#i dunno if ill forget the face he made in that dream

[krbkitten]

i dreamt about him again 😔

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Time was meaningless before, now I feel obligated to play with the order of this one. 1060 is a banger and I’ll say this first off. From the start when I raised the idea of a twist around Kiku/Yamato, I did say I could see it being the right logic but a setup for say, Vivi. Hancock last chapter seemed like another good outlet than can sorta straddle that thematic line. Bonney? Holy shit never even considered her but she’s perfect! If I had the rough idea but the answer was Bonney having a big role like Law/Bege for a bit? Love it, watch where she flips and seems inconsistent or two-faced. That said...if you made it with me this far:

🎶 Bonney, Bonney. Bonney...BOOOOOOONNNEEEYYYYYYY!!!! I’m beggin Oda please go with this plan. 🎶

Think about it, think about it, think about it. This is stupidly easy and it’s a perfect mirror to how we were meeting Kin in the first place. What role have I spun for Kiku as a new recruit? A big sister, nanny type Quartermaster. So what’s a great, borderline hackneyed trope plot for showing the virtue of such a character? I dunno, some kinda magic power turns all the crew into kids? Who cares about the specifics the concept is 24kt, surgical-grade gold. Know why? Returning the Favor for Kin’emon! Supernova tags the crew with a silly power that can really fuck em over and yes...if Luffy and Chopper (our Udon crew) get sucked out into a side story I 100% can see a nice establishing encounter out of Kiku & Bonney. Luffy can topple some local   tyrant or whatever.

As perfect of an out as Bonney is for the themes, she’s also a great step forward for what I’ve been talking about. Mixed up time girls, winter island means kiddie Straw Hats will know what starving on the streets of Ringo felt like, them being hampered but not quite incapacitated is the perfect spotlight for a new Jill-of-All-Trades. Bonney’s own time abilities are perfect for unpacking our skewed Wano time. 

Well hey! It’s that scene we talked about. You know, the one where if we kept showing it we’d see Luffy explain how Ace doesn’t like to show weakness. This is one of Fallensnowfan’s and it took me a sec, but honestly yeah seasickness could be a fun excuse. The idea is if Yamato built that much of a bond Kiku could easily be in Usopp territory and socially graceful enough it didn’t need to be spelled out. It could have been agreed to before the Raid even! The hook is keeping it subtle, but she did slip in “Torao-san” at the halfway mark. The big moments have happened, we need to sort out our time oddities though through the reveal.  Playing with character knowledge and reader knowledge.

Chronic seasickness is a bomb gag for her no one else has, plays nice with this quirk she shares with Ace and is perfect for our timing needs. If she’s just seasick there’s no reason to worry or blab a lot about her, you’d just be adding shame to illness. Also a callback to Kin’s stomach issues in Act 1 and would work with the potential 1058 cameo. Just saying, perfect excuse to keep her out of sight and free from the initial setup if we’re doing kiddie Strawhats.

Then there’s this classic gag we had let’s see...right before Robin joined. With oh a t/n...probably something like “keikaku means plan.” No, wait, is it? It’s that pun I was waiting all Act 2 for! Big Mom & the Big Mum, featuring Chopper, Tama, & Momo. But well, it is a callback for Vivi too.

Robin, you’re about as blatantly taunting me as Law was about not needing to be a hyena to sniff out a mystery like who’s absent from the party. I love you. Oh yeah, and Caribou. Like...we know they shoved his evil ass in that barrel and chained it. Just the fact we never saw that though is weird. Okay, but one last big one I’m kicking myself from scrubbing off of last week’s post. Last time I ever worry about being too long-winded.

The hidden dream. Forget what it is for now, just the fact Luffy has a hidden dream he keeps to himself because people tend to laugh and it seems impossible anyways. Gee, who on Wano might be able to relate to something like that? Kiku doesn’t need a complex dream, hers is obvious and fate defying but she’s too guarded to easily cough it up. Oden/Kin callously laughed, Izo snipped at her, overheard people making fun of her, group of girls excluded her. Doesn’t have to be much. The fun is in the dramatic irony we know it’s something that can be sorted out easily by the time we meet her. No sense in saying anything until you actually meet up with Iva anyways. It be cruel to dangle that and not be able to deliver.

Just saying...I can certainly live with Bonney being the focal point for where all this was headed. That would be awesome to me actually because Jewelry Bonney is a riot! But it’s the same thing I always thought about Vivi. You’re someone we know was kinda spur of the moment by Oda’s own admission. Kiku goes even deeper in his history even if we meet her later.

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head,  every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his  silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a  fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He  thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the  very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset.  He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment  many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, dirty talking.

A/N:  This chapter is shameless smut, you are warned. Minors do not interact. go and read a book or something.

Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.As always, let me know what you think!

________________________________________________

Chapter 14 / Chapter 15

Lovers ever run before the clock.

Overhaul really is just an uptight pretentious asshole, but Tomura lets his insulting remarks slide, trying his utter best not to snap.

He was supposed to be in a good mood today, but by the time Chronostasis puts the gun against his white locks, he swears that he will do anything in his power to completely ruin Shie Hassakai for this mess, already struggling to keep his temper at bay.

“I don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.”

He’s never one to get distracted but it is difficult to stay focus when he cannot erase the feeling of her thighs caging his hips, her words rumbling inside his brain like a prayer for him to come back and take what’s already his.

It enrages him far more than he would like to admit, but he can’t go back if he gets killed, can’t he?

Luckily for them, Tomura kinda lacks that self-preservation impulse at the face of danger, so he stays there completely stoic and delightfully petty between Chisaki and the gun. The thought of her crying because he got his pretty brains scattered all over the Shie Hassakai immaculate floor makes him realize that he has yet another reason to hate Overhaul.

Really, what’s the matter with these people? they just keep adding points to their list, but sure, he will work with what he has (as always) by sending Toga and Twice into their ranks to gain some reliability after Chisaki told him about this ridiculous plan of curing society of quirks like it’s an illness.

And he thought que was an extremist.

It’s a dumb concept, really. People decide to be assholes, to be heroes, villains and such. There is a choice in excluding those like him from society meanwhile hero violence is idolized. But quirks? People don’t get to choose. Shit just happens. You can develop a cute little nice quirk that allows you to make bubbles or something ridiculous like, dunno, destroying everything you touch; but people can help it, it’s just the way it is. Nobody asks for it. Not even Overhaul, not even him.

And, even when Tomura can understand what Overhaul is saying about society being unfair based on quirks, his plan still sounds pretty nonsensical to him, who wants to destroy everything with his own hands, after all is that why he was born with such deadly weapon at the reach of his fingers. It would be nothing short but hypocritical and, despite the irony, he likes to think of himself as an honest person. His goal clashes directly with Overhaul’s, so no, he will keep the league interests to himself and for now will trust Toga and Twice to do what they do best without rising any suspicion about what he’s up to. Chisaki is more stupid tan he looks if he thinks Tomura will make blind eye to the audacity of his challenge and his continuous lack of propriety.

Oh, poor Overhaul. He doesn’t know it yet, but he already lost.

In the meantime, he’ll keep himself busy on more important and exciting matters. Hating Overhaul is something he can use as a motivation for more than just inner monologue, because you see, Tomura has a revenge to plan and a truck to steal.

_____________

 Things are different next time he sees you. Something primal and strange born from a sick sense of belonging that fills your interactions after the night you slept together, soothing his temper and bitterness into something warmer and far more intense that pulls and twist and burns to be close to each other.

It's been four days since they left the apartment to prepare the backhand against Overhaul and Tomura is sure that by that hour tomorrow Overhaul will have failed, leaving him as the great winner of his sensei’s title. (Not that he ever needed to prove it, but if Overhaul wanted to pick a fight, he would not be the one to deny his wishes.)

Tonight, however, has nothing to do with all that, not when he’s finally back.

You’ve been waiting for his return by the window, searching for his frame in every shadow, a mug of chocolate warming your hands as the soup simmered over the stove. A warm meal made for him every night in case he decided to return, guessing he would be hungry and cold, wondering if it isn’t too much (but you care for him, so you do it anyway).

A supposition that turned out to be true, but Tomura had another solution in mind.

He’s a starving dog all hunger and demand, a wild vicious thing that looks at you feral and maddened, dripping with want and something far scarier that you don’t dare to name (but you do know, don’t you?).

You are no better than him, not when your fingers had traced patterns with his name across your body, spelling dreams and fantasies from your lips, remembering the way his fingers filled you and you wonder if he touched himself thinking about you too. The answer comes rather messy the moment his jagged mouth whimpers how much he missed you between whispers and moans that to you sound like poetry.

And he takes and takes and takes with deaf hands and sharp teeth, leaving bruises with the shape of his fingertips burned all over you as he bites and scratch and pull-out whimpers and pants from your mouth that echoes the frantic tune of his heart slamming against his ribs because he missed you so much it was painful.  

So, he had kissed you feverish, stomping you against the wall desperate and needing for your attention until you had pull him by the neck of his shirt to drag him into the bedroom, his brain completely forgetting about Overhaul’s existence the moment you push him to the edge of the mattress to sit in his lap, pulling the hem of his shirt for him to take it off, too focused in the heat prints your hands leave on his pale shoulders as something roars inside of his chest urging him to imprint his existence on your skin and possess the being that lives inside your bones.

Tomura paints a plethora of purple kisses over your neck and chest as a mark of his touch and your belonging. Something dark and twisted reverbing inside his ribs, inside his brain.

Mine; his mind repeats over and over again until he’s dizzied from the words, drunk in touch as your hands slither all over his sides, his chest and shoulders. His eyes marveling in the way skin holds together every angle of your flesh and the parts where your bones show from inside of your figure when he finally takes off your dress.

So soft, so beautiful and all his.

His kisses become raw and sharp and painful like the electric bond that ties you together by the ribs, all roughness and need, bruising lips and sinking teeth. Your moans and pants mixing now and then with some pained yelps and hisses of his name to call out on his harshness, but he chooses to make deaf ears to your pleas, too busy trying to gorge on your taste.

His teeth sink on your skin leaving marks like crescent moons that he kisses after you cry, pleasure and need pooling between your thighs, a tightness that burn inside your belly as you tangle your fingers in his hair, thinking briefly between the fog of your thoughts that it has grown, that it looks painfully beautiful on him like a crown of silver and moonlight.

Soon enough your legs lock around his bony hips, the choir of soft mewls and pants has become something far more animal; cries filling the room with each touch. White underwear remaining as the last barrier to your skin, leaving a wet stain over the fabric of his jeans.  

The room turns unbearable warm as your kisses become more slopy and open, letting him take your mouth just how he likes it as he registers the way the skin of your torso presses against his bare chest, your warmth spreading over, suffocating him.

Hooking a finger on your bra cup, Tomura pulls down and reveals the flesh hidden under the layers of lace, deciding already that this is his favorite image of you. Covered in love marks, wet and underwear ruined, your bra tucked under the curb of your breast. Something obscene and desperate about it, more crude than mere nakedness and it’s exactly how he likes it.

It looks lewd, it looks nasty. It looks like everything he wants to make of you, so he tightens his hold on your waist, making your back curve a little up to latch his mouth to your breast, sucking hard enough to draw a loud moan from your lips as you dig your nails on the muscle of his arms, delight shooting through your spine.

“Ow…fuck…” you pant with each pull of his mouth, and he chuckles darkly against your chest, amused and smug because he has you and he knows it, a sinister part of him (the vengeful scary one that wants to kill and maim and destroy) screaming that you belong to him from now on, that you’ll never leave, that he’ll never let you.

Mine, and mine alone he thinks and the thought sounds jarring and loud inside his head as he leaves bruises all over the skin that surround the buds of your chest, making you gasp over his lap.

“What? Wanna say something?” Tomura teases watching your expression, your eyes going wide the moment he slides your panties to the side and press his fingers inside you without warning.

“T-oh…Tomura…fuck…ow” you try to articulate but the words come out as blurred whispers.

“No bickering now?”

“Oh god…Tomura…please” you cry trembling, mouth watering with every touch of his palm over your nerve.

“Please what.”

You hide your face on the crook of his neck to bite him hard enough to make him bark an excited laugh, rejoicing in the fact that you are marking him too, before hooking his fingers inside you to make you moan loudly; hips moving automatically as one of your hands reach the hem of his pants and unbuttons his jeans to touch him back.

“I want you inside.”

He lets out a pretty hiss the moment your fist close around his length, caressing him tentatively until finding a pace, giving you a little victory over his rough teasing.

“I wanna tear you apart” he growls reaching deep inside of you, a wolf like grin slicing across his face baring his sharp teeth “you are a mess. All wet and begging for me to fuck you.”

“Tomura…”

“Fuck…you are so wet, all for me…my good girl, my good girl.” The words pour out of his mouth in feverish tone as his other hand clear the hair off your face before catching your lips on his again.

“Tomura, please…”

He snaps, turning you onto the mattress to climb over your body, throwing his jeans to the floor before leaning between your thighs as his hardness brushes over your clothed center. His patience has run thin though, so he yanks the panties by one side, closing all five fingers over the piece of fabric that flews to the floor before transforming into dust.

He lines up with your center, feeling the intimate touch before thrusting deep into you, ripping out a high moan that makes your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving scratching marks all over his pale skin in an attempt to steady yourself as your walls burn with the stretching.

No, he isn’t gentle this time, he just can’t bring himself to be soft when he feels like the awful infatuation he’s been harboring inside is about to tear his ribs open, pouring out for everyone to see the bloody mess you’ve made of his heart. So, he thrust hard like punishing you for it, snaping his hips fast and deep into you, trying to leave a bruise mark inside as well as one of his hands tangles between your hair, pulling and making you scream to the rhythm of your creaking bed.

He bottoms out the moment his arm hooks under your knee, as you tangle your other leg over his waist, giving him deepest access into you, his tip planting kisses against your cervix, rough friction and raw closeness sending you over the edge because he’s fucking you hard, making sure your screaming can be heard from the hall of the building.

It's brutal, yet you give him everything he wants and more because you like it like this, you like it because is him. The warmth of his body covering yours and you wonder if he can feel it too.

The terrific need of holding onto his body, his wicked smile, his bruised heart. The horror of your attachment to a person like him and what this represents, at the brim of ruining your life for love…

Love.

You are so in love with him.

“Look at me” he demands pulling your hair, a feral snarl across his sharp face darkening his features before kissing you hard, his tongue filling your mouth in lewd motion. “Fuck, you are so tight…I wanna split you in half.” His voice is a coarse and maddened sound against your lips, so close and intimate it’s scary because he’s sinking so deep it feels like he’s trying to rearrange your insides and his words do nothing but intensify the heat.

“Fuck…Tomura…it hurst…you’re so rough…so rough” You manage to blurt out, eyes boring into his.

“And you love it, don’t you?” he snarls tightening the grip on your hair. “You like how it feels…like I’m gonna split your pretty cunt in two. Huh? Say it, say it…”

“Fuck…yes…yes”

“Yes what.” He barks in a particularly harsh thrust that makes you scream like a wildling.

“I love it…fuck…like that…I love it…I love it.”

“You are mine…you hear me?” he prays over your mouth half ordering, half begging for you to go down with it and say that yes, that you’ll never leave him, that you’ll stay with him “All mine to fuck, mine, mine, mine, MINE!” he growls with every thrust as the bed slams hard against the wall until you are a babbling incoherent mess.

His brutal pace and words get you quiet soon, too much to even make a sound and hardly even allowing you to breathe, too concentrated in the feeling of his length and him smashing into your ending wall as the overwhelming touch of his hips and his abdomen on yours burns your skin.

The brush of his hair and ragged breathing fanning over your cheek is the only compass of time while the tightness in your belly threatens to snap the moment your teary eyes meet his, mouth on mouth without even kiss, but you smile to him, your warm hand caressing softly the skin of his jaw as he tears into you, feeling incapable of telling him what the voice of your mind has been playing over and over again.

I’m in love with you.

Like sensing your thoughts, his hands abandon your hair. Four trembling fingers cuddling your cheek, carefully and almost scared before closing his eyes, letting his forehead rest on yours as he whispers sweet words of praise only for you to keep, still forcing himself in and out of you. His mouth watering to the sight of your bouncing breast still trapped by your bra.

“ow…I’m gonna..Tomura…I’m gonna…”

The snap of his hips become erratic when finally you come undone on him, eyes rolling back and a cry that tears your throat open when your walls clench around his hardness making him moan as he keeps thrusting in and out, reaching his own end soon after; his hand closing tightly into a fist over the mattress as he grunts with his face hidden on the crook of your neck, filling you warm and slick until he goes soft inside of you.

Tomura pulls out and rests his head on your chest, his heart hammering against your belly, still trying to catch his breath; his fingers tracing mindless patterns over the shape of your waist, as your hands slide between the tangled locks of silver, lips laying little pecks over his crown.

Time slows down, minutes passing and quiet settles, he notices.

Quiet inside of him.

This is all he wanted from the moment he crossed the umbral of your door months ago. The insufferable itch silenced by the calming thump of your heart, fluttering softly behind the gate of your ribs and he wonders if maybe you’d have a room by your core where he could lay his bones to finally rest for a minute from all the rage and hate that burdens him.

Maybe you do have one, hidden and unspoken, a mirror of the one you occupy in the graveyard of his chest where he holds you beautiful and bright and…everything he doesn’t get to hate.

Yeah, he thinks you do. After all, he’s lying in your arms, isn’t it? You had caressed his face and marked his neck and back, all teeth and nails, to then crown him with a wreath of kisses, your body soft and still under his weight, while your hands brush carefully through his scalp.

He knows the feeling, he’s not stupid…but he doesn’t get to speak its name yet.

Is not that bad, after all. Being attached to you and the lullaby of your heartbeat could make him better, smarter, stronger. You could be another reason to fight and destroy. After all, in a society as rotten as this one, you’ll never be allowed to walk by his side if not by putting a bounty on your head too.

What the media would say about you? Would they catalog you as an S class villain? since your quirk is as deadly as it gets, you would be feared and hated. You can practically kill by just looking at someone and he’s not even sure if you really need to look to your target, after all.

And yet you are the kindest person he knows. If someone of the hero commission knew about this, you’d be hunted down despite your service as a doctor, despite your resolution to help whoever needs it, despite caring for those rotten and downthrown. And since you are critical of the system, you’d be reduced to just another animal to put down. Just like him.

Tomura swears he’ll decay every single person on the world before let that happen.

“Tomura…”

He rises his head to look at you, a question drawn across his face.

“Can you…move a little? My bra is killing me.”

“Ow…sorry about that.” He apologizes, curious eyes over the mark that the elastic has left over your skin as he sits by your side.

“Can you help me? I can’t reach the clip…”

“Sure…”  

You bend over to give him better access to your back, feeling his fingers brush over your skin carefully, before liberating you from the elastic straps incrusted on your flesh.

Tomura leans forward, placing soft kisses between your shoulder blades, letting his forehead rest over your spine and the touch is so sweet that it makes you wonder if maybe he does feel the same as you.

You get your answer when his hand moves forward to cup your breast, middle finger carefully up, as the other slides down between your thighs, making you sigh, feeling his hardness brushing your hip.

He nuzzles against your cheek, until you turn to kiss him deeply, warmth pooling between your legs again as his fingers play lazy between your slick entrance and the bundle of nerves. This time though, you take your chance and turn over, sitting on top before taking his wrist to lay kisses over the soft skin of his pulse.

Your quirk flares alive and before Tomura gets to catch on your intentions, his hands stand secured high against the headboard.

“What the…ow fuck!” He moans the moment your hand close over his length, pumping until he’s losing his breath, a ragged laugh scaping his jagged lips “fuck…you are an evil woman.”

“I should be proud if you say so.”

You accommodate over him, lowering until he fills you, pushing his previous release deeper into you.

Your pacing is torturingly slow and intense, soft moans and sweet whispers between languid kissed. Tomura watches hypnotized how your hips ride over the place you two connect, his crimson eyes half lidded as he lets you take him, before finally releasing your hold.

He touches you carefully this time, palming over the curve of your hipbone and your belly, index finger up as he wonders how deep is he, trying to feel himself from the outside, before pushing down to sink deeper into you, hitting the fragile spot where he makes you cry.

“I like you like this…” he speaks softly, looking you up from behind his eyelashes as you ride him slowly.

“How” your word is a whisper against his lips.

“Bare…” he rasps, his voice luring you into his embrace, spilling sweet nothing into his ear as he mumbles over and over again.

“My good girl…you are so good for me…”

This time you reach your peak softly. A sweet thing that fills you gently; walls fluttering around his oversensitive length while you keep rocking him until he stuffs you again, finally both falling back into the mattress side to side, already drifting into sleep, both tired and content.

A light touch catches your attention before falling unconscious. Tomura´s pinky hooks on yours as a silent plea, so you spill a peck over his shoulder before resting your temple on it, a sweet gesture that makes his heart tremble with fear and excitement for all the right reasons.

So, he does what he wants, sliding his arm under your neck and moving your head to rest on his chest. Over his heart he lays a fist for you to grip gently by the wrist before finally crowning you with soft kisses as the steady beat of his heart lulls you to dream.

Chapter 16 (soon)

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 12

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

3rd Person POV

The days creep by, and there is no doubt that Fluffy is still alive and well behind the locked door.

It is sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watches them turn a mouse into a snuffbox - points were given for how pretty the snuffbox is, but taken away if it still had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while Harry, Ron, and Hermione remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion, and when they finish, watch as (Y/n) practically sweats her whole body weight as she is instructed to make a Fire Protection Potion.

(Y/n) walks out of the Potions classroom an hour after everyone else and trudges up to lunch, her robes sticking to her. When (Y/n) slumps down at the table between Hermione and Harry, the other five look at her.

"How'd it go?" Hermione asks as (Y/n) grabs a peanut butter sandwich.

(Y/n) sighs. "Well, Snape didn't exactly say anything good or bad about it, so," she shrugs. "I could have failed or just achieved the highest grade of any first year ever." (Y/n) pulls a vial of blackish purple liquid out of the pocket of the robes. "I could set myself on fire and then drink it."

"Not a good idea, (Nickname)," Fred says, passing by and sitting across from her. "Everyone might not like you much, but you don't need to solve that problem by setting yourself on fire."

"For once, my brother's right," Ron says.

"If my potion worked, I wouldn't be setting myself on fire," (Y/n) points out, smiling for the first time in weeks, and everyone else seems to cheer up at the smile.

Over the last few weeks, (Y/n) and Harry had been trying to ignore the stabbing pains in their neck and head, respectively, which had been bothering them since (Y/n)'s trip into the forest. Neville thought Harry was having a bad case of exam nerves because Harry couldn't sleep, but the truth was that Harry kept begin woken by his old nightmare, except that is was now worse than ever because he was now seeing a hooded figure dripping blood in it that (Y/n) had described.

Maybe it is because they hadn't seen what (Y/n) had seen in the forest, or because they didn't have scars burning on their necks or foreheads, but Ron and Hermione didn't seem as worried about the Stone as Harry and (Y/n). The idea of Voldemort clearly scared them, but he didn't keep visiting them in dreams, and they were so busy with their studying that they didn't have much time to fret about what Snape or anyone else might be up to.

Their very last exam is History of Magic. One hour of answering questions about batty old wizards who'd invested self-stirring cauldrons and they'd be free, free for a whole wonderful wee until their exam results came out. When the ghost of Professor Binns tells them to put down their quills and roll up their parchment, Harry can't help cheering with the rest.

"That was far easier than I thought it would be," says Hermione as they join the crowds flocking out onto the sunny grounds.

"We didn't need to study the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct or Elfric the Eager," (Y/n) adds.

The two always liked to go through their exam papers afterward, but Ron says this made him feel ill, so they wander down to the lake and flop under a tree. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan are tickling the tentacles of a giant squid, which is basking in the warm shallows.

"No more studying," Ron sighs happily, stretching out on the grass.

"You two could look more cheerful, (Y/n), Harry, we've got a week before we find out how badly we've done, there's no need to worry yet," Hermione adds.

Harry was rubbing his forehead, and (Y/n) had her hand pressed to her neck, rubbing slightly.

"I wish I knew what this means!" Harry bursts out angrily.

"Same, my scar keeps hurting," (Y/n) adds. "It's happened before, but not this often."

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione suggests.

"We're not ill," retorts Harry. "I think it's a warning . . . it means danger's coming . . ."

Ron wouldn't get worked up, it's too hot, "Harry, (Y/n), relax. Hermione's right, the Stone's safe as long as Dumbledore's around. Anyway, we've never had any proof Snape found out how to get past Fluffy."

"It's not Snape," (Y/n) interjects but Ron just continues.

"He nearly had his leg ripped off once, he's not going to try it again in a hurry. And Neville will play Quidditch for England before Hagrid lets Dumbledore down."

(Y/n) nods, but she can't shake the lurking feeling that there is something she'd forgotten to do, something important. When she tries to explain this, Hermione says, "That's just the exams. I woke up last night and was halfway through my Transfiguration notes before I remembered we'd done that one."

(Y/n) is sure that the unsettling feeling didn't have anything to do with work, though. She watches an owl flutter towards the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in it's beak. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluff . . . never . . . but -

(Y/n) suddenly jumps to her feet.

"Where are you going?" asks Ron sleepily.

"I've just thought," (Y/n) says and Hermione studies her sister, who's face had turned white. "We've got to go and see Hagrid, now."

"Why?" pants Hermione, hurrying to keep up.

"Don't you think it's a bit odd," says (Y/n), sprinting up the grassy slope, "that what Hagrid want more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if they're against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, right? Why didn't I see it before?"

"What are you talking about?" asks Ron, but (Y/n), sprinting across the grounds towards the forest, doesn't answer.

Hagrid is sitting in an armchair outside his house, his trousers and sleeves are rolled up, and he is shelling peas into a large bowl. "Hullo," he says, smiling. "Finished yer exams? Got time fer a drink?"

"Yes, please," answers Ron, but (Y/n) cuts him off.

"No, we're in a hurry. Hagrid, I've got to ask you something. You know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were playing cards with look like?"

"Dunno," answers Hagrid casually, "he wouldn' take his cloak off." He sees the six of them looking stunned and raises his eyebrows. "It's not that unusual, yeh get a lot o' funny folk in the Hog's Head —that's one o' the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a dragon dealer, mightn' he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up."

(Y/n) sinks down next to the bowl of peas, "What did you talk about, Hagrid? Did you mention Hogwarts at all?"

"Mighta come up," replies Hagrid, frowning as he tries to remember."Yeah . . . he asked what I did, an' I told him I was gamekeeper here. . . . He asked a bit about the sorta creatures I look after . . . so I told him . . . an' I said what I'd always really wanted was a dragon . . . an' then . . . I can'remember too well, 'cause he kept buyin' me drinks. . . . Let's see . . . yeah, then he said he had the dragon egg an' we could play cards fer it if I wanted . . . but he had ter be sure I could handle it, he didn' want it ter go ter any old home. . . . So I told him, after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy. . . ."

"And did he — did he seem interested in Fluffy?" Harry asks, trying to keep his voice calm

"Well — yeah — how many three-headed dogs d' yeh meet, even around Hogwarts? So I told him, Fluffy's a piece o' cake if yeh know how to calm him down, jus' play him a bit o' music an' he'll go straight off ter sleep —" Hagrid suddenly looks horrified. "I shouldn't a told yeh that!" he blurted out. "Forget I said it! Hey —where're yeh goin'?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione and (Y/n) don't speak to each other until they come to a halt in the entrance hall, which seems very cold and gloomy after the warm, summery grounds.

"We've got to go to Dumbledore," says Harry. "Hagrid told that stranger how to get past Fluffy, and it was either Snape or Voldemort under that cloak - it might've been easy, once he got Hagrid drunk. I just hope Dumbledore believes us. Firenze might back us up if Bane doesn't stop him. Where's Dumbledore's office?"

They look around, as if hoping to see a sign pointing them in the right direction. They had never been told where Dumbledore lived, nor did they know anyone who had been sent to see him.

"We'll just have to —" Harry begins, but a voice suddenly rang across the hall.

What are you four doing inside?"

It is Professor McGonagall, carrying a large pile of books.

"We want to see Professor Dumbledore," says Hermione, rather bravely, the others think.

"See Professor Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall repeat, as though it is a very fishy thing to want to do. "Why?"

Harry swallows - What now?

"It's sort of secret," he says, but he wishes at once he hadn't, because Professor McGonagall's nostrils flare.

"Professor Dumbledore left ten minutes ago," she says coldly. "He received an urgent owl from the Ministry of Magic and flew off for London at once."

"He's gone?" asks Harry frantically. "Now?"

"Professor Dumbledore is a very great wizard, Potter, he has many demands on his time -"

"But this is important."

"Something you have to say is more important than the Ministry of Magic, Potter?"

"Look," says Harry, throwing caution to the winds, "Professor - it's about the Sorcerer's Stone -"

Whatever Professor McGonagall had expected, it wasn't that. The books she is carrying tumble out of her arms, but she doesn't pick them up, so (Y/n) darts over, picks up the books, and silently holds them out to her head of house, but she doesn't take them.

"How do you know -?" McGonagall splutters.

"Professor, I think - I know - that Sn - that someone's going to try and steal the Stone. I've got to talk with Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall eyes him with a mixture of shock and suspicion.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow," she says finally. "I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Professor -"

"Potter, I know what I'm talking about," she answers shortly. She takes the books from (Y/n). "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine."

But they don't.

"It's tonight," says Harry, once he is sure Professor McGonagall is out of earshot. "Snape's going through the trapdoor tonight. He's found out everything he needs, and now he's got Dumbledore out of the way. He sent that note, I bet the Ministry of Magic will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up."

"But what can we -"

Hermione gasps softly, and the others wheel around.

Snape is standing there.

"Good afternoon," he says smoothly.

They stare at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he says, with an odd, twisted smile.

"We were -" Harry begins, without any idea what he is going to say.

"You want to be more careful," says Snape. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can it?"

(Y/n) flushes. They turn to go outside, but Snape calls them back.

"Be warned, Potter - any more nighttime wanderings and I personally make sure you are expelled," Snape then turns to (Y/n). "(L/n), come with me," he says and she nods.

Snape strides towards the dungeons and (Y/n) jogs after him.

Once in the Potions Master's office, Snape sits down at his desk, and gestures for (Y/n) to sit down across from him. (Y/n) sits down nervously as Snape opens a folder and slides it in front of her.

The Potions Master nods encouragingly, and then (Y/n) takes a hold of the folder, gazing down at the paper inside.

Name (Last, First): (L/n), (Y/n)

DOB: October 31st, 19879

Year: 1

Exam: Potions 1

Score: 327%

Next Class Recommendation: Potions 4

(Y/n) stares at the score, "How?"

"You automatically get an extra hundred percent added because you took a harder exam," Snape tells the girl.

"What about the other 127%?" (Y/n) asks doing quick math.

"It's for making a Third year level potion," Snape says.

"So next year I'll be taking Forth year Potions?" (Y/n) asks and Snape nods.

Then the Potions Master smiles, slightly unsettling (Y/n). "I've impressed by your performance this year, (Y/n)," Snape says. (Y/n) beams at the compliment from the teacher that never gave compliments. (Y/n) stands up to leave and when she gets to the door, Snape says something, "You look a lot like your parents, you know? You have your mother's eyes," (Y/n) turns around, a sad expression on her face.

"Nobody's ever told me that before," (Y/n) murmurs her eyes flashing silver, walking back to stand in front of her Professor's desk.

What the two didn't know was that Hermione was waiting outside the door, listening - not on purpose, of course - to the conversation.

(Y/n) sits down in the chair across from Snape and the Potions Master continues. "I was friends with your mother when she was at school." (Y/n) sits straighter in her chair, interest flickering in her eyes. "(M/n), she was a Gryffindor," (Y/n) smiles at the thought. "Even though they were from different houses, you could never separate the two. (M/n), she was best friends with Lily Evans, who married James Potter," (Y/n) could sense her Professor tense at Harry's father's name.

Snape, looking at the girl, notices her eyes slowly turning back to their brilliant emerald green.

"Your mother was a great Quidditch player, and excelled at Transfiguration. She was an amazing friends" Snape's voice turns wistful and (Y/n) studies her Professor with gentle eyes.

"Thank you for telling me about her, Professor," (Y/n) says.

"It was no problem," Snape says gently, he and (Y/n) standing up, (Y/n) grabbing the Potions Exam paper, and the two walk out of the classroom and are met by Thora and Hermione standing on either side of the door.

"What are you doing here?" Snape asks sharply.

"I came to wait for my sister," Hermione answers.

(Y/n) flashes her a questioning look before nodding to her Potion's Master.

Hermione walks slightly behind (Y/n) as they walk up to the Gryffindor Common Room.

The portrait of the Fat Lady swings open and the duo walks in, Harry and Ron turning to look at them.

"I'm sorry, Harry!" Hermione wails from behind (Y/n); (Y/n) sits down on the arm of Harry's chair. "Snape came out and asked us what we were doing, so we said we were waiting for (Y/n). We don't know where Snape went."

(Y/n) groans in exasperation, "You really think it's still Snape?"

"Yep," Harry says.

"So, that's it then, isn't it?" (Y/n) says finally, as a stab of pain pulses through the scar on her neck.

The others stare at her. (Y/n) had turned pale and her eyes are glittering.

"I'm going out of here tonight and I'm going to try and get to the Stone first," (Y/n) says, a frown on her face.

"You're mad!" says Ron.

"You can't!" says Hermione. "After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You'll be expelled!"

"So what?" Harry shouts.

"Don't you understand?" (Y/n) asks, her voice softer, her gaze flickering silver. "If whoever gets the Stone, Voldemort's coming back! Haven't you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over?" The others gaze at her, eyes wide. "There won't be any Hogwarts to get expelled from! He'll flatten it! Losing points doesn't matter anymore?If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I'll have to find somewhere else to go," catching Hermione's shocked glances, she continues, "I'm not letting anyone else I care about die for me." (Y/n) swallows thickly, "It's only dying a bit later than I would have. I'm going through that trapdoor tonight and nothing you can say is going to stop me!"

"I'm going too," Harry says and (Y/n)'s silver gaze shifts to him. "Voldemort killed my parents too." (Y/n)'s gaze softens.

"You're both right," Hermione says in a small voice.

"We'll use the Invisibility Cloak," says Harry.

"But will it cover all four of us?" asks Ron.

Harry turns to Ron. "All - all four of us?" Harry asks.

"Oh, come off it, you don't think we'd let you go alone?" Ron asks.

"Of course not," says Hermione briskly. "How do you think you'd get to the Stone without us? I'd better go and look through my books, there might be something useful . . ."

"But if we get caught, you two will be expelled, too."

"Not if I can help it," says Hermione grimly. "Flitwick told me and (Y/n) in secret that we got a hundred and twelve percent on his exam. They're not throwing me out after that."

After dinner, (Y/n), Harry, Ron, and Hermione sit apart from the other three in the common room. Nobody bothers them; none of the Gryffindors had anything to say to (Y/n) anymore, after all. This was the first night she hadn't been upset by it. (Y/n) darts upstairs, and pulls out the small trunk where she keeps extra potions. The only one she had was the fire protection, which she pockets into her hoodie, pocketing her wand and she straps small knife in a sheath on her left forearm, making sure her hoodie covered the sheath.

(Y/n) scampers downstairs and over to her three friends, who were standing around the Invisibility Cloak.

"We'd better put the Cloak on here, and make sure it covers all four of us - if Filch spots one of our feet wandering along on it's own -"

"What are you doing?" comes a voice from the corner of the room. Neville appears from behind an armchair, clutching Trevor the toad, who looks as though he'd been making another bid for freedom.

"Nothing, Neville, nothing," answers Harry, hurriedly putting the Cloak behind his back.

Neville stares at their guilty faces.

"You're going out again," Neville realizes, looking into (Y/n)'s green eyes.

"No, no, no," says Hermione. "No, we're not. Why don't you go back to bed, Neville?"

Harry looks at the grandfather clock by the door. We couldn't afford to waste any more time, Harry thinks, Snape might even now be playing Fluffy to sleep.

"You can't go out again," Neville tells (Y/n), "you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble."

"You don't understand," says Harry, "this is important."

But Neville was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate. "I won't let you do it," he says, hurrying to stand in front of the portrait hole. "I'll - I'll fight you!"

"Neville," Ron explodes, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot—"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" retorts Neville. "I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yes, but not to us," answers Ron in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know what you're doing."

He takes a step forward and Neville drops Trevor the toad, who leaps out of sight."Go on then, try and hit me!" says Neville, raising his fists. "I'm ready!"

Harry turns to Hermione."Do something," he whines desperately.

But it's (Y/n) who reacts, drawing her Alder wood wand out of her pocket, "I'm sorry about this Neville." She raises her wand, "Petrificus Totalus." Neville's arms snap to his sides, and his legs spring together. His whole body rigid, he sways where he stands and then falls flat on his face, stiff as a board.

(Y/n) runs to turn him over. Neville's jaws are jammed together so he can't speak. Only his eyes are moving, looking at them in horror.

"What've you done to him?" Harry whispers.

"It's the full Body-Bind," says (Y/n) miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry."

"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," says Harry.

"You'll understand later, Neville," says Ron as they step over him and pull on the Invisibility Cloak.

But leaving Neville lying motionless on the floor doesn't feel like a very good omen.

In their nervous state, every statue's shadow looks like Filch, and every distant breath of wind sounds like Peeves swooping down on them.

At the fit of the first set of stairs, they spot Mrs. Norris skulking near the top.

"Oh, let's kick her, just this once," Ron whispers in Harry's ear, but Harry shook his head. As they climb carefully around her, Mrs. Norris turns her lamplike eyes on them, but didn't do anything.

They don't meet anyone else until they reach teh staircase up to the third floor. Peeves is bobbing halfway up, loosening the carpet so that people would trip.

"Who's there?" Peeves asks suddenly as they climb towards him. He narrows his wicked black eyes, "Know you're there, even if I can't see you. Are you ghoulie or ghostie or wee student beastie?" He rises up in the air and floats there, squinting at them.

Harry has a sudden idea. "Peeves," he says, in a hoarse whisper, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."

Peeves almost falls out of the air in shock. He catches himself in time and hovers about a foot off the stairs. "So sorry, you bloodiness, Mr. Baron, sir," he says greasily. "My mistake, my mistake - I didn't see you - of course I didn't you're invisible - forgive old Peevsie his little joke, sir."

"I have business here, Peeves," croaks Harry. "Stay away from this place tonight."

"I will, sir, I most certainly will," says Peeves, rising up in the air again. "Hope your business goes well, Baron, I'll not bother you." And he scoots off.

"Brilliant, Harry!" whispers Ron, an impressed look on (Y/n)'s face.

A few seconds later, they are there, outside the third-floor corridor - and the door is already ajar.

"Well, there you are," Harry says quietly, "Snape's already got past Fluffy."

"It's not Snape," (Y/n) hisses, never feeling more correct after her talk with her Potions Master earlier.

But seeing the open door somehow seems to impress upon all four of them what is facing them. Underneath the Cloak, (Y/n) turns to the other three.

"If you want to go back, I won't blame you," she says softly. "You can take the Cloak, I won't need it now."

"Don't be stupid," says Ron.

"We're coming," insists Hermione.

Harry reaches over and pushes the door open the rest of the way.

As the door creaks, low, rumbling growls meet their ears. All three of the dog's noses sniff madly in their direction, even though it can't see them.

"What's that at it's feet?" Hermione asks in a soft whisper.

"Looks like a harp," replies Ron. "Snape must have left it there."

Deciding not to argue anymore about Snape, (Y/n) keeps her mouth shut.

Harry puts Hagrid's flute to his lips and blows. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note, the beast's eyes begin to droop. Harry hardly draws breath. Slowly, the dog's growls cease - it totters on its paws and falls to its knees, then it slumps on the ground, fast asleep.

"Keep playing," Ron warns Harry as they slip out of the Cloak and creeps towards the trapdoor. They can feel the dog's hot, smelly breath as the approach the giant heads.

"I think we'll be able to pull the door open," says Ron, peering over the dog's back. "Want to go first, Hermione?"

"No, I don't!" Hermione snaps.

"I'll go first," (Y/n) whispers. She steps carefully over the dog's legs. She bends and pulls the ring of the trapdoor; the trapdoor swings up and open.

"What can you see?" Hermione asks anxiously.

"Nothing - just black - there's no way of climbing down, we'll just have to drop," (Y/n) whispers. She swings her legs into the trapdoor. She looks directly at Hermione, meeting her sister's gaze. "If anything happens to me, don't follow. Go straight to the Owlery and send Hedwig to Dumbledore, okay?"

Hermione nods, a flash of fear showing in her brown eyes.

"See you in a minute, I hope . . ." (Y/n) slides the rest of the way into the trapdoor and lets go. Cold, damp air rushes past her as she falls down, down, down and -

FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump, she lands on something soft. She sits up and feels around, her eyes not used to the gloom. It feels as though she is sitting on some soft of plant.

"It's okay!" she calls up to the light the size of a postage stamp, which was the open trapdoor, "it's a soft landing, you can jump!"

Ron and Harry follow right away. They land, sprawled next to (Y/n).

"What's this stuff?" are Ron's first words.

"Dunno, some sort of plant thing," (Y/n) rasps. "I suppose it's here to break the fall."

"Come on, Hermione!" Harry calls as something snakes it's way up (Y/n)'s neck and (Y/n) tries to pull away, but whatever it was, tightens around her.

The distant music stops; there is a loud bark from the dog, but Hermione had already jumped, landing on (Y/n)'s other side.

"We must be miles under the school," Hermione comments.

"Luck this plant thing's here," Ron says.

"Lucky!" shrieks Hermione. "Look at the three of you!" She leaps up and struggles towards a damp wall. She had to struggle because the moment she had landed, the plant had started to twist, snakelike tendrils around her ankles. As for Harry and Ron, their legs had already been bound tightly in long creepers without their noticing.

(Y/n) however, had the tendrils had wrapped around her neck and Hermione watches in horror as the three fight to pull the plant off themselves, but the more they strain against it, the tighter and faster the plant wounds around them.

"Stop moving!" Hermione orders them. "I know what this is - it's Devil's Snare!"

(Y/n), panicking, begins to strain more, and the Devil's Snare tightens around her chest. (Y/n) thrashes around in the plant's grasp and the Devil's Snare tightens painfully around her, the vial in her pocket pressing into her stomach, ready to shatter.

(Y/n) begins feeling faint from the loss of air, hears Ron bellow, "HAVE YOU GONE MAD? ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

A few seconds later, the three feel it loosening its grip as it cringes away from the light and warmth. Wriggling and flailing, it unravels itself from their bodies and they are able to pull free.

(Y/n)'s chest heaves as she regains her breath, Harry holding up her up.

"Lucky you pay attention in Herbology, Hermione," (Y/n) rasps.

"Yeah," adds Ron, "and lucky (Y/n) doesn't lose her head in a crisis - 'there's no wood,' honestly."

"Only my breath," (Y/n) jokes, once her breath completely returns, though the others could see the dark bruise beginning to form on her neck. "Right, this way," says (Y/n), pointing down a stone passageway, which is the only way forward.

All the four can hear, apart from their footsteps is the gentle drip of water trickling down the walls. The passage way slopes downward, and Harry is reminded of Gringotts. With an unpleasant jolt of the heart, he remembers the dragons said to be guarding vaults in the wizards' bank. If they met a dragon, a fully-grown dragon - Norbert had been bad enough . . .

"Can you hear something?" Ron asks in a soft whisper.

(Y/n) listens, hearing a soft rustling and clicking noise seeming to come from ahead.

"Do you think it's a ghost?" Harry wonders.

"I don't think so," (Y/n) answers. "It sounds like wings."

"There's light ahead - I can see something moving," Hermione adds, exchanging a look with (Y/n).

They reach the end of the passageway and sees before them a brilliantly lit chamber, its ceiling arching high them. It is full of small, jewel-bright things, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the room is a very heavy wooden door.

"Do you think they'll attack us if we cross the room?" wonders Ron.

"Probably," answers Harry. "They don't look very vicious, but I suppose if they all swooped down at once . . . well, there's no other choice . . . I'll run." He takes a deep breath, covers his face with his arms, and sprints across the room. He expects to feel sharp beaks and claws tearing at him any second, but nothing happens. He reaches the door untouched, and he pulls on the handle, but it's locked.

Hermione and Ron follow but (Y/n) gazes up and around the chamber.

"Guys!" (Y/n) calls, her voice echoing around the room, and the other three turn to look at her. The three catch (Y/n) gazing thoughtfully at the ceiling. "They're not birds! They're keys - winged keys." Her emerald gaze studies the chamber again and she catches sight of three broomsticks. "We've got to catch the key to the door." (Y/n) jogs over to the door and studies the lock.

"But there are hundreds of them!" Ron exclaims.

"We're looking for a big, old fashioned one - probably silver, like the handle," (Y/n) says. "Probably has a crumpled wing," she murmurs. (Y/n), Ron, and Harry grab brooms and soar into the midst of the cloud of keys.

Not for nothing, though, was (Y/n) the youngest Seeker in a century. She had a knack for spotting things other people didn't. After a minute's weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, she notices a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it had already been caught and stuffed roughly into the keyhole. "That one!" she calls. "That big one - there - no, there - with bright blue wings - the feathers are all crumpled on one side.

Ron goes speeding in the direction that (Y/n) is pointing, crashes into the ceiling, and almost falls of his broom.

"We've got to close in on it!" (Y/n) calls, not taking her eyes off the key with the damaged wing. "Ron, you come at it from above - Harry, stay below and stop it from going down - and I'll try to catch it. Right, NOW!"

Ron dives, Harry rocket's upward, the key dodges them both, and (Y/n) streaks after it; it speeds towards the wall, (Y/n) leans forward and with a nasty, crunching noise, pins it to the stone with one hand. Ron, Harry, and Hermione's cheers echo around the high chamber.

They land quickly, and (Y/n) sprints for the door, the key struggling in her hand. She rams it into the lock and turns - it worked. The moment the lock had clicks open, the key takes flight again, looking very battered now that it had been caught twice.

"Ready?" (Y/n) asks the other three, her hand on the door handle. They nod, and she pulls the door open.

The next chamber is so dark they can't see anything at all, so (Y/n) casts the Lumos charm, but then light floods the room to reveal an astonishing sight, (Y/n) extinguishing her wand light.

They are standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind the black chessmen, which were all taller then they area and carved from what looked like black stone. Facing them, across the chamber, are the white pieces. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and (Y/n) shiver slightly - the towering white chessmen had no faces.

"Now what do we do?" Harry whispers.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" says Ron. "We've got to play our way across the room."

Behind the white pieces they can see another door.

"How?" asks Hermione nervously, (Y/n) placing a comforting on her friend's shoulder.

"I think," (Y/n) says, "we're going to have to be chessmen."

Ron walks over to a black knight and puts his hand out to touch the knight's horse. At once, the stone springs to life, the horse pawing the ground and the knight turns his helmeted head to look down at Ron.

"Do we - er - have to join you to get across?" Ron asks. The black knight nods and Ron turns to the other three. "This needs thinking about . . ." Ron mumbles. "I suppose we've got to take the place of four of the black pieces . . ." The three stay quiet, watching Ron think. Finally, he says, "Now, don't be offended or anything, but neither of the three of you are that good at chess -"

"We're not offended," says Harry quickly.

"Just tell us what to do," (Y/n) says gently.

"Well, Harry, you take the place of that bishop, and Hermione, you go there, instead of that castle, (Y/n), you take that knight there."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to be that other knight," answers Ron.

The chessmen seem to have been listening, because at these words both knights, a bishop, and a castle turn their backs on the white pieces and walk off the board, leaving four empty squares that Harry, Ron, (Y/n), and Hermione take.

"White always plays first in chess," says Ron, peering across the board. "Yes . . . look . . ."

A white pawn had moved forward two squares.

Ron starts to direct the black pieces, occasionally asking (Y/n) for advice, but mostly on his own, the pieces moving silently wherever he sent them.

Harry's knees are trembling, What if we lose?

"Harry - move diagonally four squares to the right."

The first real shock comes when their other bishop is taken. (Y/n) lets out a cry as the queen smashes the bishop - who was beside her - to the floor and drags him off the board, where he lies quite still, face down.

"Had to let that happen," explains Ron, looking shaken. "Leaves you to take that bishop, (Y/n), go on."

Every time one of their pieces is lost, the white pieces show no mercy. Soon there is a huddle of limp black players slumped along the wall. Twice, Ron only just noticed that Harry, Hermione, and (Y/n) were in danger. He himself darts around the board, taking almost as many white pieces as they had lost black ones.

"We're nearly there," Ron mutters suddenly. "Let me think - let me think.

The white queen turns her blank face towards Ron.

"Yes . . ." says Ron softly, it's the only way . . . I've got to be taken."

"No!" Harry, (Y/n), and Hermione shout.

"That's chess," snaps Ron. "You've got to make some sacrifices! I'll make my move and she'll take me - that leaves you free to checkmate the king, Harry!"

"But -"

"Do you want to stop Snape or not?"

"Ron -"

"Look, if you don't hurry up, he'll already have the Stone!"

There was no alternative.

"Ready?" Ron calls, his face pale but determined. "Here I go - now, don't hang around once you've won."

He steps forward, and the white queen pounces. She strikes Ron hard across the head with her stone arm, and he crashes to the floor - Hermione and (Y/n) scream but stay on their squares - the white queen drags Ron to one side. He looks as though he's been knocked out.

Shaking, Harry moves three spaces to the left.

The white king takes off his crown and throws it at Harry's feet. They had won. The chessmen part and bow, leaving the door ahead clear. With one last desperate look back at Ron, Harry and (Y/n) and Hermione charge through the door and up the next passageway.

"What if he's - ?"

"He'll be alright," (Y/n) soothes, trying to convince herself, as well as Hermione.

"What do you reckon's next?"

"We've had Sprout's, that was the Devil's Snare," Hermione begins.

"Flitwick must've put charms on the keys and McGonagall transfigured the chessmen to make them alive," (Y/n) continues.

"That leaves Quirrell's and Snape's," Hermione finishes.

They had reached another door.

"All right?" (Y/n) whispers.

"Go on."

(Y/n) pushes it open, her wand drawn.

A disgusting smell fills their nostrils, making the three of them pull their robes over their noses. Eyes watering, they see, flat on the floor in front of them, a troll even larger than the one they tackled, out cold with a blood lump on its head.

"I'm glad we didn't have to fight that one," Harry whispers as they step carefully over one of its massive legs.

"Tell me about it," (Y/n) mutters.

(Y/n) pulls open the next door, the three of them hardly daring to look at what comes next - but there is nothing very frightening in here, just a table with seven differently shaped bottles standing on it in a line.

"Snape's," Harry says. "What do we have to do?"

They step over the threshold and immediately, a fire springs up behind them in the doorway. It wasn't ordinary fire either; it was purple. At the same instant, black flames shoot up in the doorway leading onward. They are trapped.

"Look!" Hermione seizes a roll of paper lying next to the bottles. Harry and (Y/n) look over her shoulder to read it:

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind, Two of us will help you, whichever you would find, One among us seven will let you move ahead, Another will transport the drinker back instead, Two among our number hold only nettle wine, Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line. Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore, To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four: First, however slyly the poison tries to hide You will always find some on nettle wine's left side; Second, different are those who stand at either end, But if you would move onward, neither is your friend; Third, as you see clearly, all are different size, Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides; Fourth, the second left and the second on the right Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Hermione lets out a great sigh, and Harry, amazed, sees that she and (Y/n) are smiling, the very last thing he feels like doing.

"Brilliant," says Hermione.

"This isn't magic - it's logic - a puzzle," (Y/n) continues.

"A lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever," Hermione adds.

"But so will we, won't we?" Harry asks nervously.

"Of course not," says Hermione. "Everything we need is here on this paper, and with our Potions expert."

"Seven bottles: three are poison; two are wine; one will get us safely through the black fire, and one will get us back through the purple," (Y/n) says, then pulls the vial of Fire Protection Potion out of her pocket. "And this. Who knows which fire this'll get us through."

"But how do we know which of the seven we can drink?" Harry asks his friends.

"Give us just a minute," Hermione says, exchanging a look with (Y/n).

The two read the paper several times. Then walk up and down the line of bottles, exchanging soft words and pointing to them. At last, Hermione claps her hands.

"Got it," (Y/n) says. "The smallest bottle will get us through the black fire - towards the Stone."

Harry looks at the tiny bottle.

"There's only enough there for one of us," he says. "That's hardly one swallow."

They look at each other, (Y/n) fiddling with the top of the vial in her hand.

"Which one will get you back through the purple flames?" Harry asks and Hermione points to a rounded bottle at the end of the line.

(Y/n) walks over and uncorks her vial, studying it. It does look a lot like the smallest bottle's potion, (Y/n) thinks. She drains the little bottle in one gulp. She shivers, it felt like ice. She puts the empty bottle in her pocket and braces herself. She could see the black flames licking her body, but can't feel them. For a moment, all (Y/n) can see is nothing but dark fire, then, she's on the other side, in the last chamber.

There is already someone there - but it isn't Snape like the others though. It wasn't even Voldemort.

Word Count: 6766 words

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #20)

01/07/88  11:56 PM

Hey.

That first night was rough.

The following six would not be much better.

Honestly, most of my time spent in the dump has excused itself from my memory, on account of being so profoundly unremarkable and entirely unpleasant. I’m pretty sure I know what I did, but a large sum of the details are basically gone. Thankfully, none of it’s all that important, but I still feel like I should write down what I can recall. It’s kind of weird -- it feels like the more I write, the more I remember. Maybe once all’s said and done, I should try keeping a journal or some corny crap like that. A real one.

‘Dunno if I could stay regular on it without the added benefit of pretending to talk to you.

Anyway. Seven-ish days, I stayed there, and each day, relations with Wreck-it stayed just as strained, clipped, and awkward as the day before. I found out on the first morning that he had a strike system in mind -- I break three rules, that’s three strikes, that’s my ass hitting the road. Of course, I found out about this shortly after making my first strike. Literally seconds into the first day. 

I hadn’t slept at all, being too sick and anxious and plagued by a snoring gorilla. So, when he woke up, before he could even stand, he was greeted by a violation of Rule #2:

“Hey, Maestro, what’s it like havin’ an entire brass section lodged in your nose?”

Then he, let’s say, ‘explained’ that I’d just struck one of three.

The second strike was not long for this world, either. Just hours later, I’d break Rule #5, completely by accident.

Business was pretty slow that day, being so early in the School Year (I heard some things here and there about so-and-so’s throwing First Day of School parties, but there was no festival this year -- not in the climate for it, I guess). Fix-it had a fair amount of free time between gamers, and made the incredibly ill-advised decision to try to talk to me. I was curled up on my pillows trying very hard to sleep when I heard him climbing up the bricks, calling out cautiously, “Mavy? Are you here?”

I didn’t say anything. I just grabbed a brick and tossed it in the direction of his voice. I then heard a yelp, a handful of Nicelander gasps, those tumbling sound effects, and that morbid little funeral drone. I didn’t expect to actually hit him, let alone K.O. him. He’s so damn easy to K.O., it’s like cracking an egg.

Regardless of it being an accident, regardless of the fact that Fix-it was assuring everyone he was fit as a fiddle seconds later, regardless of the fact that Wreck-it wasn’t even in the dump at the time, but watching from the roof of Niceland, it was a strike. So I had one left until I was out on my ass. I really had to pull it together in that regard. And I did, sort of.

I spent each day more or less the same: Looking for distractions that didn’t break any rules, puking, and trying to sleep.

I wandered around when I could. I took sporadic catnaps. I took very, very cold baths in the river, which I did not miss doing at all, but I certainly couldn’t use the showers in your game anymore. I drew sketches of the gamers’ faces as they played. I spent lots of time hugging a bucket. I very quietly played my guitar, more for the motion than the music. I snuck into the building from behind and raided apartments during gameplay, stockpiling food and water as my appetite slowly came back. It was all repetitive, futile, and not nearly enough to distract me the way I needed. I wanted buffs so, so bad. Even a drink. But for the life of me, I could not leave the game.

I tried many times, often several times in a day. I’d go stand at our dinky little train station, staring at the dinky little train I’d have to use as a newfound ground-dweller, and shiver. I’d pace. I’d kick the train, usually. It was so demeaning and frustrating. Nobody can keep me locked up. Yet there I was, too afraid to leave my own Dev-damned game out of fear that I’d be murdered. That had to be exactly what my attacker wanted me to feel. Just crippling, paralyzing fear. She may not have killed me, but maybe she was counting on other ways to make me disappear. And there I was, giving her what she wanted.

Wreck-it, on the other hand, left the game nightly to go to Tapper’s, right after closing. He’d check in with me beforehand, and it’d be the same each time.

He’d say, “Hey. Holdin’ up okay?”

I’d say, “Yup.”

He’d say, “Think you might leave soon?”

I’d say, “Hopefully.”

He’d say, “I’m going to Tapper’s, if you’re interested.”

I’d say, “No, thanks.”

End scene.

Word for word, the same every night. Those were really our only brief windows of communication, right up until the fifth night, after he had come back from Tapper’s and settled in. 

The withdrawals had cleared up by then, but, needless to say, I still didn’t feel too good. I’d been stuck in there for nearly a week, feeling more broken and pathetic than I’d ever felt in my life. Everything was weighing down so, so hard, it was like I could barely breathe. Being unable to find you, nearly being murdered, being villainized, practically losing my brush -- it all had me cornered. There was nowhere to run. I was wishing so deeply for a way out. So, like I’ve done countless times before, I stared out into the arcade through the screen, trying to imagine a reality where I could break out and leave all of this behind.

The thing is, though, I’d only ever dreamed of that when no one else was around. This time, I was peering over the mound of bricks that I’d been sleeping behind, barely ten feet from Wreck-it’s stump. I was lying there for Devs know how long before, completely by accident, a question slipped from my mouth.

“What do you think it’s like out there?”

Wreck-it jumped. “Huh?”

I jumped. “What?”

“What’d you say?”

I felt my face burn up. I couldn’t have that conversation, not with him. I slipped back down the bricks to my privacy, and instinctively grabbed my guitar. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

Wreck-it didn’t press, but I didn’t expect him to. It was the heavy, awkward silence after that I was worried about, so, without a second thought, I started playing my guitar. I’d played quietly while Wreck-it was around a few times before, and he didn’t seem to mind. Up until that point, though, I’d been silent on the vocals, because… y’know, I guess I just didn’t feel much like singing since you’d left. But in my panic, I started singing the first thing that popped into my head. It was this song I’d started writing about a concrete world and a neon storm. It wasn’t done. I’d forgotten most of it. It was a freakin’ mess -- eventually, I just gave up. I sighed and started plucking no tune in particular. Me and my unpredictable mouth.

That’s when Wreck-it piped in again, casually.

“Was that a new one?”

I cringed. “Yeah. It’s... not done.”

He paused. “It was nice. When it’s done, you should play it at Tapper’s.” He paused again. “...Y’know, after… things die down a bit.”

“...Yeah, right. As if I’ll ever play there again. Certainly not at Qix, either.”

“No?”

“No. Sprites at Qix are there for a good time, and I’m not super conducive to those anymore, so… even if it ever opens up again, I’m off the setlist.”

Qix had, indeed, been barred from the public not too long after the incident. It had become even more of a hotspot for buff use and dealing. Hardly stopped users and dealers from finding new places for it, but, still, the arcade lost its one and only nightclub. So that was grand.

“And, as for Tapper, I kinda doubt he wants the arcade’s most hated sprite playing at his bar.”

“Tapper still likes you,” he said. “I mean, he even talked about you the other night, said he’d run into you at the memorial. Wanted to know how you were doing.”

It was true -- I had met Tapper briefly at the memorial, and I remembered that he said that I was always welcome in his game if I needed company. It really was a sweet thing, looking back. But I didn’t take him seriously at the time, ‘cause I still thought it was a big joke. And after that, I definitely made him regret his offer. All I’d done at Tapper’s was drink myself violent and end up throwing punches and breaking glass. I was certain that he’d changed his mind and started hating me like everyone else. That thought really stung.

I waited, for a moment. “...What did you tell him?”

“I just told him I wouldn’t know.”

“Good,” I nodded, “good.”

We were both quiet for a long while, before words slipped out of me again. “I’m gonna miss that bar.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… whether Tapper likes me or not, I’m… bad for business, now. I could draw sprites in with my music, before, but, now… Even if he says I’m welcome there, I’m not really. It’s not entirely up to him.” I sighed, and felt my voice drop so low, it practically dragged. “I’m not welcome anywhere, anymore, so… that’s great.”

“Nowhere at all?”

I said, “Nope. Didn’t you say yourself that I’m trouble? Big trouble? Everyone seems to think that. Bigger trouble than anyone can deal with nowadays.”

Once again, we were both silent for a moment. I’d stopped playing, reduced to flicking one string with my thumb, just enough to hear it.

I heard Wreck-it take a deep breath behind me. He paused, and then, in a slow, awkward voice, said, “Well… Yeah, maybe, but… You don’t scare me, kid.”

I wished that could have made me feel better. It was, objectively, a pretty decent thing to say, and another sprite probably would have been very comforted by the chance of an ally in this mess, or at the very least, someone with something resembling loyalty. But it just made me feel worse. I felt too smart to believe any of that crap could last. He didn’t know it yet, but he’d change his mind. I’d always figured that sooner or later, everyone would decide I’m too much. That was just the way of things. 

However, given my bleak circumstances, I had little choice but to accept his… tolerance while it lasted. Having someone on my side, even for just a little while, seemed like it could have proven helpful.

So, after a long, sullen silence, I just went back to plucking idly on my guitar. “Good to know you’re not as dumb as you look, then.”

His breath caught in disbelief for a second, before he dropped right back into growling, “Name-calling. Watch it.”

“It was a compliment, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, a super backhanded one.”

I closed my eyes, trying to play myself to sleep. “Just take it, pal. I don’t got that many kind words to share, so I gotta ration them out wisely.”

He grumbled. “You would call that kind.”

“I do. Now, can we cut the yammerin’ and sleep?”

“Fine. Yeesh.”

He slept. I didn’t. Not ‘til midday the following day, anyway. I fell asleep during gameplay hours, and woke up just after closing when Wreck-it stomped his big ol’ stumps up the bricks. We had the usual pre-Tapper’s exchange, ending, of course, with me refusing his offer to come along. I was tired as hell, and I still wasn’t ready to go out there.

But, as I quickly discovered, it didn’t matter if I was ready or not.

I’d been in a fitful sleep for what must have been barely half an hour when Wreck-it’s feet woke me up again. This time, he came around behind my bricky knoll to stand next to me, towering with this look on his face that I didn’t like at all.

He said, “Hey kid, guess what.”

“I’m being evicted?”

“No,” he grinned in a way I couldn’t read -- don’t really see him smile that often, honestly, “but you are leaving. You’re going to Tapper’s!”

I was not following. “Uh… ‘kay, you do know that I said ‘no thanks’, right? That’s a thing you remember?”

“Yup, yup, I do. But listen to this -- I talked to Tapper for you, and all that stuff you said about him hating you or -- or, y’know, all that --” he shook his head, “-- not true. He misses you, kid. You gotta get out there and show him you’re alive.”

I felt my face burn up.

“You-- You--” I sprung to my feet, “You TOLD HIM I’M STAYING WITH YOU!?”

He put his hands on his hips nonchalantly. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

“HOW-- WHEN I SPECIFICALLY SAID NOT TO?! THAT WAS RULE NUMBER ONE!!”

“Ah, ah,” he pointed, “polite request number one, and, request denied.”

I’d have throttled his fat neck if my fingers could fit around it.

“WHY’D I WASTE MY TIME BEING POLITE, THEN, LARD-FACE!?”

He seemed thoroughly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m gonna let that one slide, because you can bellyache all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been in here way, way too long, kid.”

“QUIT CALLING ME KID! I’M GONNA LEAVE, OKAY! SOON! ON MY OWN!”

“Uh huh, I’m sure you were going to,” he nodded in a condescending sort of way that made me want to hurl a brick between his eyes, “but now you get to leave with me, right now.”

“NO, I DON’T!”

“You said you’re here ‘cause you had nowhere else to go, right? Well, now you’ve got somewhere else to go, so get up off my bricks, and come go to the bar like I know you’ve been dying to do all week.”

He wasn’t wrong. But I was so angry. And I was still so scared.

“I DON’T WANT TO GO, AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

His eyebrows raised for a second, and he shrugged. “Alright, I guess we’re doing this.”

Then the colossal bastard grabbed me. Me, as in, my entire body, in one of his huge, meaty paddles he calls hands. It’s not that he’s never done that before, but it’s always been to throw me, and lasted only a second. This time, he started walking down the bricks, with the clear intention of just carrying me the entire way to Tapper’s. His code is still less dense than that of Fix-it, but that prolonged contact still made my binary crawl. Devs, did it crawl.

So, after a quick burst of threats and shrieking, I conceded. I agreed to go with him if he would just put me the hell down. He dropped me, I ran back to grab my book bag, and we trudged to the train. The way he walked behind me made me feel like he was marching me to some grim fate. Some grim, unnatural, unspeakably awkward fate.

As much as I lamented being reduced to riding the train like a chump, seeing the way his massive ass just barely fit into one of the cars was pretty rewarding.

Once we started rolling, he told me, “You know it’ll do you good to get out. You’re just not coded for life in a box, kid.”

I don’t remember if I sighed or gave the flattest laugh of my life. “Yeah, tell that to the Devs. And for cuss’ sake, quit calling me kid.”

In all truthfulness, as scared as I was, I really was so relieved at a chance to finally leave. And as much as I hated not being able to do it on my own, I was, admittedly, glad to have a second pair of eyes. It was probably a pretty decent thing of him to do, scouting out a safe place for me to go. Even if I really, really didn’t want or ask for it.

But I’m still pissed at him for denying my incredibly polite request.

[drabblesanddreams]

Old life, new world - Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

Hey everyone, this is a commission that i wrote for the lovely @moonlittxger :) I hope you like the way it turned out! If anyone wishes for a commission please send me a pm and ill text back with more details :)

If you wish to support heres my Kofi

Word count: 2.3 K

TW: slight form of Self harm, depressing thoughts, angst, read at your own risk

Summary: When you get hit by a bus and end up in a new world, Chuuya is the one who saves you and over time you find your disdain for the man turn into something more warm and tender- a story over 6 months.

Six months

“Hey,”

Though the sudden greeting managed to break you out of the despairing thoughts that managed to fall one after another in the alignment of your mind, your body barely budged an inch. You slowly blinked, (E/C)’s becoming hazy once more as you lost yourself between the stone crevices of the prison wall and the deep, growing fissures of your own sanity.

You easily fell back into dwelling around the concept of what was now and what was then.

You replayed the facts over and over again in your head.

You had been struck by a bus, no one's fault but your own for rushing across the street without looking at all in upmost urgency so that you would make it to work on time and hopefully, avoid the wicked wrath of your boss.

You remember the hot rush of pain that flooded your senses and every nerve before blacking out, courtesy of your head hitting the asphalt.

When you woke up, you half-expected to be in a hospital room. But instead, you were back on the roads, lying on your back as your eyes became lost in the too-blue sky above. It was serene, peaceful even.

And then someone was honking for you to ‘get the fuck off the roads you dumbass!’

Reality slid back into place and you wondered what the hell just happened. But you didn’t have the time nor expense to be dwelling over it because one look at your watch, you blanched and realized you were late of work.

However, when you arrived at your workplace, your manager stared at you in pure confusion, wondering why you were trying to clock in. When you returned her comment with equal confusion, her eyebrows stitched together in annoyance as she pushed you out of the door muttering about “stupid brats and pulling their pranks again,”

Safe to say you were defiantly perplexed and thought to yourself that this must be her way of firing you.

It only got worse and more harrowing afterwards, for when you made your way back home you were stopped in place by the big blue sold! Sign outside your estate. When you tried phoning your mother about what was going on, your heart raced ever so quickly and nearly stopped in its thundering mission when you heard the voice on the other side, proclaiming that the number was disconnected and no longer in service.

Afterwards, you shut your eyes tightly and tugged hard at your head of hair, hoping to wake up from whatever the fuck was happening. You remember the emotions lurching throughout your body then. The tears that threatened to escape the corner of your eyes, the feeling that you were suffocating as if you couldn’t get enough air.

It wasn’t until you were walking in the dark of the city that you had no idea where to go or what to do. When an older gentleman had cornered you in an ally way, you completely freaked as he attempted to lay his hands on you. Until a moment of pure panic, something worse seemed to have happened.

A foreign pressure on your back, like you had an extension of some limbs. When you looked back, you felt like you were going to blank out, which you then did within the next thirty seconds.

Because there, on your back was a translucent pair of chrysanthemum blue wings, butterfly in shape.

The older man then growled at you, a ferocious sound from the bottom of his throat as he grabbed your head, muttering “ability user,” then smashed it against the ally-way wall.

Back in the prison cell, the wound on your head was now healed, and that’s how you figured your pair of wings came with the ability of slight regeneration. You didn’t forget the way your attacker muttered ability user like it was some sort of disease. He mentioned to his colleagues that they had to be very careful so that dammed detective agency didn’t figure out of their plans to traffic you out of the city.

You put two and two together afterwards and realized the exact sort of hell you were in. You hypothesized that you must’ve died, or must’ve ended up in one long, freakish dream.

For the first bit in the prison cell, you amused yourself half-heartedly by digging your nails into your palm, deep enough to draw blood and severe enough that your new-found abilities would take over and repair the torn skin, centimetre by centimetre in the expense of about a minute.

You were still trying to come to terms with the fact that you were never going to see your family again. The burden of this thought weighed on your soul like an anchor pulling down the mass of a ship.

“Hey,” he called out again this time more …  Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.”

This time you spared the stranger a glance.

He was flanked in black dress pants, a vest, and a long black coat. From underneath that black hat peaked out orange hair, long enough that it curled slightly around his pale neck. He was short, petit even as he buried his hands in the pocket of his trousers, scowling at you with disdain.

What a joke, Chuuya Nakahara was here.

You gazed up at him for a moment longer, a thousand questions billowing in your mind but instead you remained quiet.

He kicked the cell bars, now fully annoyed, “I said get the fuck up,” he ordered, and you snorted, rolling your eyes as you lolled your head over to him.

“Or what,” you couldn’t help but say sarcastically, “You’ll put me in prison?”

He huffed, drawing a key from his pocket and easily unlocking the chain door as he made his way over to you, harshly grabbing you by the arm and pulling you up. You did little to protest this, no longer finding the will to fight back any longer. You would accept whatever fate had in store for you with open arms.

“Haha, very funny smartass,” he rolled his eyes as he dragged you out of the prison cell and out the corridor.

As the both of you made your way down the corridor, you caught sight of some of the guards who had previously been tasked with watching over you, now on the ground and slouched over their stomachs, chin resting on their chests, sleeping away.

It then struck you with the harsh realization that these men weren’t sleeping, they were unconscious, you thought as you caught sight of a dribble of blood here and there.

“Wait,” you said, stopping in your tracks as your eyebrows furrowed. Chuuya stopped as well, looking at you in annoyance and he tugged at your arm, “I said wait.”

You examined him for a moment before voicing your thought out loud, “Are you…saving me?” you asked.

He snorted loudly, rolling his cerulean blue hues as he said, “Wow, princess you sure are a genius,” you scowled at this before harshly pulling your arm away from his grasp and crossing your arms over your chest. “Yes, Mori-san requested that we take you back and join the Port Mafia,” At this your eyes widened, and you gaped openly at him. The… Port Mafia?

“Hell fucking no am I joining the fucking mafia you short, ginger cussing asshole!” you proclaimed loudly as you took a step back, placing your hands on your hips.

-

2 months later, you were now under the ranks of the mafia. It was quite logical to join them, after all, you had absolutely no place to go.

Although the effects of depression never failed to take a hold of you, the thoughts of how worried your mom must be now that you had been missing for so long, you found yourself growing accustomed to your wings.

The healing bit was a perk too.

But over the two months you found yourself squabbling with Chuuya on a daily, the backbiting that occurred between you two was fierce, ever since you called him short.

“Are you done yet? Hurry the fuck up (Y/N) I don’t have all day!”

At Chuuya’s call you rolled your eyes as you searched around your room for your report, the one that the both of you had to report to Mori-sensei.

“I’m hurrying holy shit calm down!” you called back out to him through the door. You heard a bang on your door and didn’t doubt for a second that he must’ve kicked it again, hot-headed as he is.

You wondered just how much your poor door could take before it would cave into the splintering pieces of wood that barely managed to hold itself together.

Reaching under the covers of your bed, your hand grasped the file folder of your report and you pulled it out victoriously before making haste in sprinting across your room.

You pulled the door to your room open, meeting Chuuya’s eyes. What a pretty colour they were, even though you did hate the guy you could admit that he was…hot, for lack of a better term.

But you would never admit that out loud, so instead you thrust the folder into his arms, “Here.”

-

2 Months later

“Who the fuck did this?” Chuuya hissed at you though his actions didn’t carry the same malice as his words as he ran his thumb over the cut on your face.

“Fuck Chuuya I dunno, doesn’t matter though we gotta go,” you groaned at the pain in your body, slurring your words as the earth tilted down slightly. The slight sound of gunshots down the street sent your heart racing, the both of you had to scram before getting caught in the crossfire, otherwise, it’ll be too late.

You felt the brush of wind against your exposed shoulders as your wings stuttered for a moment before folding in back on themselves, too weak to have energy wasted on them folded out.

“C’mon,” he muttered and wrapped a hand around your shoulders and the other around your waist, hoisting you up.

You moaned in pain as you rested your head against his shoulder, already feeling the slow regenerating effect of your ability kicking in.

That day, you saw Chuuya look at you with something a bit different than the usually anger and hate…worry.

-

2 Months later- present

“No no no idiot, Baileys is the one you can eat with ice-cream and all that shit, Concha Toro is good for admiring its taste in just itself,”

You eyed Chuuya’s explanation of the two brands with faint interest from the couch, you laid your head down on the arm of his couch as you took in your explanation.

“So, which one are we drinking?” you asked. Ever since Chuuya had heard that the only wine you’ve had was from the grocery store, he freaked and demanded that he take upon the role to educate you on his hobby, which was, of course, drinking wine.

“Concha Toro,” he stated, walking over to you as he uncorked the bottle and filled the two glasses up. He handed you one and you gingerly got up as he sat next to you on the couch. You took a small sip of it before cringing, “It’s way too bitter,” you gagged and Chuuya rolled his eyes as he made for a reach for your glass

“No!” you stated in possessiveness as you brought the glass closer to your chest, “Mine,” he raised an eyebrow at your antics.

Soon, through the small, mindless chatter with Chuuya you found yourself finishing the glass and swiped Chuuya’s own, draining that as well.

“Oneeee more!” you begged holding out your glass. You felt fuzzy and light like you were drifting on a cloud.

“Hell no, you’re drunk already you lightweight,” he stated back in return and you pouted, swaying towards him on the couch, “Please?” you slurred.

He shook his head and just as you swayed a little too far, your body lurched forward and he caught you in his harms. You immediately wrapped your arms around him and giggled, “Okay, I think its time you go to bed,” he stated at your antics.

He hoisted the both of you up and you stumbled forward, “You know I died once?” you stated, referring to your accident with the bus that seemed a million years ago. “Uh huh,” he said obviously not believing you, “It’s true!”

He gently pulled you forward but it seems as if the alcohol was really hitting you as you could barely walk, “Fuck my life..” he muttered and you stared at him as he wrapped his arms under you, pulling you up so he could carry you bridal style.

He was so pretty, god, you might even want to kiss him if you didn’t hate him so much. Humming you asked, “Chuuya do you hate me?” he stopped in his tracks and looked at you. “What the hell? I may detest you, but I don’t hate you, princess,” he called out that nickname. Whenever he called you princess, it always infuriated you, but you always felt a rush of warmth in the pit of your belly.

Reaching your head up, you nuzzled his neck affectionately as you tenderly kissed the spot underneath his ear.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, and you tilted your head up as you took in the blush creeping up his pale cheeks, “Loving you,”

“Chuuya,” you said, “Let’s not hate each other anymore, ‘kay?” he looked at you and grunted in amusement.

“We can talk about this in the morning, now just go to bed dumbass,”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,”

Maybe with the promise of a new life, you’d be okay again, hopefully enough that you could find your way back home. 

But was losing everything newfound worth it?

You’ll just have to see.

[theplatinthehat]

I enjoyed the last one so much so I hope you don’t mind this! Can we get a rewrite of the scene where Graham tells the Doctor that he’s worried about his cancer coming back but the Doctor doesn’t forget her tardis can scan people! Thankyou!!

cw: cancer, cancer mention

This was a very thought-provoking prompt - thank you for sending it to me.

Before I post the story proper, there are a couple of things I need to say. When I first saw this scene at the end of Can You Hear Me? I was horrified by the Doctor’s seemingly dismissive reaction. I personally felt that this was very out of character for someone who cares so deeply.

But I did some research and discovered that the writers were trying to approach another valuable topic: not knowing what to say in the face of such huge a frightening circumstances. While this is definitely something that should be discussed, I’m still not entirely convinced that this was the right way to do it.

I have therefore tried to incorporate both ideas into this rewrite. I hope I have done so with respect.

You can either read I Hear You on AO3, or read below.

Want to play? Send me  a prompt with a time/place/Doctor/companion!

I Hear You

It’s been a long day.

A long few days, let’s be real, the Doctor thinks to herself.

She, Yaz, Ryan and Graham have been chased across time and space by beings that literally feed off nightmares. Admittedly, that would be pretty cool if it wasn’t so terrifying. Feeding off dreams… she’d met someone else like that, a long time ago.

“Hey, Doc,” a voice asks softly, “can I talk to you a sec?”

It’s Graham. Good old, Graham. Always there with a smile, a cup of tea and an everlasting supply of dad (and grandad) jokes – to Ryan’s everlasting horror.

“Sure,” the Doctor replies, flipping a couple of switches to allow the TARDIS to enter rest mode for a few minutes. She folds her arms and takes a step back into the cool blue light. “What’s up?”

Graham opens his mouth, but stops – like he isn’t sure where to start.

“You can tell me, Graham. I’ve got a listening face – or at least I think I do. I used to anyway.”

Graham still says nothing.

“You can tell me anything, Graham.”

The man takes a deep breath. “The thing is, Doc,” he confesses, “I worry about getting sick again, y’know? ‘Bout the – ” Graham looks around for a moment to check that no-one is listening, “’bout the cancer coming back and I didn’t know.”

The Doctor is taken aback slightly, but forces her face to remain neutral. True, she did just tell him that he could tell her anything, but the severity of this statement is not something she had prepared for.

Although perhaps she should have expected it, seeing as they’ve all been dragged through hell and back.

“And I didn’t know who to say it to,” Graham admits, “so I thought I’d say it to you, y’know, seeing as you’re a doctor.”

He takes a few steps forward. The Doctor stays rooted to the spot. This is important. She has to listen.

“Look, cos once you have it, it’s with you the whole time. Not – not quite a shadow, but, um, hey – hey – ”

He’s starting to babble now. The Doctor’s bad habits are rubbing off on him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I mean my check-ups they’re all fine. But it made me think, y’know?”

She does know. She thinks all the time and she wishes it would just stop.

“And – uh – I thought I should talk about it. Cos these nightmares, I mean,” he coughs a little, “they made me realise that the fear is – is still there.”

This confession rocks the Doctor to her core. Graham. Solid, steady, Graham is still frightened. And the Doctor just doesn’t know what to say. There are no words of comfort ready to trip off the edge of her tongue. No quick joke that will distract him from this terror.

Nothing.

But then her mind turns, slipping into a new train of thought. Back to an old face, to an old friend – who is still technically a current friend and she really ought to introduce Cat to the fam sometime soon – and what she had said.

About fear.

About illness.

About the lonely gnawing from the inside out.

The Doctor reaches out, and puts a hand on Graham’s shoulder.

“I hear you, Graham,” she says. “I can only imagine what you’re going through, and I wish I had the right words to help you, but… I hear you.”

Graham smiles, like a great weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

“Thanks, Doc,” he replies. “It’s good to get it out, y’know?”

He turns to leave, walking towards the TARDIS door.

An idea suddenly springs into the Doctor’s mind.

“I dunno if it would help but…” she starts, cursing herself as the sentence fizzles out into nothing.

Graham turns back around. “But what?”

“I mean,” the Doctor says, waving her arm in a lazy gesture, “I’ve got this TARDIS, and this TARDIS has got scanners. Like really, really good biometric scanners. Would you like me to get the TARDIS to scan you? We can set it for as long an interval as you like and there are no needles and it’s super accurate – unless you’re a Flesh Ganger, then we might end up with a false negative – ”

The words are gushing from her like a waterfall now.

Graham holds his hands up. “Woah, Doc, slow down. You’re confusing me.”

The Doctor coughs, trying to calm her mind and starts again. “Every time you get into the TARDIS, I can get her to run a low-level scan for pretty much any health condition you can think of. Totally safe and non-invasive. If you think it would help?”

Graham frowns, mulling this offer over. Then, he looks up to the Doctor with a smile.

“That would help, Doc. That would really, really help.”

The Doctor returns his smile, pleased that she has figured out a way to help her friend.

“Let’s set it up now! Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done. Housekeeping first; what’s your full name and date of birth?”

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Misfit of Demon King Academy 1 | Healin’ Good PreCure 13 - 14 | Lapis Re:Lights 1 | God of High School 1 | Muhyo and Roji’s BSI s2 1

Misfit of Demon King Academy 1

This originally had the ecchi tag on its anime entry on AniList…or, at least, that’s how it was in my memory…but now that I see it doesn’t have that, it’s just another reincarnation isekai-type series. Let’s dig into it!

I…think this guy is meant to be portrayed as “hot” because he has the piercing eyes and he’s tall (against the girls in what will presumedly be his harem), but he kind of looks like your standard Potato-kun in a white outfit…so, uh…*shrugs*

Uh…is that guy meant to be Indian? You can’t get more obvious than the “Indu” family. Update: You see his brother later and Leorg has fairer skin, so maybe not.

LOL, “Flame of Darkness” makes someone nothing but a chuunibyou.

Uh…this is called The Misfit of Demon King Academy, y’know? Anos (Anoth?) is gonna get in, you bet your butts.

The owl is cute.

…guy, that 3 second rule thing was actually funny, but the more you think about the joke, the less funny it gets. Show: 1. Me: Infinity -1

Just from appearances, I wanna guess Misha is an ice or light magic user, or whatever equivalent the show has.

Is this what Assassin’s Pride could have been…?

How did the mother (Anoth’s) think her kid maturing that fast wasn’t weird?

Mushroom gratin? Is that an actual dish?...Yep, seems so. Sounds nice. I like mushrooms.

What’s up with young mothers in anime these days? Then again, the only other point of reference I have is Masamune-kun’s Revenge…

I thought it was the other Indu guy we saw earlier. This guy’s…not that bad-looking, though (LOL, my preferences ring out loud and clear…)…welp, spoke too soon. There he is. Update: Leorg kinda looks like Hakuto Kunai from Demon Lord, Retry!, come to think of it.

If Zepes died several times over the course of this episode…would one more death actually matter? (Not really, to be honest. Zepes is a scumbag.)

Come to think of it, this anime got postponed due to COVID, yeah? Was that why there was a sakuga spot earlier…?

Was that Sasha (Misha’s sister)? I found her name while checking if the anime was postponed.

I like the colour choices in this show, at least.

I don’t think this show has the best sense of comedic timing. Let your jokes breathe, dammit! That’s what comedic beats are for!

In a season with more offerings, I might get rid of this or pause it, but the season’s fairly sparse as it stands (darn virus!) so it stays.

Update: I didn’t notice, but an Anime News Network staff member wrote that Anoth’s surname is familiar…if you read Harry Potter.

Healin’ Good PreCure 13

Gotta start in the middle for this and work our way back. Note I did watch the 1st 2 eps without subs earlier this year when they were on the official PreCure YouTube, so I’m ahead of most people.

(From wandering the wiki and the news) I’ve seen nothing but pink/blue/yellow Cures these days, so I kind miss the more adventurous colours like green and orange…but then again, I never really liked green. It’s the colour of envy and…as petty as it sounds, I think I developed that bias because green is stereotypically the colour of rot, vomit (aside from anime’s rainbow vomit) and stinky things.

I didn’t notice this, but there’s a faint highlight on the Cures’ eyes (red for Grace, purple for Fontaine and blue for Sparkle).

It’s a drone! In PreCure! Yay! (It finally hit me exactly how much of a distant dream it’s been – from watching Suite and episodes of most of the other PreCure ‘til now – watching PreCure legally as a simulcast is! It’s crazy and it only took, what…5 years between Suite and this? 16 if you count from Futari wa to Healin’ Good.)

Is it that drone?

Hah? This is almost like the electricity-themed PreCure I came up with on the fan wiki. It’s not like I could sue Toei for it, though…they own that stuff, I only own what came out of my own imagination.

The subs say “Rate”, but “rate” has a meaning in English. No wonder the initial wiki translations say “Latte”, especially because the queen is “Teatine” to match.

Okay, so Mei is the sis and Yota is the brother. Got it.

Hey! What if there was a PreCure where the villains had devastated another world before? That would really raise the stakes.

“[T]hunders” (sic)? Thunder is the sound, lightning is the flash. Which one is it?

I see. As soon as they identified it as the Element of Lightning, I sort of guessed they could add it to their repertoire later, and I was right.

Its’s nice to see they put a woman in the moving company as well. Proves that girls can do anything they set their minds to, even what are supposedly “men’s jobs”.

I guess from the face I should’ve expected the element to talk, like the Fairy Tones from Suite, but I didn’t really figure that out until I saw it talk,

I feel like Hinata should’ve gone to see how Mei made her juice. That way, the two might be able to make similar-tasting juice…but that’s just an idea.

Healin’ Good PreCure 14

I feel like Byogens were responsible for Nodoka’s sickness, much like they are for Latte.

“Energy Source” seems to refer to a place where energy appears…I know that sounds a bit dumb if you don’t realise genki hakken means something like “appearance of energy (for a person)”, but…yeah, the PreCure series is like this. Unfortunately, that’s what you have to deal with.

I feel like this “teamwork overcomes all hardships” message is important in this time of COVID-19.

Guaiwaru = “condition is bad”, or ill health (guai ga warui).

Is that the element of air? I thought the PreCure would’ve used their element of lightning to fix the steamer, but hey, teamwork works too.

I’m a weeny bit peevy they translate minna to “girls”. It’s correct in context when it’s been translated that way, but minna means “everybody”.

I imagined Hinata saying “Watashi no smartphone ga!” instead of “Atarashii sumaho ga hoshii!”

Lapis Re:Lights 1

Eh…COVID-19 means I gotta sample things I’m not so crazy about.

Why is one of the first lines in this show “My behind hurts!”?

Bristol? Is this England?...Nope, it’s a place called “Mamkestell”.

I was thinking this girl…I think the reviews said her name was Tiara…was going to sing to the flower to make it perk up again, but nup, she whistled to it. That seems a bit irrelevant, to be honest. (I would prefer an all or nothing approach to a wish-washy approach like this…as in, if this is an idol show, then either go all in with the singing and dancing, or do something else that’ll catch my attention.)

Tiara’s face looks hella generic.

For some reason, I get this ominous feeling when the word “witch” is mentioned…must be the instinct from Madoka popping up again.

Lemme guess. Lynette is the bookworm?...*sigh* Just another method of showing a character is a bookworm without actually showing their reading a book, which I think is counterintuitive.

Get some protective gear, girls!

Rosetta keeps saying “Yes” (in English).

Lemme guess…people ship the dumb one and the smart one? They’re like a gender-flipped Dice and Gentaro, only the smart one is more uppity and the stupid one is more sporty.

The word appears to be noumei, but that exact word doesn’t seem to exist. Lavie seems to say the word is the opposite to something else, but I can’t tell what that is either…

Albino rabbit, eh?

…people probably ship Rosetta and Tiara too, right? *sigh*

So there’s…no singing in this fantasy/idol show. Whistling is how you invoke magic…so how is someone who can’t whistle supposed to invoke magic?!

Whose idea was it to put the OP in the middle of the episode?

It was “Neechan, daikirai!” “Forget you” is a fairly loose translation…

Little Miss Rosetta = Rosetta-chan.

I think Tiara called Rosetta “sensei” when the former wanted the latter to take care of her (i.e. take her to their dorm).

Titi = Tiara. I didn’t actually figure that out because I thought it referred to the rabbits.

Gah! These almost-real-world names (or real world names, in regards to “Bristol”) are gonna drive me NUTS!

*sigh* Boob jiggle.

*sighhhhhhhhh…* Lemme guess, there’s a potential expulsion on the horizon? Update: Yep. Dropped.

God of High School 1

First Webtoon series I’m covering here.

Oh, I checked out the first chapter of the webtoon because CR linked it to their anime page. The only difference I’ve seen from that, aside from fleshing out the backgrounds, is…that creepy skull (?) on the wall.

You can tell it’s Korean when I don’t understand what the text says. (I don’t know Korean, but I do know some Chinese and Japanese.) Update: This is Japanese-dubbed, but they left the Korean text in.

That intro is much more powerful now that the backgrounds are fleshed out.

Ooh, the colours in the OP are very nice!

Hmm? They’re starting with the grandpa, rather than starting with “I’m Mori Jin, 17 years old”? Good choice.

The expressions in this show are funny. I like them already.

Waittttttttt…I dunno how Korean names work. Is Mori Jin’s first name “Mori” or “Jin”? Update: I checked it up, and I got even more confused!

KORG Arena seems to be…from Marvel? Like BnHA references Star Wars???

*sigh* Moonbucks? Again?...and of course the girls only talk about “hotties”. We need a Bechdel test in this thing.

The comments on ch. 1 said “A new Luffy is born”, so now I agree with it…but they’re not going to show how Mori Jin was enlisted for GOH (as they seem to abbreviate it)?

There’s Japanese, English and Korean in the afro dude’s comments.

I’m amazed that tall dude with the spiky hair wasn’t more surprised about Mori Jin and the girl passing by…

Would those glasses on Mori Jin’s head be any help? Update: Turns out those aren’t “glasses”…they’re a sleeping mask.

Kamina glasses!

They put CR and Webtoon advertising over everything in this anime…geesh.

These red parts of people’s noses are gonna bug me, aren’t they…?

It should be battle royale, right? Update: Okay, so I checked and both are correct spellings.

This seems like the sort of thing that would never get funded because you need to pull off every battle scene right.

They cut the initial fight with “Blondie” out, but that actually makes things more interesting! Good choice.

Lemme guess – Mori Jin is going to have to fight this Kang Manseouk guy at full power one day? *shrugs* (Can I stop referring to people by their full names already??? I can’t stop until I know which is the first name and which is the last.) Update: So the wiki finally helped me out and Mori is the first name and Jin the last, meaning I can call him “Mori”. Got it.

*Mori suddenly pulls the prisoner’s pants down* - That was…random.

I liked it more than I thought I would! (Just for reference, the other protag dude is called Han Dae-wi and the girl is Yoo Mira.)

Muhyo and Roji’s BSI s2 1

(Update for the Tumblr fans: I finished s1 outside the seasonal format.) 

Kokkuri-san never goes well in anime…

Where does Nana work again…?

I don’t think Muhyo and Roji are legally (magically legally?) obligated to tell Nana anything about what they do.

Yay! Goryo is animted for the first time! He has such a beautiful voice~!

Notably, Roji wouldn’t have had a smartphone in 2004 (or whatever year close to that when the manga put this bit out).

Goryo (5) vs Muhyo (6). Didn’t figure this out at the time I read the manga.

I think the subbers misgendered Goryo. Goryo is a dude, as can be gathered from the name “Daranimaru”.

“Waka”? Does that stand for “young head [of the office]” or something?

Okay, whose bright idea was it to pair Now on Air (female vocalists) with Muhyo and Roji’s (a series dominated with dudes)…?

Ah, Funimation is on the production team of this anime. That would explain the dub rights.

[calligraphist-artemisia]

The Sun Prince (Chapter 5)

Summary:  It was an accident. A simple misstep that sent him plunging into the darkness and waking an ancient magic. Now Prompto has to deal with the consequences of making a deal with an Astral and learn how to control the magic blooming inside of him.

Also posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the username “kishirokitsune”

-----

Chapter 5: Into the Fire

After all of the running around they'd done, it felt odd to be left with nothing to do except wait. There was little reason to set out and take up a few hunts when Cid promised that he was less than a day away from completing repairs, and so Ignis insisted that they remain on Cape Caem.

There was a sort of logic to it that Prompto couldn't deny, but it didn't stop the boredom from creeping in.

Ignis and Gladio quickly found ways to keep themselves occupied by helping out around the house, while Noctis snuck away to nap in various places until he was inevitably discovered. Prompto entertained himself by walking around and taking pictures of whatever struck his fancy, and eventually his feet led him to the elevator of the lighthouse.

His heart lurched at the thought of rising up to the top in an old lift, but the chance to catch a photograph from the top was too appealing to pass up. He could stomach it for a minute or two, and then he could get back down to solid ground.

That was until he got to the top and found Noctis's most recent hiding spot. The stray cat who kept turning up was there as well, curled up on the prince's chest.

Prompto quietly sat down with his back against the wall, giving himself a moment to breathe and ignore the fact that he was eighty feet up off the ground. His camera offered him a distraction as he scrolled through the pictures he'd taken and deleted the ones that turned out too blurry or were near-identical duplicates. Being near his best friend also helped calm the anxiety he felt.

They would leave for Altissia soon.

Prompto should feel excited about that. He had always dreamed of getting to explore beyond the Wall and see the beauty of the world beyond through the lens of his own camera, and Altissia was supposed to be the most beautiful of all! He would get to take so many photographs – well, hopefully. They weren't going for a vacation, after all.

But...

The more he thought about sailing across the Cygillian Ocean, the more dread he welt, welling up in his chest and threatening to choke the air from his lungs.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was coming.

Maybe it was just his anxiety talking. Or it could be a side-effect of his powers. Either one would explain the awful nightmares that plagued his sleep, preventing him from getting more than a few hours of rest at a time.

Prompto looked over at Noctis, who was still sleeping soundly.

Their time at the chocobo post was short, and Prompto didn't have nearly as much time as he wanted to cuddle the baby chocobo's before Noctis whisked him out of sight for some extra training, while Ignis and Gladio were busy watching some of the races going on.

His magic came to him more easily each time he used it. Noctis expressed his own surprise at how quickly he was advancing, but Prompto brushed it off, remembering what Rhyos said about his body already being used to magic. With a little extra work, he learned how to craft his magic into a sphere shape, rather than the formless light he produced in the beginning.

Prompto wondered what Rhyos was doing and when he would decide to show up again. He hoped it was before they left for Altissia. There were even more questions he wanted to ask and hopefully the Astral would stick around long enough to answer some of them.

Maybe he was waiting until Prompto improved some more? Either that or he got some sort of glee out of making him wait.

Yeah. That second one sounded about right.

Prompto set his camera to the side and held his hands out, palms up. He guided his magic to swirl around, gathering until two golden orbs floated in front of him. He grinned, pleased by how easy it was becoming. With just a little focus, he could direct them to slowly fly around and move independently of one another.

The stray cat made a “mrrp” sound as she woke and watched the orbs with great interest.

“No, kitty,” Prompto said quietly. He pulled the orbs back to his hands and was about to absorb the remaining energy back into his body, when a voice cut through the air and startled him badly enough that they fizzled away.

“What are those?”

Prompto squeaked and twisted around to find Iris standing at the entrance, hands on her hips, and staring down at him with a determined expression.

“I, uh, what are what?” Prompto winced at his poor attempt at a cover-up.

Iris raised an eyebrow.

“Please don't tell anyone,” Prompto tried again.

“Hard to tell anyone when I don't know what's going on,” Iris responded lightly. She shut the door behind her and joined Prompto against the wall, casting a curious look over at Noctis. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Iris was truly a marvel. At only fifteen, she carried herself with such poise and maturity, even when faced with something unexpected, that it was easy to forget how young she was. Prompto supposed it was because she was from a long line of Kingshields and had also grown up in the citadel. Hard to relax and be a child with that amount of pressure.

“It's kind of complicated,” Prompto said, not sure whether or not he wanted to tell her everything. He still hadn't worked up the strength to tell Gladio or Ignis about it! Gladio would never forgive him if he told his little sister first.

Although, it would be good practice.

“Prompto has magic now.”

Or Noctis would take the choice away from him.

Prompto whined and tilted his head back, letting it thunk against the wall. “Dude, not cool.”

“I promised not to tell Gladio or Ignis, but you never said anything about Iris,” Noctis said as he sat up. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it out so it didn't look as disheveled after his nap.

“It was implied,” Prompto said crossly.

Iris looked between them apprehensively. “I can just, y'know, go and pretend I didn't see or hear anything?”

“No,” Prompto bit out. He sighed and sat up straight, forcing a smile on his face as he looked over at her. “I mean, I've got to tell everyone eventually, right? And you already saw it, so I'm not going to make you pretend you didn't.”

Iris relaxed. “Okay, well take your time. Or you can let Noctis explain...?”

“Noct isn't allowed to explain anything anymore, but it's like he said. I have magic now,” Prompto told her, taking charge before Noctis could say anything else. (Not that he looked like he wanted to. He was definitely avoiding looking anywhere near his friend after blurting out his secret.) “I fell into these ruins while we were helping out one of the hunters and found this, um, artifact and it gave me magic. Noctis has been helping me control it.”

Simplicity was best, right?

Iris didn't need to know every last detail, like the deal he made with an unknown Astral, or even that Rhyos liked to pop in unexpectedly to talk. Nor did she need to know about the nightmares that plagued his sleep ever since his illness. Even Noctis didn't know about that last one.

“Can you do anything cool with it, like warping? Do you have your own armiger? Not that the magical balls aren't cool, but...” Iris shrugged, apparently unsure of where she was going with her questions.

“No warping, no armiger, and excuse you but the orbs are super cool,” Prompto responded, hoping he came across as joking in the end. He grinned at her for good measure. “I dunno. I can almost make a shield, but I haven't gotten it to hold up against anything. It might have just been a fluke.”

“It's still impressive when you've only been practicing for a few days,” Noctis pointed out.

Iris looked awestruck by everything she was learning. “Seriously? It took Gladio three days just to figure out how to access the armiger and pull out the correct weapon.” She turned immediately to Noctis. “Do not ever tell him that I told you that. Anyway, I think I'm starting to understand why Gladio won't let me travel with you guys. You're both beacons for trouble. He couldn't handle the three of us running around, even with Ignis's help.”

Noctis chuckled.

“You won't tell anyone about this, will you, Iris?” Prompto asked, seized by sudden worry. “I'll tell them eventually. I just haven't figured out how. I will. Soon. In Altissia?” He winced and shut his mouth.

“I think you're making a bigger deal of this than you need to, but I'll keep it a secret for you,” Iris promised. “And because I'm so awesome, I'll let you practice how you're going to tell them on me! It'll be fun!”

Prompto wasn't sure that it would be fun at all, but it was nice of her to volunteer.

Iris grinned at him, taking his silence as agreement. “I'll even do my best impression of Gladio! I'm pretty good at it, right, Noctis?”

“I dunno. I don't think you've got that patented grumpy stare down yet,” Noctis said thoughtfully.

Iris proceeded to prove that she was very good at impersonating her brother, though the glare looked wildly out of place on her sweet face.

-----

A woman with fiery red hair woven into intricate braids led the way down a well-lit passageway. Water flowed down the tall, white stone walls and pooled along the sides, but never moved closer to where she walked. She was draped in blue silks decorated with golden symbols, and the fabrics flowed as she moved towards a massive door.

Behind her, a crowd of people slowly followed, leaving proper space for those carrying two white caskets, one behind the other. All were silent.

The towering white walls were bathed in the golden light of the sun, though as it began to set, shadows rose from the floor and began to cover the walls. Neither the woman nor the procession behind her faltered in step.

The door, with bands of gold representing the rays of the sun, over which a bird with rainbow feathers was placed, began to shimmer with a red light. It spread across the walls, lighting up hidden symbols, and the door soundlessly opened.

A melodious hymn filled the halls as they began their descent into the depths.

At the end of the procession was a familiar man with long dark hair and red eyes.

“Rhyos?” Prompto gasped in bodiless form.

As though he heard him, Rhyos turned to look around. When his eyes met Prompto's, everything went black.

Lady Lunafreya appeared in the darkness and Prompto opened his mouth to scream a warning, but no sound came out. He was forced to watch, helpless, as a featureless figure stabbed her in the side and red spread across the fabric of her white gown. She fell back and her trident slid form her grasp.

-----

Prompto gasped for air as he woke, tears streaming down his face. He sat up and pulled his legs to his chest, trembling as he tried to silence his sobs.

Nearby, Noctis mumbled in his sleep.

It took him a few minutes to calm down, but even as his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep that night. He lifted his head from his knees and that was when he saw the figure sitting near the window, moonlight illuminating his form.

“Rhyos,” Prompto whispered, too drained from his most recent nightmare to feel surprise.

“I apologize for visiting at such a late hour, however it came to my attention that things are progressing more quickly than anticipated.” Rhyos gave Prompto no chance to respond. “There has not been a wearer of the crown who experienced visions like yours since the height of Solheim power. Why did you not tell me?”

Prompto glanced worriedly at Noctis, but his friend showed no signs of stirring. “They're just nightmares. It didn't seem important,” he whispered.

Rhyos narrowed his eyes. “You speak of more than the funeral you glimpsed. Tell me about this nightmare of yours, and do not worry about your prince. He is a heavy sleeper.”

That didn't mean Prompto wanted to risk waking him up, but he also couldn't let his chance to talk to Rhyos go to waste. “I keep seeing... someone getting hurt. Someone important,” he said, being purposefully vague.

“You will need to be more detailed than that.”

Prompto closed his eyes. “I keep seeing Lady Lunafreya being stabbed. I can't see who's doing it or where she is. It's like I'm floating in this dark void.”

“It is not unusual for visions of a probable future to look that way. Nothing is set in stone and there is always the chance that the future can change. If you are seeing something, it is either to prepare you for what is coming or it is a hint of something that needs to be changed,” Rhyos explained. “Visions of the past are more clear.”

Visions.

Nausea roiled in Prompto's stomach and he took a moment to try and calm it down. His thoughts wailed profanities.

Lady Lunafreya was in danger and he didn't have the first idea of where or who the threat was. Was he not meant to know? Was it like Rhyos said and the vision was meant to prepare him for what was coming?

No.

Prompto refused to let that be her fate.

There had to be something he could do. His powers had to be good for more than just killing daemons!

“How can I stop it from happening?” he asked.

“The visions themselves will ease up now that you understand their warning, but it is likely you will occasionally glimpse moments of the past. Some are to help you in your life. Others, such as the one you had tonight, are because of me,” Rhyos said.

Prompto frowned. “You sent me that vision?”

Rhyos shook his head. “Not intentionally. It was a moment I was dwelling heavily upon. The crown and I have a connection and it likely picked up on that.” He paused for a moment. “Perhaps the next vision you have will be the creation of the crown. I think you would enjoy that one.”

As long as it let him get a proper night of sleep, Prompto wouldn't complain. He took a deep breath, trying to remember the questions that he forgot to write down. “Um, so... are those all of them? The visions and the magic, I mean. Or should I prepare for anything else because of the crown?”

“Your magic will continue to grow stronger, as will your control over it, but I cannot say for certain what other abilities the crown will grant you. It decides for itself who is worthy and of what,” Rhyos said as he stood up. “Long ago, I granted it to the Kings of Solheim, blessing it with the power so that they may protect their people. Now it is in your hands. The power you now possess will enable you to protect your people; those you care about most. That is its foremost function.

“It is not a tool of war, nor of greed. A lesser mortal could not command the abilities to come forth. What you have been granted is a mark of the purity of your soul. Of your desire to do good.”

Prompto could feel the burn of Rhyos's eyes on him. “But I'm not anyone special.”

Rhyos smiled. “And that, perhaps, is why you are the perfect candidate.”

“And what of the cost?” cut in a new voice.

Even Rhyos looked surprised as Noctis sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Dark eyes met red, and the Astral gave a respectful bow.

“What ever do you mean, Prince Noctis?” Rhyos asked.

“There's always a cost,” Noctis said, wholly serious. “I've spent my whole life watching my father's life be drained away. I know what it feels like to ask an Astral to come to our aid. What is the cost that Prompto pays for all of this?”

For a moment, Rhyos did not speak.

Prompto looked between them, wondering if he should be the one to break the silence, but he was curious too.

Rhyos smiled, his expression more gentle than Prompto had ever seen. “Worry not, young prince, there is no price to pay. That crown will not drain his life away nor make him grow weak. I always preferred lifting my chosen people to new heights rather than limiting what they can do.”

Relief washed over Prompto. It hadn't been one of his worries until Noctis brought it up, but the relief came nevertheless.

“I fear my time with you is coming to an end. I would hate to be the reason you lose anymore sleep than you already have,” Rhyos said. “There is one last thing I need to speak with you about, and that is your voyage across the Cygillian.” He waited until both of them were paying attention before continuing. “Altissia is the domain of Leviathan and her favored Messengers. It is not a place where I am welcomed, and as such, I will be unable to help you as long as you are there. Both of you, be cautious. The Tidemother's memory is long and her mood changes with the ebb and flow of the tide itself. Prove to her your strength and she will aid you. Fail and she will devour you.”

“Bleak,” Prompto commented.

Rhyos grinned. “I look forward to your return.”

The last thing Prompto remembered was Rhyos walking across the room and the feeling of warm fingertips against his forehead. Comfortable darkness rushed to greet him and he sank into the depths of slumber, where only pleasant dreams awaited him.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Angel Bride

SHINee Pirate!Lee Taemin x Reader Characters: Lee Taemin, mentions of Choi Minho Summary: Unwanting to get married, you stow away in a ship called Shinee, unbeknowst that it held the sea's worse pirates and the most viscous captain, called Sea Serpent. Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: Old-ye misogyny,  kinda graphic, fluff, smut if you squint, TYPOS cause they always escape me, etc.

A/N: once again i dunno how to write smut so ??? ALSO I'M SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO DO THIS @skylions-den ASHDJEKSKNDMSOSOKSMSM and if pirate!taemin took you off guard bwahahHAHAHAHHA

The man gripped my wrist tightly, even through how weak he was in his fever. The man was thin, and surely if he was not so sick, he would twice more as handsome as he was now. “Are you a dream, angel? Am I dying?”

I knit my brows at the urgent, somehow demanding sound of his voice that contrasted to the expression he held. For a moment, I was confused as to how he wondered I could be such a creature, up until I saw his heavy gaze on my body. I found myself chuckling dryly at the white wedding dress clung around me.

How could I forget?

I shook my head, “No, I am stowaway on your ship, pirate. I did not want to get married.”

“Married,” his voice hardened, “To whom?”

I rolled my eyes at the memory and huffed, “Lord Minho of the Chois.” I think of the said man’s handsome face, broad shoulders and unmissable cruelty and discrimination, then scoff. “He wishes to tame me into becoming a perfect wife, or so unkindly put, a diligent maid.”

It was then that I found the sense to try and pull my wrist away from the man’s hand. I turned to him with knit brows and tried to soothe his anxiety over me, “I am only trying to help you?”

“Help me?” he chuckled and found a small cough in the end, “You are bad luck, angel of death.”

My face fell and I released a breath. “I already told you, I am no angel.” I tried to pull away again but with much more persistence. “I cannot believe with how high your temperature is, your head still has enough fight in it to blabber on about such senseless hullabaloo.”

It was then I finally got out of his grip.

I rubbed the captured area.

  Though he looked at me with such stark eyes, I continued on my initial actions of wiping his face with a towel and warm water. Now, how I got this towel, this warm bucket of water, and how I wound up in this sick pirate’s quarters are stories for another day for it is so unbelievably long and complicated.

I dabbed the man’s face with a lot more force than I had originally, just to put across the message I was not pleased with him. However, when he pulled a pained reaction, I found myself falling guilty and my motions becoming once again kind and gentle.

  I frowned at him and decided to speak, “You can throw me overboard, if you like, honestly. I have nothing to come home to nor to live for anyway at this point. Tell your captain I fear not death.”

The man found it in himself to scoff though I knew from how he sounded, his throat was not in good conditions. “You think the captain would pity you? Pah! He is the famed Sea Serpent, whose blades have slit the throat of his enemies.”

As he spoke, the man swatted my hand away from his face. I growled lowly and gave up on him wiping his face at this point.

I knew he meant every word he spoke about his captain. I had heard the terrible stories of this man who allegedly had only one eye left and one foot. However, I was only annoyed with his reaction.

Perhaps it was his soft and feminine features that made his words seem lighter, but I could not find it in myself to cower over them.

“Why do you treat my words as if I spoke in riddles, boy?” I raised my voice and threw the towel into the bucket.

“Boy?!”  he let out yet another painful scoff, “Women are bad luck at sea! You are probably the reason why I am sick in the first place.”

I let out a hearty laugh, “Ahhh, and I suppose your filthy kitchen and dirty handed cooks have nothing to do with it. Oh, and the fact your soup is made with spoiled ingredients doesn’t mean a thing, does it?”

“Ha! The food is rancid for you have cursed us, hag!”

“I cursed you? I suppose all thinking women are a curse to dim-witted men. Tell me, you leave your vegetables out to get wet by the water of the storm and rot, and yet you eat them! You should set them aside somewhere safe and dry.”

“The storm is your fault! The skies frown upon your face.”

“Alright, if that is true then explain how it has only rained two days ago and not on the start of our journey? If what you say truly is true, then the skies should’ve frowned on me since the beginning.”

“It is because you were hidden!”

“Hidden?” I laugh, “Hidden from what? I have not hidden that I am a woman once! And it was not as if a member grew between my thighs and fell suddenly, and now the sky is angry.”

  It was here the man fell at a loss for words. I find my insides smiling at his silence.

“What difference does it make a woman on land and on sea?”

“I get it, angel. Pardon me for not being learned.”

I pull my head back, “I am not learned! Women are not allowed to learn, shamefully. All I know is from experience. Everyone expects a woman to a good mother and yet no one will allow us to learn about the things our children might ask about.”

The quiet man looked at me for a long while, up until his eyelids grew heavy.

  “Why then, angel, do you help a sick, unlearned pirate?”

His eyes close in exhaustion and my lips part at his degrading statement. “You may be a pirate, but I am sure you have a family.”

He laughs, and suddenly his chest racks out a violent cough. My brows and hands rise in concern.

Once his barking subdued, he lets out a long breath, “I am an orphan. It is why I am a pirate.”

“… well your pirate ship will be one less pirate if you are gone. I’m sure they cannot like that idea.”

The man says nothing.

“I have always wanted to help the sick. My heart always bled for others and when my own mother was taken by a fever, I was determined to help those that I can and save their families from the heartache this illness brings.”

The man, I think, did not hear my explanation, as he had already drifted off to sleep.

It was then I stood from this stool I sat on and went to the other side of the dim, candle lit cabin. However, a hot hand on my wrist yet again held me back. “No, do not leave me angel.”

I turn to the man laid on his small bed and find myself smiling a small smile. “I will not. I am only sleeping over there on your pile of clothes.”

His eyes open and turn to me, “You have been sleeping in my pile of clothes? You must not have had a pleasant sleep at all.”

“Actually, compared to the nets behind your crates in the kitchen, it is far more pleasant.”

“Well,” he then shifts to sit, “sleep here. I have slept—“ “No! You’re still sick! And if I were to sleep there now, I would be sick too.”

He crumbles back on his back. I place my hand on top of his. “Sleep pirate, and gain strength to scare the storm away.”

“As you say, angel.”

As cold, harsh waves crashed against me, the memory as to how I wound up bound in the middle of this ship’s deck left me.

“A WOMAN!”

“A WITCH!”

“SHE IS THE REASON WHY THE SEA SPITS US OUT!”

  “How have you come here, witch!” a tall, bearded man spat in front of my face. The sea spat on both of ours. I felt my heart pounding in my chest. Though I wanted to answer him, the water gushing to me choked the words back down my belly.

  “SHE IS WHY WE’RE SUFFERING!”

“SHE IS WHY OUR CAPTAIN IS SICK!”

There was a loud and angry roar amongst them, and there was a defining statement that got everyone into a riot. “THROW HER OVERBOARD!”

It was then they started cheering and grabbed either of my arms roughly. It felt that my shoulders were going to give in as they ungracefully but efficiently brought me to the side of the side.

However the loud and piercing shriek from the crow’s nest above made the men all around me turn to each other in fear.

“ROCKS! ROCKS! ROCKS EVERYWHERE!”

They started to panic amongst themselves, whether to throw me out quickly or do something else entirely.

  Then, the sky cracked into lightning and thunder and a man emerges into the storm, instantly getting drenched in rain and sea water.

“UNHAND HER AND GET TO YOUR STATIONS, CREW!” he commanded just as sternly as the sky poured its fury.

The men dropped me and I cried in pain as my knees collided with the floor. I shook out of my binds and then a man went in front of me. “I forbid a hair be hurt on my angel’s head,” he spoke, grabbing my hands and standing me up. “Go inside and dry yourself up.”

I placed my hands on his face and felt his unusual heat, “But you are still sick, being out here is—“

“I command you!” he shouts, grabbing me by my shoulder and leading me off anyway. “I am not to see your face until we steer away from this danger.

  I was shoved back into the room I met the man who had some questionable authority. I heard screams and shouts from outside along with the sloshing of water and patter of rain.

I jolted at the sound of thunder and found myself shivering in cold and fear. I whine and try to dry myself, but only find annoyance in the heavy, damp dress around me. And so I pull it off and wear a long shirt I found in the same pile I slept in. The room was dark for the candle had already died out.

I moved around and looked for a match box, once finding one, lit the only candle capable of being lit.

  Moments melted away in tension and even more screams were heard from outside.

Suddenly, the door to his place opened, catching me off guard. The figure stalked to me, and when the fire revealed his face, I realized who the drenched man was.

“We have steered…” he starts, however his eyes drift down from my face. It was then I realized his shirt did not do much in covering my chest. I placed my hand on my heart and pull back.

“Angel…” he speaks stepping forward, “you look… holy in my attire.”

I open my mouth but find nothing to protest back.

His eyes turn back to me, but they looked at me in a different way.

“There are no more rocks that endanger us, angel,” he says, stepping closer, removing the boots on his feet with the other. My own bare feet mimic his, only instead of moving forward, they move back.

He then lifts his shirt and throws it away, revealing his lean and defined torso that made my face heat.

“What are you doing?” I barely ask.

“I am trying to dry quickly,” he says, still slowly walking towards me, “may you aid me, angel?”

“I—“ my back hits the wall, “I have no clothes or towel to give you.”

  The man places his palms on the wall behind me by either side of my head and I feel my pulse quicken drastically. “I am indebted to you, angel. By your hand health has found its way back to me. I, Lee Taemin, captain of this ship, the terrible Sea Serpent thank you.”

My brows raise, “You—you’re the sea serpent?”

He chuckles darkly, “Why do you think they listened to me then?”

“But you are no older than I.”

“It is my youth and wit that makes me so terrible,” he answers, lips curving, eyes turning to my own lips. “Never have I seen such fairness and kindness in one being, my lady. I understand wholly why such horrible men are drawn to your light.”

At this point, his face was a matter of inches away from mine.

“I wish to kiss you,” he says, “make love to you, and make you my own bride.”

  My chest heaves heavily at his words.

His hand travels down to my side, just above my right him and my body feels electrified. “Angel, you are deathly cold,” Taemin says in concern. “I can warm you easily, if you let me.”

My breath hitches, “How many women have you seduced before, snake?”

He throws his head back slightly at my words and once he turned back to me, he moved in even closer. Now his breath was against my neck. “I have never had to seduce a woman before in my life.”

“Then-“ I say, forcing the shakiness of my voice down, “-you should start trying.”

  Taemin laughs, “How then should I begin angel?” he speaks lowly and then plants a hot kiss on my neck, making a shiver run down my spine. He chuckles and peppers kisses down my shoulder, pulling his shirt on my out of the way. His hands travel to my back and push me against him.

“You taste like the sea, angel,” he hums. His fingers press against my skin and run down from below my shoulder blades to the bottom of my derriere. And from my neck, Taemin pulls away and places his lips on mine. In between his breathing, he moans out soft words, “I take your lack of retaliation as permission, angel.”

He then pulls away, just enough so his hands could then travel upward from behind me, to the side of my hips, to my rips, to my breasts and to my neck. The pad of his thumbs caress my skin and attempts to sooth the juncture by my jaw. His fingers that rest behind on my nap entangle themselves in my hair. “You are now mine to claim.”

  Swiftly, I was brought to his bed and laid before him like dinner. A cold gust of wind tickles my stomach as he pulls the cloth around me off.

He proceeds to scold me when hide, “Nuh-uh-uh, no treasure to be hidden from my eyes, angel.”

He slowly creeps up to me and plants another kiss on my lips His hands secure my thighs around him. I gasp when I feel him against me, and he let out a laugh against my lips. “My precious angel, I shall treat you with as much goodness as you have shown me.” 

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[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Day 6 without sculpting...

In a way it’s weird I miss sculpting so much. This near daily sculpting is actually a relatively recent thing for me.

Actually, for about the first 20 years of my life I can count every time I sculpted on my fingers.

My father inspired my first sculpting. Before I was born he’d dug some clay out of the river bank and sculpted a little baseball sized head with marbles for eyes. It facinated me, so at about four I dug some clay out of a ditch and tried to sculpt two full figures. I let them dry on a plank in the summer sun....and they crumbled. Amazingly, one of the heads survives to this day.

In kindergarten we had a cool teacher with his own kiln. Technically he had us making little pots. I used the scrap and made a little alien head with big almost Mickey Mouse ears that he glazed for me and a little alien with loops for arms that I colored with crayons. He left at the end of the year, takng his kiln with him. 

In second grade the new teacher had us make dough art angels. This was an “everyone copy the teacher” deal, so no real self expression. Let me tell you, dough art does not last in this climate. That angel no longer existed within a year. 

My parents gave me some plasticine type clay for my 10th birthday. Unfortunately that sort of clay never can be made hard, and I really wanted something that would “stay”. I barely used it.

When I was in 9th grade the art class had a paper mache project. Or at least they called it that. Really it was a structure out of wire, newspaper and masking tape covered with plaster bandages. I made a dragon, Lockheed from the X-Men in fact, but that was that. No way could I get the plaster bandages myself, and I didn’t care for the rough surfaces.

And that was that for growing up.

The weird thing is, I actually was always drawn to sculpting, but it never occured to me I should sculpt. I loved physical objects that depicted living things and always noticed when stories included sculpting. Heck, I even started writing a fantasy story involving a sculptor and magical sculptures. But actual sculpting wasn’t even a daydream.

And then one day my hands got bored. It was an unusual day, a day off while Pop was away. Free time meant I could do what I wanted. In this case it was to watch a movie (The Brothers Karamazov), read a book (don’t remember what), read a magazine (dunno) and listen to music (forget what)....all at the same time...

Yeah, I’m like that. Always wanting to do several things at once.

 There I was, sitting on the floor, all these things around me, and I noticed my hands were bored. Because hands do get bored. Mine do anyway. Just ask them! Pop had some boxes of clay he’d bought for a project but ended up with some left over. On a whim I decided to try sculpting with this “proper” clay.

I made a little bust, a woman with a flower in her hair and a beastie lying round her shoulders. If you look up pics of it (all my sculpting that exists is on my blog) you will see how crude it is, but at the time I was pleased. I’d expected sculpting to be hard, but this was easy!

But we didn’t have a kiln. Well, Pop had one somewhere out in the shop, but he didn’t know where, didn’t have time to look, and wasn’t keen on me pawing around when it was probably behind some unmovable things.

So that was that all over again, the old problem of wanting to sculpt something that would stay.

And then I discovered sculpey!

Now you would think this would kick off constant sculpting, but it was more fitful at first. The trouble was, I did not want to be watched sculpting. I just wanted to goof around with it, stress free. So what I did was sculpt every time I was guaranteed a solid hour to myself. I’d usually go stand on the ramp outside, sculpey in one hand and an old dull pairing knife in the other and sculpt.  

This is probably why I sculpt so quickly even now. Back then I just wanted to do it unseen, baking as soon as there was anything at all I liked about it. Now fast sculpting is just secnd nature.

After a bit I branched out, making ornaments and getting roped into making a dollhouse doll for a cousin. I also made several dolls that scale for fun and gifts for my family. I also pleased the four year old me by making a Sleestak from memory. I experimented with gluing a face on one of the boxes I’d painted. (Painting boxes was a thing for me for years)  I started running out if space for the busts so I started making magnets and lining all the metal bookcases in my bedroom with faces. 

But during all that I could go weeks, even months, without sculpting. I’d paint boxes. I’d write. But all these things shared a little space of free time. 

We were busy. The fiberglassing business took a heck of a lot of work. There were all sorts of organizations, causes, meetings I tagged along to, obligations to my family. Making takes time, even if it’s just an hour, and back then I never had insomnia so working after everyone went to bed wasn’t an option.

Still, I made things right along until the weirdness happened. For a several years I had a creative block. 

Totally. 

Completely.

 I didn’t sculpt. Didn’t paint boxes. Didn’t write stories. I didn’t even dream at night.

It was hellish. 

I can’t tell you why it happened. I can’t even tell you why it ended. All I can tell you is was if my imagination started to reawaken in 2012, a year that at that time I thought was one of the worst in my life. It started with a painted box here and there. Slowly.

Then 2013 happened, the terrible year of Pop’s illness that made the bad things of 2012 seem pale in comparison. Suddenly I was dreaming, dreaming in overdrive in fact. The dreams  I was churning out boxes as fast as I could paint them to “exorcise” those dreams. The dreams occupied my mind constantly. At night they were like serialized stories night after night, during the day I was like an obsessed fangirl disecting and rerunning her favorite show that just happened to be created by my subconscious.

This frantic box painting lasted until the last stages of Pop’s illness, when it stopped. I haven’t painted a box since. 

In mid to late 2014, the year Pop died, the cousin I made the Beast doll for sent me a letter. Actually, now that I think about it, it was the last time I heard from her. She said she’s shown the doll to someone she knew that had a dollhouse collector store and they said I had talent, that in fact it was as good as many professional dolls. The cousin suggested, now that our fiberglassing business was gone I should take up doll making.

It sounded reasonable, though I completely doubted that “talent” part. But there were problems with this plan. I hadn’t sculpted in several years and didn’t know if I still could. I wanted to make fully jointed dolls, but making them by hand out of sculpey would be tricky to master. Everything I made (and make) is one of a kind and feels like a part of me, so parting with them would be painful. I needed to figure out how make it easier on myself.

I mean, there is a reason I jokingly call my sculpting “making friends”.

And so I got to work. I decided to use my werewolf box as inspiration, figuring that with these wolf people I could make them enough alike it would be easier to part with them, but enough different I wouldn’t get bored. I could learn to make mold from them, and then selling wouldn’t hurt.

This is when I think my sculpting addiction really began. Instead of sculpting occasionally I was sculpting most nights, and would stay up late when making the bodies.

This period of experimentation lasted for a few months, long enough for me to suffer the disapointment of being an outsider exhibiting at an art show with my odd fantasy dolls. I actually WAS making progress. I liked a few of the dolls snd thought in a few more months I’d be ready to go to the next stage, I even bought molding and casting materials to learn to use...

And the floor collapse happened. This started an ever increasing cascade of disasters that continues to this day.

At first I thought the interuption was temporary. By the end of 2015 I’d be back at learning to make dolls...

Obviously this didn’t happen. For months I kept making heads for future doll experiments, complete with metal loops for stringing them on. I even built a storage box to keep them all in. Eventually the room with the box started to go, so I “temporarily” moved it to the other house. It’s there still.

By then I had a sculpting habit. I needed to sculpt. My fingers would twitch around sculpey. Mom would laugh at how on nights where I didn’t sculpt my eyes would dart to the sculpey every few seconds. She would tease me about it calling to me, but it’s sort of right. In 2015 sculpting had become something that I constantly felt I should be doing. 

To be honest, the addiction aspect has only gotten worse with time. 

When Mom was here there were more nights I didn’t sculpt, and if I started sculpting as she went to bed she’d remind me not to stay up late. Since her stroke and her going to stay with my brother I’ve been alone. Alone to watch movies and sculpt, with no socializing to distract me and no one to tell me to stop. 

Now the nights I don’t sculpt are rare (see last November when I sculpted more faces than there even were days in that month because I sculpted more than one a couple nights). The faces stick with me less though, to the point that when I post pics a month later I have actually forgotten many of them already.

I don’t do anything with these faces. I sculpt them quickly, photograph them, wrap them in tissues and throw them into one of the storage boxes I have for them. Those boxes have literally hundreds of faces by this point.

I shouldn’t NEED to sculpt.

 I have spent more days of my life not sculpting than sculpting. I have sculpted more faces in the last year than most people do in a life time. Ignoring the fluke of the one face I sold, I don’t profit by it in any way.

The sculpting is a compulsion, an impulse I can’t resist. I feel a weird guilt and unease when I don’t sculpt. It hasn’t even been a full week without sculpting and it’s driving me nuts. Believe me, I know it’s ridiculous! 

[sillydodobird]

Confusing feelings and flushed faces

I cannot believe I’m writing Sonamy Fanfiction. I haven't done this since middle school but here i am. 

No warnings, fluff, new found feelings, ect.

He couldn’t tell you what changed. It was like a switch had flipped or maybe it was like a light bulb went off. He doesn’t know, he just knows he didn’t feel like this yesterday.

Maybe he should talk to Tails, have him run some tests to make sure he’s not Ill or anything.

She is just so pretty today. In the back of his mind, he knows she doesn’t look any different than she normally does but he feels different looking at her today. Has she always been this pretty and he’s just been blind? He wonders if maybe he hit his head fighting those eggbots yesterday.

“Sonic? Are you alright?”

Maybe he shouldn’t space out while Amy is standing in front of him.

“Uh- Yeah! Totally cool!” He should probably go for another run, clear his head.

Amy stares at him for another few moments, and god Sonic hopes he’s not blushing. He’s acting like he has a crush on Amy. Which he definitely does not.

“You sure?”

Sonic nods afraid that if he opens his mouth he might say something stupid. Hopefully she will just leave it alone and they can go back to just hanging out. He can’t help it if all of a sudden he noticed how the sunlight hits on her hair or how green her eyes really are.

After a few moments of silence he eventually speaks up.

“So whatcha got there, Ames?” He isn’t proud of how his voice jumps an octave but she doesn’t seem to have noticed.

Amy is holding onto a small basket, which looks to be filled with gardening supplies.

“I just went to the market and got some things for my garden. My blueberries are ready to be picked. I plan on making a pie!” Amy explains to him with a bright smile on her face.

“Sounds tasty. Mind if I steal a piece when it’s finished?” It’s pointless in even asking, he knows Amy will offer him a slice.

“Of course, Sonic!”

He doesn’t know exactly when his view on life changed from wanting to be wild and free to being perfectly content with slowing down and enjoying the small things. For a few moments he wonders how his life could have turned out. He used to be an orphan, with no one around, no one to worry about besides himself. He can’t imagine going back to that, now that he knows what it’s like having friends and family. He can’t imagine life without Amy in it. The idea of not having her unwavering support made him feel uneasy. What if one day Amy no longer wants to hang around with him? What if she loses interest in him?

He should really stop imagining what if scenarios, they never turn out right.

His mouth opens before he even realizes what he’s doing, “Amy...I um…” what was he actually planning on saying?

Amy’s eyes are wide and questioning. No doubt, she’s probably very confused by his stuttering. He’s never been one to stutter, he has always been the type to speak confidently.

“Do you ever wish your life went in a different direction?”

What the hell was that? Why did he ask her that? He’s almost positive he did hit his head and he’s just having a fever dream.

“Um. I guess it would be nice to have been born into royalty. Is that what you mean?” Her nose is scrunched up in confusion. He hates himself for thinking that she looks adorable. Is he going insane?

“I guess...I dunno. Just forget I said anything.” He doesn’t actually want to know if she wishes her life was different. If she wishes she wasn’t here with him. He doesn’t know how he would feel after hearing that.

“Is everything really okay, Sonic? You are acting really weird.” Of course Amy noticed something was off. She has always been able to tell whenever something was wrong.

“Yeah, everything is okay. I think I might have hit my head on one of eggy’s bots. It’s no big deal.”

The next thing he knows, Amy’s basket is on the ground and her hands are on his face. “What?! Did you not have Tails check this out? Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you nauseous?”

He knows she’s checking for signs of a concussion, he’s had concussions before and they don’t feel like this. This feels different, like he has enough energy to run for days without stopping. His heart is beating like crazy and he’s sure his face is as red as knuckle’s fur. He doesn’t remember Amy having this soft of hands.

He grabs her hands in his, if only so she can’t feel the heat coming off of him. “I’m fine, Amy. Really, it’s no big deal.”

She doesn’t look at all convinced. He remembers being younger and ignoring the signs of illness or injury and making it worse. Sonic knows Amy still doesn’t trust him to take care of himself completely even though it’s been years since something like that has happened.

“You know you can come to me if something is not right, I can help you. You know that right?” Amy says looking straight at him.

Sonic nods and suddenly his throat feels very dry. Amy has always been there for him, just like Tails and Knuckles have been. Tails and Knuckles are like brothers to him, they been through so much together that nothing can break their bonds. Amy definitely does not feel like a sister, but she doesn't feel like just a friend either.

“Yeah, Ames. I know I can always count on you.”

Amy smiles at that, “Good.” She picks up her discarded basket and begins to pull Sonic along towards her garden.

He doesn’t know exactly how he feels about her right now. But he knows he feels something for her that he didn’t feel yesterday. Maybe he really did hit his head and all of these weird feelings will go away tomorrow. As weird as they are, he secretly hopes that they don’t disappear.

They don’t disappear.

[marmolady]

Like Old Times

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending (Rourke ending). Set after my previous Rourke ending fics, but probably easy enough to follow without reading them first. 

With attempts to rekindle the friendships lost met with minimal success, Taylor is in desperate need of a night off. No worrying about what she doesn’t have, just appreciating her small victories in the face of Rourke’s plans for her. But the boat dance might just stir memories in places she hadn’t expected...

Word Count: 7556

Warnings: the usual. Bit of coarse language and sexual references.

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn @sceptilemasterr @bbaba-yagaa@edgydepressedchoicesthot@blightarts@princessstellaris@acidsugar0@taramitch96 @sapphovonchat @strangerofbraidwood@noeschoices @queerchoicesblog@kennaxval@queerchoicesblog@mrsmontoya @saivilo @mind-reader1 @ezramitchells

The sounds, the scents, the images of the pristine beaches surrounding The Celestial took hold of Estela as she carefully managed her breathing. In her meditative state, it was where she always ended up… the thoughts that overcrowded her tired mind fell away, and it was just peace. Her time on La Huerta had been chaotic, but had also given her the nearest thing to the opposite of that- something close to tranquility, that she’d ever known. It was her happy place. Cross-legged on the couch in their Hartfeld apartment, she might as well be miles away.

In the background, Taylor was helping Diego with his outfit for the boat dance, the social event of the season. They would all be going- at least, as far as she could tell. It had taken some convincing to get Zahra on board, but if all she was ready to contribute to their mission was just to passively be there, then she’d need to passively be there when it mattered. Taylor was convinced that the more they spent time together publicly, as friends, the more memories would trickle back to those as yet beyond her reach. And so, she’d resigned herself to doing Zahra’s share of the housework for the next month as payment for her cooperation.

“Are you sure I’m not gonna be the only guy in a suit?”

“Diego, it’s a dance. I’m pretty sure it’s semi-formal affair. You’re gonna look very dapper.”

Taylor hugged him. That he was brave enough to go along to an event that would no doubt be brimming with happy couples, in spite of how much he ached for Varyyn, said a lot. Diego really was something special.

“Well, that’s me sorted. You might want to bring Estela back to the land of the living, it looks like she’s falling asleep.”

“Yeah…”

It had come as a great relief to Taylor that Estela had found a way of easing the storm in her mind; she hated to disturb her. She did, however, have her own special way of gently doing so. Reaching out with her mind rarely worked except with receptive Vaanti, but with the receiver in a meditative trance, it seemed she could manage a sort of crude one-way communication. She closed her eyes, and focused, sending out imagery like a radio signal.

Diego watched intently. “What are you saying?”

“It doesn’t really work like that… it’s not like with Varyyn. It’s kinda… vague and wordless. A feeling. Like a weird, fluffy mind hug.”

“So, you’re not, like, sending her mind sexts?”

Taylor snorted; her concentration broken. “Diego! Get that head of yours out of the gutter!”

Slowly, Estela blinked back into the present, and stretched out her arms. “…Hey.”

“Hey. I just thought you might want to start getting ready. We’ll have to make a move in half an hour.”

It took a moment for Estela to recall, deep as she’d been within herself. “Oh, that dance you’re dragging us along to.”

Taylor made air quotation marks as she spoke. “Yeah, ‘dragging’. You can’t pretend to me that you haven’t been looking forward to it, just a little…”

To be honest, Estela wasn’t sure how she felt. It would be awfully reminiscent of the times they’d all shared on La Huerta, celebrating together in defiance of everything that kept on trying to crush them. But it wouldn’t be like that this time. Most of her friends were far out of reach, and to see it starkly before her would not exactly be enjoyable. Taylor was convinced that the opportunity to let loose would be good for them all, and Estela trusted her judgement. She was determined to have fun, to forget about… everything… just for one night. It was what Taylor needed after being a supportive rock not just for Estela, but for Diego and Zahra as well. However hard it might be, Estela would make sure her wife had the breath of fresh air that she so deserved. She shrugged.

“Fine. I’ll admit it; just a little.” Letting herself be pulled onto her feet, Estela pecked a kiss to Taylor’s cheek. “I guess I better go get dressed…”

______________________________

The boat was heaving when Taylor’s party arrived.

Zahra winced. “You’re gonna want to point me towards the booze, because I will not survive this sober…”

Taylor whipped around, and handed her a Dark ‘n’ Stormy. “I’ve already got you covered, babe!”

“Call me that again and I’ll cut you.” Zahra took a swig and forced a smile. “But thanks, I guess.”

A face in the crowd drew Estela’s attention; pale, surrounded by long mane of russet. Quinn stumbled away from the dance floor, and sat down on one of the plush seats around the edge, fingers visibly digging into the cushion even at a distance. Instinctively, Estela glanced around for Taylor, someone rather better at offering friendly overtures than she herself was. But now, she was nowhere to be seen- lost in the sea of students.

Estela approached cautiously, going over in her mind what she might say. She’d talked to Quinn just the once since Rourke had implemented Project Janus, and it had been brief. To the demure redhead, she was good as a stranger. At least on La Huerta, there had been no need for awkward ‘getting to know you’ nonsense. Estela had focused on survival, on succeeding in her mission, and the friendships developed naturally, born of the experiences they’d shared. Shit, where was Cetus when you needed him? They’d have gathered together, kicked his scaly ass, and bada-bing bada-boom, they’d come out of it as friends… none of this awkward reaching out. Pulling herself together, Estela sat down beside Quinn. Should she smile? Quinn looked ill… surely, she shouldn’t look amused by that? But if she didn’t, would her serious gaze make Quinn nervous…? Where the hell was Taylor when she needed her?

“Hi,” she said quietly, at long last. “I just thought…” She cleared her throat. “I wanted to make sure you were all right… you don’t look so good. Can I do anything?”

Quinn smiled weakly. “Someone’s already getting me a glass of water.” Her eyes flickered over Estela’s earnest face. “You’ve probably got people to be with… but, if you don’t, I… I’d really like the company.”

The brunette sidled closer, by way of an answer.

“It’s Estela, right?”

A nod. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. How have you… how have you been?” The last time Estela had encountered Quinn, she’d found her to be frighteningly weak, everything about her had just been tired. Now, she was clearly not healthy by any means, but she lacked the heavy rings around her eyes.

“Actually, I’ve been good. I’ve been sick for a long time, but recently… it feels like I have a reason to feel hopeful. Right now, though? I guess the movement of the boat’s making me queasy. I’ve been on a treatment for a little while; it’s helping me, but my body’s fragile.”

“If you’re prone to seasickness, maybe going to a boat dance wasn’t the best choice of social event for you to make your comeback on…”

With a hollow laugh, Quinn shook her head. “’Comeback’ kind of implies that I’d ever really been fit for these parties. I just hoped… this new treatment, you know, that I might finally catch up on everything I missed out on growing up.” Realising she was talking to a near stranger, her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry! You came out for a good time; you don’t want to listen to this. You barely know me…”

“No. But I’d like to.” Hesitantly, Estela put her hand on Quinn’s arm, and to her relief, the action was met with a grateful smile. “If it helps, I’ve never really done stuff like this either. I met someone, not long ago; she’s shown me a lot of things I didn’t think I’d ever experience. What I’m trying to say is… you might feel like you’re, you know… different, but things can get better, and you’re not…”

“…Alone?”

“You’re not alone.”

Quinn studied Estela thoughtfully. She’d called herself a ‘friend’, and although Quinn couldn’t place her, she was certain that she knew the serious-eyed brunette from somewhere. Estela must have made an impression, for her face had cropped up in strange dreams. The new medication came with vivid dreams as a side-effect, but it struck Quinn as odd that vaguely familiar faces just kept coming up. A sharp, sudden pain made her gasp.

“Quinn! Are you…?” Estela’s eyes grew wide in alarm.

At that moment, Michelle returned. Immediately drawn back to Quinn who was clearly in distress, clutching her forehead, it barely registered that Estela was there too. “Is it your head?”

Quinn winced and nodded. “I think that water’s exactly what I need; thank you.”

Michelle handed her the glass, and began to gently rub her back. “Just take little sips, all right? Are you sure you don’t want to get back on dry land? It’s just a dance; there’ll be others.”

A sad cast of shadow seemed to flit across Quinn’s eyes, and her cheeks puffed as her lips formed a small pout. Of course, no one could understand what this meant to her; they didn’t have a clue…

“You shouldn’t miss out,” Estela said, causing Michelle to flinch, truly noticing her presence for the first time. Though the reaction was hurtful, she let it go. “This is important to you. Maybe, if you did have to leave the boat, we could keep you company. I dunno… have our own party.” She glanced away the second she’d made the suggestion, doubting herself, but looked back again, knowing that she owed Quinn that she at least try. “It’s gotta be better than sitting around feeling like you’ll hurl your guts.”

For a moment, Michelle’s mouth hung open, as if in preparation to protest, but she floundered. Estela, that quiet, scarred creep, looked at her expectantly. Who the hell did she think she was to put her in that position? Then she looked at Quinn, and something within her was stirred. A protective instinct. Was it just the doctor in her? She would, of course, be a natural. But it wasn’t just that… it was almost familial, the need to care. Who was Quinn, anyway? And who was Estela?

The words formed before Michelle could even comprehend why she was speaking them; “She’s right. You’re not about to just sit here sick and miserable, not on my watch. Let’s got you back on dry land- at least for now. You’re going to have a good time tonight if it kills me!”

_____________________________

Taylor sat herself down with a drink in her hand, taking in the buzzing atmosphere on the boat, having lost Diego to the appetiser table. She felt a sad pang at the sight of Raj at the centre of a bustling, laughing cluster of revellers. Sean and Craig were there too, magnets for the university’s popular crowd. It was a world where Taylor was unwelcome, and as much as she wanted to go running over and put her arms around her friends, they weren’t on La Huerta anymore. She shook her head. No; she wasn’t going to get hung up over all that. This should be a party party, not a pity party.

“Are you okay, Taylor?”

When she looked up, there was Grace, her face a picture of kind concern.

“Grace, hi!” Taylor beamed, and scooched over, inviting her friend to join her. “It’s… really good to see you. Finally letting your hair down, with exams finished?”

Grace smiled, right to her eyes. “It’s really good to see you, too. I’ve been meaning to catch you for ages; it’s just… sometimes I think I’ll drown from the pressure. From everything. Tonight… it’s one of the first times I’ve let myself switch off for so long. I feel as though I’ve been holding my breath for months, and I was just so used to it I didn’t notice.”

Taylor put an arm around her. She’d tried to be there for Grace, but through all her attempts to connect, she’d felt as though she was just another burden. “Well, take a deep breath; you’ve earned it. And… before you go back under, do you wanna hang out?”

The two girls leaned on the boat’s edge, looking out at the water, sparkling in the moonlight. Taylor hadn’t expected this -Grace was not one to frequent social events. Grace’s amiable nature made her someone with whom Taylor had been able to easily form a comfortable acquaintance, but moving beyond that had been challenging.

“You look really gorgeous tonight,” Taylor said, admiring the glittering violet dress Grace was wearing. The whole time they were on La Huerta, she never saw her dress up like this.

“You too!” Grace replied brightly. “My mom bought it for me. I was supposed to be going along to this gala a few months ago.” She sighed. “It didn’t last long before I realised, I was there only as another sparkling accessory. Tonight, I’m wearing this for me. Who knows when I’ll give myself another night off?”

“Good for you. Between you and me, I think you’re absolutely rocking it.”

Grace laughed. It was true, she’d been missing out. Desperate as she was to meet the lofty expectations she was held to, there had been no time for friends. And Taylor, she’d realised, was a wonderful, wonderful friend. More than that, there was something there… something mysterious that was beginning to fall together.

“It’s funny, Taylor,” she said. “When I’m with you, sometimes I feel like I could be a whole other person; courageous, someone who would take on the world, someone who her friends could always rely on.”

“Grace… that’s always been you.”

Grace glanced away shyly, her cheeks flushing. “No one’s ever seen me in that way. I know my mother never has. For so long, I’ve been afraid that no one would ever truly see me, believe in who I am. You barely know me, but somehow, I feel like there’s so much beneath the surface. Perhaps some people were always meant to be friends!”

Her heart thumping wildly, Taylor put her arms around her dear friend in a gentle hug. Can’t you see that you know me? Everything we overcame together? Don’t you remember?

“I believe it. Some people you just can’t help but be drawn to.”

“…Taylor? Can I tell you something… strange?” Grace bit her lip nervously. This was something she’d not dared talk about, not to anyone. It was all so fantastical, almost beyond belief. “I know you won’t laugh at me.”

“Of course.” Taylor’s breath caught in her throat. Was this… did she…?

“I’ve had dreams. The same nightmares over and over; every night after I’d talked to you- sometimes even if I only saw you. It made me afraid of you, and I’m sorry. I knew all along that you only wanted to be a friend, and I so badly needed a friend…”

Taylor gave her hand a squeeze, trying to be reassuring, even though adrenaline was surging through her own body. “Oh, honey, don’t apologize! That would make anyone nervous…”

With a weak smile, Grace continued. “First I dreamed the same thing over and over… I was kept prisoner in this cell, all alone. There were guards… guards with metal armour… I never saw their faces. But what was frightening was that it felt real. I’d never had dreams so vivid. And they wouldn’t fade from my memory in the way dreams should do. It was the opposite, in fact. I’d get flashes, more and more, even after I’d woken up, as if I was remembering something that had really happened to me. Well, I was terrified of going back to that place… so cold, so lonely, so I avoided you. Until that day when you were looking for Estela… that night I dreamed it all again, but this time, I kept dreaming… and you rescued me. You… your friends, some other people I recognised and knew I knew… but it was you, clear as day. It was then that I realised that I need never be afraid of you; whatever these dreams -or are they memories?- whatever they’re trying to tell me, I knew you’d understand, that you’d want to help me.”

Her mouth dry, Taylor struggled to find the words. “We’ve all had dreams like that. Estela, Diego, Zahra… I’m sure the others have too.” She automatically glanced back to the dance floor, to where Sean, Michelle, Raj and Craig were laughing together. They had to be remembering something by now. “And I think, I mean, I know… they’re memories. Of a life we should have shared. I know it sounds crazy-“

“It does,” said Grace steadily. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen them myself. I kept on dreaming, you see. It was though I’d passed through a barrier and the memories could suddenly reach me. I kept a journal beside my bed, and wrote down everything I saw, everything I felt.” She gave a bashful smile. “I was very close to Aleister, wasn’t I? I’ve been too nervous to speak to him when I see him in classes, but sometimes our eyes will meet and something so happy bubbles up inside me.”

Taylor could scarcely dare to believe what she was hearing. Grace, her gentle, brilliant Grace, had opened that wonderful mind of hers and seen the truth of everything. With a weak laugh, Taylor nodded. “Yes, you and Aleister. You were such a pair. He so badly needed someone like you in his life. Do you… do you remember what happened?”

The relief that she was not, in fact, losing her mind showed on Grace’s face. The final pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “It was Everett Rourke, wasn’t it? He used technology beyond anything ever seen before… he used it to unravel time itself, to bend it to his will. It’s why he’s the Emperor today. Taylor… it’s all true? Everything I’ve seen in my head? My friends… our friends?”

“It’s true,” Taylor confirmed, voice hushed and threatening to crack with emotion. A tear fell from her cheek. “You’re a hero, Grace. Fighting to save the world. There was so much we could have never done without you.” She choked back a sob. “I’ve missed you so much…”

“I’ve missed you too. When it all started to come back, I felt so empty, like I’d been missing something important. All this time it was you… all of you…” Suddenly, she simultaneously laughed and spluttered with tears, and pulled Taylor into a tight hug. Not only was she not going crazy, she had friends… friends who appreciated exactly who she was, who’d put their lives on the line to see her safe. Frightening as those dreams had been, they’d also shown a kind of love she’d silently craved for as long as she could remember. “Oh my gosh, Taylor!”

They embraced, laughing and crying, sheer relief that their friendship was a fire that for all Rourke’s efforts, could not be extinguished. As Grace came away, lines of worry returned to her face.

“Most of us still haven’t remembered…” she said quietly. “Rourke… he’s treated time as his plaything, hurt so many people, and he’s just… getting away with it?”

Taylor placed her hands on Grace’s shoulders, and leant down just a little, so that she was eye-to-eye with the shorter woman. “He won’t. I swear to you, he won’t. This time, we’re not racing an apocalypse. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but… look at us. Back together; and Estela, Diego, Zahra… that’s already shown that we are so much stronger than he bargained for. I’ve gotta trust that the rest will come in time. And when the time comes, we’ll finish this. For good.”

There was something in the way she spoke that made Grace feel like it was possible. “When this is all over, you really ought to consider a career in motivational speaking.”

“We’ll see. First, let’s enjoy tonight, yeah? Like I said, you’ve earned it.”

__________________________________

“So, um… dancing?” Estela took Quinn’s hand and swayed awkwardly. Wait- she’s seasick! That’s not gonna help. Shit. Her cheeks suddenly bright red, she stopped in her tracks. There’s gotta be a way of doing this without making poor Quinn barf…

Quinn laughed. She was utterly intrigued by the brunette, who was clearly putting herself out of her comfort zone… for her… as if she really was a friend. When she thought about it, Quinn realised where she’d seen Estela before… the strangest dream. She was reaching out to a frothing sea monster, a great beast that towered over her… willing an object to rise out from its throat. And there, arms securely around her, holding her out of harm’s way… Estela. It was funny; she could almost feel those strong arms embracing her, as if it were a memory of something as real as she was standing there. What was even stranger was that she was certain she’d seen Michelle’s face too, in that very same dream.

“Dry land has done me some good; I’m up for a little dancing. Michelle?”

Still side-eyeing Estela, Michelle took Quinn’s hand. Something about this was familiar; spookily so. As much as she couldn’t admit to going along with Taylor’s crazy… there had been flashes of a different truth coming to her since they’d violently collided several weeks before. She’d fought it. Whatever madness Taylor had planted in her head was a distraction from what mattered; she had it all- the sorority, Sean, and she was killing it in classes. Everything right on track. She was still scared of Estela. Not because she was some creepy figure that the other girls would nervously giggle about, but because she was all that, and still Michelle couldn’t shake the growing urge to slap every idiot who said a word against her. It was the same thing that made her protective of Quinn; a deep knowing that she couldn’t understand. None of it made any sense. But, no. This was just a dance… hanging out with a sick girl. What the hell kind of doctor would she be if she didn’t show compassion for someone who clearly needed her? That was all this was, of that much Michelle was certain; she’d keep Quinn company, and at the end of it all, she could go back to keeping her distance… keeping the crazy, the madness that could throw everything she’d worked for into shambles, safely at arm’s length.

“If it means I can make sure you don’t over-do it…” Michelle started to bounce along to the music, and tentatively reached for Estela’s hand. The calloused palm was slightly rough in her fingers, the grip returned to her was strong yet gentle. This was all for show, she told herself, but still she found herself offering the dark-eyed brunette an encouraging smile. “I know this isn’t exactly your scene either. Just follow my lead, okay?”

It was awkward at first. Both Estela and Michelle gratefully took several opportunities to grab a drink between songs, loosening them up just enough that they could forget that they were supposed to be strangers. Reluctantly, though, Michelle found herself having fun- laughing even. She wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point she must have stopped flinching away from Estela, and her companionship was suddenly… easy.

While she twirled Quinn around, Estela remained quiet. This was well beyond her comfort zone… it would have been even if her friends remembered their relationship. Quinn was bubbly and bouncy, and Estela simply wasn’t. Her slightly tipsy party-goer self was far more self-conscious, stilted, than the average drunken student. Life had taught her to keep her guard up. But as Quinn took both her and Michelle by the hand and spun them in a wild circle, Estela was enjoying herself so much more than she knew how to show them. But that look on Quinn’s face, that look that was like sunshine breaking through the clouds, it was enough to tell her that she wasn’t doing too badly.

Some twenty or so songs later, Quinn collapsed onto the bench, her face happily flushed, sweat upon her brow. She’d pushed herself, perhaps harder than she should have done, but the reward had been what she’d missed out on for so long- a genuine human connection. It had, however, knocked the stuffing out of her.

“Wow, I’m wrecked.” She put her hand to her head, the troubling ache still present in intermittent twinges. It was bizarre, the strength of the complaint seemingly linked to feelings of closeness to the two women who’d put their own plans aside, for her. “Good wrecked,” she added quickly.

“Honestly?” Michelle sighed, sitting down beside her. “Me too. It’s almost like I caught your headache. I think exam week caught up with me.” It wasn’t the night she’d planned, but of all the parties she’d been to in her freshman year, this was the one she’d remember. “Hey, Quinn? If you wanted to share an Uber with me, you could crash out in my room. If you wanted to hang out some more?”

Her sapphire eyes widening at the first invite she’d received in… how many years?... Quinn couldn’t hide her surprise. “Oh, Michelle, you don’t have to. You should spend some time with your friends, I’ve kept you a long time as it is.”

“This isn’t me being nice. I don’t wanna go back in there and face Craig right now; my head would explode.”

Both Quinn and Estela laughed.

Michelle found herself grinning along with them. “And Quinn, you’re a friend. Shit- maybe I am being nice. What a night.” She offered Estela a glance. “I’m guessing you’re here with…” Crazy Taylor… “Taylor?”

“I am. I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if I called her over after… you know.”

Her cheeks suddenly very pink, Michelle was uncomfortable, and it showed all over her face. The last encounter she’d shared with Taylor and Estela had been memorable for all the wrong reasons. There may have been a slap-fight involved. She said nothing, but gave a small nod of acknowledgement that Estela had probably made the right call. The more she’d thought about it, the less Crazy Taylor seemed like a threat to her relationship with Sean, but it remained she who was the source of those insane stories, the ones that somehow haunted Michelle in her dreams. Bad news… that’s what Taylor was. But Estela seemed nice enough; creepy as all hell, but honestly… nice. Certainly not deserving of being treated like something slimy that had crawled out of a horror movie. How she, Michelle, had treated her.

Quinn put her arms around Estela, receiving an unsure, but clearly heartfelt hug in return. “You’re here with your girlfriend? I wouldn’t have kept you if I’d known!”

“It’s all right. You needed a friend. Taylor would get it; this sort of thing is usually what she’d do.”

“Wait- blonde Taylor?” Receiving a nod, Quinn beamed. “I know Taylor! Whenever I’m on campus and she bumps into me, she’ll stop and chat- every time.”

“That sounds right.” Estela couldn’t help but smile. Being a stellar friend was pretty much what Taylor was born for, and it was where she shone. It was a good thing, too, what with the fate of the world relying on their rekindling the bonds the twelve had once shared. “She’s got this pathological need to be friends with people. She latches on, and that’s it, she’ll care about you for life.”

It had been strange for Estela to take on that role. She hoped she’d risen to the challenge; it wasn’t like old times, but she’d felt comfortable with Quinn and Michelle, refreshingly so. “I should get back to her. She’s probably propping up a drunk Diego somewhere…”

“I think I’ve kept you long enough,” Quinn said, gratefully. She wasn’t sure what it was about Estela, but so quickly, the friendship that was blooming between them felt easy, natural. For the first time in her life, a friendship that might just have a chance… a chance of growing and not simply being snuffed out by the reality of her illness. “You say ‘hi’ for me, okay? We should all hang out sometime.”

Estela looked her steadily in the eye, her cheeks slightly pink. That someone would actively seek out her company… it was surreal. She could only hope Quinn knew what it meant. “I’d like that. Thank you. And I… I will.” She gave them both a small nod. “Get some rest, yeah?”

With that, she turned to head back to the boat, back to her wife, who would no doubt be wondering after her. She felt a hand on the crook of her arm, and when she looked back, there was Michelle, a bizarre expression on her face… as if surprised by her own action.

“Look, Estela, I don’t often make apologies; I’m sharp, and it’s how I survive. But I was a real bitch to you; you and Taylor. I’m sorry, all right? And you can pass that on to her too.”

“…Michelle…”

Michelle looked up, but still pointedly avoided eye contact, not realising how much it stung.

“Thanks…” Estela said, “you know, for helping keep Quinn company.”

“I’m not a complete asshole.” Michelle glanced upwards, meeting brunette’s dark, serious eyes at last, and gave her a small but genuine smile. “You’re welcome.”

_______________________________

In the middle of the dance floor, Taylor was hopping to the beat, a great smile plastered across her face. She was supposed to be going for top-ups, leaving Grace and Diego to briefly carry on their giggly game of charades without her… but how could she stop herself from dancing? Sure, she didn’t have the whole gang behind her, but buzzed as she was over the breakthrough with Grace, the usual hurt couldn’t touch her. Taylor was on cloud nine, on top of the world…

-crash!!-

“Heeeey, Crazy Taylor!”

Looking up from the floor on what she knew would be a very bruised rear the next day, Taylor held her hand out, letting herself be pulled back to her feet by the very solid figure she’d danced right into.

“Hey, Craig, having a good time? Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Pffft, chyeah… it’s a party, duh!”

“I can’t argue with that,” Taylor laughed. This felt good, natural. Or was she just drunk? Was Craig just hoping she’d start another entertaining fight? Her nerves returned. Easy, Taylor. Just let it come the way it’s meant to. He’s your friend; he’ll work it out eventually. “Food’s been pretty nice too…”

“Hey, where did your friend go? She hasn’t bailed already?”

Taylor followed Craig’s eyes to the seat where Zahra had been sitting earlier that night, glaring daggers out into the room while downing the finest cocktails on offer. A sinking feeling in her stomach told her that Zahra had indeed left. Immediately, she felt guilt. Caught up as she was in her excitement over re-connecting with Grace, she hadn’t checked in with her reclusive housemate. Zahra was hurt, much more than she cared to let on, by her history with Craig having been erased. It had been excruciating for her to open back up to him on La Huerta… to start over was too much.

“I think she went home,” Taylor said apologetically. This, she knew, would be one of the major hurdles in getting the group back together. As soon as Craig had started looking her way, Zahra had scarpered.

Craig’s face fell, but he recovered quickly. “I’m not, like, interested or anything! Not into nerds.”

“Come on, really? And you haven’t ever played a video game in your life? Between you and me, I’ve always found I was happier when I just rolled with what made me happy, not what might make me popular--“

“The hell you mean by that? You don’t know me!”

Shit. Abort mission; abort, abort!

Taylor briefly babbled, tripping over her tongue in panic. “I didn’t- I mean that… uh…. Shit. You’re right; I’m over-stepping. But if you wanna try something different, you should drop by our place sometime.”

To her relief, the indignant anger seemed to have faded from Craig’s face as quickly as it had flared up there, replaced by simple… curiosity, even in spite of himself.

Taking a chance, Taylor kept talking. “Yeah… yeah. We picked up a few old games last week, you know, retro… and honestly? I keep getting thrashed by Zahra. Y-you know… my friend you were asking after. She’s wicked smart; way too much for me to handle. And I dunno… I thought maybe you could help me take her down. Diego’s crap, and Estela’s plain not interested. I know it’s weird to ask, but I just got a feeling… you might have a good mind for that kind of thing.”

“Huh. Uh, uh, okay.” His face taking on a pink glow, Craig glanced hastily over his shoulder. “No nerdy wizard quest shit, though, aiight?”

“What, no! It’s uh… ‘Deadly Bloodsport’. And like I said, I keep getting my ass handed to me. You really should come around, bring a few beers or something.”

The strange nervousness fell from Craig’s face. “Now you’re talking! Why didn’t you say there was gonna be booze?”

Okay; good, good, now you’ve just got to track down one of those damn consoles… and hope that Zahra doesn’t stab me in my sleep.

As Craig walked away, Taylor realised she’d been barely breathing through their whole encounter, so terrified she was that she’d put her foot in it and make a difficult situation even worse. She chuckled to herself. Go let your hair down, girl! This is meant to be a night off from freaking out.

And, for the most part, it was. Taylor couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much, but it must have been back on La Huerta. It was almost as if… she’d stopped worrying just enough that things were starting to fall together on their own. She had her old Grace back, sweet and smart, and the friend she’d always been. And she could have sworn she saw something clicking in Craig’s head back there! The night, by her reckoning, was a roaring success. Something, though, something was missing…

“Estela-baby! There’s that badass love of my life!” Taylor leapt into a run, losing one of her heels in her exuberant rush to put herself in her wife’s arms. “I thought you’d fallen overboard or something! You haven’t missed all the food, have you?”

Estela was pleasantly flushed, glowing. “Sorry, I got caught up. I did eat though. Quinn was feeling rough on the boat, so I kept her and Michelle company on the marina for a little while. They’ve gone back to Hartfeld now, but I think having something to eat did Quinn some good.”

Doing a double-take, Taylor blinked rapidly for a moment. The last time Estela had been in contact with Michelle had been an absolute disaster. That look on her face now said that something had drastically changed. Taylor could only smile at her, big and broad and adoring.

“Estela Montoya, you are an absolute gem, you know that?”

She trailed her hands down until they settled on Estela’s hips, and pulled her closer, swaying gently in time with the music.

Smiling, Estela put her arms around Taylor’s neck. She leaned in and kissed her, letting feel of her lover’s lips, soft on her own, make the rest of the world fall away. The party was nice and all, but it didn’t compare to this- not even close. “Did you want to dance?”

“Is that something you do? Dancing?”

“No.” Estela shrugged. “Not really. But I figured we could work it out together. Is, um, one of us supposed to lead?”

“I think so? I don’t…”

They both stepped forward at the same time, and giggled as they crashed foreheads.

“God, you’ve got a hard skull…” Taylor laughed. “Hang on…” Tossing away her other shoe, she noticed that Estela was already barefoot, clearly having done away with the impractical heels at first opportunity. It made her smile all the more. “How about, you just lean into me, hold me… we’ll sway a little bit… and then…” She guided Estela’s arm upwards guiding her into a spin until she was flush against her chest once more.

“I guess we’re not so bad at this.”

“At least now we’re not. Helps that I’m not waddling around with one shoe like a complete doofus anymore.”

“You wanted to wear the stupid things…” Estela rolled her eyes. “You know, if you had to make a quick exit in these, you’d break your neck.”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “And you can run in heels? Oh, my darling, even walking in them you look like a drunk giraffe. Sorry, a simultaneously very cute and very intimidating drunk giraffe.”

“Uh… thanks…?” Estela leaned in close and nibbled her lover’s ear before whispering. “I think you know that when the shit hits the fan, I’d have the heels off and be stabbing someone in the neck with them in a heartbeat.”

“There it is. Adorable and terrifying. So glad I’m on your good side.”

Estela giggled against the crook of Taylor’s neck, warm and giddy. “Always.”

Her arm resting on her wife’s back, Taylor grinned like a Cheshire cat, all the while, still swaying gently to the music. These little moments made the angst, the heartache, the fear… all worth it. A hundred times over.

“This has been really nice. Like, so nice. But I’ve actually got something to tell you.”

Immediately, Estela looked up, worry creeping into her eyes. “Taylor, is something wrong?”

Taylor kept on smiling. “I was talking with Grace. She remembers. Stel, she remembers everything!”

“Wait- what? You took your time spitting that out! Where is she? Is she okay?”

“Well, I figured, we’d all be hanging out together the rest of the night. I wanted to have a moment… just us, first.”

“Oh my god!”

“I left her playing charades with Diego… they’re probably wondering where I got to with their drinks. Come on…”

“I love you, but I am not playing charades. How fucking drunk do you think I am?”

_______________________________

Several giggly rounds of charades later- and Diego remaining undefeated, seemingly able to pick a mimed pop-culture reference within two seconds- Taylor succumbed once more to the dance floor, swinging her friends around her until her feet could dance no longer. Several drinks down, and all four of them were feeling it. Perhaps too much- as they discovered when an over-excited Diego ran up behind Sean and gave him the biggest hug he could muster, too tipsy to recall that in this timeline, they weren’t actually friends yet. Rescued by Estela before he could inflict another social faux pas, Diego was thankful that even in the midst of a scornful popular crowd, Sean’s good nature shone through and he’d awkwardly returned the gesture.

Grace was more relaxed, at ease with the world and within herself, than Taylor could remember seeing her- perhaps ever; the relief she found in realising her truth clear to see. She’d kept an eye out for Aleister; but he never made an appearance. Taylor had explained that it might have been for the best; Aleister was kept just close enough to his father that it was safer they all kept their distance until the rest of them were ready to come together and take action. Everything taken into consideration, though, this was the nearest Taylor had felt to… to feeling whole since she stupidly allowed Rourke to take away the bonds that had been the making of her. When Grace hugged her, it was to be embraced by a friend… and damn, that felt better than Taylor could put into words.

“I’m absolutely exhausted!” Grace lamented, even as she kept on grinning. “I’d better go and get some sleep; I’m still on catch-up after exams.”

Taylor hugged her in return. “Trust me, you’re not the only one. I think if I dance for a minute longer, my feet will sue my brain.”

“You say the strangest things, Taylor. And yet, somehow, you always make sense.” Grace spoke with a laugh, one well-earned after running herself ragged in the lead-up to the end of the quarter. “I suppose I’ll see you when school comes back? We ought to have lunches together… I’m honestly so tired of feeling like I’m struggling through alone.”

Taking a step back, Taylor held onto Grace’s arms and looked her straight in the eye, hoping with everything in her that she understood just how much she was cared for. “You don’t have to go through it alone. Never again, yeah? Because we’re a family. Whatever happens, we’re in it together.”

Grace’s eyes glistened with tears as she held her friend’s gaze. Her smile was brilliant, her face aglow. “We’re in it together! I’ll see you very soon, Taylor.”

Another round of hugs, and Grace was gone, almost skipping as she went to get her lift. With Diego calling up their own ride, Taylor gleefully put her arms around Estela. She’d hoped the party would have been an opportunity for some long slow-dances between them, a chance for her to simply hold her wife, and let her feel at ease- something so rare when her very mind was at war with itself- but surprise encounters had put paid to her best laid plans.

“I feel like I hardly spent any time with you tonight;” Estela murmured, as if she were reading her wife’s mind. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be- as much as I might want to keep you to myself, I’m a very kind and giving person.” Taylor reached out for Estela’s hand. “Seriously, though. I know how hard all this has been for you. To reach out to them, after everything, and being your wonderful, caring self… I just love you so much.”

With her free hand, Estela traced her fingers over the side of Taylor’s face, delicately brushing away an errant lock of hair. She quietly admired the pink glow that had painted itself across those kissable cheeks, the contentment and affection in those blue, blue eyes, the enticing glisten upon those lips.

“You’re beautiful…” she whispered. “Taylor… beautiful Taylor.”

“You’re beautiful, my darling Estela.”

Glancing down, a little bashful, Estela moved in closer, nuzzling against Taylor’s cheek. The skin so silky soft, shifting beneath her lips in what she knew was the formation of a sweet smile, the kind that made her knees buckle.

“Do you think, when it’s over… we’ll do more of this?” she asked, softly. “Not just ‘cause we’ve got to get some kind of escape from the mindfuck that is our lives, but just… for the joy of it.”

“So, you like the dancing?”

“With you, yes. But you can stop smirking. You already knew I wasn’t so hard.”

“True, very true. And, yeah, we’ll do more of this. Dancing like we haven’t got a care, because someday soon the fight will only be a memory. We’ll be, like, insufferably happy. And we’ll get there, soon. I can feel it.”

“Taylor, you’re feeling the champagne.”

Maybe she was feeling it herself, but Estela couldn’t quite extinguish the new spark of hope that had ignited within, nor could she suppress the beaming smile that had painted itself across her face. She put an arm around Taylor’s back, hugging her tight to her chest, so that she could feel her heart pounding with exhilaration against her breast. To hold her was magic, plain and simple. She leaned in, parting Taylor’s lips with her own, tasting the slight bitterness left by the wine. The kiss started slow, tender, every smallest brush and press of their lips savoured, held onto as if sacred, before it deepened, both women powerless in the face of the heat and passion that surged between them.

Estela drew her face away, just a little, so she could gaze upon the woman she loved. In Taylor’s eyes was something like aching longing, as though mere inches between them was too much to bear. She sated her with delicate kisses, trailing from her forehead, back to her eager mouth.

“Hey, you guys!!!” came a ringing holler.

“Ugh,” said Taylor. “Rude.”

“Don’t worry, carińa, we’ll pick this up when we get home. I’m sure I can keep myself awake for another hour. For you.”

“For me?” Taylor giggled, and snaked an arm around her wife’s waist, holding her close as they reluctantly began moving to join Diego in the Uber back to the apartment. She felt a kiss pressed tenderly to her temple, lingering and sweet. It would have to be just enough… for the time being at least.

Estela reluctantly left one last kiss against Taylor’s face. “Come on,” she said, suddenly commanding. “The sooner we get home…” A subtle wiggle of her eyebrows was all it took to kick Taylor’s butt into gear.

They hurried, hand-in-hand, revelling in the rare assurance that in their small way, they were on their way to winning.

[ironbloodccd]

Answered Ask

@emblazcned​

     The question definitely confuses Link until he turns to get a proper look at Zuko - and, specifically, what he is that he’s addressing. His scars. It’s something that they (unfortunately) have in common, marks from old wounds that linger and, likely, will stay with them for the rest of their lives. Zuko’s own mark, marring a good portion of his face, may have been smaller, but Link’s always thought that it must have been no less painful to receive - not that he really remembers the events regarding his own. Those, like all of his memories, are fleeting at best, like half-remembered dreams.

     He’s used to people looking at them though. Some simply stare, while others look as if his appearance is gruesome enough to make them feel ill. Even when wearing a shirt, there’s always some part of the scars visible - he would have had to wear a hood or a mask at all times to hide the marks that almost seem to claw up one side of his face, like cruel, monstrous fingers.

     Hands have paused in dunking his tunic beneath the running water, with the Hylian having decided that his clothing was in desperate need of a wash. He has other clothing that could be worn, of course, other sets of armor and such - the blue tunic is his favorite though, the one he feels most comfortable in - the one he feels the most connected to, perhaps, even if he can’t remember all the reasons why. That’s not what fills his mind as he turns Zuko’s question over in his head, his hold on the garment loosening slightly as he considers it. Eventually, blue eyes slide down to look at the water while his brows furrow.

     “D’you mean if… they hurt?” One hand draws up out of the water to absently scratch at one cheek - and, in the process, passes over the disfiguration that colours parts of his face. It drops after a moment, disappearing back beneath the surface of the river so that he might resume scrubbing at the tunic, “Sometimes. It’s almost like… an ache? Others, they burn a little? I dunno, it’s… hard to describe.”

     “A lot of the time though, I forget that they’re there, unless someone points them out.” Curious children were often guilty of that, given their tendency to not understand when something was inappropriate to ask about, “But… I think the thing that really bothers me about them is that… I can’t remember how I got them?”

     Which, perhaps, would sound strange to Zuko. Knowing the trauma that lay behind the firebender’s own scar, Link imagined that the other boy would have given anything to forget about it. It still made his blood boil, that a father would bestow such a thing upon his own son, though he pushes the thought down, trying to focus on his task, and on answering Zuko’s question.

     “Maybe I’m better off not remembering, but… it feels like I’m missing something. I should know, but I don’t, and that’s… more troublesome than when they hurt.” He goes quiet then for a time, then peeks over at the other young man, hesitating a little with his own question. He hopes that Zuko doesn’t mind him asking it in reply.

     “... what about yours?”

[marley-warriors]

Soldiers... Warriors...

Can’t we just be both?

“Not just any titan. The armoured titan. People might notice.” Reiner corrected as he stood beside Bertholdt. The scene before them was unreal. “We need more of them to gather before the inner gate even comes into question.” Bertholdt looked to Reiner a bit unsure. “But Reiner, they are killing all of our titans, and Eren regained control of his titan... it must be the attack...” He murmured.

Reiner nodded. “Yeah. Who would have though Eren was one of us? But the founder must still be in wall Sina.” Reiner now grinned as he placed a hand on Bertholdt’s shoulder. “Hey Bertl, Imagine what great heros we would be if we not only returned the Founding titan, but also the Attack titan. We will be the best Warriors in the history of Marley!” He beamed. Bertholdt tried to chuckle, already 17, but still dreaming of being a hero. “Yeah... if only we still had Marcel too.” He muttured to himself, but the blonde beside him pulled away his arm in a frown.

Marcel... that was his fault. “Marcel would have know what to do. We would surely already be home with his help. Its been 5 long years and we are still no closer to finding the coordinate.”

Bertholdt immediately felt bad upon seeing the pained, guilt ridden face of his friend. “Reiner... we all ran, its not your fault. Don’t burden yourself like this.” The brunette would have talked on before looking up at the sound of a roar. “Hm, Kicking in that wall was hard, Eren nearly got my nape.”

Reiner nodded before noticing the dissapointed look in Bertholdt’s eyes. “It won’t be for nothing. Ill shift and fight him. And Annie can scream in the mean time.” Reiner then noticed the horrified look on Bertholdt’s face. “Huh? What is it Bert? You don’t think I can face up against another titan? With my armour there is nothing Eren can do against-“ Wait, Bertholdt wasn’t looking at Reiner. The blonde quickly turned around.

“... Oi... Marco, how long have you been standing there?”

This had not been the plan. Reiner had no choice but to grab Marco, ignoring his cries and please. “Im sorry Marco, but you know to much.” He growled coldly.

Bertholdt stood there in shock as Annie came along. It happened real fast. Too fast, at least so he told himself in later times.

“Annie! Its time! We need to shift to stop Eren! He cannot block the gate, we must stop him.”

Warm tears rolled down the girls checks, but she nodded before flying off outside the walls to shift. Reiner watched as Marco continued struggling underneath him, not even hearing out his plea.

Annie charged in through the gate to fast to even be sliced down, running through Trost district as she killed men left, right and centre.

“Alright, Annie cleared out the area. I have to move fast.” Reiner grumbled at Bertholdt. “Hold him.”

“Huh?” Bertholdt looked so unsure, like a little kid about to receive unjust punishment. Still he grabbed Marco, watching as Reiner jumped of the roof while slitting his hand. It was good that all eyes were focused on Eren and the titan sporting boobs.

“Bertholdt?! Please? Why are you doing this?! Just let me go, we can talk this out! You can still join our side like Eren did!” Bertholdt pinned Marco down silently before looking up to the large hand above him. Together with Marco, Bertholdt was scooped up in the armoured hand. “Eren’s about to reach the gate!” Bertholdt shouted out before another finger seperated him from Marco, the latter now being tossed into Reiner’s maw.

“Reiner?!” Bertholdt looked up horrified, but understanding as he swallowed back his tears. They were warriors, and Reiner could really be one ruthless warrior. Bert had little more time to think of that as he was tucked away behind a plate of armour, Reiner now charging at Eren whom dropped the boulder on his own foot before Reiner smashed him to the ground. That ought to keep him down for a while. There was a deafening shriek in the distance, followed by even louder trampling of titan feet. There were a number of soldiers circling Reiner like annoying flies, none able to do any damage as he ran deeper into Trost towards the inner gate.

‘Hold on tight Bertholdt’ Reiner thought to himself as he charged at the gate, running through the horde of titans before smashing the inner gate.

Reiner panted heavy before realising some concentrated steam. He then gentle lifted his finger to stroke Bertholdt sitting behind his armour plating. Annie was quick to follow through, mindless titans streaming into Wall Rose after her. It was time to get away from here now before the mindless titans started presenting problems for them. At least they didn’t have to worry about the boulder anymore, hearing Eren roar and fight against the titans drawn into Trost as the ran for wall Rose.

()()()()

“Im bushed.” Reiner sighed, looking up to the stars, shifter marks evaporating into the darkness. Bertholdt laid on the roof beside him. “Yeah, today has been pretty exhausting... mentally and physically. But we did it.”

Reiner nodded. “Yeah, just barely. Eren really increased the stress factor. For a while I debated just letting him seal up the wall, but what would be the point in that?”

Bertholdt was quiet. “How did you do it Reiner...?”

“Huh? The wall? You were right there with me.”

Bertholdt shook his head. “No, I mean’t Marco. Wasn’t he our friend?”

Reiner looked confused. “Yeah of course he is our friend. What happened to him?” Reiner looked so confused and it broke Bertholdt’s heart.

“... don’t worry about it... he was eaten by a titan.” Not just any titan, Bertholdt thought to himself bitterly. Reiner sat up. “The titans got him? But he was such a good guy, I like him. Jean will be so sad... really Marco did not deserve that.” Reiner placed a hand on Bertholdt’s shoulder. “Hey, at least the two of us didn’t get eaten by Titans, right?” He tried to cheer up, but it only made Bertholdt cry.

“...Reiner, don’t you remember why we are here?” He sobbed. “We are warriors... but you keep on forgetting... sometimes for weeks and months. Its why we are still stuck here. I want to go home!” Bertholdt cried out miserably.

Reiner had taken a sharp breath. “Warriors, right.” He covered his hand in shame, remembering what he had done to Marco and his friends. They would have to kill the all, and it hurt.

“They aren’t really demons, right? Or are they? I can’t tell anymore.” Reiner mumbled. Bertholdt shrugged. “Demons or not, we have a mission. “Right.” Reiner nodded solemnly. “Well, we are one step closer to getting home.” He tried to assure with a pat on the back.

_________

A little Fic, dunno why. Sorry but English is not my first language and I had no spellcheck on my phone.

Its really hard when a character you love gets killed off by another character you love. :( Marco deserved better.

[novantinuum]

A Link Beyond Memory (ch 2/4)

AO3

Fandom: Trollhunters, 3Below

Rating: T (for minor language in future chapters)

Words: 600~

Pairings: Jim/Claire, but not focus

Summary: Shortly after the events of the Eternal Night, memories of a day that never happened somehow resurface in Jim’s mind in his sleep- and upon recalling the friendship he and Aja formed, he decides to pursue that connection again. Slice of life, and kinda a slow burn friendship reunion. A hybrid of prose and chat fic (to be seen in later chapters.)

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Note: Unfortunately, fic circulation online is getting harder and harder as the months pass. Please, if you read to the end and enjoy, consider helping me out by reblogging this post, or even commenting/giving kudos over on AO3. Thanks! :D

Chapter 2: Transit

Transit- The instant when a celestial object crosses the meridian, thus reaching the highest point in the sky.

~

T: hhhh miss ya already. tbh i dont know what im supposed to do this summer now ahah

T: i was all looking forward to hangin with you and claire and everyone else in trollmarket and now…

T: i mean i still have aaarrrgghh. and darci and eli too i guess but

T: really starting to wish i came along.

T: i know you said to watch over the town while youre gone and i know thats a good point but honestly i just wanna be with you

T: jim?

T: yoooo ? did u die

T: god i hope not after all the end of the world chaos thatd be really anticlimactic

J: Sorry no I lost signal for a bit!! Miss you too gahhh.

T: pls know if you so much as say the word ill crawl on the first airplane i can find and launch myself directly at your face

T: jim liSTEN jim im not even kidding

T: screw arcadia

T: if you need me im there

J: Omg I’ll defo keep that in mind

T: ..jk dont screw arcadia tho i love this place. also its already screwed enough at this point so

T: hey but you think merlin could make me another warhammer for my growing arsenal?

J: Yeah I think he could be easily convinced.

J: He’s kinda sucking up to me now hahah

J: He already made Claire a sorta necklace amulet to store her armor so a magic hammer should be no problem

T: awesomesauceee

J: Any particular reason lol?

T: i dunno i just think itd look wicked cool to double wield, like general orzan from gun robot three. also lets be real after all the crap he put us through we deserve S W A G

J: I’ll ask tomorrow. Hey quick Q for you though

J: Well okay not exactly quick  

J: It’s actually a long story but-

T: ye?

J: Do you happen to have Aja’s number or anything?

J: We took her and her bro down to the Janus Order, lightning in a bottle, remember her?

T: ye i know- lively! and uhhh don’t think i do? havent really talked to them since why

J: I get the strangest sense we’re supposed to know them more than we do. Had a really weird dream but it felt more like a lost memory. Think it’s an amulet thing, like that alternate timeline it made me live through once?

T: huh funky

J: Also supposedly according to the dream/memory both Aja and Krel are… not from Earth?

T: dude no offense but are you sure it wasnt just a normal dream

J: Seriously.?

J: Merlin turned me into a fucking TROLL and aliens are where you decide to draw the line

T: okay yknow thats fair

T: i take that back  

T: okay so,, aja and krel are MAYBE aliens. got that. go onnn

J: What I saw honestly felt so real, I swear. It was two weeks ago, at the science fair. We were fighting a troll in the planetarium with them, and the troll kept combining magic with some alien tech, which kept reversing everyone back to the beginning of the day, like a time loop or something. But I could remember everything bc of the amulet. Aja remembered bc of some energy shield she had. We lived through the same day almost a dozen times.

T: whoa…

J: And get this- in some of those loops we even went to their house and got to look around inside their spaceship! But none of us are supposed to recall any of it bc technically the entire day never happened? It’s how we defeated the troll, that bit’s a little fuzzy. A lot of technobabble sorry.

T: goddd out of all the days to forget huh

J: Right??

J: I guess… if she remembered all of this before I’m kinda curious if she still remembers now too. If it really happened. We were friends in that memory. It’d be nice to maybe get to know her again, y’know?

T: okay you’re prob gonna hate me for suggesting this but i THINK steve has her number

T: bc i was talking to darci and she said that mary told her that aja and steve are like, a thing now

T: a Thing thing

T: i believe her exact words were ‘staja’ ?

J: Oh my god how’d that happen is he even capable of proper flirting

T: well if shes an alien like you think then maybe she doesn’t know what human flirting looks like

J: Haha maybe indeed. I’ll go talk to him thanks

J: G’night Tobes love ya

T: night buddy <3

(my notes from ao3:)

Admission, I had far too much fun with the text format. I've never attempted anything like it, but I especially wanted to create unique "character voices" that extended into the way they each type- which was a cool challenge.

I imagined Toby as the sort of person who types out his thoughts far too quickly to care about punctuation, and IMO if Trollhunters was set just a year later (I generally just imagine it all set in 2016) he'd be keymashing. Jim is more of a full sentence type of guy who never turned off auto capitalization.

ALSO, a note on the contact photos- (Jim's which I directly took from a screenshot from Claire's phone, and Toby's which I edited from some 2D concept art)- That's the photo Jim uses for Toby's contact, and I imagine there's probably some inside joke where Jim took a really derpy photo of him at one point and they laughed so hard about it that he immortalized it as his contact. Jim's personal contact photo is... well, as this all takes place post s3 of course, a rather sad reminder of his loss of humanity. He can't bother himself to change it currently.

Future chapters will likely be a mix of text AND prose, instead of one or the other. Hope you enjoyed!