. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear anything from you. Fucking a murderer.” You look to the floor. You don’t have an excuse. Kate’s expression is conflicted. She looks as if she wants to apologize for Bill’s behavior but also sides with him.

“The three of you can get out.” You repeat. “He only wants me. So.. Get Adam and get out.”

“Fine.” Bill says after a long moment. He jerks his head in the direction of a generator, and the two of them slink that way. You walk in the opposite direction. You wander towards one of the main halls, keeping your eyes peeled for Danny. You don’t see him. You imagine he’s stalking Adam now. You’re far enough away from Bill and Kate that you can start making noise. You jump in and out of a locker several times before vaulting a window loudly. It’s not long before you get the feeling you’re being watched.

Another surge. You grin. One more to go. 

“I’m beginning to think you missed me too.” Danny stands up from his crouched position at the end of the hallway. “You’re not this selfless.”

“Maybe I am now.” You respond. You prepare yourself to run. The mask tilts. You can feel the smug grin rolling off of him.

“Your boy toy helped me out.” Danny purrs. “I only have to hit you once.”

Fuck.

The air shifts, and you know that Danny is telling the truth. He stalked Adam long enough that now, he can get you down with one blow. You look to the nearest window, but the Entity must know what you’re thinking. Dark tendrils are blocking it. You look back at Danny.

“I can count you down.” He offers in his most helpful tone. “I’ll start at 10.”

You turn and run. You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious. You don’t care to find out. You think you’re near the office in this place. There might be enough windows in there for you to make a quick get-away. You see the stairs. Fuck it. Those might be better. You take them two at a time. Your heartbeat begins to thunder in your ears. You reach the top of the stairs just as Danny gets to the bottom. He grins up at you. 

“You know, Danny.” You begin with an even tone. You don’t know why you’re about to be this stupid. “I’ve got something to say.”

“Oh?”

“You know why I didn’t stay? I found someone better than you.” The effect is instant. Anger rolls off of him in a wave, his shoulder tensing and hand clutching the knife harder.

“Liar.” He hisses.

“Would I lie about something like that?” Your lips twitch. “Truth of the matter is that you were weighing me down. I found someone who was my equal. I was going to be so much more than you ever were.”

You run and jump down the hole in the ceiling. You don’t have to look to know that Danny has charged up the stairs. You hit the floor and roll. You scramble to your feet just as Danny begins his freefall. You bolt. You run as fast as you can. As you do, you pray. You pray that the other three get the last generator. You know it’s probably futile, but you do it anyway. A loud noise sounds as the largest surge of light blasts. You start laughing as you run.

They can open the doors. They can get out.

Your glee is short lived. You guess what you said truly pissed Danny off because he catches up to you quicker than you expected. This time, he brings the knife all the way down your back, from the bottom of your neck to your lower back. It feels as if your back has been split in two, which you guess it has been. You fall to the floor with a yell. Danny wastes no time in straddling your lower back.

“See, now.” He begins conversationally. You can feel him shaking with rage. “This could have been quick, but you had to go and say that. I was going to be nice for once.” He shifts. He shows you the camera in his hand. “But then again, I don’t think you like me when I’m nice. I think you like it when I’m mean. And if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.” The cool blade pressed down on your back. You suck in a deep breath and brace yourself. This was going to fucking hurt. He pauses for a second. Danny leans forward and brushes your hair off the back of your neck gently. His touch is soft, like a lover’s. 

“You know I could never deny you.” Danny intones before jamming the knife as far into your back as it will go. Your whole body tenses. You hear a scream. It takes you a moment to realize it’s yours. Tears roll down your face as he slowly drags the knife down along your spine. You can feel snot bubbling out of your nose and blood seeping out of your mouth. Your hands scramble to try and grab him, throw him off, but you can’t. The pain is so much that you can’t move. Danny coos condescendingly. 

“It hurts, I know, but I need you to take just a little bit more. Can you do that? For me?” He chuckles darkly at the end of that. “God. Your insides are prettier than I thought they’d be.” 

He stops, having reached the top of your waist. You’re sure he can see bone. You can’t make a sound anymore. At some point, your voice gave out. You can barely register the noise of the exit gates opening. The ground shakes. Tiny orange cracks begin forming on the ground and walls. Danny doesn’t pay them any attention. Instead, he grabs the sides of the long gash he just made and wrenches the skin apart. Your head falls to the floor, and you writhe, trying to get away from him. He laughs. He shifts, no doubt reaching for his camera. Once he has it, he leans forward. He nearly drapes himself over you, molding himself to you. He pauses and then clicks his tongue. You hear more movement, but you’re barely conscious at this point.

Something hits the floor. You see his mask hit the floor. He takes a hold of your hair and yanks your head up. His left cheek is pressed against yours. His grin is feral. You can see his dark hair out of the corner of your eyes.

“You know.” He adjusts the camera just-so. “You were my first and only love. Don’t you feel special?”

The camera flashes. He wastes no time in grabbing his knife. You can barely feel it as he slides it across your throat.

“Just thought you might want to know that.”

The world goes dark.

[raendown]

The first of my follower milestone gift fics! This one is for @rookie-d for the prompt word effete. 

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 2884 Rated: T+ Summary: Getting dragged along to places he didn't want to be wasn't new to Madara, not with a best friend like Hashirama. Meeting someone again that he hadn't seen in years and instantly falling in love? That one was definitely newer.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Grown, Possibly Matured

“I cannot believe I let you drag me out here.” 

Hashirama blinked over at him before smiling widely. What a doofus. Did he ever stop smiling?

“No need to be so grumpy, my friend. It’s a celebration! Enjoy yourself!” His ever-present smile grew impossibly wider as he snatched something off the tray of a passing waiter. “Don’t you want any food? It’s free, I checked.”

“Might as well. If I get nothing else out of this I’ll at least have a full belly without paying for it.”

“That’s the spirit!” 

Letting his sigh of disgust blow the hair away from his face, Madara snagged his own passing treat and let his eyes scan the gardens without much interest. It was a nice place. When he’d graduated from college a few years back the ceremony had taken place in the auditorium on campus but Tobirama’s university was one of those fancy big money ones that all the rich families sent their kids to for clout more so than an education. Of course they just happened to have a massive sprawling garden just perfect for outdoor spectacles like this one. He still didn’t understand how a family like the Senju could afford this school. Either Tobirama had the marks to get some very impressive scholarships or every member of their family had agreed to sell at least one of their kidneys to help him pay for it. 

“Why am I even here?” Madara shovelled the little morsel in to one side of his mouth and spoke from the other, ignoring a very prim looking woman in pearls giving him a horrified look. “I haven’t seen your brother since, what, high school? Earlier? I could care less about that knobby-kneed little asshole.” 

“Tobi hasn’t got knobby knees,” Hashirama protested. 

“He did the last time I saw him.”

“Oh. Oh yeah, he did get a little gangly when he finally hit that growth spurt, didn’t he? Ha ha! I remember now! Well he’s grown up a lot since then and I just...I just needed someone here to help me be proud of him!”

Since that was one of the stupidest things he’d ever heard there was no shame in saying so. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. If you want someone to come be proud of him wouldn’t you bring, oh I don’t know, family? You’ve got two other brothers. Or that woman of yours, isn’t she close to him too?”

Hashirama wilted like a flower, as dramatic as he’d been the day they met all the way back in middle school. 

“But our whole family is away on vacation because Tobi didn’t even tell any of us when he was graduating! I wanted Mito to come but she couldn’t get out of work on such short notice and he’d never say anything but I just know he’ll love it so much better when he sees there’s people here to celebrate with him!”

“What was he even in school for again? Something yuppie, obviously.” 

Because his best friend was an idiot who couldn’t read a tone to save his life, Hashirama practically danced off his own feet with pride as he crowed, “A double major! Oh I could just burst! He completed a double major in political science and international relations!”

Madara stared. 

“He went to school...for politics? He’s going in to politics?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Oh great. Wonderful. He was an annoying kid but that brain of his did have some potential. Now he’s gonna waste it.” 

Hashirama stopped bouncing to cock his head, bemused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know, what good are politicians really? They all talk a big game and they all wear their fancy suits but I’ve never met one who wasn’t entirely full of shit. Every one of them is basically an over-refined waste of space.” 

“Didn’t you tell me once that you wanted to grow up and be the mayor?”

Face suddenly much too hot for the cool weather around them, Madara growled and gave his friend a mighty shove. “Keep your mouth shut!” 

“So mean!” 

Talking about someone he hadn’t seen since they were all still growing in to their own limbs wasn’t exactly Madara’s idea of a good time. Changing the subject to the plans they had made for a beach day that weekend was much more interesting. A little fast talking, a bit of wheedling, and it was possible he might be able to talk Hashirama in to camping out the night without that terrifying fiance of his. Mito was a strong woman, definitely exactly the sort of person someone like Hashirama needed. Madara still didn’t like her. He always got the impression that when she looked at him she wondered what her fiance saw in him and it made his skin itch every time. 

It took another half hour but finally the ceremony began and all of the gathered family and friends were invited to find a seat. Though Madara had been calling the area gardens inside his head it was more like an outdoor amphitheater of some kind with ascending rows of benches carved in to the natural rock. It sort of reminded him of something out of ancient Greece, actually, and he hated a little that it impressed him all the more for it. 

“Ooh, there they are!” Hashirama grabbed his sleeve in excitement, all but lurching out of the seat he’d only just settled in to point at the thick wave of black robed young adults all marching out of a nearby building. Well, not so much marching. Considering the heavy course loads they had all just finished over half of them looked more like they were shuffling along on the strength of their last cup of coffee. That much Madara could relate to.

“Which one’s your brother?”

“There! There he is! Hi Tobi!” 

Either Tobirama didn’t hear the cry from so far away or he was well practiced at ignoring such a fog horn of a voice but none of the faces that turned towards them had any sparks of recognition. From the audience there was mostly fond understanding. Most of the students that looked towards them just looked confused. It was kind of sad but Madara was pretty sure a lot of them had never seen anyone so enthusiastic about supporting their family before. Yuppie types, in his experience, weren’t really great at loving their kids.

He might have based that opinion mostly off his own estranged father. So sue him. 

“When they’re all dressed the same how am I supposed to tell them apart? I remember he’s got white hair.” Madara gave the massive group of black robed figures a half-hearted once over. “There’s got to be a dozen people in there with white hair.”

“That’s easy,” Hashirama said. “My Tobi is the best one!” 

“Alright, well, that doesn’t really help much but...you tried?”

Despite his friend’s utter lack of ability to describe one simple human face Madara did eventually figure out which one was Tobirama. Not that he had to put much deduction work in; all he needed to do was sit back and wait until eventually the name ‘Senju Tobirama’ was called and one of the white-hair-black-robe-graduation-cap people broke away from the rest to ponce across the stage with more grace than any disney forest animal could ever dream of. 

The distance between them was still too large to really make out any fine details but the one thing Madara picked up on had him scowling out of reflex, hunkering down in his seat with arms crossed while Hashirama practically vibrated out of his own skin trying to holler his pride for the world to hear. 

He’d gotten taller! That rat bastard of an albino must have had another growth spurt since they last saw each other. What the hell was it about Senju genes? Even from this far away Madara could tell he would barely pass the guy’s chin and there was just something fundamentally unfair about that. He was older! Didn’t he get to be taller than anybody? 

Izuna didn’t count. As the youngest brother it was his duty to stay short forever. 

Like the disgustingly emotional child he was, it took Hashirama several minutes after his brother had completely vacated the stage for him to finally sit down and heave a deep sigh, followed immediately by several quivering breaths. Madara dug in to one pocket and threw a tissue in his stupid face. He’d learned to carry those around years ago no matter where they were going after one too many of his shirts had been ruined for lack of anything else around to cry on. When it came to Hashirama emotions could attack at any time. And usually for the stupidest reasons. 

Waiting out the rest of the ceremony was somehow even more boring now that he wasn’t watching for anyone specific to walk across the stage. It seemed unfair to him that alphabetically ‘Senju’ was so far down the list that there was less than a quarter of the names left to call and somehow it all seemed to last four times as long as the rest of this stupid ceremony had. Finally, however, the entire audience was invited to stand for applause and Madara did so with a groan, shaking out his legs in the hopes that doing so would discretely wake up his ass, gone numb from sitting for too long. 

Hashirama turned to him with brilliant eyes the moment the ceremony was announced complete. 

“There’s more snacks and drinks in the hall over there,” he said. “I texted Tobi to meet us, come on!”

“I could go for another snack I guess.” Madara let himself be pulled through the crowd, grateful for once that his best friend was such a tree that people just stepped out of his way without question. His interest in heading across to the fancy hall looming over them may have had something to do with more than just filling his belly now but he saw no need to say so out loud. 

Once they were inside the sheer number of human beings here for today’s ceremony became much harder to ignore, trapped together between four walls that echoed the roar of a hundred different conversations back and forth until Madara was tempted to clap both hands over his ears. The semi-permanent scowl on his face deepened with every step they took, wading through the tight knit throng until at last Hashirama shot up on to his toes with excitement. 

“There! Look! Tobi, over here! Hey Tobi!” 

Madara sighed, pulling the ends of his hair away from the grasping fingers of someone’s poorly attended baby, then looked up when a shadow fell over him. Alright. So maybe coming here today had been a good decision. If nothing else it afforded him the chance to see this human adonis up close. 

Even with the traditionally ill-fitting graduation robe covering the finer details it was still easy to see that Tobirama had not only grown up, he’d grown up good. The height difference between them was even more than Madara had guessed and the sharp lines of his face had settled in to something like chiseled marble over the years, less the young weasel his classmates used to call him and closer now to what one would expect to find on a magazine cover. He’d even had tattoos done that accentuated his cheeks plus one running down his chin and neck to disappear in line with the buttons of his shirt. To his utter horror, Madara’s first thought was how very much he wanted to trace those lines with his tongue. 

“Congratulations!” Hashirama crowed, throwing himself at his brother with wet eyes and a beaming smile. Tobirama, impossibly, withstood the storm of affection without so much as swaying on the spot. 

“Thank you Anija,” he rumbled, oblivious to the involuntary whine that slipped out from between Madara’s lips. Thank all the non existent gods for the noise in here covering such an embarrassing sound. It wasn’t fair. He already looked delicious, did he have to sound like a wet dream too?

“You remember my friend Madara, right? Were you surprised? Surprise! We wanted to come celebrate with you!” 

One pale brow lifted as Tobirama detangled himself from Hashirama’s embrace with enviable ease. “Hardly a surprise when you called me last night to tell me you were coming, though I appreciate the sentiment. Madara...yes, I remember. Hello Madara.”

“Nng.” Oh very good. Very intelligent. Such a good showing he was making of himself. 

“Your presence here is more of a surprise than my brother’s. It’s been quite some time.” 

“Guess so,” Madara grumbled. 

Tobirama cocked his head to one side. “And what are you doing with yourself these days, Madara?”

He was only being polite, something that age seemed to have added since he definitely wasn’t polite as a little kid, brain too fast for anyone else to keep up with and constantly exasperated that he needed to slow himself down. It was an improvement for sure. One that Madara should have appreciated. It certainly wasn’t his fault that he’d grown up to tick off every box on Madara’s list of things that were physically attractive. Still, the attitude was rising and emotions he’d never liked in himself were prickling and there was no stopping the defensive tone spitting its way out of his mouth. 

“Something more useful than where you’re headed, that’s for sure. Politics? Really? I never took you for the lazy sort.” Madara, with what little wisdom he had, very much wanted to hit himself even as the words escaped him. He didn’t blame Tobirama at all for lifting that second too-perfect brow. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Everyone knows that politicians are all talk and no action, too caught up in looking all important and sounding all smart but they’re never really useful. Shame. You always had a good brain, too bad you’re gonna waste it cushioning your ass on the publics’ dollar.” 

“The only shame here”-oh but the fire in his voice would have been glorious all on its own even without the deep bass rumble of his voice-“is that you seem to have grown up with your head lodged inside your own asshole. If you think for one second that I intend to rest on my laurels then I invite you go fuck yourself with the sharpest stick you can find. The two of you used to talk big words about changing the word when we were all kids. Tell me, how many internships have you suffered through for the chance to do so? How many scholarships did you study for just to meet the right people and share your proposals with the right ears? Go on, Madara, tell me how many tax breaks you leveraged before you even made it all the way through university?” 

Madara swallowed thickly, barely feeling the pressure when Hashirama put a hand on his chest to separate the two of them. It definitely said something about him that he should be so aroused from getting such a thorough dressing down in public but he couldn’t bring himself to worry much about it. Not when he had more important things to concentrate on. Like the fact that he’d just fallen in love in the space of two minutes. 

“Sweet mother of fire,” he whispered. “Marry me.”

Both of the Senju brothers looked at him like he’d grown an extra limb. Hashirama coughed nervously, eyes flitting between them like a nervous rabbit. 

“Let’s all just calm down now, alright? Today is supposed to be a happy day!”

“Indeed it is. Thank you for coming, Anija. Perhaps you might make this a happier day for me by removing this trash from the premises.” With his final piece spoken Tobiraama lifted his nose in to the air and turned to walk away, striding through the crowd as easily as if the room were empty and exuding all the prim fussiness of someone who had spent a decade in the social minefield of politics already. 

Hashirama moaned dramatically and leapt after his sibling. “Wait, Tobi! Maddy didn’t mean it! Come back, we can all be friends!”

Several minutes passed in a haze before Madara even noticed that he was now standing alone in a room crowded with a bunch of uppity strangers, several of them staring at him as though worrying for his mental health. He couldn’t blame them. Not if the expression on his face was half as dazed as he felt. Considering how loud the place was it was somewhat of a miracle that he could still hear Hashirama’s voice booming from somewhere off to the left but he chose not to question his luck, only turned to float off in that direction, hoping Tobirama was still here. Following after them would almost definitely end with more insults being thrown at him.

And like the twisted man he was Madara could freely admit that he was looking forward to it. He’d never met anyone with half as much fire in them as Senju Tobirama. He wondered, dreamily, how long it was going to take him to convince the other man to take his proposal seriously. 

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 20

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Simon and Martin have a chat.

Martin accepts some advice.

When Martin passed the front gate the world behind him disappeared, replaced by cold, grey mist and stone.

Staring back the way he came only made it harder to remember what had been before, and his head felt the pressure of distance with no point of reference. Something deep inside him knew the perils of walking anywhere but the path leading him to the Fairchild house; to step anywhere else would see him tumbling out and away from the only landmark he had left.

Waiting for him at the front door was the woman who’d taken the sketchbook from him, this time without the veneer of professional courtesy. The hooded jumper, worn jeans, and disinterested wave announced to the world an interrupted day off. If his damp, miserable self was an affront to her sensibilities, she wasn’t showing it, so the wet jacket stayed on.

In his nerves he hadn’t really registered her appearance during their first meeting, too focused on getting rid of the evidence of his crime. She was older, maybe in her 60s, with long grey hair tied back into a low ponytail. He hadn’t seen her about town before, had he?

They walked inside without any chitchat, so Martin glanced about in silence. The interior felt right if his memory served, the same skinny halls and windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The most striking aspect still was the mural at the top of the central staircase. The rest of the house was dwarfed by it, as if the grand building was no greater than his hometown’s silhouette tucked into the corner of the canvas. 

Approaching it, the colors were more. More intense, more bold, all the brightness stolen from the world outside siphoned into an impossible sky. Maybe anything would look that much more  when contrasted with where he’d been. He was at the top of the stairs standing at its center wondering if there was any distance that could give him a proper view of the whole. 

From behind him the woman cleared her throat, though she didn’t seem irritated. He pulled himself away from the spot where he’d stopped to stare, leaving slippery footprints in his wake.

Glancing up at the mural, she only said, “Some things demand attention.”

She led him to the same room from his first visit with its outward wall of glass. Across the room sat Simon, his back facing those large, unbelievably clear windows that now overlooked the fog-covered landscape. Martin heard the woman’s retreating footsteps and the click of the door.

Martin breathed out, keeping a few feet between himself and the old man. He waved stiffly at the windows. “It’s a bit late. I was expecting this to happen last week.”

With that pleasant smile unmoving, Simon motioned for Martin to sit in the chair across from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. That event will be much more exciting. I wanted to put this meeting together, and needed a good mix of quick and fun.”

“Starting to question my understanding of ‘fun’,” Martin mumbled. He took the seat offered to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the rainwater he carried in seeping into the plush fabric. “It seems like I’m always on the losing side of someone else’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon hummed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “So you’d prefer something more exciting in your invitations, so you’re not left out? Did my little errand turn you into a thrill-seeker already?”

“No.” A shiver ran through him, not of fear but of an awful, biting cold. The wet of his hair sapped the heat right out of him and pulled his ponytail down heavy onto his neck. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a bit moody today, aren’t we?” The smile was still sitting idly on Simon’s face. “Peter’s been around more often, I can tell. He does that to people, sucks all patience and goodwill out until they’re… well.” He flicked his eyes over Martin with something like pity.

Martin pressed his arms tighter into himself. “So what, you push people into the sky, and he does that?”

Simon laughed without a hint of shame. “Goodness, no. Peter is just like that, no strangeness needed. I’ve often left his company feeling completely drained and irritable, though I’ve found ways to ensure the feeling is mutual.”

“Good friends, then.”

“As much as he can have them.” Simon leaned forward, no hint of bitterness in his voice or expression. “A very close-to-the-chest type, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

With a sharp exhale, Martin said, “Look, if you’re going to ask me for a favor I’m not-”

“Now, now, I’m not one to drag on a favor forever, and you’ve paid in full. Besides, Peter is much too jumpy right now for anything to be done.” Simon turned his gaze toward the window. “I’m afraid all any of us can do now is wait.” 

A jolt of disappointment shocked Martin to silence. All of this dramatic nonsense just to be told to wait and see? He hadn’t had any specific expectations, but deep down he’d believed Simon to be plotting something soon. That even if it was a horrible outcome Martin wouldn’t be left in suspense from every angle of his life. 

Whatever shoe was meant to drop, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for some unspecified amount of time.

Simon regained his easy tone and continued, “And I greatly dislike this weather, all of these things clouding my view. Soon I’ll be going weeks without a clear day, and it can feel so… so claustrophobic. So little to work with on a day like this.”

He wasn’t the one who needed to walk in it. “You’re not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You know how these things are. Business.” Reaching into his pocket, Simon pulled out a small envelope. “Speaking of, like a pouting child Peter has been avoiding me, and as far as I can tell you’re the only person who actually sees him.”

With a deep sigh Martin leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. Not only was he getting nothing out of Simon, but- “This is all so I can be a messenger boy?”

“Just the one time, if Peter can be reasonable.”

“I don’t- Wait. Why not trap him like you did me? Just force him to your door.”

With a sudden laugh that made Martin jump, Simon replied, “Not everyone is as easy to find as you. And anyway, it’s not wise to do that to friends, is it?” 

It wasn’t a way to keep friends, no, and he took the message from Simon without further comment. On the other side of the room, the door opened to reveal that woman. Not needing prompting he stood, looking back one more time at the other man.

Simon remained seated and swung one more friendly smile in Martin’s direction. “You’ll be seen out, then. I must thank you for your previous help, Martin. The personal significance alone can’t be overstated. It’s not my only sketchbook, of course, but several of my best works had their beginnings in it.” Was that glint in his eye one of creative pride, or was there some joke Martin was missing?

The tiniest desire to stay and hear more itched at the back of his mind, but the dismissal was clear and he let the woman lead him back through the house. Once outside he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse into a complete downpour. The high wind would certainly blow his hood down, making for a wretched walk ahead of him.

“Ah.” He’d been taken to the Fairchild house on an impossible route, but the way home was entirely real. “I have a long way to walk.”

“Inconveniences all around,” the woman said, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was alone he ripped the phone from his pocket and and bent over it to delete his dramatic messages before they could be seen, replacing it with:

Martin: talked with simon (didnt really have a choice), dont think anything will happen with him for a while

Martin: said all we can do is wait? really cryptic

Then he pocketed it once more and walked out the front gate into the reinstated town.

The greatest relief was finding other unlucky pedestrians doing their best to stay dry along with him. Even without the ability to stop and talk he felt the silent commiseration. It wasn’t joy in the suffering of others but rather the knowledge that other people were there at all to share in the cruddy weather. He could see where a person ahead of him was avoiding puddles, and found residual warmth in the lights of nearby shop fronts. It was the kind of melancholy atmosphere that could make rain a little more bearable.

The walk down the cliff however was designed to kill him, the slope slick with mud and abandoned by an early setting sun. No waterproof phone, glasses blurred and splattered with droplets, Martin made his slow way home in the cold, in the dark. More than once he stopped to make sure he hadn’t gotten turned around by forces supernatural or otherwise, but then the ground flattened and he could finally hear the sea over the rain beating against the ground.

He was late of course, but besides some comments about tracking water into the house and forgetting his umbrella his mother had left him well alone, and even took his word when he described the weather as unsuitable for her health. He was grateful. After the last few days anything worse might’ve sent them into a screaming match to surpass any bouts they’d had in years. Maybe the day had taken as much out of her as it had from him.

Instead, after a necessary change of clothes on his part, they ate dinner and watched television, her in her chair and him on the couch. It was some old game show he vaguely remembered, not something that aired in his childhood but that he’d experienced first as reruns, the saturated colors and fuzzy image granting it a multilayered nostalgia. Someone on the screen had just answered a question and was hoping their spouse would come up with the same response.

In his pyjama pants and old t-shirt he felt little, his feet tucked under him because he hadn’t wanted to waste another pair of socks. It was as if he’d just come out of the bath with his wet hair and drooping eyes and was waiting to be told he was up too late. As if he wasn’t responsible for watching the clock himself.

His phone vibrated in the middle of the program, but if his mother noticed she chose to ignore it. Tapping the phone awake, Martin saw a notification from the group message.

Tim: ok check-in time what the hell 

Tim: just saw this 

So they hadn’t seen his initial messages. He breathed out in relief and typed out a reply.

Martin: some weird stuff, but everythings fine. simon made it so i had to go talk to him

Martin: whatever simon mentioned before its not coming yet. seems like he isnt in control of when whatever it is happens? also peter is avoiding him so i need to give him this letter

Tim: weird but

Tim: good? more time for us

Sasha: one less thing to worry about. glad it went okay.

Tim: ^^

He’d successfully avoided any panic or weirdness that his original messages most definitely would’ve caused and patted himself on the back for a job well done. No one needed that as a distraction.

Martin: oh right weird topic change but jon mentioned it, do you really all use a cot at work

Tim: oh yeah lol love that thing

Tim: jon is on it right now actually will pass on simon info when hes awake

Martin: youre all still there??

Tim: oh martin dont you know weve Never Left

Tim: we should get going soon tho now that you mention, will drag jon out of the archives while passing on simon info

Martin: good idea

Tim: and keep those eyes down!

Martin bit his cheek and looked past his phone at the television screen. No doubt it was karma for his rash behavior at the lighthouse, having “just wait!” shouted at him from all corners. The universe was making itself very clear. Simon could’ve just been telling him to let something terrible happen, but even if that was true Martin wasn’t in a place to stop anything.

But it was a great quality of Tim’s, rounding them all up and trying to save them from regrettable decisions. The least Martin could do was make that job easier and stay out of trouble. It was also the most he could do, as much as it irked him.

Martin: dont need to tell me twice! 

And with that Martin pocketed his phone, accepting his fate of inaction.

When he finally put his mother to bed the goodnight between them was not warm, but it was closer to normal. If he’d been told that one of the most pleasant parts of his day would’ve been watching the telly after dinner with his mum, he would’ve… well, it wasn’t that strange. Really it emphasized how bad the rest of his day had been.

Meanwhile the most pleasant event felt fake, even when he checked his call logs to confirm it. What a strange start to a day, he thought as he laid in bed. At least it made up for Jon not being around that evening, that and knowing Jon was getting some sleep. The man clearly needed some prompting during an intense work period to take care of himself, and Martin silently thanked Tim for doing something about it when he couldn’t bring himself to initiate a phone conversation. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be so nervous about the idea, but…

But.

Hopefully Jon didn’t think he was rude. It was one thing to chat in person, but calling without a specific topic to discuss while the others were hard at work? Because he was bored? Best to let Jon reach out when he felt it necessary, even if it meant being woken up at odd hours on a work day and otherwise sitting on his hands. Eventually this would all be behind them and he could stop being racked with guilt over the thought of making a social call. 

Martin’s stomach twisted. Yes, things would be dealt with, and he would move on from this strange period in his life.

He moved to place the phone down for the night when it buzzed in his hand, with a message in another, private chat.

Sasha: we should talk more later about what simon told you specifically. if something big is coming having someone on the inside of things might not be the worst. not saying you should seek him out, he seems perfectly of capable of contacting you, but if it happens again it could be an opportunity

Martin: you think he could be on our side?

Sasha: i think letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if the other person is the worst. something is going on between him and peter lukas and the more we know the better

Martin: right…

Sasha: again not saying to run into anything. wait for us etc etc but trust your gut

Martin: so your opinion on staying put?

Sasha: sometimes you cant, thats all im saying

Martin: okay, i think i get it

Sasha: good. now get some sleep, weird things tend to drain you

Martin: goodnight

Sasha: night

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t believe that Simon was a good person, not with how he’d treated Martin thus far, but that didn’t make him evil, either. And his advice was the same as what everyone else had already been saying: stay out of trouble as best he could and wait for the right moment. Even Sasha still conceded to it being the best option for the present. If Peter told him to wait as well, then Martin would be truly lost on what to do, but until then he would follow the advice of all the people who knew more than he did.

And if Simon called him to his home again, he would try to be less… difficult. And he would buy a better jacket, just in case. 

--

The next morning, he listened to a voice message left shortly after he’d fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Jon’s groggy voice drifted from the mobile. “Hi, sorry I missed things. Wasn’t expecting Fairchild to be so forward, and my sleep schedule has never been- anyway, Tim convinced me to go back to my flat, but since I slept at the institute earlier I’m currently following a few threads to see if they lead anywhere helpful. I think I’ve reached something, but time will tell.”

He continued after a brief pause. “Seems you’re already asleep, as you should be, so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you have any questions about our other… shared interest. Good night. I hope things stay quiet.” 

[daydreambouquet]

Zack never survived the Nibel Reactor and therefore couldn't rescue Cloud from Hojo's clutches. From this single point of divergence, the story unfolds.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” - Cid Highwind

Preview of Chapter 23 - The Ancient Temple

“That must be it,” Cid says as he circles the Wutai carrier above a strip of tropic islands. Azure waters shimmer against sandy white shorelines, and rocky beaches press beneath thick jungle canopies.

Despite the otherwise clear weather, dense fog covers an island in the archipelago. Poking above the obscured tree line is the tip of a jet-black temple whose composition alters from glossy to matte with each strike of sunlight.

“Well, that’s...ominous,” Aerith says, leaning against the window.

Cloud couldn’t agree more. The hues of sky near the temple’s apex are sour yellow, and flocks of parrots spiral to avoid its vicinity.

“Can we get on the ground now?” Yuffie moans from the cabin. She’s curled on the floor to stymie her motion sickness while Barret paces and periodically curses Cait Sith.

“I knew that mother-fucker was up to no good,” Barret kept saying, but now that the temple is close, he stands beside Tifa near the pilot’s chair. “That don’t look like something the Cetra could build.”

It’s true. The angle of the crux is perfect. The material has a deep smooth luster that shifts dark colors and mirrors its surroundings like a window into a shadowed world. The Cetra are an ancient race, presumably without the tools or capabilities for such precision. But more importantly, this place does not appear welcoming. And weren’t the Cetra benevolent custodians of the Planet?

Tifa’s arm brushes against Cloud as she points at a clearing near the edge of the fog.

“There, look,” she says.

A Shinra helicopter sits motionless and vacant. Its windows carry a sheen of translucent dust.

“The hell? That it? No troops?” Barret asks.

It’s strange. There should be more Shinra officials or patrolling Turks. But aside from the scurrying lizards, there are little signs of life.

Nanaki stretches and lifts his nose to peer out. Vincent crosses his arms, watching without comment.

“Shinra knows we are coming,” Nanaki says.

Yet maybe not. They have the keystone, so perhaps they’ve already plundered whatever treasure lay within, though judging by the look on Aerith’s face this seems unlikely. She’s concentrating hard as if deciphering a masterful puzzle.

Tifa smiles over at Cloud. He hasn’t spoken to her about last night, but it doesn’t feel necessary. Nothing between her is uncomfortable. Affections turned tangible, and neither has regrets. He likes that he can trust this sensation. It seems the only unquestionable piece of him.

Cid lands the carrier next to the Shinra chopper because there is nowhere else in the temple’s vicinity, and Aerith asks him to get as close as possible.

When he cuts the engines and slides open the doors, a cacophony of jungle noises and hot muggy air assaults them. Giant insects buzz by, and curious predators slink in the outskirts of their arrival. The Shinra chopper rests inert with one door open, interior console blinking on standby as if the pilot had been in an extreme hurry.

The wall of fog is ahead, and beyond that, the temple rises.

The group hesitates. Yuffie swats at a fat mosquito. Nanaki tilts his head at the screen of mist.

“Is it...safe?” Tifa asks, but of course, nobody knows.

Cloud steps into the fog. Immediately, he’s cut off into another world of compact, quiet forest. The distant chirp of birds is behind him, and the sun is blotted out.

“It’s fine,” he reports, inhaling the odorless mist. “Just fog. Must be a weird weather phenomenon.”

There’s nothing alive in the jungle on this side of the border. The trees are frozen in full bloom, but no wind rustles the foliage. The shades of green seem muted and timeless. Cloud touches the leaves from a vine growing around a tree, and the particles turn to dust in his fingers.

The others enter behind him until the fog encompasses them all. Aerith leads the way forward. The peak of the temple somehow seems more prominent now and dominates the skies.

They follow her in silence, though Cloud insists on taking point in case of Shinra ambush. But as they venture forward, that possibility seems far remote. There is nothing and no one around. The temperature drops as they weave through the jungle in the shadow of the temple. Their boots crunch over dry leaves and brittle vines.

The base of the temple appears like a sudden sheet of milky glass. There are no markings in its facade nor windows or entry of any kind. The mist creates a low ceiling, the illusion of suffocation. As the others wander on, following the structure’s perimeter, Cloud finds himself caught in the intrigue of his reflection. Whenever he glances away, it distends and reintegrates, shimmers and dissolves. Then when he looks again, right at it, the doppelganger disappears and only his own pale blues stare back. He does this double-take four, then five times before a shout calls his attention.

Tifa yells from a distance. The entire party has moved on, and he rushes through the fog along the temple wall, ignoring the sensation of something at his heels.

He finds Aerith equally enthralled nearby. She stands alone, pressing a hand against the temple.

“Did you hear Tifa?” he asks because she’s acting as though she has not. She’s captivated, and his presence startles her.

“I...I can hear something else,” she says. He gets close and listens. Ahead, he hears the commotion of their friends but no urgent cries. No nearby fauna. He hears nothing else.

“The Ancients?” he guesses.

“I don’t know,” Aerith says. “There are many of them.”

Tifa shouts again, and this time it’s in dismay. Alarm. She calls everyone over. Aerith and Cloud move together, and a gap in the mist opens up.

Tifa kneels near a Turk lying on the ground. Red soaks the white shirt beneath the black jacket from a deep slash. He bubbles blood from his lips.

“Tseng!” Aerith runs to his side. “Oh no. No, this can’t be!”

Barret, Cid, and Vincent stand apart, unhelpful, as Tseng sputters a painful-sounding cough. Yuffie and Nanaki are staring at the droplets of blood leading into a narrow archway in the temple. A pattern as if shaken from a long, slender sword. A masamune.

And the entrance, a pyramidal door, beckons into utter black.

Inserted into an indent below is the meteorite. The keystone. Dio’s collector item, unlocking a thousand secrets. Cloud cannot look away.

“Help him!” Aerith says. “Cloud, give me your Restore.”

He pulls his eyes to the suffering Turk. Tseng’s long black hair hangs over a desperate dirt-streaked face. But Tseng is the enemy and a victim of Sephiroth. The General must’ve been here, sought the keystone, and taken it. Which means he’s just ahead. Inside the temple.

“We were wrong...” Tseng whispers. His hands tremble. “It’s not...the Promised Land he’s...”

Aerith soothes him. When the others don’t help her, she explains, “He was always kind to me. The Turks have followed me all my life, but that doesn’t mean any of them deserve to die. Don’t you see?” Her pleading eyes go to Cloud.

He waits, expecting her to whisk a healing breeze out of thin air, but she doesn’t. Maybe she can’t, or maybe Tseng’s wounds aren’t that severe. Sephiroth would’ve killed him if he’d wanted to. But whatever lay ahead was more appealing than Tseng’s death. The Turk wasn’t worth the time.

Cloud steps over Tseng’s body and approaches the entrance. Nanaki and Yuffie stand aside, but he pauses at the gaping void. Cold air coils from the other side, wraps around his forearms. Someone says his name. He thinks it’s Aerith.

Behind him, he sees her kneeling with blood on her dress. Tifa crosses her arms, and Barret gives Cloud a wary look. Cid paces, and Vincent cranes his neck to survey the temple’s peak. Aerith won’t leave Tseng’s side.

Cloud pops the Restore from his sword and tosses it to Aerith. Then he crosses the threshold.

An immediate cool disseminates like static across his skin. The world behind fades away. He hears Aerith activate the Restore, but the swirl of green light doesn’t reach him. The void pulls him forward, and the darkness shifts like a tangible being, becoming darker and lighter as if creatures were moving in its depths. The hallway is longer than it seems, extending beyond the visible footprint of the temple.

Then a rush hits him. It isn’t a physical sensation, but he knows he is falling. On impulse, he curls, shielding his head, yet his feet never leave the ground. The surroundings come up instead of him going down.

A harsh light flares, and in an instant he is outside, overlooking a vast complex of labyrinthine structures: staircases and archways, open-air walkways that loop into corners and angles of confusing geometry. Everything is pale stone and unadorned. The ledge where he stands is crumbled and worn, leading into a stairway that seems undisturbed for eons. The sky is a malachite haze.

[dragonflymage]

I have various levels to my dreams and it depends on the level as to how often I have that type of dream. I’m not sure if overthinking causes them. But I do know having the dreams causes me to think more after I wake.

Here are my personal dream types:

💙 Normal dreams - 💙 This is a dream that revolves around one or two subjects or symbols. It’s a pretty simple dream. It may or may not make sense. I’ll most likely forget about it when I wake, or by the end of the day. These probably occur at least once a night, if not more.

💙 Weird dreams - 💙 These are similar to Normal dreams except they are truly strange. It’ll mix symbols that make no sense. I’ll wake up wondering what the hell I just dreamed about. These aren’t as common as the Normal dreams. Those that I remember may occur about once a week or two.

💙 Story dreams - 💙 These are dreams that are like I’m watching a movie. I’m either within the mind of the ‘main character’ or I’m an invisible watcher to the events. These can be ordinary stories or can also fall into the Nightmare category. I don’t have these sorts of dreams as often as I used to.

💙 Dreamwalker dreams - 💙 For me, a dreamwalker is someone who can travel in their dreams. I have at least 5 regular locations I visit while I sleep. These are places I know so well that if I ever found them while awake, I’d know exactly where to go to get around. These dreams occur maybe once or twice a month.

💙 Stress dreams - 💙 This is a dream where I wake feeling anxious. The themes usually involve being teased and emotionally tormented. As though I’ve been picked on all night. These dreams occur more often when I’m already feeling stressed about something while awake.

💙 Disaster dreams - 💙 These are dreams about some sort of natural disaster, post-apocalyptic events, or something that is supposed to end the world. Usually, they involve weather or geological events, bombs, or (haha) zombies. I’ve had these fairly regularly my whole life.

💙 Creepy AF dreams - 💙 Similar to a Story dream, but these dreams are one step above a full nightmare. They involve all the scary elements of a nightmare, but I’m not fully interacting with it, nor it with me. Like I’m walking through a created haunted house in someone else’s mind where nothing can touch me. It’s creepy, but overall, not dangerous. I don’t have these dreams very often, maybe once or twice a year, depending on waking situations.

💙 Nightmares - 💙 The worst. These are dreams that are realistic and frightening, leaving me feeling quite traumatized. They are usually a Story dream taken to the extreme. I’ve often wondered if I was trapped inside various random people’s bad memories. I am fully interacting and stuck in the scenario until it unfolds to the end. Though, I have learned how to wake myself up right before I (or the person in the dream) is supposed to die. I used to have Nightmares more often in the past. I rarely have these now.

Here are examples from my dream journal for each of the above types I listed.

💤 **Please know that some of the content below might be SCARY** 💤

⭐ Normal dream - ⭐ I was with a group of people. One of them I know was male. He was a priest or holy man. We were walking together on a dirt road and there were trees around us. There was a clearing where I could see through the trees and I saw mountains way off in the distance. I thought it was so pretty so I took my out camera and snapped pictures. Off to the left of the mountains, I saw a bay. On the bay was a huge bridge that reminded me of the golden gate but it was bigger. Something about the bridge scared me.

I took more pictures. Trees blocked my view so I moved around to try and find a clearer view. The holy man with me said, "you're seeing what you're meant to see. Let it become clear on its own". When I looked back at the bridge it was covered in fog and I couldn't see it anymore.

⭐ Weird dream - ⭐ I was in an old building. It looked like a stone temple. It was dusty. Someone was with me and he was trying to get a spell or a machine to work. There was a big egg-shaped container with a line going longways through it so it could open. It reminded me of a coffin except it was egg-shaped.

I went over to the egg coffin and opened it. Inside was a little boy. I was wondering what a little boy is doing inside the coffin? I touched him and he woke up and I was glad that he wasn't dead. I helped him out of the coffin and he followed me around. He said, "I'm supposed to visit you soon". I said, "but you're visiting me now". He shook his head and said, "no not like this". That's all I remember.

⭐ Story dream - ⭐ The dream went through an entire sequence of events in someone else’s life that spanned about a year. I lived alone in a house that had no lights. I was pregnant and nobody to talk with about it. Two or three older women came to my house to keep me company. They said that they would explain things to me and answer any questions I had. They answered basic questions because I was too afraid to ask what I was really thinking. They offered to stay with me but I told them that I would be fine, so they left. I spent a great deal of time alone and crying.

When I was in the hospital to have the baby, I felt detached from everything. I was pregnant, and then I had a baby. He was a boy and I named him Delancey. I brought him home and in my heart, I was happy he was here, yet there was a sadness in my heart. When it came time to introduce Delancey to other people I knew, I put him in a small stroller. I went to a workplace where I knew some people. They came out and fawned over the baby and were excited about him being there. Again I felt detached and put on a happy face.

There was an office or room inside the workplace that I went into. It was empty and I knew it was the room that belonged to my baby's father. My thoughts lingered on him and how he died before he knew I was even pregnant. I started crying, holding Delancey to my chest, trying to talk out loud to the baby's father that he had a son, and I was so sorry that he wasn't here to share in his life with me. My heart hurt so badly for this woman I shared life with in my dream.

⭐ Dreamwalker dream - ⭐ In this dream, I returned to a dream location I've been in before. The place always feels like India, yet it also feels other-worldly. In past dreams, I'm walking through a marketplace during different stages of prosperity. Sometimes the marketplace is active and thriving, and other times it's desolate with people sitting on the ground as if they're starving.

Last night the location felt desperate. In the dream, I remembered being here before, so I took a good look around to gather my sense of direction. I always entered the marketplace from a path in the near center, and the marketplace extended off to the right and left of me. The ground is not paved. It's covered with red-orange dirt. I always seem to know someone in this location and I went looking for them.

Near the marketplace stood a small hut with a blanket for a door. I stared at it for a long time, but I don't recall why I hesitated to go in. Outside of the hut, a small boy came over to me. His skin was deep brown and his hair was short and black. Indian or Arabic features. I recognized him as he asked, "do you want to buy some?" He had jewelry in his hand.

I looked in my hand and saw that I carried an amulet in the shape of the eye of Horus. It was new and shiny and felt out of place in my surroundings. The boy looked at it and said, "I can give you something better". I asked him, "why are you selling jewelry away from the marketplace?" He looked at me in silence, but his eyes looked very sad. He hurried away before I could say anything more.

I finally went inside the hut. Before I went inside, I knew that something was wrong. Several people were huddled together on the dirt floor. One person cradled the head of a child on his lap. I knew the child was sick, and possibly the others were too. I felt as though I had the capability to heal them but I think I knew I was too late to do any serious help. They pleaded to me to please try. It hurt to look at them, and I knew that my efforts wouldn't save them, but I knelt down and attempted to soothe their pain. The child weakly held my hand and such an overwhelming feeling of helplessness went through me that it pulled me right out of the dream.

⭐ Stress dream - ⭐ In my dream, I saw people outside. One man said to a woman there "I'll buy you ice cream with a cone". The woman looked happy about the ice cream at first. But then she was upset when he mentioned a cone. She walked away. The man didn't know what upset her.

Then I saw a memory inside the woman's thoughts. I shared space with her. The woman was a 5-year-old little girl. She sat in-between her parents on a bench. The girl had won a prize and her prize was an ice cream cone. Her father said he would test the ice cream to see if it was OK. He ate the ice cream and didn't give it back to the girl.

The girl kept saying "can I have some now?" But he wouldn't give it back. He said, "this tastes so good". The girl got upset and started to cry. She looked at her mother and said: "he won't give me my ice cream". Her mother made faces at the girl and repeated what the girl said, repeating it in a teasing voice. The girl cried and the father kept eating the cone until it was gone. The girl didn't get any of the ice cream that was her prize for winning something. I knew she felt very upset because she never had special ice cream like that before.

⭐ Disaster dream - ⭐ In this dream, I was at a beach. I walked in the water out pretty far because the water was shallow. I went out and the water was only at my waist. Then I noticed a disturbance in the water and a large whirlpool appeared. In a short amount of time, all the water in the ocean drained down through a large crack in the ocean floor. I knew that a larger disaster was coming, that an earthquake was going to happen. I went around the beach to all the people who were standing there staring at the empty ocean, trying to warn them that a big earthquake was coming, but no one seemed to hear me or care. I decided to leave the beach and hurried back home. I ran into the house to grab my pets. I had only one cat and two small dogs. I put them into my jeep and called my brother on a cell phone to warn him. He seemed too tired to care. I drove someplace safer.

⭐ Creepy AF dream - ⭐ I was inside a room that was supposed to be my bedroom. There was a man in my room, but I wasn't sure if he was there or not. He stood in the corner of the room watching me and said nothing. I had a creepy feeling so I went to the window. I was on the second floor. Looking down, I saw another man standing there. He wore white and stood very still. He looked right up at me and stared. He didn't move and kept staring at me. I was afraid so I left that window and looked out the other window. Another man wearing white stood very still and stared up at me.

I hurried away and turned to look at the man in my room. He said, "so you can see us, can you?" I wanted to get out of the room, but couldn't find the door. The man walked closer to me and said, "I was going to wait until later. But since you can see me I'm going to kill you now." He had something in his hand and he came closer to me. I sat on the floor and I pushed myself against the wall using my feet. He stood over me and stared at me for a long time. I was still sitting on the floor, but my dead body was laying on the floor in front of me. It scared me so much to see that. The man leaned over my body and talked.

A woman and another person came into the room. She saw my body on the floor and was angry. She picked the man up and took a dagger and stabbed him in the chest many times. Then she threw him on the floor. She looked right at me sitting on the floor and stepped over my body. She told me to follow her and she would find a safe place for me. I was very scared. But I followed her.

⭐ Nightmare - ⭐ I was inside someone's house. Other people were living in this house with me and they were my family. Another stranger lived in the house too. He was very dangerous, but I was the only one who could see him. He took each of my family one at a time and sliced their throats with a long razor. He forced me to watch him doing this. I could see this happening, but the other family members didn't seem to realize what was going on. I tried to tell them they needed to leave the house, but they didn't understand me. He grabbed another person and sliced them too. I saw the razor going into their skin and I saw blood everywhere. He kept doing this until they were all dead.

Then he said he was going to do the same to me. He grabbed me and showed me the razor knife and moved it over my skin. He wasn't cutting me at first. I tried to get away from him. He said he was very sorry and there was no one else left so I was next. Then the other person I shared the dream-thoughts with began talking to him. She was screaming and saying she didn't want to die. I think she was a she. I don't know for sure. I could still see through her eyes and I tried to close my eyes. But I couldn't because her eyes weren't closed. Then the telephone woke me up.

— Those are some of my dreams from over the years. It took me forever to go through them and pick these. I have so many that could’ve worked for each category.

And to answer the original question, there were times when I’ve had nightmares very often and times when they were rare. The frequency seems to depend on what’s taking place in my life. 💗

Thanks for the question. 😊

[endless-whump]

S/O: Like Real People Do

Masterlist

--

“Find one you like yet?”

Oliver rubbed his hands together, swaying on the heels of his feet.  He was bundled in layers of hoodie and jacket, a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, but it still wasn’t quite enough to keep him warm in the chilly autumn weather.  It was nice, though, and Oliver didn’t mind it at all.  They were standing in the biggest patch of pumpkins Oliver thought he’d ever seen, trying to pick a few out to bring back home.

“No,”  Oliver hummed, watching the vapor of his breath in the cold air.  “I mean- I like them all, just haven’t decided yet.”

Simon crouched down to pick one up, turning it over to look at it.  It was a slimmer, taller one, the stem swirling until it was almost growing around itself.  It was a dark orange, the ridges running down the sides deep, creating divots in the pumpkin.

“That one looks nice.”  Oliver piped up, trying to help.  Simon straightened back up, holding it.  He smiled, tilting his head.

“Yea?”  He set it down in the small cart they had, brushing the dirt off his hands on his jacket.  He was wearing jeans and a light brown jacket, one of those heavy ones you see truck drivers wearing.  “After we find ones we like we can grab a few big ones, Marie wants a few to make pies.”

Oliver hummed in acknowledgment, staring down at his boots as he navigated through the array of pumpkins on the ground, careful not to trip on any as he kept looking.  He hunched his shoulders a bit as a gust of wind passed, shoving his hands in his pockets.  The dark leather was deteriorating a bit, thinner than they’d already been when they were given to him.

He crouched down and observed the ground for a moment before picking up a small, round pumpkin, small enough to fit in both of his palms cupped together.  It was a lighter orange in color, the stem short and stubby like the squash itself.

“Can we get this one?”  He asked, standing up and spinning around, holding it out to Simon with a small smile.

Simon’s eyes were soft and amused as his gaze fell on the small pumpkin, and he moved forward to pick it up and observe it.

“Yep, if that's the one you want.  It’s a cute little thing, that's for sure.  Might be too small to carve but I’m sure it’ll look just fine out on the porch or something.”  He put his hands over Oliver’s to take it, frowning slightly.

“Here- you’re freezing.”  He set the pumpkin down before turning back and gently grabbing Oliver’s hands, blowing warm air onto them and rubbing them comfortingly.  “Should've brought gloves, that's my fault for overlooking it.  You ok?”

Oliver nodded, looking down.  He really was fine, he wasn’t lying about that.  

“Yea..yea I’m ok, Simon.  Just a little cold, not a big deal.  I like it.”

The sound of a child's laugh filled the air, a group of kids who couldn’t have been older than ten running through the patch, parents watching nearby.  Simon observed Oliver quietly for a moment before nodding, giving his hands a small squeeze before letting them go.

“If you say so.  Wanna get something warm to drink before we leave?”

Oliver nodded enthusiastically at that, wrapping his arms around himself.  He followed closely behind Simon as they moved to the shed at the edge of the patch, where a small, somewhat scattered group of people were gathered.  There were bins of apples and different squash, signs Oliver couldn't read strung up against the wooden crates

He dragged their cart behind him, glancing around a little nervously as they moved closer.  He expected to have heads turn to stare at them, eyes curious, if not judgmental.  He expected for there to be a weight of danger behind those looks, behind the idea of going into a crowd.  A recognition of what he was, a danger of getting caught.

A strange feeling washed over him when the pair barely turned a glance.

“Hot chocolate or cider?”  Simon asked, glancing down at the other questioningly.  Oliver blinked, snapping back to focus.  The smell of apples filled the air, a pleasant scent that made Oliver relax, his previous anxiety melting away.  Simon was holding two cups, looking down at him expectantly.

“Cider,”  He said quietly, glancing over the table at the couple lounging in yard chairs, chatting.  “Is it hot?”

“Yup.”  Simon put the cup under the drink dispenser and turned the knob, the drink steaming slightly as it filled the styrofoam cup.  He handed it to Oliver, who took it gratefully and smiled when the cup warmed his hands.  He brought it to his lips and took a small, cautious sip, his glasses fogging from the heat.

The warm, sweet apple taste that hit him was wonderful, earning a soft hum of delight.  He had to hold the cup a bit away from him to let his glasses clear, watching the steam drift up in swirls before disappearing into the air.  Simon took a drink from his own cup, leaning against the wooden beam of the overhang and letting his gaze drift from left to right, as if he was scanning.  It was a habit Oliver recognized but usually didn’t notice, and he wondered idly if Simon had the same anxieties.

“Nobody’s watching us.”  He said very, very quietly.  Simon’s gaze darted to him, their eyes meeting.  He looked a little surprised, almost confused at the statement.  Oliver gave him a knowing look, taking another sip of his cider.  “You’re analyzing.”

“Are you..are you profiling me or something?”  Simon scoffed, smiling.  

“I don’t know what profiling means,”  Oliver shrugged innocently, face smug.  “Just noticed you were doing it.”

Simon shook his head with a chuckle, taking a long drink before grabbing Oliver by the hood of his jacket, yanking him close to ruffle his hair.  Oliver squirmed, trying not to spill his cider as he laughed and yelled in surprise, his voice clear and free of panic.  That turned a few heads, people glancing over and smiling fondly at the pair half wrestling.  Oliver didn’t care one bit, though.

“Hey! Don’t-”  The styrofoam cup was plucked from his hand, his only defence gone as Simon swiftly set it aside only to hoist him up, arms wrapped tightly around him.  Oliver threw his head back, laughing so hard he could barely breathe as he kicked, trying to gain leverage as Simon stepped towards the pile of hay besides the shed, his motivations clear.  

“Heyheyhey-”  He wrapped his legs around Simons waist as he went to swing Oliver towards the pile, throwing him off balance and sending him stumbling.  Both of them hit the hay with a surprised yell, Simon trying to turn and take the blow of the fall even on the cushioned surface.

Oliver laid, stunned for a moment as he sucked air in desperately.  There wasn’t a shred of fear or panic in his body, though, just an exuberance that made him feel feather-light.  The air smelled like apples and hay and dust and old wood, the warmth of the two laying against each other contrasting sharply with the chill of the breeze.  He pushed himself up, bits and pieces of hay covering his clothes and stuck in his hair.  There were people staring, now, and a warm blush rose to Oliver’s face.

“You ok?”  Simon chuckled, struggling to a sitting position, Oliver’s legs still draped heavily over him from where they fell.  Oliver wrapped his arms around himself and rocked slightly, his smile bright as he nodded.

“You’re a punk,”  He joked lightly, pushing Oliver’s legs off of him playfully so he could stand.  He brushed the pieces of hay off his clothes before offering a hand to Oliver, looking down fondly at him.  The younger boy took his hand, pulled to his feet with what was almost a giggle at the teasing.  He swayed on the balls of his feet as Simon fussed at his hair, picking out the hay.  He shook his head and muttered under his breath as he grinned, face a little flushed from the cold.

Oliver stared up at him for a moment, watching the way he breathed and moved, his dark green eyes glinting with a new light to them.  A small thought, almost an impulse, entered his mind.  

A rebellious one

It felt like he was twisting apart in anxiety but in the best kind of way, the butterflies in his stomach feeling like they were trying to break free from a cage, in the same way he always was.  He wanted to break free from that cage, from those limits he’d set for himself, that others had set for him.

He took a breath before grabbing Simon by his jacket, pulling him close and raising himself up on his toes, pressing a soft kiss to Simon’s lips.  He tasted like cider and coffee, smelling like the cool autumn breeze that surrounded them.

This was him, this was his choice.  He knew he was being bad, that he was supposed to belong to Cedric and only Cedric, that he wasn’t meant for anyone else.  Nobody was allowed to touch Oliver like this besides him, he wasn’t supposed to touch anybody else like this.  He wanted to, though, and he didn’t belong to Cedric.  Not anymore.

He could be for somebody else, Oliver decided.  He could be for anybody he decided.

Simon froze, a bit taken aback, the two still and silent for a moment in that corner of their own world.  He could feel Simon pushing back just slightly in return, relaxing,  just for a moment.  That moment passed all too quickly, however, when Simon pulled away.

“Oliver-”  He started, looking stunned.  He held Oliver at arms length, a hand on either arm.  “I..Oliver, I can’t...you can’t..”

“I can.”  Oliver said simply, leaning forward.  “I wanted to, Simon.  I want to.”

The soft hum of voices around them seemed so far away now, the two staring hard at each other.  Simon looked conflicted, brows furrowed in thought, in what looked like guilt.

“Oliver..I can’t let myself take advantage of you like that.”  He said softly.  “You know I can’t.  You can’t...say no to that.  Cedric-”

“Cedric made me for him, and you know that.”  Oliver cut in fiercely, pulling closer, pushing his luck with the rush of boldness taking over him.  “He ruined me for himself, and I want to make myself for somebody else.  I want to decide that.”

His eyes were full of angry tears now, resentment directed at the man that took everything from him.  He didn’t want to feel like Simon was just another owner, he wanted Simon to feel...to feel like his.  Like how Marie and Mia belonged to each other, in a good way.  They gave themselves to each other.  He wanted that.  

A warm hand cupped his face, the man who was always so sure of himself now looking lost, unsure.  A thumb brushed across his cheekbone, across the faint, jagged scar there.

“Can I..” Simon looked so uncertain, so careful.  “..Can I kiss you?”

Oliver leaned into the touch and nodded, drowning in those deep green eyes, little flecks of brown dotting the edges as if someone took a paintbrush and ran their finger over the bristles.

“Please,” He breathed, going blissfully pliant, all on his own, as he was pulled back in.  He sighed as Simon kissed him, that anger dissipating into something completely different.  It was so gentle, so careful, lacking the eager possessiveness he was so used to when being with a person.  Something in the back of his mind told him he used to know what this felt like.

He held Simon close through the kiss by his scarf, smiling against his lips.  Simon held his face, tilting his chin up just slightly as he let himself relax, let himself trust.

And for the first time ever, Oliver felt like he belonged to nobody at all

--

Taglist

@insanitywishes @18-toe-beans @castielamigos-whump-side-blog@simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs @finder-of-rings @deluxewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @briars7 @albino-whumpee @thatsthewhump

[mcfanely]

The Ice Emperor and the Earth Dragon AU

"For my first order, you are to never speak of this 'Zane' again."

Getting thrown into a far off realm hadn’t been a purposeful decision on Cole’s behalf, but it wasn’t one that he’d change. Following Zane into a desolate wasteland of snow and ice with a broken mech, a corrupting scroll; and nothing else, he’d rather be trapped with his brother than still be at home and wondering about his well-being. Whether he’d lost him all over again. Then a stranger disrupted the fragile routine they’d established, and Cole was still willing to protect his waylaid brother. 

Chapter 01 - Of Ice and Earth, 1659 words

Cole hadn't meant to get struck by Serpentine magic. 

Or maybe he had?

He'd made a split second decision, acted on sheer instinct without thinking much on the possible outcome. It was also something he'd gladly do again, even with his previous assumption that anything that got struck with the power contained in the Staff of Forbidden Spinjitzu was sent into oblivion. Destroyed, gone.

With that knowledge, and watching the purple arch of energy spewing out of the staff still held by a frozen Aspheera, the deep blue crystalline ice that held her in place and pronounced her defeat seemed to do nothing to sway her from getting the last laugh. The beam had shot forwards, and he and Zane had reacted simultaneously. Zane, he moved in front of Wu. 

Cole, he'd tried to grab both of them by the arm and pull them out of harm's way. He'd barrelled past Jay, his body moving on autopilot before his mind had caught up. 

He'd caught onto Zane's sleeve, balled the fabric in his hand.

Then his gaze shifted to darkness, and a cold chill quickly seeping into his skin and deeper into his bones pulled him from the dregs of what must have been unconsciousness. Even though the resounding thumping from inside his head was enough to make him want to curl up in a ball and ignore the world. 

World? 

Cold? 

He was alive? 

"Hello?" someone called. 

Cole shifted slowly from where he was laid, the crisp snow below his hands giving way as he gathered himself up off the floor. It didn't help with the chill at all, but as his eyes adjusted to the bright glare of light reflecting off a snowy landscape, aches and pains and uncomfortableness faded into the background as confusion set in.

He'd been inside. He'd been in the vehicle hanger under the Monastery? Inside. Even then, outside had been spring weather with a slight chance of ancient serpentine fires. 

Not… Not snow and cold. Not an overcast sky. 

Cole didn't do cold weather. 

He needed warmth, he needed greenery and the sun because who liked a drab and seemingly never ending snowscape that bit into his fingers, fogged his breath and made him hug his bare arms and shiver involuntarily. 

What had happened? 

Aspheera, the staff, Zane and an incredible show of his ice powers; the final blow. 

Zane… 

"Is anyone there?" Came that voice again. The tinny metal sound carrying over the snowy silence. He'd recognise that voice anywhere. 

"Zane!" Cole called back, turning as fast as his feet would allow him so he could look around. 

Zane was okay? 

The surroundings fell back into silence, and Cole kept looking. Snow. Snow. His breath fogging in the air in front of him. Mountains. Cliffs. A mound of rocks. 

A glint of titanium. 

And, "... Cole?" 

That was all he really needed to give him a spur of energy. To ignore the snow seeping into his gi and shoes, to put what had just taken place out of his mind even just for a second. Zane was here, and he was okay. 

He charged through the snow, leaving a large drift in his wake as he made his way over to his friend and all but tackled him down with a hug and a laugh. It was only the counterweight of the nindroid that kept them both from falling backwards into the snow. 

"You're okay!" Cole pulled back and let out a heavy breath of relief, keeping his hands on his friends shoulders as he looked him over. Assessing him, seeing whether what Aspheera had shot directly at him had any adverse effect. 

"You damn tin-can. Self sacrificing-" Cole closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You'll give me a heart attack one of these days." He stammered out, a smile pulling briefly on his face. Zane was here.

Wherever here was exactly. 

"Need I remind you," Zane began, and Cole's gaze drifted up to the bright eyes of his brother. It was like a constant development, that every second that passed that he was looking at the Nindroid made him realise that he was okay. Zane was alive and in one piece. This wasn't a repeat of the Overlord. 

Though his silent pondering was shattered when he felt a light push to his shoulder and refocused to see a look that was an unusual mix of repose and irritation. Zane wasn't the most widely expressive person, but he did have his moments of animation. They were always a sight. 

"You were clearly intent on carrying out the same action that I did." Zane gestured to the entirety of Cole's body, as if that encapsulated his whole argument. Which it did. Cole's presence was proof enough that the same thing happened to him that had happened to Zane. They'd both been victims of the spell. 

He still wasn't going to let his brother get a one up that easily. "The same-? You got in the way of the blast, you could have, like, pulled Sensei Wu out of the way."

"Everything happened fairly swiftly, Cole. I acted on-" 

"- instinct?" Cole finished after a second, then nodded. "Same here. I saw Aspheera- and you were distracted," He cleared his throat before reaching up and patting Zane's shoulder lightly. "I'm glad I'm here with you, anyway. Wouldn't want you to be alone," He nodded loosely in the direction of the vast quantity of snow behind him. "You know, here."

Zane's eyes shifted around as he fully took in their environment, his brows furrowing lightly. Then he started walking through the snow, and it took Cole a moment to realise that the mound of rocks he'd seen a few minutes ago was anything but. It was Lloyd's Mech, wedged in a deep trench of snow with seemingly no power running through its systems. Currently just a useless hunk of metal. 

One of which Zane was making a b-line for. Cole just followed closely behind, watching as the other climbed up onto the breastplate and stared off into the distance. 

Vantage point, better view. Right. 

He climbed up to join him. 

Their attention jointly settled on the setting sun framed by a few rocky outcrops and towering pillars of ice. 

"Wherever here is. My scanner does not seem to be working."

Like that wasn't concerning. 

"Maybe we're in the first realm, just a very different part of it."

"Or an entirely different realm all together." Zane said. 

Like that observation didn't make their whole circumstances that bit more bleak. The shift in tone was paramount in that moment, Cole felt his shoulders drop just a little. Zane kept his attention resolutely set on the light from the sinking sun. 

Clearly, neither one liked that possibility. 

Then there was a spark, and Cole's attention snapped to his brother, and more specifically the panel in his chest. Zane's gi was ripped in places, dirtied in others. His body was lightly scratched and dented in the same way Cole could feel a bruise swelling up on his forehead; but the chest panel had buckled slightly inwards enough that it wasn't closed fully, and from inside he could see flashes of light. 

"You're hurt." He stated plainly, and any and all attention promptly shifted over to different matters, pressing matters. 

Only, Zane gently caught his wrist and pulled it down away from where he was going to open the panel, much to Cole's chagrin, "Zane," 

"I am fine." was the simple answer. It didn't do much to sway his opinion. 

"You're sparking more than Jay. Let me take a look at you." Cole tugged his arm out of Zane's grip and stepped forwards, only for Zane to respond by stepping back. 

"If you wish to fix something, we should start with the mech." He pointed down to what they were standing on, "We can't leave it out here to the mercy of the elements."

Without waiting for a reply, and just as quickly as he'd scaled the side of the mech to look around the area, Zane had climbed off back onto the snowy ground below, the crunch of the once fresh carpet soon being broken by the sound of a metal panel being pried loose. Cole made a move to follow, before the realisation that he'd just be getting his already soaking gi even more wet and logged with icy water. 

Minor injuries he could handle, a brother who was refusing to be looked after and ignoring his advances to help, he would begrudgingly allow. 

But getting too cold? In an already frozen environment? A headache or sparky and fritzed wiring could be fixed. Hypothermia? Whilst there was no clear way for them to get warm and dry off? Death sentence. 

Well, maybe not so much for the Master of Ice, who was currently centralised on removing the casing from Lloyd's mech to get at its inner workings. Walking around in his own element, his own white gi damp and clinging to his body. The one advantage Zane had, the cold wouldn't be his downfall. He was a nindroid, whether he felt the cold was ambiguous, but Cole was fairly certain that after knowing him for years, Zane got cold but he never felt it. 

Fixing the mech and getting it up and moving wasn't for Zane's benefit, Cole realised. It was for him. A moving mech meant travelling much faster than they could on foot, it meant keeping them both off the ground; shelter, and with power and usage, came heat from functioning machinery. 

And Cole needed to find a way to get warm sooner or later, since the tips of his fingers and cheeks were already getting numb. 

"Fine. Okay. We'll fix the mech first." He caved begrudgingly. 

He would be lying if he didn't sense accomplishment in the light chuckle he heard from his friend, carried up to him by a wispy breeze.

-

Ch 01 > Ch 02

Cross-posted to AO3

[docholligay]

Beast of Burden

Just me on my shit, noodling as I wait for Jewlet. This takes place after Pigeons and Park and the Weight of Love, like, immediately after. 1600 words. 

The day was grey and cloudy, but it didn’t seem dreary to Tracer. She loved the grey of London, as she often observed that one never could appreciate the sunshine properly if they saw it every day, and what’s more, it made the bright colors she favored stand out all the more. In fact, the world had never seemed more wonderful to her, as she sat across from her best friend of many years, the two of them going back and forth over the menu as the day went on around them. 

Winston had been reticent, at first, to come. He was always a bit nervous, going anywhere he hadn’t been several times before, and sometimes even places he had been. It was understandable, Tracer supposed, given how many people were silly enough to be afraid of him, but the only way to show them what a gentle soul he was, was to show them what a gentle soul he was. She was very keen on this now, on having the entire world see him as she did. 

They never really understood him, and she always wished she could make them see all the kindnesses he had done for her, how loving he was with children, how incredibly loyal he was. He would always be a protector of London, even if it was not natural in him to fight. 

And all this might have overwhelmed anyone else, but Lena Oxton, aviatrix and Overwatch commander, was determined to enjoy the day. The grey day was her beloved London at its most London, the Royal Inn was lovely, even if the menu was a bit fussy for Tracer’s personal tastes, and if people could not see the wonder, warmth, and goodness of her best friend, it only gave her the opportunity to make them see. 

“Do you want to just get the cheese board, and maybe the vegetable one, too?” Winston took a delicate sip of his beer and looked over the menu. 

Tracer turned from her thoughts and looked over and Winston, placing a hand under her chin. “Bit rich, calling themselves a pub with a roasted vegetable board.” 

Winston chuckled. “You can always get the fish and chips, Lena.” 

“Don’t tempt me!” She grinned brightly and tossed back a drink of her own, but then shook her head. “Let’s us share, just as you said.” 

Tracer looked out from the tiny table, tucked beneath the awning. The patio was mostly empty today, owing to the weather, but that was all the better for Winston, who always worried about bumping people, or feeling that he was crowding them. Yes, it was a lovely day, and nothing--

“What made you want to finally get into this place today? Thinking about the wedding?”

It was a simple sentence, and one that Tracer should have been well prepared for, and yet it struck her as neatly as that romantic horse drawn cab nearly had only an hour ago. She had run to Winston first, because Winston would tell her how to tell Emily, but oh, how could she tell Emily? To tell her, and ask what of her next? A future with Tracer had always been a bit of a daring thing, but it was one thing to ask her to dare, and another to ask her to set herself up for a fall. 

There was a deep longing within her to throw herself across the table into his arms, to bury her head in his shoulder and cry and cry and just let it wash out of her. 

Oh Win, I’m dying, Win. Ang’s done so much and she’s tried so ‘ard and even she brought someone in from America, supposed to be the best, but Moira broke me so well, Win. She broke me so well. I’m so frightened, Win, not even of being dead--but also I don’t want to be dead, I love being alive, love me life, love London and Emily and you and Overwatch and the fat little pigeons on the street in the morning and the fog and damp--but Win, I don’t know what it’ll be like to die. Sounds as if there’s a long road ahead, and I’m so frightened. Sounds as if no one knows. Sounds as if it’ll take me piece by piece. It’ll just keep taking, and we don’t what next. Win, I’m dying. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be taken bite by bite.  

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him so badly. To tell someone about the thing that lay in her heart.  It was what she had brought him here to do. She wanted to tell him, and go back to his house, and snuggle on his couch, and be afraid together. 

“Lena?” He called her name softly and she looked up from the menu, tears in her eyes, “Lena, what’s wrong?” 

Tracer opened her mouth, taking in all of him. How concerned he looked, how carefully he studied her. Everything would be different, once she told him the truth. He would cry. He’d be so sad. And there was nothing he could do, except be scared and upset right along with her. Winston would never look at her the same, after. He would never treat her the same. She had brought him here to tell him, and she could not possibly tell him. Not if she wanted to still be Lena. 

She shook her head. ‘Nothing. Trapped in a memory is all, you know ‘ow I get sometimes.” 

He looked at her carefully, finger pinched around his glass of water. “When you...you don’t really act like...you just seem different.” 

Tracer shook her head again, and gave a big grin. “Only that. Under a bit of pressure with Fareeha, is all, and she doesn’t mean it, mind, just quite a bit going on with her, as well. The both of us ‘aving so much to plan for, and all. Bit ‘arder to close the door against those little gusts of wind, right?” 

Winston studied her for a moment, and then seemed to decide that she had to be telling the truth. Of course he would think that. He trusted her, and he loved her, and he believed that she would tell him anything. She didn’t prefer to lie to him. Only to protect him, right?

Besides, Mercy hadn’t completely given up yet, hadn’t she? She was only telling Tracer what she thought would be true, because Mercy was so honest, and didn’t want to mislead her. So she was being a bit grim, and that was her right, Tracer supposed, but it didn’t mean that the game was fully over, not quite yet. Still a few moments on the clock, right? Of course right. 

She bounced along quickly. “Been meaning to ask what it is you have planned for me hen do.” 

Winston’s eyes flashed with excitement. “I’ve been thinking, now, I know it’s not very fun, the idea of staying in at my house, but I could clear everything out, and get a DJ or something, and of course I would have us go out for dinner first, well, if you don’t like it…” 

“Oh no, Win, I love it already.” Her voice, she knew, was soft and faraway. Drifting. 

It sounded wonderful. It sounded like a night with all her favorite people, laughing and dancing and carrying on, celebrating everything that had come before, and all the wonderful things that were to come. It sounded like being alive and happy and hopeful and all the things that she had taken for herself, every day of her life. She had lived so hard and so full, knowing that someday she’d likely be caught. 

“Fareeha has already said she’ll come, but I think Angela would like to go with Emily..”

“Of course. I love that they’re friends.” 

She did. She knowing that Emily would have someone in their little group when she was gone, have someone who could bear any of the questions or medical talk that might come up. She loved knowing there would be something for Emily, the same way she loved that Winston had her last name and her family, the same way she loved knowing that London would always stand, and she would always be a part of London., the same way she loved the pigeons that cooed outside her window and the drizzle that fell in the fall without stopping. She loved it all, loved her entire world with abandon. 

Which was why she had to protect it. 

Put it away, Lena. The day will come regardless, and you don’t have to ruin the loveliness of the day, the loveliness of this life, for Winston, for Emily, for anyone. There’s always time to tell them later, right? Just wait. Maybe Ang will find something. Maybe you’ll drop dead, and there’ll be no need to have caused them to dwell on this. Close the door on it and make it force its way in. Don’t ever welcome it. The moment you tell them is the moment everything changes. The moment you become sick. Remember Mum. Remember how people looked at her, when they knew. 

You’re strong, Lena, and you can carry this alone. It’ll be so much harder for them than it is for you. 

Tracer grinned brightly up at Winston. 

“You’ve thought ever so much about this, ‘aven’t you then? Never could ‘ave come up with ‘alf these ideas, me! Knew you’d be the right pick.” 

He smiled modestly, but from the way his chest stuck out, he was obvious pleased at her approval. 

Today was the day she had learned. Today was the day she had to know what Mercy knew. But no one else had to know it, not to so long as she could walk that tightrope and keep it from them. Let them enjoy the flowers and forget the frost. Can’t change it anyhow. May as well soak in every beautiful moment, as it comes. She certainly intended to. 

I don’t want to die. 

Well, she may have to die. Moira might have seen to to that. But Moira could not take her life. She would live just the same as she always had, the only revenge she could offer a dead woman. Tracer would live in the sun, and never acknowledge the storm. Her family would never know the weight of it, the weight of loving someone bound to die, who was not yet done living. 

She and Mercy would hold it between themselves, like a pact. 

Tracer would see to that. 

[zephyrcove]

“You Didn’t Have to Stay.” (Oh, Bollocks Ch. 4)

read on ao3

The students of Hogwarts were not afraid of a little weather. They were English, goddamnit, and in addition to their allegiance to stereotypes of their nationality, the biggest Quidditch match of the school year was on. Gryffindor v. Slytherin, the age old rivalry, was a game that could never be postponed lest the faculty be met with an uprising. So, despite the sheets of rain falling diagonally from the grey clouded sky and winds so strong Flitwick’s toupe was nearly lost, the intense match had been allowed and was in full swing.

James of course had no care for the inclement weather; having worked to lead his team to a place where they would absolutely obliterate Slytherin, he was not about to let “a light sprinkle” ruin his chance to triumph over the subpar house. ( “James, it’s pouring rain. Do you need your eyes checked again?” Remus had jabbed that morning over breakfast). He soared through the rainfall, dark hair plastered to his forehead in a mix of hard-earned perspiration and crisp spring rain. His no-mist spectacles (a Marauders invention for playing in unsuitable conditions such as today) guarded his eyes and let him scan the field for his players and the quaffle, with McKinnon and the snitch also dancing in the back of his strategic thoughts. The field was full of action, dulled by the sleet and wind, but he shook it out of his mind and focused in on his next play.

Slytherin’s Keeper Avery was distracted by action at the Gryffindor goal hoops, which James paid little attention to as Frank was a phenomenal keeper, and so he took the opportunity to call on his fellow chasers to execute a Parkin’s Pincer. He whistled the command and Emmeline Vance appeared beside him. Fabian Prewett, who had just caught the quaffle, intercepting Jernigan and Watkins pass, also darted past him, giving a confident grin. James gave Vance a nod before they peeled off into the rainy haze to attack from three sides. As they sped into the three pronged play, Farley whipped past him on the right, her green robes fluttering ominously. Avery was suddenly met in the scoring zone by all three Gryffindor chasers and on instinct he guarded James, assuming he had the quaffle, allowing Emmeline to guard Fabian as he chucked the quaffle through the hoop. Cheers erupted from the red and gold stands, but through the fog the majority of Hogwarts failed to see that Avery was still barreling towards James, furious that their play had been successful. James himself, caught up in the rousing success of his chasing team, did not see the hulking Keeper until he was actively blagging his broom. Avery’s hand wrapped around the end of James’ Nimbus and yanked down, throwing the Gryffindor captain from the broom and sending him plummeting towards the ground. As he fell, his head smacked Macmillan’s boot, protruding obviously from the beater’s green robes, and the last thing he heard was Sirius screaming, “Bloody Hell! Blatching AND Blagging, Hooch! Call it!”

Lily pretended very hard to not enjoy Quidditch. She rolled her eyes each time Marlene and Emmeline headed off to practice, scoffed as Potter tossed that ridiculous snitch around (he wasn’t even a Seeker for Merlin’s sake), and in the stands she always attempted an air of disinterest, displaying very minimal knowledge of the game. In truth though, she loved the sport. It reminded her of the intense European football matches she’d gone to with her father as a child: the raging crowds, the intricate passes, the energetic announcer keying everyone else into the action. And in her quest to support Marls and Emmy, who’d made the Gryffindor house team in 3rd year, she’d taken it upon herself to learn all the rules and regulations of the sport. Several times she’d had to bite her tongue as Black discussed a play’s legality, knowing very well the intricacies of the rulebook but not allowing herself to blow her facade of indifference and correct him. Her friends, who were not so oblivious to her vast athletic knowledge having seen her read the entirety of “Quidditch Through the Ages”, would speculate that her attitude toward Quidditch had something to do with their house’s stud of a captain ( “Really Lily, you ought to just bite the bullet and admit that you love it. We know a certain someone who would just about die if he heard you mention the Hawkshead Attacking Formation…” ) She laughed them off and tried very hard not to think of her former adversary’s sculpted upper body shining with post-practice sweat.

She trudged out here in the freezing rain with Remus, Peter, Mary, and Alice, the other non-players of the 7th years, to observe their friends in the sport she secretly loved. However much she loved the sport though, she refused to believe it made any sense to allow a match to be played in such atrocious weather. Alice had to drag her out of Gryffindor tower and Mary was still convincing her of the benefits of going out in the hellish downpour as they found their seats in the Gryffindor bleachers. Although they could hardly see the players through the sideways rain, the action of the game and the energy of the crowd, amped up to support the intense rivalry, were undeniable, and soon she was cracking a smile and following the teams’ plays as the crowds chanted raucously around her.

She watched Prewett intercept the quaffle and join Emmeline in darting toward Potter and the Slytherin goal posts, and couldn’t help but stand and watch in glee and anticipation as they trapped Avery in the confusion of their Pincer play, the Slytherin starting towards Potter allowing Fabian to score with ease. She shot up with the rest of Gryffindor in triumph but her eye was stuck on James and she squinted to see his victorious grin through the rain. She’d always loved sneaking a glance at the players after an especially good play. As the crowds roar the athletes celebrate their own victories; she’d watch Marlene and Emmeline usually meeting the others' eye and signaling their handshake from first year across the field, James pointing to Sirius and smiling his lopsided grin. Today as she eyed Potter’s victory moment, her smile was quickly wiped as Avery shot toward him in an obvious blatching foul. She jumped up on the bench to try and get a better look and was terrified and angry as the Slytherin blagged the end of Potter’s broom and the captain went tumbling off his broom.

“Are you joking me Hooch, blatching AND blagging! Call it goddamnit!”

Her friends turned toward her, shocked at her quidditch foul terminology, but quickly refocused, now not being the time to address her quidditch vocab as they too squinted through the rain to see James hurtling towards the ground. His head cracked on Macmillan’s foot and Lily sprinted from the stands as the match dissolved into chaos.

James was carted off to the Hospital wing by Pomfrey and Hooch, along with disciplinary help from McGonagall, eventually reigned in the crowd and the two teams, between which a brawl had almost broken out in the sky. Slytherin was given two heavy penalties for Avery’s blatching and blagging, and the keeper was benched, their second string keeper Rosier stepping in for the rest of the match. Sirius could be seen arguing fervently with Marlene as he tried to fly down and follow James, Marlene reminding him of James’ coaching strategy and the threat of a forfeit. And so the game continued, eventually leading to a Gryffindor victory. The win of course was soured by the drenching rain, the contempt for Slytherin, and their martyred Captain lying in the hospital wing.

James woke up nearly 11 hours after the match had ended. Disoriented at the murky white moonlight filtering through the window to the Hospital and the splitting pain in his head, he shifts in the bed, glancing lazily around for Madame Pomfrey. It’s not until he finishes his scan of the room and his eyes land on the sleeping redhead at his bedside that he notices the hand softly but firmly gripping his own. He blinked shakily, trying to rid himself of this obvious fever dream, but the girl of his dreams doesn’t fade away with his grogginess. He lightly squeezes her hand and whispers, “L-Lily?”

She stirred and blinked the sleep away, then became alert and leaned in toward him, hand still holding his. “James! Er- you,- I thought- I only mean-” She took a breath, closing her eyes, and finally released his hand only to tuck her long hair behind both ears. “I thought you might be a goner there. Shame, though, you missed your victory party.”

His fingers flexed as he replied, subconsciously missing the feel of her hand in his. “Er- I, Yeah, but do you really think I’d let Devus Avery and Bart Macmillan’s boot be the end of me?”

She chuckled but looked very worn and worried nonetheless. “Lily?”

“Yeah, James?”

“I’m alright y’know?, S’alright.” His right hand reached out for hers and she eyed his tired and beaten face, before releasing a sigh and taking his calloused hand once more.

“Yeah… S’alright.”

“Lily.”

“What, James…” He tightened his grip as his deep eyes searched for her tired, emerald ones.

“You didn’t have to stay. Y’know, I’d have been alright by tomorrow, and the boys would have skipped the party.” Her eyes fell down, a ribbon of scarlet falling back into her face,  and he saw a faint pink tint rise in her freckled cheeks. He wanted nothing more than to stroke her cheek tenderly and tuck that errant lock of hair back behind her ear.

Lily moved slightly closer to him, sitting on the edge of the wooden hospital wing chair and looked up at him, “I told them to go, Marlene had to practically drag Sirius away from you, but they deserve to celebrate. And I was scared to death-” She stopped, the blush stinging her cheeks once more. “Plus, well… what good am I at a Quidditch party, eh?” A feeble laugh followed her attempted joke and she looked down at their still joined hands.

James observed her face carefully, thinking for the millionth time how beautiful and smart and passionate she was, in disbelief that she’d stayed for as long as he’d been out. He reached out tentatively and brushed past her cheek on his way to tuck the stray lock of hair behind her ear. She leaned slightly into his touch and he watched her as she met his gaze.

“Lil.”

His hand rested against her soft skin and she made no move to escape his touch. “Thanks then, for staying. It’s quite nice to, erm, to wake up to seeing you.”

A small smile graced her face as she rolled her eyes half heartedly at this. “I can’t say knowing you aren’t dead is half bad either, James.” Their  hand clasped tightened as they looked fondly on eachother.

–––––––––––

“She said WHAT?” came the exclamation from both James and Sirius as Alice, Remus, Mary, and Pete recounted Lily’s outburst in the stands. James had been quickly let out of the hospital wing after Lily’s visit and now, weeks later, he was sat comfortably on the common room couch, Lily pressed into his side as if she’d been made to fit there.

She rolled her eyes as Remus repeated the fouls and violation rules Lily had spewed upon seeing Avery barrel into James, enjoying the look of shock and offense on the two Marauders’ faces.

“I cannot believe you’ve been holding out on me like this, Red!” Sirius’ outrage continued. “All this time and you never once cared to mention that you’re a walking encyclopedia of Quidditch rules and history?!”

James’ disbelief translated less into mock anger and more into a cheeky grin. “Well now you’ll have to come to practices, games, the whole lot. You can be our advisor.”

“Oh was that not already in the girlfriend contract?” His eyes lit up at the reminder of their new relationship and he pressed a kiss into her hair. Their friends wandered away towards a rousing game of exploding snap but the two of them stayed cozy in their spot on the couch.

“Hey, I love you.”

James smiled into her hair as she said the words he’d dreamed of hearing since his 3rd year. “More than Sirius loves Puddlemere United.”

“God I love it when you talk Quidditch to me,” he said mockingly, shifting to look in her eyes with a playful grin.

“Oh yeah?” She smirked, quirking an eyebrow. “Shall I start listing penalties to get you hot and bothered?”

“If you can list all 700 quidditch fouls I’ll have no choice but to propose,” he told her, his smile turning sincere and his forehead knocking against hers. She pressed a kiss to his lips, lingering for a moment before meeting his eyes and whispering:

“Blurting… bumphing… cobbing…”

[grapefruitsketches]

And when I break it’s in a million pieces (3/5)

First | Prev | Next 

Rated T

Twin Jades post-canon case fic, POV Lan Xichen, angst, hurt/comfort

Chapter 3 - For fytheuntamed’s Untamed Fall Fest Day 10 - Rain

Also available on AO3

After walking aimlessly between the trees for a few minutes, calling his brother’s name, Xichen resigned himself to the fact that such a search would be fruitless.

He summoned his guqin. It was time to try Inquiry. Find the spirit, so he could track down his brother.

Xichen sat down, pulling his guqin onto his lap. Placing his fingers against the strings, he sighed. He had always preferred the xiao, but Inquiry was one of those techniques that required a particular type of instrument. If he could figure out how to let a spirit to breath air into the flute just as it was able to move the strings of the guqin, though, he wouldn’t be using the large instrument. The guqin was… heavy. In more ways than one.

He breathed deep, closed his eyes, and sank into the familiar melody – the first question, ever ingrained in his mind:

What is your name?

He waited. Patient. Listening. Waiting for the guqin to respond.

We are many. Who do you call?

Lan Xichen ignored the question, knowing better than to be drawn into the spirits’ game without knowing more. Only now suspecting they wouldn’t be doing much in the way of a rescue.

Why do people come to your forest?

Because they are like us, Zewu-jun.

Zewu-jun. Lan Xichen flinched. It was not a good sign that the spirits knew his name. This was the one of the first thing they cautioned new learners on: if the spirit ever seems to know something about you, you muststop. The centre of control may have shifted their way.

But he ignored this basic rule for one even more deeply ingrained: his brother’s safety was on the line. So he went on.

In what way?

They are alone. They were let down.

Xichen paused. Spirits liked to play tricks, when they could, with Inquiry. Manipulating the asker’s questions to reveal nothing while technically always answering truthfully. It was risky, but if it could help pinpoint the victim commonalities.

Let down how?

Broken vows. Secrets. Betrayal. Things can truly leave a person isolated from the world.

Xichen’s breath hitched. He had known, but it still hurt to hear it confirmed that his brother, who had suffered so much already, was still feeling the kind of isolation this spirit seemed to target. He kept going, needing to find out where his brother was. Unable to face himself, never mind his uncle or brother-in-law or really anyone else if he had lead his brother out to a fatal mission.

And what do you do to them?

A pause. Far too long to be comfortable, followed.

We take them in. Take them away from what harmed them.

Where are they?

Here, the spirit whooshed by Xichen’s ear, chuckling audibly, gratingly. Xichen covered his ears as the spirits began speaking, chanting, no longer needing the guqin, not here in the place where they were strongest.

Here. Here. Here. HERE. HERE. HERE.

The guqin’s chords were playing wildly, incoherent, as the audible voice laughed and repeated the word. Louder, then louder still. Panting, Xichen pulled his hands away from his ears, flinching as the sounds assaulted his ears, now entirely unimpeded. He cut off the spiritual energy flow to the guqin. Closed the channel, and only as he did so did he notice the blood on his palms. Shaking, Xichen raised a hand back to his ear, only to see more thin pools of blood painting his finger once he pulled back away.

The spirits seemed to find Xichen’s confusion funny, quieting for now.

Lan Xichen stood up quickly, leaving his guqin to slide to the ground. He looked around to see tendrils of retreating shadows, snaking back into the now once again visible line of trees surrounding him.

He was sweating. Panting. He bent down to pick up the guqin.

Steeling himself, he bent over, reaching to swipe the guqin away, and walked towards the direction where the shadows had just retreated.

--

Er-ge…

Sticks crunched beneath his feet.

Xichen…

Wind brushed his face.

A-Huan…

Branches cut at his face, arms as he moved through the thick trees.

The lines marking the roots faded even as he pursued them. Black. Grey. A shadow. Gone.

His heart raced still and he struggled to catch his breath. Thoughts just as hard to follow as the shadows.

A mother. Two brothers. Was he now meant to lose a third?

He had failed them. Each one. One by one.

Xiongzhang…

He shook his. Not wanting to hear that call, not among all the other voices.

He had failed him too, even as he’d tried to stop it. Wangji… didi… A-Zhan… He had been through so much.

A-Huan… please take care of your brother for me.

Xichen… please believe me.

Er-ge… please forgive me.

Xiongzhang… Xiongzhang…

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, clouding his vision. And as he wiped his sleeve across his face, he thought he saw…

“A-Zhan?” Lan Xichen whispered, mouth dry… no…

A kneeling boy, so small that the piling snow quickly enveloped his toes, his legs. Xichen wanted to reach out for him. Didn’t have the words. Finally, tried:

“A-Zhan?”

No response.

“Lan Zhan?”

Silence.

“Didi?”

Xichen’s voice was becoming desperate, whiny, high-pitched, childish to his own ears.

“P-please?” he pleaded.

And finally, the little figure, kneeling in the snow, waiting for a door (that Xichen now recognized) to open, seemed to resign himself to the fact that it never would. He gently, firmly brushed the snow off his robes as he rose.

He turned, and the young voice, which Xichen knew still carefully avoided the trickier words so as not to stumble, answered with a coldness to rival the weather.

“It’s Wangji.”

It had been the first time Lan Xichen had not been able to intuit what his brother wanted. What he needed, or why. It had been his first chance to fall short of his mother’s wishes, and it had not been the last.

“Xiongzhang?”

The snow turned to rain, as the sky – the real sky – opened up overhead, masking the tears that were now flowing freely down his face.

Xichen suddenly came back to the realization that he was no longer a child. No longer on the snowy paths of the Cloud Recesses.

He sank to his knees, relieved to no longer be in that moment, but somewhat disappointed that he didn’t have a chance to do it all over again with the benefit of knowing what he now knew. He shivered, still feeling the cold of a long past winter. He coughed. Coughed again, and stood back up. Continuing his walk forwards, to find his brother. To not fail him again.

Lan Xichen had gotten so many more years with their mother. Years he could not split, could not share with his brother no matter how much he wanted to. He had been meant to care for him, to pass on the things that their parents could not. And yet, here he was. His brother had earned a respectful place in the cultivation world, through no help on Xichen’s part. Almost despite what Xichen had done. Had failed to do. Xichen, instead of believing his brother, protecting his brother at all costs, had chosen instead to protect someone who had hurt so many he loved, even while Wangji suffered. He had turned himself into a burden Wangji had to bear, instead of someone his little brother could rely on.

He had, time and again, refused to acknowledge what was really going on. And so, was it really surprising that so many had stopped trying to tell him until they had enough evidence that it was near undeniable? Had he not still given the murderer – a man he still struggled to think about with any kind of clarity – the benefit of the doubt?

“Xiongzhang.”

How had he let his other brothers, his sworn brothers, distract him from the duty he had to his brother? Xichen had been given so much. Had had things easy. Like anyone, he had his moments of sadness, of grief but that did not appease the debt he had taken from his brother.

He had been happy to do whatever was asked of him. He had sealed his mouth. His cultivation. Himself. And had it been worth it?

One brother had mourned for 16 years for what Xichen had allowed.

Another had died for what Xichen had ignored.

And the last had been killed by his own hand, destroyed by his fear, his desperation, at having facts he should have noticed long ago brought before his eyes.

And even then, he had not even bothered to look.

“Xiongzhang!”

Lan Xichen frowned before blinking his eyes open, slowly.

He lay, not in the snowy paths of Cloud Recesses, not on the stony steps of Jinlintai, not even in a bloody mess in a temple, but instead on the muddy floor of a forest, branches and stones cutting into his back, rain pouring down over him.

He turned his head, to see his brother, crouching, eyes closed, and directing spiritual energy into his older brother.

“Wangji,” Xichen said finally, shocked at the croak in his own voice, “Wangji, are… you’re ok?” He moved to sit up, shaking, flinching at the unsightly faded pink in his white robes, his blood had thinned in the rain, soaking down his arms, not to mention the mud covering his front, where he’d apparently fallen face first.

Wangji’s brow furrowed, ever so slightly, but Xichen saw concern painted in his clenched chin, narrowed eyes, hard expression, but he nodded.

“What’s wrong?” Xichen asked, cracking a smile and coughing to clear his throat. Once. Twice, “How did… how did you get away?”

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji finally replied, “It was you who was taken.”

Now Xichen frowned, “Me? But you disappeared.”

“It was you.” Wangji affirmed.

“Oh.” Xichen’s mind was beginning to fog again as he reached back, trying to connect loose memories of moments, “So you’re… you’re ok.”

He coughed into his arm, embarrassed by the throaty nature of it, but one cough grew into another, and soon he was clutching his chest, he faintly heard his brother worriedly calling after him again, channeling more spiritual energy to him as one cough followed the next.

Eventually, after what seemed like ages but was probably only a momentary coughing fit, the clotted blood came up. Xichen swallowed, looking at the mess on the ground in front of him. He felt better, but despite having apparently just woken up, was suddenly very tired.

“I’m glad,” he whispered, as the rain fell on both their faces. He wanted to pet his brother on the head, to comfort him like he used to when they were kids. But he did not want to get his own blood and mess on his brother. Besides, his arms felt… awfully heavy, “I’m glad,” he said again, before his eyes fell closed and he felt himself fall into his brother, leaving himself hardly a moment to feel guilty for relying on his brother’s support again before falling back out of consciousness.