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buck-buck-boose · 4 years ago

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I'll Love You 'Til I Die

Masterlist | Playlist

Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: language, mentions of violence and gore (not too graphic)

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: The story is starting to pick up pace again ;)

Chapter Twenty: The Recruits

March 18, 1943

In the two months following the nurses’ success with the serum, Camp Lehigh had nearly tripled in its inhabitants. Throughout their research and training, the five women were surrounded by fuddy-duddy sergeant majors and their crotchety commanders, with Agent Carter as their only equal; by the end of January, hundreds of recruits were being shipped in. The base seemed to be teeming with fresh-faced boys who thought not of the unforgiving grip of death, but of the blazing glory of victory— the gore and trauma of war meant little to them, but Lottie knew that she would have an intimate relationship with the horrors of war.

Sometimes all she dreamt of was blood. Blood on her hands, on her white dress, and oozing in puddles beneath her feet; the crimson color seemed to stain every inch of her skin, streaking her pale flesh with a sickeningly deep red. She told no one about her dreams because they seemed so foolish to her. Lottie hadn’t experienced a day in fieldwork, and here she was having these nightmares about the gore of war.

The ambient sounds of Camp Lehigh drew her out of her thoughts and grounded her.

Lottie was standing alone, rather dazedly, outside of the nurses’ barracks, observing all the commotion surrounding the recruits. She was still getting used to the chaotic environment that unfolded around her; everywhere she looked, there were lines of marching soldiers, followed hotly by shouting commanders, or trucks careening around buildings, as if always running late for some rendezvous. Gone were the days of picnicking in the grass and basking in the sun— the base was now all hustle and bustle, with little time for leisure.

All the activity had thrown a wrench into her combat training; Agent Carter had been training her on an individual basis with both firearms and knives, but the soldiers now needed more training than she did. Lottie had become more than proficient in the use of her M1911, which left her wanting to learn more. On the advice of Agent Carter, she’d taken up the KA-BAR and they had begun training with the knife only a few weeks prior. She was more than a little disappointed by the abrupt end to their training, but Lottie understood that training the men who would be doing the actual fighting was the higher priority. The one saving grace of Camp Lehigh was that the base was outfitted with two obstacle courses for physical training so the nurses could continue their exercises each morning. Although their combat training was put on hold, they could continue preparing their bodies for the stress of war.

A distinctly male voice interrupted her train of thought— was that a Brooklyn accent she heard?

“Hey sugar! You rationed?”

Lottie blinked for a moment and looked to her right. A group of men stood outside their own barracks, sharing a pack of cigarettes. She easily identified the man who’d spoken by the way he smiled at her; it was the same charming, lopsided grin that she’d seen on Bucky’s face countless times. His brilliantly blond hair caused a tug at her heartstrings; it was almost the same shade as Steve’s. That’s where the resemblance stopped, though; his eyes were a chestnut brown and his build was sturdier.

Lottie didn’t move from her spot, “Is that your way of asking if a lady’s got a fella waiting for her back home?”

The soldier’s grin only seemed to grow at the sound of her own Brooklyn accent, “A Brooklyn gal, eh? A woman after my own heart. What’s your name, doll?”

“I’m Lottie Green. But that’s Lieutenant Green to you, Private.” She smirked, relishing in her title. The year before, Congress had authorized the promotion of Army nurses to the ranks of Second Lieutenant, granting them positions of power in a largely male environment.

The soldier ambled over to her, flicking the ashes from the butt of his cigarette.

“Ah, so you’re one of those girls they hired to patch us up, then? I always knew there’d be choirs of angels when I died, but I didn’t know they’d send ‘em to fix us up when we’re wasting away.” He was a flirt, that was for sure, but she felt a pang of annoyance at his belittling of her profession

She wasn’t just some ‘girl’ who was shipped out to slap Band-Aids on his scratches and send him on his way with a pat on the head. She’d spent the last year of her life dedicated to formulating the perfect Super Soldier Serum. Lottie was a woman— a powerful woman who would one day hold the lives of so many men in her hands.

Lottie mustered up a wry smile, “While I haven’t got a fella back home, Private, a medic tent isn’t exactly ideal for courtship, is it?”

Without waiting for a response, she departed and made her way toward the obstacle course that was currently in use. Dr. Erskine had requested that the nurses of Project Rebirth be present for some of the recruits’ training sessions since they would be the best opportunities to scout out candidates for America’s first Super Soldier. These candidates would not only need to be physically capable but also morally incorruptible. An aspect of the serum that was discussed briefly was how it had amplified Schmidt’s already malicious personality; if they made the same mistake by administering it to a man of morally questionable character, they could have another failure on their hands.

When Lottie neared the obstacle course, she caught the tail end of Colonel Phillips’ speech to this batch of recruits.

“—but every army starts with one man. At the end of this week, we will choose that man. He will be the first in a new breed of Super Soldiers.”

Lottie barely had time to glance at the recruits who were lined up a handful of yards away from her. A clipboard had been thrust into her hands, stacked with papers that listed the soldiers’ names, dates of birth, and measurements. She scanned the pages, barely registering any information due to the sheer amount of it; it was too overwhelming to process properly.

“I heard Colonel Phillips has taken a real liking to Gilmore Hodge,” Gladys whispered, shuffling her papers.

Betty made a disapproving noise, “Agent Carter socked that guy in the kisser. No way in hell he’s our guy.”

“I agree!” Mary piped up, “His moral character is real atrocious.”

Nancy seemed to be torn, “He is the most promising recruit thus far. Sure, he’s gotta work on his manners, but gosh, even his measurements set him apart from the rest.”

Lottie hummed in thought and finally looked up to watch the recruits in action, her eyes narrowed. For the most part, the soldiers got through the net climbing efficiently and descended the other side with ease, but a particular recruit was struggling to get a sure footing in the netting. Her heart started pounding in her ears— she knew that build, that stature. It couldn’t be, he’d been rejected at the enlistment. Sure enough, the soldier lost his footing and fell with his other foot still caught in the ropes.

Lottie’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at the flushed face of one of her childhood best friends. In the distance, she could hear a sergeant berating him for his clumsiness, but her attention could not be torn away from his face. She was at a loss as to what to do; he obviously hadn’t seen her but she couldn’t call out to him to get his attention, as that would land him in more trouble than he was already in.

“Poor guy,” Mary murmured, wincing in sympathy. It seemed that she’d also noticed the trouble that Steve had been having.

“Yeah,” Lottie replied lamely, biting at her lip in anxious thought.

What would she even say to him if he saw her? Would he even acknowledge her? She knew she’d just about die if she had to undergo a silent treatment from Steve. But she deserved it, she was sure. There wasn’t a day that had gone by where she didn’t think of her boys back home. She often found herself lying in bed late at night, staring at the ceiling and listening to the breathing patterns of the other nurses in the barracks. Lottie would roll her lucky penny between her fingers and think of her best friends back home. Were they asleep? Or out at the dance hall again, trying to woo some women into a couple of dates for the next night? She prayed nightly for their safety; their safekeeping. It was a fool’s prayer, she knew— it was a war, after all. But that never stopped her from begging God on high to protect her most beloved friends.

The commotion of the obstacle course had died down, but the yells of the sergeants had not died down; it seemed that they were to continue their training elsewhere.

Betty noticed Lottie’s lost look, “They’re having ‘em run the trail.” She gestured to the tree line where they would usually do their morning runs.

Gladys looked over her clipboard, “I think it’d be best if we head back to the mess hall and grab a bite to eat. We can talk all of this,” she gestured to their clipboards, stacked high with papers, “once we’ve all got full stomachs and clear minds. I hope you all took notes, ‘cause I sure did!”

Lottie was silent on the way to the mess hall, still reeling from the fact that Steve had somehow been recruited for the military. There had to have been some mistake; he’d most likely spend more time in her medic tent than on the battlefield. Running into battle would have him hospitalized even before an enemy could manage to hit him.

They sat in their usual spot at the back of the mess hall, at a table in the corner that had been pushed up against a wall; it kept them out of the way and allowed them a sense of privacy from the other staff members. Lottie absentmindedly peeled at an orange while she listened to the conversation of her friends.

“If we can’t have Hodge for the serum, I think Johnson might be a promising guy!”

Betty laughed, “Do you really think that or do you just like the way he looks in his fatigues, Mary?”

“Gosh, I just think they bring out the green in his eyes! Either way, he’s certainly got the build for it.”

“He’s such a knucklehead, though. He couldn’t figure out the proper way to hold his rifle while he went under the barbed wire. He was practically dragging it through the mud by its strap.” Betty rolled her eyes, unimpressed with the performances of most of the men during training.

There was some continued discussion on the topic, but it was interrupted by the entrance of dozens of soldiers. They needed no introduction, as the sounds of their hoots and hollers, as well as the aroma of their body odor, heralded their arrival at the mess hall. Lottie shot to her feet, unable to stop herself from searching the sea of men for a scrawny man with too much pluck for his own good. The men milled about as they grabbed trays of food and seated themselves, loudly conversing about the training they’d just experienced.

Finally, Lottie’s eyes locked with those of a scrawny blond guy who looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. He was all the way at the other end of the mess hall, but that didn’t matter, she rushed to him as quickly as she could. She so desperately wanted to hug him before he could turn and run from her. She knew that her silly display was surely catching the attention of other soldiers, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care; she hadn’t seen one of her best friends in over a year, dammit! She walked quickly between the tables to where he stood by the food line.

“Stevie,” Lottie choked out, crushing him in a tight hug. Tears threatened to escape her eyes, but she refused to make a scene in front of half of the recruits.

“Lottie I—” Steve began, “I dunno what to say. Why are you here? Why did you lie?”

He asked the questions with such earnest bewilderment, with sincere sorrow that nearly destroyed Lottie. He didn’t seem angry with her at all; he was instead deeply hurt, and it was all because of her. When she pulled away from their embrace, she saw the pain in his eyes and recognized it— it was the same pain she had felt when thinking of Steve and Bucky, praying for their safety.

Lottie was becoming acutely aware of the attention they were attracting but that was the least of her concerns at the moment. If Colonel Phillips caught wind of their little embrace, he would surely berate her about relationships with the soldiers, as he couldn’t fathom the idea of a platonic relationship between a nurse and one of his men. She would deal with that situation at a later time. At that moment, Lottie knew that an apology and explanation were long overdue. She planned on apologizing to him sincerely in private, but she knew that an explanation could not wait.

She grabbed Steve’s wrist and pulled him towards the table at the back of the hall, “Please trust me, Steve. I can explain everything, but I’m gonna need their help.” Lottie jerked her head in the direction of the other nurses, “What I did was real crummy of me, I know, and I’ll apologize over and over until the day I die, but I promise that it needed to be done. The girls over here will help me explain it all so you can understand.”

“Well, who do we have here?” Betty questioned as they approached, arching a carefully plucked brow.

Steve awkwardly shifted his weight and shoved his hands in his pockets, obviously intimidated by her steady gaze and cool demeanor, “Steve Rogers, ma’am.”

Mary’s eyes lit up, “One of Lottie’s Brooklyn boys! Now do tell me, where is Private Barnes? Because I absolutely must meet the man that our Lottie is so infa—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Gladys kicked her shin under the table and answered the question for Steve, “I’ve looked through every file Dr. Erskine has given to us and there’s no Private Barnes here.”

Lottie shot Gladys a grateful smile, albeit a weak one. She cleared her throat and addressed the group of women before her, “I promised Steve here that I’d explain why I fell off the face of the Earth for a solid year, but I’ll need your help filling in all the details.”

It took nearly an hour to catch Steve up on all the events of the past year. The nurses gave him as much information as they could, though there was certain classified information that they were privy to— the formula for the Super Soldier Serum —but could not be shared with anyone outside of Project Rebirth. Steve interrupted regularly to pose questions about different aspects of their research, obviously invested in all the work they’d done for Dr. Erskine and Mr. Stark. When they recounted their experiences testing the prototype serum on various tissue samples, he went a sickly shade of green, so they quickly ended that train of thought. They glossed over the details of how they finished the serum and their discovery of how Vita-Ray Radiation affected its ingredients. His brow seemed to furrow exponentially with every scientific term used

“And that’s the skinny on what we’ve been up to for the past year,” Gladys finished, holding back a giggle at Steve’s overwhelmed facial expression.

“Thank you, ladies,” Lottie smiled and rose from her seat, gesturing for Steve to follow, “Steve and I are gonna step outside for a moment.” She led him across the mess hall and outside; they came to a stop after they rounded the corner of the building. She stood against the wall, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket sleeve.

“Stevie, I owe you an apology. After the attacks I just knew that the world would go to shit,” Lottie felt her eyes start to water, “and well— it’s my job as a nurse to save lives, y’know? I couldn’t just stay home and twiddle my thumbs while everyone else went to take care of our boys overseas. And I know Bucky made me promise not to and all that, but I’d already enlisted. I knew if I told him the truth, we’d fight, and I’d have left you two on a really sour note, which isn’t what I wanted at all.”

“So, you decided it would be better to lie about going to your parents’ for Christmas and leave the two of us wondering for months?” Steve’s tone wasn’t scathing but the question still cut deep.

Lottie sniffled and knew that there was little she could do to hold back the tide of tears that would surely start flowing, “I was being horribly selfish; I knew it would hurt the both of you but I was just so afraid and uncertain about it all. I knew you two would get real concerned for me and I just didn’t want that. Plus, you have to understand, Stevie, when I enlisted, they offered me a position in a high-level government organization. I couldn’t tell anyone about my whereabouts or where I would be going— all I could say was that I would be training for the Nurse Corps. It wasn’t fully my choice to keep these things from you and Bucky; it would’ve been risky to tell anyone about the SSR or what I would be doing for them. I know you two would’ve been good about keeping it a secret, but I was still so afraid, Steve. I didn’t want to let the SSR down, so I guess that meant I had to let you two down instead.” She stared at her shoes, letting the tears roll down her cheeks and fall to the dirt below.

“Thank you for telling me the truth, Lottie. It really hurt me when I realized you weren’t coming back. I understand where you were coming from, though I don’t agree with what you did. I forgive you, but Bucky— he, well,” Steve shook his head sadly, “You should’ve seen him when he got back from bootcamp and you weren’t at the station, Lottie. Worried out of his mind, he was. I’d written to your folks a month or so earlier; it was mid-January so I knew something was up. They told me you’d joined the Corps, but didn’t know where you’d been sent. I told him everything I’d learned and he hasn’t been the same since; he was always on edge. Even the night before he was shipped out to England, when we went out with Bonnie and Connie—”

“England?” Lottie’s voice was weak with disbelief. She shouldn’t have been surprised, he was going to be deployed at some point, after all. Somehow, it still hit her like a punch to the gut.

She held onto the hope that they were at least exchanging letters to check in with each other. “Have you kept in contact with him at least?”

“I didn’t think to get an address before he left.” Steve muttered, digging the toe of his boat into the dirt in front of him.

“Dammit,” Lottie hissed and wiped away hot tears that continued to stream from her eyes. She was utterly helpless and could do nothing about it; she had no way of contacting Bucky to make sure he was safe. For all she knew, he could be one of those men bleeding in a medic tent— lying limply in a cot that was not his, thousands of miles away from home. She could only hope that he had a kind nurse that would wipe the sweat from his brow and murmur soothing sounds that would remind him of home.

At Camp Lehigh, Lottie was constantly reminded of home. She saw Bucky in every soldier she met, whether it be through their personality, charm, or looks, they all served as a reminder of him. When it came down to it, neither Massachusetts nor Brooklyn was home to her— it was only Bucky that she could truly call home.

And as their time apart continued to drag on, she realized that she was beginning to feel terribly homesick.

#40s!bucky x original female character #40s!bucky x ofc #40s!bucky #1940s bucky #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky x ofc #bucky x original female character #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes series #ilytid

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haenvs3000w22 · 3 years ago

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Music as a Gateway To Nature

Where is music in nature? Where is nature in music?

The overarching similarity between nature and music is that these two things ground us in life. You can hear the music in nature from birds chirping, the calls of different animals and how the wind interacts with the surroundings. Many of these particular sounds are very calming and can centre you in the moment. Many people who are struggling to sleep will listen to nature sounds, whether that be rain, wind, or birds and other nature noises, to find a clear mind and tranquillity to sleep. Humans live such busy lives that they are often so disconnected from nature that these sounds can pull us in and help us find inner peace. Music in nature is beautiful and so expressive of many emotions without using any words, which truly allows for decompressing and moments of relaxation.

Nature plays such a central role in our lives, often without our realization. It is very often that motifs and symbolism are subconsciously pulled from aspects of nature. Part of being human is our connection to the environment and how its patterns have dictated our lives for so long, and only recently has the power of nature being able to be ignored in our everyday lives. When we think of beautiful metaphors, they often refer to aspects of nature as its beauty and mystery are unmatched. Only recently, in respect to human history, have lunar cycles and other parts of nature not been the cornerstones of societies and how they are run. I believe that the introduction of music has aided in grounding human emotion alongside the help of nature.

One particular album that grounds me is A song for every moon by Bruno Major. This album has a lot of beautiful comparisons to love and nature; this unique album holds a lot of sentimental value for me as it was what I was listening to with my boyfriend when I realized I was in love with him. Nature provides an ideal gateway for perspective and an ability to see things in a manner we have never seen before. Music is a beautiful medium that can capture these life-altering moments. Listening to the songs in this album gives me the same peace and joy I experience when hiking in a beautiful landscape. We as humans love to find connections, and I believe the most longstanding relationships come through feelings of love, peace and tranquillity. Music can encapsulate these feelings and emotions and translate them to experience nature in a whole new way.

Music can connect multiple people who don’t speak the same languages as nature can. A beautiful flower or song can be interpreted and loved by every individual uniquely, which deepens the connections we have with each other.

A song for every moon - Bruno Major

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blue-bird-kny · 5 years ago

Note

Tanjiro, Zenitsu and Inosuke with an s/o who at first comes off as innocent and sweet but turns out she's a huge flirt and enjoys getting them flustered? Thank you so much!!

Thank you for your request, it was really fun to write! Enjoy~Amanda (This gif is the cutest thing I’ve seen today)

Warning: None

(1.5k words)

Tanjiro:

When Tanjiro first met you, he thought you were the sweetest person he’d ever had the chance to meet. You were so humble and kind, always putting others before yourself, much like Tanjiro! In reality, you were all those things and more; but you also fed off the thrill and excitement that came with teasing your sweet boyfriend.

You were very meticulous with when and how you teased him, upping the level of flirtiness whenever you felt the moment was just right. This was usually when all your friends were gathered, Tanjiro just made it so easy. There was never any malice behind your witty remarks and suggestive smiles, it was just for fun, but you’d never deny how much you loved his reactions each time.

Tonight had been like any other, Zenitsu and Inosuke were insistanly bickering about someing stupid, Nezuko was peacfully tucked away in her room sleeping, and Tanjiro was quietly sitting next to you. “Since nobody’s looking…” you scooched closer to the boy next to you, he turned his head and offered a friendly smile. “Tanjiro-kun!” you knew that he just loved when you called him that, it made him feel weak in the knees. “Y-yes?” he stuttered, color already rushing to his cheeks.

You seductively placed a hand on his thigh, using it as leverage to come impossibly close to his warm face. His eyes averted from yours, “Y/N! We’re in public!” “I know, but it's just hard to resist those delicious lips of yours when they're so close. Besides,” you licked your lips in anticipation “ it's not like anyone's watching” your lips ghosted against his jawline, Tanjiro was so enraptured with your ministrations he’d almost entirely blocked out the noise of the other two unsuspecting persons in the room. “Unless you want them too”. That's it, he was under your spell; his hands gripped his pants and his breathing became unsteady, “Y/n please”.

You pulled away, satisfied with the mess of a man you left behind, “just teasing” your sly smile only emphasized how much you enjoyed your little game. “Tanjiro?”

Congrats, you’ve officially broken your boyfriend.

Zenitsu

This poor boy had no idea what he was getting into when he entered a relationship with you. You were always so quiet and calm, so it took him by complete surprise the first time you became excessively flirty with him.

However you never wanted to make him uncomfortable so you always saved the teasing for when you two were safe behind closed doors. Zenitsu was so easy to rile up, it was adorable. His entire face down to his neck would glow a bright red and his entire vocabulary would automatically be thrown out the window.

Of course, you knew when to scale it back and what boundaries were never to be crossed. You respected your partner too much to ever do anything you thought he wouldn’t enjoy or would upset him.

You could feel the shift in the air as summer bleed into fall, the leaves already beginning to create piles on the ground outside. You decided to leave the window open just enough to allow the breeze to waft in and out of the dark room.

Zenitsu’s tuft of blonde hair peaked out from underneath his sheets, the rise and fall of his form slightly ruffling the sheets. “He looks so soft when he sleeps” It was almost day-break and you almost felt bad about having to wake him to start the day. Emphasis on the almost. Morning wake-up sessions were the perfect time to exercise your flirting abilities to their fullest.

“Zeni~” you gently called, running your fingers through the small patch of hair that you could reach. He stirred, ignoring your call “Be that way then” You nuzzled your entire body between his legs with little effort, your head and hands resting on his chest. Slowly, Zenitsu sleepy eyes began to open, revealing his brilliant golden orbs. “Good Morning sleepy head”

Zenitsu stared into your playful eyes, not having completely registered the position the two of you were currently in. You began to absentmindedly trace invisible patterns into the clothes that hid his chest, your face lazily balanced on your other hand. As if someone had connected the wires in his brain, Zenitsu jumped in realization, scarlet engulfing his entire face. “Y-y/n what are you d-doing?!” he firmly held his hands to his side, refusing to touch your body (even though he kind of wanted to).

“Well you weren’t waking up, so I figured I need to try something else to get your attention.” you answered as if you knew nothing of the effect you were having on him. You definitely had his attention now, “But now I’m too comfortable to get up just yet, you don’t if I lay here a little longer?” your voice was like honey, your eyes begging in the sweetest way possible. Of course Zenitsu didn’t want you to get off of him, who wouldn’t want to wake up to their girlfriend being pressed flush against their body? “Of course not” he spoke, slowly growing accustomed to the weight of your body against his.

“That's good” you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his natural scent that drove you crazy. Tentatively, Zenitsu wrapped his hands around your torso, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin your clothes failed to cover. Needless to say, the two of you fell back asleep, enjoying the warmth of one another.

Inosuke:

From the moment you and Inosuke started dating you knew it would be difficult to catch a rise out of the confident, self-spoken individual.

The first few times you tried to get some sort of reaction out of the boy with your flirty antics, it ended up back firing. Either Inosuke would magically find a way to turn the situation on its head, making the focus fall on you causing you to be embarrassed or he just wouldn't understand what you were talking about.

Unbeckonest to Inosuke, you were beginning to feel impatient and frustrated with him. Why couldn’t he just take a hint and take a compliment? Didn’t he like you enough to become flustered when your hand would accidentally graze his thigh or chest? Honestly, you were almost at a loss of how to get a rise out of this guy.

That was until it became so painfully obvious on exactly what would cause Inosuke’s heart to hammer and his face to flush. You weren’t sure how it hadn’t occurred to you before.The next day while you and the other were taking a short break from an intense training regime, you decided then would be the perfect time to execute your plan. You walked over to your boyfriend, who was aggressively hammering his sword against a tree because ‘breaks are for weaklings’, a jug of water grasped between your palms.

“Inosuke! I brought you some water, it is seriously hot out today” you placed the jug in his skeptical hands, using it as some sort of offering to gain his attention. “I would have been fine without it women!” he voiced, however he drank the entire barrel in a few large gulps. “Oh I know, some one as strong and skilled as you are wouldn’t need anything from the rest of us” you shimmed your way next to the boy whose ears perked in interest like a puppy.

“You know earlier when you were training with Tanjiro I just knew you would win. You were much tougher and smarter than he was during your fight together, he was probably afraid” he listened to your words of praise in complete bliss. You took this opportunity to remove his furry mask without any complaints, shifting to his lap.

“Anyone can tell that you’ve been working so hard these last few weeks, much harder than the others. Just look at you! You're so musly and powerful, any demon will cower at just the mention of your name” your hand trailed down his chest and his arms, admiring every crook and crevasse that came in your way.

Inosuke’s ears began to ring slightly as blood rushed across his chest and ears, his skin tingled in the places your delicate finger grazed. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but he didn’t want it to stop. “Those weaklings have nothing on me” he remarked, voice subdued as he relished in the new found delight that was the feel of your nails aimlessly traveling his exposed skin.

“He’s had enough” you tauntingly thought to yourself, lifting your fingers away from his skin. He immediately frowned at the loss of contact, itching to feel you on him again. “Lets not keep the others waiting” you smiled mischievously as you walked away, completely aware of the state you’d left the poor boy in.

Behind you, Inosuke sat extremely confused as to what just happened, but very desperate to have you on him again, soon. He was out of it for the rest of the day, stuck in the day dream that was you. You were hoping to have a bigger reaction from Inosuke, but you weren’t picky, there were other ways and times to get what you wanted out of him.

Main Masterlist

I’m sorry for the delay! I went on an impromptu vacation for the weekend and didn’t have a piece completed! I hope you all enjoyed it, thank you~Amanda

#kny #kny x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #inosuke x reader #tanjiro x reader #zenitsu x reader #inosuke hashibira #kamado tanjirō #zenitsu agatsuma #kny writing

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pheonixfire4015 · 4 years ago

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Only the Moon and the Stars Know

NOTE: Hello all, I thought I would take a crack at another fic in order to help us all get through the 3 weeks till a new SVU. This one can correlate to the previous fic I wrote last week “Peace in the Midst of the Storm.” I was listening to Sia’s “My Love” and the images just came flooding in. So I again neglected my homework in order to dream up a beautiful E/O moment. I also drew inspiration from the beautiful super moon we had recently. I hope you enjoy your moon dance :). I have never posted on fic sites before but if someone wants to review my work for mistakes I am fine with it being posted elsewhere as long as my name is attached. Forgive any mistakes missed.

As always I own nothing, Elliot and Olivia belong to Dick Wolf and NBC. This is E/O centered based on what I hope we see at Fins wedding. A girl can hope for a kiss right? Or is a kiss and a dance too much to ask for ;). Heres the link to Sia’s masterpiece:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWyOPaTWXOw

Rated: PG

The night was cool but warmth hung gently in the air, inviting. In the darkness the moon dazzled in all its glory, flashes of brilliant whites and peeking through a conspicuous gentle hint of pink. Not a cloud in site, the vastness going on into eternity. Like a pearl, a precious rare stone being found in the darkness… In its brilliance… being seen for the first time. The stars each twinkled in their individual radiance but almost appearing to step back in awe… allowing the moon its moment. In the backdrop the waves ungulated, mesmerizing, as each wave sparkled in the magnificent miraculous light of the heavenly bodies above.

Liv looked up, eyes wide taking in the breathtaking beauty of it, the gothic magical stillness. Their light shimmering in the pools of her twin deep golden iris’. She held her beath feeling like any slight noise would interrupt the peace settling all around her. Holding every inch of her near. She took a deep breath closing her eyes to preserve the moment in the recesses of her mind. As if it was a painting lovingly created just for her eyes to see. How long had it been, could she even remember a time she felt… relief, peace, lightness… Hope. The last few months had been filled with turmoil and yet laced with healing honesty and promise. With all the sorrow and evil heaviness she had endured and seen, every millisecond of peace was like the first breath taken in too long. It filled her lungs and trickled warm life through her whole being.

When she was a child the only hope in the darkness was the dream of finding a place to belong… a home… a family. The hope that she was not just created for one thing, brokenness. Over time as age crept in she had learned that many precious lights in this world wandered this journey alone. That was just reality. If you were incredibly lucky you found one, one soul wondering… who was willing to see you for the reality… stripping away the exterior to see the awesome jewel you are within… they will fight… they will claw… they will love deeply if it meant they could remain near. Suffocating sorrow, pain, and loss are of the wisest of teachers. They remove the scales covering our sight, allowing us to see the smallest of moments like a precious work of art. Breathe… in and out…. In and out….

The music behind brought Liv back to reality. Their ascending notes only highlighting the sight before her. To most eyes Fin’s wedding would not be seen as a fairy tale spectacle but to those who knew and loved him, it fit them perfectly. A smile graced her face, she was happy for them. They had found one another, grasping on, among the thrashing waves of life. One of the lucky ones.

In a moment she felt a shift in the atmosphere around her. Time slowed... There was a gravitational pull coming near. Without turning around she knew the only soul who possessed that sway over her being. She felt his presence fall into her orbit, had he always fit there so perfectly? His warm heavy breath fanned the back of her neck.

“Liv….” That voice had both haunted her dreams and healed wounds. Had he always been her destiny? Had her waging war not been in vain? Had all those moments led up to this… prepared that scared broken little girl for this very moment in time? Had the moon and stars stopped for the honor of viewing one life collide with another? Exploding within the nebula of space, creating life.

She felt his hand lightly brush against hers igniting electricity causing ever hair to stand on end. Liv turned around. Those eyes had her, held her. In them she saw 22 years-worth of fight, struggle, desperate love and loyalty. His eyes searched her face, read her eyes. A slight glittering smile reached his eyes before they passed the massage to his mouth. For a few moments there was silence, he took her in… imprinting this woman, he has longed for, for longer than he could recall anymore. Being away from her for 12 years had just made them all the more difficult to ignore.

“You look”…. Words seem to utterly escape him… “Beautiful.” He knew this woman before him- he knew her demons, her fears, her hopes, her strength, her wounds, her beauty- but in that moment, he felt he was seeing her clearly for the first time. Why had he allowed so much time to be lost?

Liv broke the pull of his eyes and her head fell. Hair cascading down around her like a protective shell. Had she ever felt more vulnerable? “Thank you.”

There was so much he wanted… needed to say. So many feelings and too few words. So in the moment he did the only thing that made sense. Elliot ran his hand down her arm- leaving a trail of fire in the wake of his touch- till it slid perfectly into the mold of her hand. She looked up at him, pulling her in deeper. He had her, there was no escape.

“Dance with me Liv.” Elliot guided her outside of the tent and away from prying eyes.

He looked down seeing where the concrete stopped and the sand began. A smile crept across Elliot’s face, his feet moved and he kicked off the shoes he took out of his closet once a year, pulled off his socks with them. Liv looked over at his discarded shoes, amused… she stepped out of her own. With her hand still in his they walked onto the shifting surface. Liv stopped for a moment wiggling her toes deeper into the warm grains. There was something about the beach that brough out the child in everyone. Amazed that each grain of sand at one time was a part of something living. Liv looked up at Elliot with a smile.

“It’s nice to see that you know…” She looked at him confused… “A smile.” Without giving her a chance to think he guided her closer to the waves. Liv’s feet sunk into the sand and for an instant she lost her footing. Instinctively Elliot caught her. A laugh erupted from Liv.

“Well, we know one thing that hasn’t changed.” She smacked the side of his arm.

“If you get me wet Elliot Stabler I swear to God I am not above using defensive maneuvers and you will be going home with a wet suit.” Liv had a glint in her eyes, one he had seen so many times before. He smiled, pretending not to be amusing, “We will just have to see about that now won’t we.” They slid back into old patterns with such ease as if no time had transpired between them. In that moment he finally realized just how much he needed all of this back. He had missed his best friend.

They both stopped for a moment, taking in the dazzling display before them. Waves crashing in and then retreating in a delicate dance.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” She squeezed his hand. “Actually, this is all Noah has been talking about for the last month. He is at a friend’s house tonight. They have a telescope and planned a party around the “Super Pink Moon Event of the Century.” She laughed. “Last time I checked my phone I have already gotten about 40 pictures of the moon via text message from every angle possible, they are even convinced they may have seen a UFO.”

At that Elliot laughed, “You’re kidding me?” Liv smiled and shook her head, “Nope.”

With that a long silence hung between them again neither one of them acknowledging that their hands were still intertwined, like they were afraid if they lost contact the other would simply drift out into the vastness of space. Elliot signed, looking down at their connection. He pulled a little to get her attention. She looked at him with a smile, “You can barely hear the music from here.” Elliot looked over at the tent in the distance. “I think we will do just fine, besides the waves are giving off their own beat and I’d take that over music any day of the week.”

With that said she stepping into his embrace. One hand in his the other coming up to cup the back of his neck. His free hand sliding gently onto the curve of her side. Their eye contact never wavering. For a minute they both just stood there, reveling in just how good it felt to be near one another. Slowly Elliot began to move in rhythmic circles, pulling her with him. Soon it became clear that more contact was needed, wanted. He pulled her closer as her other hand came up around his neck. Both of Elliot’s hand snaked around her waist pulling her more firmly to him. He longed to be as close as he could get. Liv’s head dropped to his shoulder. Breathing him in deeply. Had she forgotten how safe it felt here? For what felt like an eternity they swayed… moved against each other, reveling in the sensation of loving and being loved. The soft cadence of the waves their only music.

Elliot nuzzled into the side of her head and whispered gently into her ear, “I meant what I said the other night you know, at the intervention.” With that Liv stopped moving, she pulled her head away just enough to look into his eyes. So close that their breath had become intermingled. “It may not have come out the way I had hoped, or when, but I meant every word Liv.” With that said Liv’s emotions caused her chin to move of its own accord and tears began to well up in her eyes. She closed her them, freeing the tears that had been pooling there. Liv rested her forehead against his, letting out a trembling breath. For a long moment they just stood there… listening to the rhythmic pattern of the waves and their own breathing.

When Liv felt her emotions wrangle themselves in, she said… “I know you did.”

Elliot pulled her into an embrace, squeezing her tightly to himself. “Let’s get you home, huh?” With a sigh she broke free of his secure embrace instantly missing the protective cocoon he had created around her. He looked down at her for a moment, and reached up to stroke a piece of errant hair behind her ear.

“Did you drive here?” She asked with an unsteady voice.

“No, I took an uber. I figured you wouldn’t mind me hitching a ride back with you.” Elliot smiled.

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t charge you for the gas and the milage, or make you listen to some ridiculously cheesy music.” Liv grinned easing the tension that lingered.

“I guess Ill take my chances, if all else fails I can always jump ship and walk home.”

With that they both laughed. They walked hand in hand to her car parked to the far end of the event tent. Unwilling to lose the last remaining connection between them.

The ride home was uneventful. Liv did her best to keep her thoughts in line. There was a part of her that wanted to reciprocate his feelings and the other part that was simply unsure. Feeling she had tried for years to bury. There was still so much to work through. In the corners of her mind was a small pang of guilt, it had only been 6 months since Kathy’s death. Could she trust his emotions? There was also a part of Liv that wanted to protect herself as she knew deep down she could not endure losing him again and come out the other end… sane.

The car pulled to a stop outside of Elliot’s apartment. A silent tension hung in the air between them. “Would you walk with me a bit before you go?”

She was tired, but the other part of her simply longed for his presence. “Sure, I guess I can do that.”

They silently walked along the sidewalks of New York, the city that never slept no matter how late. “Your quiet, I wish you would tell me what your thinking Liv.”

With a sigh she contemplated her next words carefully. Did she have the strength to be honest or was it best to do what they did best, hide and avoid.

“Look Elliot, there has been so much at once I can’t keep my head on straight. A lot… happened when you were gone.”

He looked at her with tormented hooded eyes. “Fin… shared with me some of it but he wanted to let you share your own experiences.” Elliot shook his head, tears briming. “I am sorry Liv. I can’t promise you, if I had been here, I would not have killed that son of a bitch for what he did to you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret the fact I wasn’t here.”

Liv sighed and shook her head… “Elliot, I need you to hear me. My life is not your responsibility, of all the things I learned from this that is one of them. And I think I understand better why you felt you needed to leave, but that doesn’t change my experience of it. Of who you were in my life. Somehow… my whole life and existence had become wrapped up in you. You were my partner, my family, my best friend. I couldn’t remember a time in my life without you in it. I had to learn to live a different way without that… without you. Then you come back and your emotions are all over the place. I don’t know if I can trust them or you. Or even trust myself…” There was a silent pause.

“You just lost your wife Elliot. I just don’t know what to do with all of this. It’s not that I don’t… have feelings… I just don’t know if I can even trust them right now.”

Elliot was silent for along moment, wanting to get his words right. He could see his apartment coming back into view, somehow they had already made their way back.

“You’re right Liv.”

They both stopped at the front door of his apartment building. Elliot reached out and pulled Olivia into his embrace.

“Listen to me Liv, I am all over the place and you have every right to question me but that doesn’t mean the things I have felt have not been there between us for a long time. They didn’t just spring up out of nowhere. With all of this, it has just made it more glaringly obvious I… we have not been honest with each other. Look…”

Elliot pulled slightly away and his finger came up to slowly lift her chin. Her eyes locked with his.

“I don’t expect anything from you Liv. If you want space I’ll give you space. I just want a chance to make this right.”

With that said Liv’s chin again quivered. “I don’t want space Elliot.”

“Then what do you want?”

She looked up at him, reading his face, unsure how to articulate the balled-up mass of emotions and thoughts.

“I just want to know this is real, that you will get some help, that you won’t disappear again. I can’t continue on this roller-coaster.”

Elliot shook his head, “I hear you Liv.”

He pulled her into his arms again and she clung on desperately. Within a part of herself was this sense of shame, like some of the work she had done over the last 12 years was being quickly undone. While the rest of her felt she was finally home again.

Liv pulled away… allowing her forehead to find its way to his, if only to remain close for a bit longer.

In a voice above a whisper, she said… “I love you to.”

Elliot pulled his head from hers. Looking deeply into those dark brown eyes. Olivia’s hand gently stroked his cheek of their own accord.

He looked down to her lips and then back to those eyes again. She did not move; she did not pull away. Elliot leaned in slowly, allowing his nose to stroke the side of her own. Her breath fanned hot against his face. Liv’s mouth opened slightly but she did not move, she simply waited. Elliot’s mouth delicately caressed the softness of her top lip. Liv’s eyes shut involuntarily at the sensations of his mouth on her own. He stepped closer into her allowing his mouth to conform more fully to hers, the slightest of pressure. Liv angled here head to allow for more contact, grasping at the back of his neck. Before she knew it, he was pulling away when all she wanted was… more of him.

His sight rested on hers. The look in his eyes all too familiar took on a new and profound meaning. With hooded eyes she blinked slowly up at him, stroking his stubbled cheek. Nothing more needed to be said. It had not been a passionate frenzied kiss, but what it was… was honest. It was a promise of things to come. With a smile he rested his forehead to hers one more time. If only to hold on for a few more minutes.

“Wanna grab coffee tomorrow?”

She pulled away and smiled, “If you’re buying.”

Liv walked slowly to her car, every sound and sight muffled, as if she was walking through the haze of a dream. Each step coming as if in slow motion.

Their eyes met one last time above the car.

“You call me when you get home, alright, because if you don’t you will have the entire precinct at your doorstep in about 20 minutes.”

Without saying a word, she smiled and slid back into the driver’s side of the car. Elliot watched her slowly pull away until he could no longer see her car.

Far off in the distant, the moon and the stars followed, watching with bated breath. Rejoicing in one lost light finding its way to another, on this journey called life.

#elliot and olivia #olivia benson #elliot stabler #law and order svu #fanfic #moondance #love #a girl can hope #mariska hargitay #chris meloni #dick wolf #nbc #three weeks is too long #sia

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moonsbasileia · 4 years ago

Text

Root and Bone

Also posted on AO3

Dishonored - Original Characters

Synopsis: Two witches from the Brigmore Coven venture into the Flooded District to look for their missing companion. They have a less than warm welcome from the Whalers occupying the place- despite that, the situation takes a turn, unfolding an unexpected, but positive, outcome.

An exploration of the witches and whalers as individuals. Set in the six months between Jessamine's death and Corvo's escape. Written as practice.

The way them whale fish went for us

It seemed as though t'was planned

For each one had his target boat

They played us man for man

Just knowin' now they think so clear

My heart says let them be

I swear to God them fish can think

As good as you or me

“A Whaler’s Tale” – Ken Graydon

Night fell over the rooftops of the old Financial District, painting the sky in dark orange. With the addition of the smog, pouring out of the factory’s chimneys, the horizon mixed and coiled like a bubbling cauldron. It was impressive, Rowan thought, but suffocating.

She was leaning out of the balcony of one of the many abandoned apartments of the district. Shards of glass lay around her feet, clinking whenever she moved, and the walls had become rotten with humidity.

Despite it all, and the mess of papers, clothes and shattered glass around the room, it seemed like it had been a nice place once, though simple. It had a small single-bed room that had been stripped of everything except for the bedframe, a simple kitchen with a pantry, and a considerably sized living room, still furnished with a red couch, a centre table, and a cabinet resting near the window. Rowan speculated it had belonged to a single accountant, as she’d found a book of finances forgotten on the small wooden table.

“Our time is running out,” a scratchy voice behind her sighed. Rowan shot a look behind her shoulders and saw Beatrice walk out, her face pinched, and holding a bottle in her hand. Despite her young age, her features were hard with unease.

“Is that…?” Rowan pointed at the dark green bottle. It worked; Beatrice’s face softened for a second, and she cocked an eyebrow and cut in:

“Yes, sister, Serkonan wine,” she held the bottle up so Rowan could read the label. Rivera Fig Wine, 1750. “We should drink it after we find our lost sister.”

Rowan hummed in agreement, looking back out to the water below. The stench of stagnated water wafted up, forcing her to avert her face in the direction of the breeze. The balcony next door had been blocked by planks, but the rooftops were low enough that she could see a building with an open terrace entrance.

“I will look over there. She mustn’t have gone too far,” Rowan warned.

“We shouldn’t split up, sister,” Beatrice said. Her green eyes reflected the light of the whale oil lamp that flickered inside the apartment, like a cat. “Who knows what lurks in the shadows of this horrible place.”

Rowan squeezed her shoulder, with her lips curling into a grin. “Nothing as terrible as us,” she assured.

Beatrice smiled, nodding, although she brought up her hand to hold Rowan’s wrist.

“I will check the apartment in the back, then,” she said, “But we shouldn’t take too long.”

Rowan nodded. “If we don’t find anything in twenty minutes, we regroup here.”

“Agreed. Until then, sister.”

The last thing she saw was Bea’s lingering smile while, with a crack, she vanished in a curtain of shadows, leaving behind a small pile of ashes. Rowan looked towards the terrace to the right and felt her body do the same; the rush in her ears of dark energy around her, and weightlessness from plunging into an empty space. A muted crack- and then suddenly spilling out like fish out of a net, into the dusty ground of the terrace.

It was not the first time she’d done that, and wouldn’t be the last. Yet, there was little she loved more than the feeling of surrendering her body to the Void, if for a moment.

Rowan crouched, eyeing her surroundings before going towards the door. Its wood was putrid and soft, and peeling off the bottom. It was ajar. She pushed it open slowly, and it still groaned. Rowan kept still for a moment, listening for any signs of movement inside. Nothing came. She went in.

The corridor was dark, as the only source of light was coming from the moonlight through the door she’d kept open. At the turn towards the stairs, she kept her body close to the wall, leaning sideways to squint at the dark. She saw nothing, but inhaled deeply before unsticking herself from her place to keep going.

There were two doors in this corridor, both blocked by planks. She stopped briefly by them, reaching out with her perception to try to feel Alice’s presence, but to no avail.

Down the stairs, the next floor was equally empty. Rowan crept towards the end of the corridor, where it turned into the next stairwell. The stairs were blocked by debris carried by the water, which she could hear lapping against the other side. However, there was a door, unblocked, directly in front of the stairs. She reached out. Nothing.

Still, Rowan touched the knob, and with a gentle twist of her wrist, tested it. It clicked open. She held her breath, surprised by the noise. When nothing seemed to respond, she pushed it further, and went in.

This apartment opened directly to a narrow corridor that opened to a larger room. Light poured out from it. Rowan followed. There was a doorframe to her left, leading to a bathroom.

She walked further, and the next doorframe belonged to a former bedroom. She searched it briefly. All that was left was the bedframe, a shelf with a few leather-covered books, a safe –that was open and empty- and a cabinet, with a cup still atop it.

Rowan went straight to the bigger room, this time. The light came in from an open window, busted and crooked on the frame. She widened her eyes. Bloodstains clashed with the window’s faded white wash. Rowan touched the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist.

She followed the trail of blood with her eyes. Like the other apartments, this one was scattered with dust, papers and glass shards. However, there were footprints in the dust, although they formed a chaotic pattern, like an abstract painting of dirt and blood. Two roses had been trampled over in the fight, stained and pressed onto the dusty ground. One trail of footprints went out through the window. That was certain.

Rowan walked in slowly. The silence was overwhelming in comparison to the loud beating of her heart, which she felt in her ears. She braced. And she found Alice, lying crookedly near the wall, in a puddle of her own blood.

She knelt next to Alice, cupping her face with her hands and turning it gently. There was a deep tear in her neck, almost all the way through, but not quite. She gasped, and let go quickly. It made her head hang in a strange way, which sent shivers up Rowan’s back.

An arrow had lodged itself right through her sternum. Her eyes, which had become white when she received her magic, had now faded into her natural brown and glazed over. Her jaw was lax, already open. Rowan imagined she might have screamed.

“You gave them a fight,” she said, and barely recognized the cracked voice that came out. She breathed, and said, “You showed them who you are and sent them home bleeding to lick their wounds. You are one with the Void now, sister.”

She didn’t want to leave Alice there to be eaten by rats and flies. But she couldn’t carry her. Her body was stiff and Rowan could barely hold her up, let alone transport her back. So she gently laid her out in the middle of the room with her arms resting on her stomach, and went into the bedroom. She opened the cabinet, and grabbed a few sheets, despite the strong smell of dust and mildew. She covered Alice with the least yellowed one, and took the shards of decorated porcelain bowls and plates from the kitchen to surround her.

She whispered a prayer to the Void, fighting against the nausea that threatened to rise past her throat.

When she was done, Rowan followed the footprints into the window. There was a smudged dirt stain in the lower frame, and nothing else. Either the killer had dropped down into the water or used magic. The prospect made her grimace.

She looked up at the setting sun and startled. Beatrice. More than half an hour had passed, and she had forgotten completely to come back to their meetup point. She summoned the shadows to involve her once more.

With a crack, she was back in the rooftop of the apartment. She walked to the edge, where she could see the balcony downwards. She only needed to drop.

A second, muted snap sounded somewhere behind her.

She turned back. Her fingers twitched towards the hilt of her sword.

Under the full moon’s light, however, the rooftops were well lit, and after scanning them Rowan didn’t see anybody or anything.

“Rowan?”

She barely stifled the jump at the sudden voice. It was Bea, on the balcony, calling up to her. She’d heard it as well, Rowan was certain.

“I’m here,” she said, shooting the rooftops a last glare before bracing with her arm on the edge of the tiles and dropping down onto the balcony. “We need to leave.”

Beatrice nodded, catching onto her unease. “I agree, sister. But- Did you find anything?”

Rowan felt her stomach drop. Beatrice still held onto the wine bottle, and fiddled with the corkscrew’s lid. She held Beatrice’s arms gently, guided her into the apartment, and said, “I did. I’m sorry.”

Bea’s eyes welled up, glinting in the moonlight, but she compressed his lips, as if she was afraid that if she started talking she would break down. She nodded, but the tears escaped, running down her cheeks.

Rowan put her arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Bea rested her head in her shoulder. She let the other stay for a while, pretending she didn’t hear the sniffing and hiccups. When her breath stilled slightly, she pulled away gently.

“We have to go. Take that wine with you, so we drink it in her memory.”

Beatrice wiped her face and nodded. She turned to pick up the bottle in the centre table, where she had left it before they went scouting.

She heard a dry crack behind her.

Rowan spun, her hand already closing around the grip of her sword. A person was perched on the balcony’s rail. Their face was hidden by a mask. Two red-tinted glass panels and a filter cartridge canister over the mouth. They dropped down, and with a blur of movement, something shot out of their wrist. Rowan flinched, expecting it to hit her- a dart, or a crossbow arrow?

Instead, Beatrice let out a thin noise behind her. She looked at her, wide-eyed, swayed, and dropped down.

The person approached Rowan, unsheathing their sword.

Rowan channelled the Void’s energy to her chest, and as she thought of Alice’s broken body, of Beatrice, behind her, she released it all into her shriek. The whaler stumbled back, losing his footing. He quickly balanced himself again, but that was enough to allow Rowan to unsheathe her own blade and slash it at his throat.

He caught it with his own. The metal grinded against each other, until Rowan was pushed back roughly. She stumbled. He slashed at her, but she caught it haphazardly. The assassin didn’t hesitate, and slashed again. This time, it cut a line under her collarbone.

Rowan growled, sneering at him. When he pulled the sword back to pierce through her, the only thing it caught was the smoke and ashes she left behind.

She appeared behind them, with a crack. It alerted the whaler, and he twisted back with the sword ready- until she hurled a vase at their chest.

It shattered, pushing him backwards. This time he did fall over, and Rowan was over in a second, her sword swinging in an arc towards his torso.

The whaler raised his left arm, turning his forearm outward. It didn’t register to Rowan until her sword caught on something, producing a crush. She looked down. It was a gauntlet, a tiny crossbow, notched to the leather vambrace around their wrist.

She tried to back out, but the assassin moved quickly, holding onto the lapel of her coat and hooking his leg around hers. Rowan fell, with the whaler over her, pinning her down. But his sword had been lost somewhere; hers was still on her hand. She tried to slip to the side, gain room to swing the sword again, but the whaler noticed. He trapped her arm between his own torso and left arm.

She struggled against the hold, but there was no give. Panicked, Rowan hit her palm against the mask, shattering the red glass visor and forcing his head back. She felt the meat of her hand split, caught in the metal sockets of the mask, and the warm blood seeping out.

Suddenly, the whaler disappeared, leaving behind a brief image of themselves that shattered onto nothing. Rowan didn’t wait; she disappeared as well, and when the person reappeared near the centre table, picking up their sword, she was already up on the cabinet.

Rowan threw herself at him.

The whaler had heard her, and spun around to deflect her sword, but Rowan’s was angled differently. She felt it pierce through his shoulder, not passing through, but breaking the skin. A sudden, red-hot line of pain traced her ribs, but she used her magic to pull him further into the sword. He kept pushing, trying to get her to release her hold. For a moment, they were stuck in this stalemate.

He broke first, letting go of his sword to close his gloved hands around the tip of hers. Rowan sighed out a small laugh. She pinned him on the wall. Though the whaler were much larger than she was, the sword lodged in his shoulder impeded his from reacting too fast. He tried to move, to throw Rowan off him, but she twisted the sword ever so slightly. Blood gushed out, soaking into the dark uniform.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, between her teeth. Her knuckles turned white as bone holding the sword’s grip.

“Be done with it, witch.” Despite the metallic rumble the mask gave it, his voice came with a strong accent. Instead of aggressive like she’d expected, the whaler sounded strangely composed. Rowan gritted her teeth.

“Tell me,” she said, “The witch with dark shaved hair, green-skinned. Did you kill her?”

He said nothing. Rowan plunged her knife further into his skin, and he groaned, squirming. “Did you?”

“No,” he said, and hung his head. He looked strangely ashamed when he said, “Not me.”

“Why are you whalers here?”

He hesitated, then said, “…Not for any of you.”

Rowan frowned at the cryptic answer. The man slowly brought his hand up to touch his chest and catch some of the blood that was running out, pooling in his glove.

“Why are you witches here?” he asked.

“I’m asking the questions,” she cut in. “How many of you are there?”

“Many.”

“Not all of you are looking around,” she said. “How many are in patrol?”

“Seven.” His voice was breathy now, tired.

“Where?” Her hand moved slightly, tired of holding up the sword. The man winced, sucking in air through his teeth. She heard the noise through the metallic filter.

“Near the rail tracks,” he said. That was south. They had entered through the buildings near the southwest, and if she kept close enough to the old Hound Pits quarter, maybe she would be able to avoid them entirely. It was her only shot.

She pulled her sword off, but kept it pointed at the same spot. The whaler staggered, propping himself up on the wall. He covered the wound with his hands.

“She’s not dead,” he said.

“What?”

“Your friend,” he indicated with a nod, “It was a sleep dart.”

Rowan didn’t turn to inspect Beatrice and see if he spoke the truth, but she mulled the idea over in her head. He was a whaler, an assassin by profession. He could be buying time. Yet he claimed to have spared a trespassing witch.

“Why would you let her live?” she said, looking at the inscrutable mask’s eyes. She had broken one of the visors, but the inside of the sockets were darkened. He said nothing, but his shoulders were tense.

After a while, he tilted his chin up, and said, “I don’t know.”

His eye showed through the broken visor. It was barely open between his swollen eyelids, red and slick with blood like a weeper’s tears. A piece of glass had lodged itself on the outer corner of his eye socket. He would probably lose that one, if he lived.

Rowan lifted her arm and quickly brought down the pommel of her sword to the side of his head with a crack. The whaler slumped to the floor.

She scrutinized him, still holding onto the sword. When he gave no signs of standing up or moving she sheathed it and ran towards Beatrice.

A small, syringe-like bolt was stuck on her neck. The whaler had called is a “sleep dart”. A quarter of a bright green liquid still sloshed in the syringe when Rowan picked it out carefully, and turned Beatrice over carefully. Alice’s opaque eyes. The wilting flowers on her collarbones. Rowan’s heartbeat echoed on her ribs, hammered on her throat, as she brushed her fingers against Bea’s neck and the budding saplings that grew there. She just started. She’d just started.

Beatrice’s eyes fluttered, and flew open. Rowan’s breath hitched, but as her sister looked over, searching for her, she quickly wiped the tears that had begun to overflow the corner of her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Rowan asked. She offered her hand for Beatrice to hold onto as she propped herself up.

“Yes… I think so,” she said, rubbing her hand on her temple, which had hit the ground as she fell. She looked at the body of the whaler across the room. “Good riddance.”

Rowan kept silent as she helped Beatrice to her feet. The girl stumbled slightly, but held onto her shoulder, taking a moment to regain her balance.

“We need to leave through the Hound Pit’s surroundings,” she explained, “Are you well enough to walk? Can you see properly?”

“Yes, Rowan”.

“Then, be a dear and look out to see if there’s anyone watching. Stay crouched, and don’t leave the balcony.”

Bea nodded, and went out onto the balcony with steady steps, although she still blinked slowly.

Rowan sighed. She dug into the small leather pouch strapped to her belt, pulling out a bit of moss. It was from the deep of the Wrenhaven, and was mixed with enchanted witch hazel oil, giving it a strong herbal smell.

Her heart still beat fast. Everything she’d learned told her it could still be a trick. That liquid might have been poison. Maybe the Whalers had used their magic to concoct a potion that would reveal their lair to them, and they would be made the foolish hares, walking back to their burrow and giving the hunters a better quarry.

She walked over to where the whaler laid, and pressed the moss into his wound, moving his hand to cover it. The blood had seeped out, blooming dark on the front of his uniform.

He had sounded tired, when he’d spoken. That was what convinced her he was being sincere. I don’t know, he’d said, but with a look that carried more than that. He didn’t sound tentative at all. Or maybe, she thought, it was relief that was filling in these logical holes, making up these cues for her.

When it was done, she sighed, frowning. She felt like a fool. The whaler was slumped with his head at an angle, seemingly done for, but his chest lifted and fell rhythmically. Rowan scoffed and turned back, ready to join Bea at the balcony.

“All clear?” she said, walking out with the same half-crouched posture as the other witch.

“All clear.”

“Let’s go home, Bea.”

The two vanished, and reappeared in the rooftops opposite to the apartment.

#dishonored #dishonored fic #dishonored fanfic #I miiiiight continue this bc I wanted to get into Brigmore coven ~cult mentality~#but I'm busy writing my thesis so idk #I just kinda like this it was fun to write #dishonored oc #whalers #brigmore witches

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mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years ago

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Benzaiten Steel and the Case of Mistaken Identity

Ben has a very awkward morning on the Carte Blanche...

Just a fun little scene from a happier, better universe where Ben is alive and happy and committing intergalactic crimes with his brother and their new family.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment over on Ao3!

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Contrary to popular belief, there were a lot of differences between the Steel Twins.

Sure, there was the obvious stuff like the hairstyle and the general disposition, how you could tell which one you’d bumped into on any given day by whether they were smiling or scowling. There was the dress sense and the scars and the tattoos that didn’t match, except for the one. And, of course, the different number of eyes.

But Benten had always thought it was the smaller differences, the ones nobody noticed, that mattered. That made them Juno and Benzaiten, not just the Steel Twins. Not that he resented being seen as one of a matched set, of course not. It was wonderful to work with Juno on the Carte Blanche, to live in the same space as him again and see him every day, tired in the mornings and working furiously into the evenings, to sit with him and have meals as a family with the rest of their crew. To always have him in arms reach, to show him a funny video on his comms or hang off his shoulders as they stood together. To use their nearly but not identical faces in their work, making people believe there was only one of them and seeing their faces when it all fell into place.

Benten knew how it felt to lose his brother and he never wanted to go back to that.

Still, it was nice to have their own individual quirks even if they went unnoticed. Like this, like how Benten was always the early riser while Juno would stay in bed as long as decent society allowed him. He’d gotten used to it as a kid; the three buses he had to take to his dance class had meant getting up just before sunrise six days out of seven. Juno’s hobbies, which were what Ben charitably called his obsessions, his research or his work meant he stayed up late buried in files and data, seeing patterns in it that no one else would, with one eye or two. Often when they were teenagers, he’d be up and about to head out just as Juno was dragging his carcass to bed.

That had led to an intimate familiarity with another difference, how each twin took his coffee.

Benten had the kitchen of the Carte Blanche to himself, the SimSun lights just kicking into gear. Soon the ship would come to life, the noises of some mechanical fix going on from the cargo bay as Jet began his first task of the day, Buddy humming to herself as she sat in her cabin and made the impossible possible, the clatter of Vespa sharpening tools in the med bay either to hurt or to heal, the hammering of fingers on keys as Rita worked at her comms, over the too loud chatter of her stream. And Ransom...well, Ransom doing whatever he did on a morning with his usual eerie silence. All that would come but for now it was quiet, just the sound of his bare feet sticking to the tiles as he moved around and the song he was whistling.

Today was going to be a good day, Benten told himself triumphantly. They were back in charted space which meant he could video call Mick, hearing his boyfriend’s voice and seeing his beautiful, ridiculous grin for the first time in weeks. The thousands of miles between them would shrink to the width of a comms screen and everything would feel better.

And it would start with coffee. He did feel a little pang of guilt at only making two cups, one for him and one for Juno, but it was hard to break traditions that were decades old. He’d always left one waiting for his brother in their crappy little Oldtown kitchen, for when he’d reluctantly follow him into consciousness. He’d always wanted the first thing Juno knew when he woke up was that someone was looking out for him. And to drink some coffee because he probably looked like shit.

Juno liked to pretend he was the toughest, meanest lady around, making Benten wonder if anyone else knew he took his coffee with three sugars and enough cream to make it barely a few shades above white. He mixed in each spoonful of freeze dried coffee and powdered, stasis milk carefully, though it would never taste like the real stuff you got planetside. There was a lot about long haul space travel that sucked. The food was ninety percent of it.

Still, it was hot and sweet and prickling with caffeine, in the mug Rita had painted herself with ‘world’s best boss’ printed on the side, and Benten knew his brother would really appreciate it. It would make him smile in that rough, crooked way he did, the smile that didn’t come out very often but Ben wished it would. People deserved to see it.

He stopped whistling as he balanced the mugs in his hands, trying really hard not to slop any over the sides. Sure the cleaning bots would take care of any spills but Benten had always felt mean about giving them any work to do. The kitchen door slid shut behind him, the mechanism not quite what it had been when the ship was new and making more noise than it should. Juno’s room wasn’t far, none of them had spread out much from the others even with all the rooms to choose from. He should only be a few doors down.

But as Ben moved past the bathroom door, he heard the sound of running water and his brother’s unmistakable rough voice, singing as he showered. Ben grinned to himself, pausing a moment to listen while Juno butchered a peppy, upbeat dance number that had come on the radio the other day. He had a good voice, though he’d never admit it, this just wasn’t his vibe. Still, he sang it cheerily and Ben could imagine him bouncing on the balls of his feet and swaying his hips in time to the beat as he soaped his hair.

Why was he up so early? What had him in such a good mood? Ben wondered briefly before realising he didn’t care all that much. What mattered was Juno smiling, singing, dancing, it didn’t matter why. Clearly, life on the Carte Blanche was doing him good, shaking him out of the dark place he’d been in ever since he’d lost the eye, regained it and lost it again. Just as Ben had hoped when he’d agreed to come with his brother and live as an interplanetary thief.

He had to take a few deep breaths so he didn’t cry then and there, just hearing his brother doing something as simply alive as singing in the shower.

Benten kept walking, thinking he would just leave Juno’s coffee in his room for him to come back to. And then maybe he’d ask him to play video games or watch a stream or ask if he could work on the stuff for their next job in his room. Anything just to be near him and see the light back on in his eye, to know for sure that he’d really got his brother back.

Benzaiten was still lost in his own thoughts as he approached the bunk Juno had claimed as his own, the one with the glitter covered sign that read ‘Mister Steel’s Room’ in Rita’s handwriting, the same as the ones she’d made for all of them on their first day aboard. He was so distracted, he couldn’t even be startled when the door opened before he was anywhere near it.

Or when Ransom stepped through, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of boxer shorts that covered very little and suggested very heavily what they did cover. That and a shirt of Juno’s that Ben recognised immediately, oversized so the neck draped to leave one shoulder bare. A shoulder covered in dark, mouth shaped shadows.

Ben stopped dead, eyes snapping wide. Every time he’d seen Ransom before now, he’d been perfectly made up and poised to the point of near absurdity, in his sleek, expensive outfits and coiffed hair and sharp smile. He’d been practically scared of the guy, not least because of how Juno reacted to him and wouldn’t say why, no matter how many times Benten tried to steer the conversation that way to find out more.

Now he wished he knew less.

Ben opened his mouth but couldn’t get any sound out, he was too stunned at the realisation that Ransom was actually human and not a perfectly styled doll of some kind. So Ransom just yawned, exactly like a cat would right down to the way he smacked his tongue after, and blinked, eyes useless with sleep and without his glasses.

“I thought you were showering, dear heart,” he mumbled, his slick accent muddied and rougher than it ever seemed.

And then, before Ben could make any kind of protest, Ransom closed the distance between them and kissed him languidly, hand slipping around his waist to grab a handful of...something that erased any doubt Ben had been clinging to as to what this man was doing in his brother’s bedroom.

Instantly, Ben froze solid, eyes wide with the kind of panic only rabbits facing down the headlights of oncoming cars and people in this exact situation could experience. A heartbeat later, Ransom did the exact same, unfortunately leaving him in that position for a handful of agonsing, painful seconds. When he finally jumped back, he looked very, very awake. In fact, he looked like he might never sleep again.

“So…” Ben cleared his throat, grimacing, “You’re sleeping with my brother, huh?”

Ransom’s blush was fearsome, more than a master thief’s really should be, “I...my sincerest apologies, Benzaiten, I was only...um, your brother...I…of you have any concerns about his...um, his virtue-”

Ben could have screamed cutting across him quickly, “I really do not want to hear the slightest thing about my brother’s virtue. Just...give him this,” he thrust the coffee at Ransom, “And never speak of this again. To him but especially to me. Agreed?”

Ransom took a deep breath, taking the coffee and hiking the shirt up to his neck, like that would erase the hickeys from existence, “Agreed.”

Eventually Benzaiten would realise he was happy about this. He would recontextualise a hundred glances between him and Ransom, he would learn to read the emotion in Juno’s voice whenever he talked about him, what was masked in the intensity of it. He would realise that finally someone loved Juno exactly how he deserved to be loved.

But for now, he was going to lock his door, call his boyfriend and scream into a pillow and wish with all his heart that more people would learn to see the differences between him and Juno.

#the penumbra podcast #jupeter #ben lives au #tpp #juno steel #benzaiten steel #peter nureyev #aurinko crime family #gonna write more for this ben lives au so if you have an requests send em in #please comment or reblog #pwease...

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visceryl · 4 years ago

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The Great Dragon Rescue

This is the bang @montdiarts and I worked on together! The lovely comic art belongs to @montdiarts while the writing belongs to myself. @hphmbang2020

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“Are you sure about this, Charlie?”

Barnaby’s voice echoed down the cracked stone halls weathered with age as the boys traveled by torchlight down the seldom used corridor. He gripped his wand tightly in a fist, green eyes shifting behind to ensure they weren’t followed.

“I saw it myself, Barnaby, a real life dragon egg,” the red-headed boy hissed back. He picked his way around the corner bending left, unbothered enough to forgo looking down the other adjoining halls. As far as he was concerned, that was what Barnaby tagged along for.

When he’d first stumbled upon the egg, it had been fate. It started with a prodding dream to study for his OWL’s, and after waking up covered in a fresh sheen of sweat, he had set to work scouring Hogwarts for the best place to study between classes without anyone finding him. That, of course, meant going where he wasn’t supposed to.

Charlie sniffed out nearly every inch of the expansive castle, resulting in the common practice of people and creatures chasing him from newly acquired positions. He dared not tell Barnaby his previous run-in with Hagrid’s puppy.

As far as the Slytherin knew, this was a top secret mission to save a dragon’s egg from great peril. Loneliness.

It wasn’t about the knowledge that they were doing this during a time both were supposed to be nose deep in books for their classes. Or that of all classes currently running, Snape was still a credible obstacle that roamed the halls. Barnaby was a defend first and ask questions later type of guy, which made him the perfect fit.

“Okay, I get it's a dragon egg but do you even know what kind? What if someone notices it missing?”

“It’s been cruelly locked behind chains and left to rot alone!” Charlie defended. “I’m going to save it and set it free. This chance is once in a lifetime, it depends on us to ensure it's not a captive its whole life!”

A low chuckle rolled from Barnaby’s chest and he sent his elbow into the Weasley’s arm. “You’re kind of crazy, you know that?”

Charlie leveled the Slytherin with a knowing look, teeth shining brightly behind freckled features. “It runs in the family, what’s your excuse?”

“... Same here.”

Hesitation glued Charlie’s feet to the ground and his gaze lingered on his friend, scouring for any emotional fluctuation in Barnaby’s expression. Family was sensitive, he didn’t joke about it often. But there was no further comment. He’d already moved on with a roll of his shoulder, pushing ahead.

The two boys continued in silence for the remainder of the walk. Torches lit along the walls on either side, a lone painting rousing with suspicion in passing. It muttered to itself, talking of the no good boys causing trouble in its halls.

It was ignored as Charlie took them up a flight of stairs tucked away neatly behind a wooden door. The knob was slightly rusted with underuse and the staircase led only to a hatch in the ceiling, sealed tight with a lock.

Barnaby loomed over Charlie’s shoulder as the redhead touched down to palm the lock in hand. It twisted and turned with examination.

“Mm, this could be a problem.”

“How did you get it open the first time?”

The dragon enthusiast’s cheeks burned a fiery red. “It wasn’t locked before. But it doesn’t matter, I can still open it.”

He took the lock further in his grasp and drew his wand. “Barnaby, give me a bit more light, please?”

The Lumos spell started as a pinprick of light in the dark room before its glow illuminated a near thirty foot area around them in dim lighting. Coming into the stairwell, they had abandoned a path of torches for secrecy. By the looks of the moss eaten cobblestone and the water stained cracks jutting up the walls, nobody was supposed to be here.

“Thank you,” Charlie breathed with a forward sink of his shoulders. He was relieved to have at least partial vision restored.

He gave a wave of his wand and muttered the incantation for unlocking beneath his breath. As his wand turned, he could hear the rusted gears of the lock creaking open before… snap!

The hook of the lock popped open and he quickly scrambled to tear it off the hatch. It bounced unsteady in his hand, sliding past the grip of fingers. Barnaby made a pass at it, swiping to catch it before the first dreaded clink of it echoing off the stone staircase.

To no avail.

The lock evaded both their grasps and tumbled down each individual stair before hitting the bottom with a final crack.

Charlie recoiled with tension, features pinched with horrified strain as a palm smooshed over his face, rubbing out his worry and frustration. “Don’t worry about it,” he insisted with a low hiss.

His attention turned back to the hatch, flattening his palms on its underneath and pushing. Dust rained down on the two, clouding Barnaby’s normally brown hair in a layer of spotted gray. Both were immediately sent into a coughing fit, Charlie’s hand raising over his mouth as he ushered for the other to shine his wand up inside.

“Don’t worry about it? Charlie have you actually ever been to this place? I don’t think anything comes up here!”

“Shh!” The Gryffindor snapped his gaze back, grasping his friend by the shoulder and giving an assuring squeeze. “I promise you, I know what this is. Please, Barnaby, just shine your light.”

Reluctantly, Barnaby did as he was told, straightening beyond Charlie to loft his wand into the room shrouded entirely in darkness. His Lumos spell lit it with ease, and as green eyes keenly made it around the room, Charlie scrambled up past him.

The wood floor of the seemingly abandoned attic space cried shrilly beneath the boy’s weight. This space either hadn’t been used in a long time or was made to look that way. The walls and far end of the room were lined with junk. Textbooks, boxes, old potion bottles, broken brooms. It’s initial appearance gave off nothing more than an old storage room, which is exactly how it’d caught Charlie’s eye to begin with.

Secure and secluded.

But it was what rested to his left that sparked him with the overwhelming sense of duty that led him to tuck tail and run for backup. Charlie was in no way deterred by his task or incapable of doing so, but sneaking a dragon egg through Hogwarts required tact and a lot of help.

Sat atop a pedestal of marble, an egg-shaped form loomed in the cascading shadows rippling off of Barnaby’s wand. Charlie advanced, curving his fingers into the white linen sheet when a noise sent the Slytherin behind him scrambling.

A crack.

Barnaby whirled, pointing his wand threateningly at empty space and his teeth grated together. “I don’t like this.”

Charlie waited a moment longer, listening out into the silence, and proceeded. He threw the sheet off and set his sights upon the rich brown egg covered in a deep tiger pattern and scaled surface. Giddiness shot through him.

“Come on, Barnaby! Look at it,” he hissed out, wildly waving his friend over. “It’s beautiful!”

Barnaby shuffled over, the light following him as he moved. He examined every end of the egg, circling around it before a frown sunk his features. “I think it’s dead, Charlie.”

“What?!”

He raised out a hand, slowly turning the back end of the egg to face the Gryffindor where a giant crack split across the back. “That doesn’t look healthy for it, at least.”

For but a moment, Charlie sank in hopeless defeat, jaw dropped slack. He pressed his hands to either side of the egg, cupping it until his forehead lowered to its top. “I should have known,” he whispered.

Then another crack.

Something smashed back against Charlie’s forehead and he wheeled back in shock. Both boys latched their attention on the egg that writhed and shuddered on the pedestal. A small hole poked through the hardened shell and from within a deep red eye peered out.

“It’s not dead, Barnaby!” Charlie shouted all at once, lurching forward to grab the egg again. “It’s hatching! We’re going to see it hatch!”

The little dragon within the shell struggled for several minutes, chipping and biting away at its confinements. At some point, Charlie stepped in, breaking away a few small pieces to make a larger exit point. By the end of fifteen minutes, a wyrmling crawled out, knocking several shell pieces to the ground where they splintered against the wood.

It spanned out a paper-thin wing, small serpentine tongue lashing out to lick away excess nutrients that clung like a soft film to its body.

Barnaby crept behind it, a finger waggling against its sweeping tail that coiled and uncoiled as it lounged. “Hey, it’s kind of cute,” he murmured.

“Kind of?” Charlie stood back in awe, a glimmer of excitement in his soft honey brown eyes. “This is a Ukrainian Ironbelly! Look at its color and how thick those scales are!” His knees bit into the unstable wood flooring as he threw himself before the pedestal, coming eye level with the dragon.

“It doesn’t have its spines yet, but said to be the largest of all the dragons. Can you imagine the luck!?”

Barnaby had to hand it to Charlie, he liked animals as much as the next idiot, but never to the degree Charlie liked dragons. Nobody doubted what he’d become when he left here, or where he’d go. He was someone with a dream to study and learn from some of history’s greatest beasts.

The Slytherin inhaled and moved to clap his friend on the shoulder. “Alright then, use that brain of yours to rework the plan. I was supposed to carry an egg, not a baby dragon. How do we hide it until we get out?”

“...Well like I said before, Penny has some potions we can use to sneak out of the castle. The only problem is.. Now that it’s hatched, I think we need to go to Hagrid.”

“What if he tells Dumbledore? Or worse. Snape.”

“No way, Hagrid loves us. And he’ll love this little guy. If anyone can help us, it’s him.”

Barnaby was about to open his mouth to reply when the baby Ironbelly leapt from the pedestal, little wings snapping out. It glided for a split second before crashing against Charlie’s shoulder, letting its claws tear and grasp at his robes for purchase. A panicked cry squeaked from its chest.

The dragon enthusiast all but melted, shaking hands roping up around its body and hugging it to his chest. “Easy, easy little guy,” he soothed.

Another squeak chirped from the Ironbelly and its plated head rubbed to Charlie’s cheek, a soft pink tongue dampening his skin with saliva.

“...Okay you win. Can I hold it?” Barnaby quickly sputtered out, watching the baby dragon in his own glistening wonder. It took only a second for Charlie to inch himself side by side with the Slytherin, helping the wyrmling hop into his arms and onto a shoulder. It’s teeth immediately latched onto his ear, tugging with a less than threatening growl.

Laughter bubbled in his chest. “Hey!” He scooped a hand under the Ironbelly, drawing it aloft in front of his face, detaching it from his ear. “Those little teeth are still sharp.” The dragon chirped again, a soft puff of smoke lifting into the air from its parted maw.

“Here’s the plan,” Charlie purred, scratching beneath it’s chin. “We take turns tucking it beneath our robes and find our way to Penny. She’ll supply us with the potions needed to sneak out and find Hagrid. From there, hopefully he’ll know what to do with releasing it.”

At that, Barnaby promptly wrangled the little wyrmling beneath his robes, letting it attach to his shirt, where it’s little nose picked up the lingering scent of treats. It shuffled, snuffing about before pressing its nose into the front chest pocket of his button up, clawing out a delicious pet snack.

“...I’ve got it, but it just ate the treats I saved for the Niffler!”

“Better the little thing travels full anyways.”

The plan was destined for failure. Too many open variables, too little done to prepare for carrying a baby dragon out of Hogwarts. Charlie and Barnaby set off down the halls once more after climbing from the hatch and skipping down the winding staircase.

Barnaby struggled to calm the wyrmling’s shuffling as it fought tooth and nail to peek its head out from his collar. Eventually, a hand pressed to the top of its head through the fabric and came away with a yelp, the skin blistering red from tiny little puncture holes.

“Charlie, it bit me!”

“Shhh, we just have a little bit further.”

“A little bit further for what?”

The new voice had both boys jumping. Charlie whipped around to come face to face with Felix. His arms were folded over his chest expectantly, hair pulled back into a tight mini-ponytail.

Barnaby refused to turn towards his Prefect, clutching the Ironbelly tighter to his chest as he boasted a nervous laugh. “Felix! We didn’t expect to see you here, Charlie and I were just trying to find Penny. She was going to help us out with potions.”

An impatient little squeak came from his robes and Felix raised a brow.

“Help you out, or help your little friend? What did you sneak in this time, Lee?”

Charlie slipped himself between the Slytherin Prefect and his friend, flashing a much too wide smile. “You know, it’s probably best you don’t know. That blasted Barnaby, always bringing in magical creatures. Well you know, Felix, I caught him in the act and I’m helping him sneak it out to return it!”

“What?!” Barnaby couldn’t stop himself in time, the rush of embarrassed shock warming his cheeks. “I mean.. Yeah! I just wanted a bit more time with the… the Niffler. I’m sorry, Felix, won’t happen again.”

Felix narrowed his gaze on the two, clearly not buying it as he waited impatiently for the truth. His foot tapped the ground. One, two, three times. It attracted the attention of the wyrmling smothered in Barnaby’s robes and with a last push for freedom, raced down the Slytherin’s leg.

In an instant it was attacking Felix’s shoe, teeth digging into the black leather with a determined growl as it shook its mighty little head.

Wide eyes blinked down at it, the prefect’s face twisted with horror at the audacity of the two boys. “Oh no. You have got to be kidding me. CHARLIE. You have one minute to convince me not to blow the whistle. This is a dragon. In the school.”

Charlie grimaced, quickly going down to sweep the dragon back up into his arms, letting it settle before just barely concealing it behind his robes. It could peek its head out, red eyes blinking out curiously at all the winding halls and movements.

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “But Felix, please, you can’t tell. I found it alone up in one of the attics. It just hatched! I was only trying to get it out of the school to begin with so it could be freed.”

The Prefect either wasn’t buying it, or was quite good at hiding his true feelings. After a moment of silence, his jaw tightened with tension. Footsteps echoed down the right wing of the hall.

“Dammit, Charlie. Go around the hall, now!” Felix suddenly lashed out. “I had a meeting with Professor Snape. That’s him. Go.”

“What about the dragon!?”

“Just get it out of here, I’ll distract Snape.”

Before they had time to argue, Felix curled his fists into their clothes and shoved them around the corner. Just in time. His fingers combed through his hair to smooth back any messiness and rounded to meet Snape.

“...Felix,” the man greeted with an exhale of annoyance.

“Professor Snape. Did you want to go back to the classroom to talk? Or maybe the common room?”

As if a bloodhound for mischief, the man crinkled his nose like he’d smelled some foul odor. His sharp gaze ran the length of the halls before drifting back down to his Prefect. “Now, I do hope you haven’t gotten mixed up in anything. So eager to leave. I believe here is as good a place as any.”

Felix grimaced, avoiding looking in the direction he sent Barnaby and Charlie. “No, of course not, Professor. Here is fine.”

“Wonderful.”

Snape began to walk towards the hall, letting Felix trail after in panicked steps, trying to deflect his attention. It spurred him on faster. The Head of House ripped around the corner with a scowl already spanning his face as if ready to scold on a moment’s notice.

“What are you doing, Weasley?” His voice lashed out accusingly.

Charlie had been quick on the ball. Sat on the ground with his back resting against the wall, he flipped through pages of a book, scribbling down notes between the lines with his quill. As soon as Snape’s voice met him, he glanced up shyly. “Professor Snape. Sorry, I was just doing a bit of studying.”

“With Lee?”

Barnaby was on the other side of Charlie, head knocked to the side with a line of drool dribbling down his chin. Unbeknownst to any of them, the wyrmling had wriggled its way free, bounding away behind Snape at full speed.

Save for Felix.

He caught sight of the runaway dragon and a cold tension coiled up in every muscle. Quickly, he wracked his brain for a way out of it.

“Oh no!” the Prefect suddenly exclaimed. “I just remembered, Professor! There is a reason why I’m a bit jumpy. I was meaning to tell you, but I saw one of the first years stuffing contraband under their mattress.”

“What?” Snape whirled, momentarily keen to forget the other two’s very existence. “Why are you waiting until now, Felix? Who.”

“I’ll show you. Just follow me.”

The gamble paid off.

Felix’s normally stellar behavior and hard earned trust with Snape eventually led the man off with nothing more than a cruel warning to Charlie to stay out of trouble. Purposefully led in the opposite direction of the baby dragon.

And as soon as they were gone, Barnaby sprang to action. Faster than Charlie, the big lug tore down the hall after their new friend. “Hurry, Charlie! Grab it!”

He skidded with his shoes against the deep maroon runner streaking down the hall, wrinkling the rug in the process. The Ironbelly weaved, dodging under a table. Barnaby nearly sailed right over it, crashing in front and rolling to starfish overtop of the dragon. It pinned beneath his arm briefly before popping free and bolting once more.

Ready to make a break for it, only Charlie remained.

His gaze locked on the wriggling wyrmling as its serpentine body weaved down the rug. And with a soft sigh, he sank to the ground, clapping his hands together to gather its attention. “Hey little guy, you don’t have to run,” he urged. “How about we take you to get some yummy food?”

It stopped. Craning its tiny head around to look back at the redhead. A soft squeak bubbled up from its throat.

“That’s it! Yeah, see? Come back to me, little one. I’m going to keep you safe.”

Whether it understood or not, staring into Charlie’s warm gaze eventually had the dragon tucking tail and bouncing back over to its new friend. With a chirp and a hop, it leaped up into his arms, nuzzling at his chest.

“Good… You’re a handful,” he chuckled, stroking his fingers over cool scales. “Now come on. I made a promise. Let’s get you out of here.”

Charlie rose from the ground with the wyrmling swathed in his arms. It crawled to rest its head upon his shoulder and he swung around to offer a hand out for Barnaby.

The Slytherin gave an unceremonious grunt, turning his green eyed gaze upwards before clasping their fingers. It took a lot of pull to get the large boy onto his feet. He promptly took to smoothing out his robes with a laugh. “Can’t believe Felix helped us out with Snape.”

“He’s full of surprises at times.”

Getting to Penny only took them ten minutes despite the struggled wait in timing the stairs to swing perfectly towards the Potion room. She was ecstatic to see the Ukranian Ironbelly and doted for as long as possible before handing over two potions of invisibility. Needless to say, the dragon was also showered in an array of treats plucked from her snack bag, ranging from a turkey cut of a sandwich to a cheese cracker.

From there, it was an uninterrupted and straight shot path towards Hagrid’s Hut. With most students still in their classes, Barnaby and Charlie snuck soundlessly out through the front doors. Not even Filch seemed to stumble across their path.

Hagrid’s Hut was something that was heard before it was spotted. A hotspot for creatures magical and not, several birds scattered as Charlie hopped up the cobble path. Fang lounged on the porch out in front of the doorway. His dark, wrinkled face pressed into the wood deck, snores lifting up from a pressed snout before the approaching boys stirred him.

A deep bark rattled from the dog’s chest and he stood, walking over to sniff at Charlie’s robes.

“Hey Fang,” the boy purred. “Hagrid home?”

Another bark.

“Aye! Fang what’re ya on about now?” Hagrid’s voice raised from within the hut. There was a shifting creak of wood and the door swung open for the grizzled man to peer out. Immediately his gaze fell to Charlie and Barnaby. As well as the little moving mass hidden within the redhead’s robes. “Well aren’t yeh two sights fer sore eyes! What’s this 'bout?”

Charlie stepped forward and drew his robes down cautiously to reveal the little dragon. “We found him in the castle. I know we’re not supposed to be doing this, but Hagrid we need your help to release him.”

Hagrid took a single look at the wyrmling and his features twisted with exasperation. “Yeh two boys realize I can’t jus overlook this, ay?”

“Well you could,” Barnaby replied sheepishly.

“No.” Charlie looked back to his friend then down at the dragon who settled back in his arms. “We understand.”

“Then get yerselves inside. Let’s figure something out for the wee thing.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #bang2020 #bang #writing #artists on tumblr #charlie weasley #barnaby lee #dragon

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nevermindirah · 4 years ago

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Thank you @morallygreywaren for tagging me omg this was such fun!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

The Only One Who Could Ever Reach Me (MCU, 2014, 3743 words, 2/9 chapters, I've been meaning to finish this for 7 years lol) All Bucky Barnes wanted was to be in his bedroom by himself, with the door closed, with no noise, with his phone and his homework and a freshly-microwaved burrito.

Seneca Falls, Selma, and Stonewall (MCU, 2014, 2424 words) [quote from President Barack Obama, Second Inaugural Address, followed by] "Oh, I love Obama's second inaugural!" said Jane as she lugged in bags of groceries, Darcy following with more.

President James Buchanan Memorial, Washington, DC (MCU, 2015, 1149 words) "You're a really good person to keep at this with me, Sam."

Sam Wilson is gonna make it through this conversation if it kills him (MCU, 2015, 716 words) Sam started at the knock on his door.

Right Now (MCU, 2015, 1344 words) Steve knocks at the shabby door of the top-floor apartment.

Imagine Your Dessert Platter (MCU, 2016, 2236 words) Sam let out a groan, an honest to God groan.

Shout out to science nerd Bucky Barnes on eclipse day (MCU, 2017, 541 words) Bucky had been planning this shit for MONTHS.

First on the Menu is Sex on the Beach (MCU, 2018, 1247 words) "Damn," Sam said. "Nick Fury has a plan for fucking everything."

How do we do this, when she was our glue? (MCU, 2019, 1384 words) This was always how it was going to end.

While We Were Time Looping (MCU, 2020, 1096 words) They survived!

5 ways Quynh didn't bust out of her ocean prison and one way she did (TOG, 2020, 951 words) Those witch-burning jackasses are so fucking dramatic.

My Bags Are Packed (I'm Not Ready to Go) (TOG, 2020, 1104 words) "Hey," she says, nudging his shoulder. "Are you sober enough to listen to me and make occasional supportive nods and grunts while I talk about something serious?"

problem solved it's dissolved (TOG, 2020, 13,360 words) Nile's new in town, finally about to start undergrad after doing her 6 years in the Marines.

Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuppyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy (TOG, 2020, 1341 words) Ok so hear me out. [followed immediately by "Nile's new in town" omg @ me]

Gather round the table, we'll give you a treat (TOG, 2020, 2279 words) "Whatcha doing for Christmas break?" the guy asks.

I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore (TOG, 2020, 65,172 words, 10 chapters) [quote from Tracy Chapman's song "America" followed by] The four of them have been soaking up the morning sun through the windows of their safehouse living room for— huh, a few hours now.

if we're honest with each other (TOG, 2021, 3827 words) Booker took the initial meeting with Copley but he never agreed to anything.

Trigger Discipline (TOG, 2021, 1672 words) Sébastien has been running around with these ancient weirdos for two years now.

you have the right to lose control (TOG, 2021, 37,093 words, 4 chapters) "Ok, so how do we want to do this?"

Not a Gentle Laughter (TOG, 2021, 3165 words) [a quote from Arthur Waskow, Seasons of Our Joy, followed by] A lonely writer sits down to imagine happier times.

Analysis:

6 instances of opening dialogue, 7 if you count Sam Wilson wordlessly groaning over a delicious piece of meat (actual meat — groaning over Steve comes later)

9 instances of where this character is at in physical space / in their life logistically, including:

2 instances of a knock on a door, 3 uses of the word door, 4 total references to doors including the implied door through which Darcy and Jane are lugging groceries, all 4 of which involve Steve Rogers

2 instances of "Nile Freeman is new in town"

4 instances of where this character is at emotionally, in life and/or this moment

5 instances of dramatic mood-setting, and 3 instances of opening with a dramatic mood-setting quote, with only one overlap for a total of 7 instances of opening drama from my words or someone else's

Recurring themes in my fics are Jewish identity, US politics, grief, science, and direct communication with the people you love. If any of my more recent fandom friends were wondering where I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore came from, there's a pretty direct antecedent in Seneca Falls, Selma, and Stonewall. I eye-rolled at myself hard when I reread this fic just now — the dialogue is clunky and didactic and shows only a surface-level understanding of these characters, I made a claim about Stonewall being the first time queer people ever fought back against cops that is definitely not historically accurate despite my putting in effort with other parts of the history research, and worst of all, the Sam/Natasha is basically an afterthought and it's possible to summarize this fic as "Sam Wilson does intellectual and emotional labor so Steve and Bucky can grow as people and kiss each other but not Sam" which, yikes @ me of 7 years ago. But the bones are there, people connecting over their individual experiences of structural oppression and building solidarity as a foundation for friendship and romance. I've come a long way in thinking carefully about who characters are as people since 2014, and maybe I'll look back in another 7 years with more eye-rolling at how much more I've learned.

Oh, and my favorite opening lines? Tie between Quynh and Bucky being Done™:

All Bucky Barnes wanted was to be in his bedroom by himself, with the door closed, with no noise, with his phone and his homework and a freshly-microwaved burrito.

Those witch-burning jackasses are so fucking dramatic.

Navel gazing complete, let's tag some of my favorite authors! And anyone who follows me and wants to do this, go for it and tag me if you want! @mprosperossprite @hauntedfalcon @victimhood @flawlessassholes @viridianpanther @mrsd-writes @highlightcity159 @rupzydaisy @sphinx81 @emjee @energievie @spectralarchers @winterequinoxx @lady-writes

#fandom friends #writing is hard #my writing #shameless self-promotion #fic recs #long post

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years ago

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Title: maybe not star-crossed (but daybreak)

Author: @fieldofsunflowers8

For: @emmakoneko

Pairings: Hinata Hajime / Komaeda Nagito

Additional Characters: Kamukura Izuru, Nanami Chiaki

Rating: M

Warnings: No specific warning applies beside the ones that could be applied in Danganronpa in general

Prompt: Hajime realising he loves Nagito.

Author’s notes: hi!!! this is my exchange piece for the komahina secret exchange!!! this was super super fun to write, and i really hope my giftee likes it! special thanks to my friend for looking over this and making sure it’s coherent :D have a good day, loves!

Hinata Hajime is not a romantic, but romance fills his thoughts anyway.

It’s an identifier that isn’t exactly of importance, of course. Romance on Jabberwock Island, specifically in the aftermath of the Neo World Program, is something privately kept by each individual pairing. Occasionally, it’ll be the subject of harmless speculation on the slow days, but overall, it is just… a part of life.

A part of life that most of them never got to fully experience.

A part of life that Hinata doesn’t necessarily need to have a piece of.

A part of life that he wants, all the same.

He isn’t certain if it’s the influence of Kamukura on him that makes him hesitate in the face of it. The other is a lull in the back of his head most of the time, diminishing everything to uninteresting, and yet seamlessly taking control when Hinata gives the slightest hint of needing help, slipping into the role of the Ultimate Talent easily. It’s a difficult dynamic, and it would be a lie to consider it a linear sort of thing– lines blur when you are made to become another person, and further, residing with that person in the headspace.

Hinata wonders if, before it all happened, back at Hope’s Peak Academy in the suffocating reserve course dorms, with little to hope for… he maybe pined after romance in a desperate way, if he wanted something to break the suffocating silence, if it would all really be any different to him now.

It’s not something he needs right now, which is what he tries to convince himself matters the most. He has enough overwhelming quiet, and even more overwhelming noise. He has tasks to commit to– even though all of the Remnants have awakened, there are Future Foundation members to call, emails to send, resources to manage, buildings to reconstruct, surgeries to conduct… it keeps him busy, to say the least.

(He hardly allows himself more than the clinical, repetitive process of healing. Not his own healing– that is far from the forefront of his mind. Rather, constructing robot arms and extracting rotting body parts and starting up chemotherapy. For the others. Not him,

never him.)

Prioritizing romance is selfish, in all cases. Putting it before himself and everyone on the island, losing himself in the want of something he isn’t even sure he could recognize, if he saw it in front of him, if he had a flickering chance of love… it’s selfish. Excess. A lapse.

However, there is still a kind of yearning he keeps in the back of his mind, in the endlessly swallowing part of his throat, in the throes of his heart. A sort of fixation, solely focused on a single individual, who keeps him awake through restless nights and sends him directly to the infirmary for more work, who leads him to discover new places on the island that the person tends to frequent, who leaves him with an unfamiliar warmth that his body rejects like a disease because love is not-

One that defies all his wants and needs, all his thoughts on relationships and the others, all his thoughts on the person whom he thought he hated more than anything.

One fixated on Komaeda Nagito.

And this is where his doubt is born.

–

The first time he hears the name Komaeda Nagito is in a time before the seeds of despair were planted by his hands, before The Project became more than just a whisper of Hope’s Peak conspiracy and research. He hears it from Nanami Chiaki, before she became just a program, before an entire class gave into despair at the sight of her death.

He hears it from her at the fountain. Their fountain, he has taken to calling it, because while they aren’t exactly the only people to come here, they are most certainly the two students who frequent it the most. Before, it was a place to admire Hope’s Peak from a distance (one he maintained out of respect, or maybe self-hatred, or maybe an amalgamation of both), but after meeting Nanami, the cynical tones of the setting were replaced with a sort of safe haven.

It’s now comforting, for him, to hear the sound of her game starting up against the sound of rushing water, leaves and blossoms fluttering around them as the sun lights up the campus around them.

In all honesty, it’s easy to get lost in the surroundings, in his own thoughts, especially when he has the space to. Nanami rarely presses any matter, unless it is something she’s particularly passionate about, so Hinata zoning out isn’t exactly an issue for her. It’s not like she doesn’t do the same. Which leaves them with a pretty nice relationship, because either of them are free to completely lose themselves in their thoughts without having to make small talk.

However, he does jar himself back to reality to pay attention to the game she’s playing– it’s a survival game, which is sort of exciting, because that’s the kind of video game he thinks he’d be best at– and listens to the soft breath she always takes before she starts to speak.

“Do you know a lot of Ultimates, Hinata-kun?” is what she asks, her voice as dreamy as usual.

It’s sort of a harsh question unintentionally, since it sort of nags at the parts of him that wishes he could be an Ultimate, would do anything to be an Ultimate, but he shoves that down and keeps his voice casual. (It’s not a big deal, anyway. Nanami affirms him of his worth a lot, and really, he should just… accept that things are the way that they are. But it’s really, really not that easy. Not when everything seems to loom above him, dangling promises of talent and hope).

“Uh, not really?” he answers tentatively. “I mean, I know Koizumi, and I sort of know Kuzuryuu because I’m friends with his sister.” Friends is probably not the right word for it, but being her friend is pretty much impossible. “And I know you, of course. But, I dunno about the others.”

“Mm,” she hums. She focuses back on her game for a while, and Hinata focuses right alongside her, but she ends up speaking again only a few moments later. “I was just thinking… a lot of my classmates would really like you.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, just a bit. “I don’t really know much about them, but maybe?”

It’s not really relevant, in any case, or possible, because I’m a reserve. So, why do I want to entertain this impossibility?

“Well, I can tell you about some of them.” There’s some passion in her voice, underneath the languid sort of pace her words take.

He shrugs. “Sure.”

She opens her inventory as sort of a pause screen, organizing all of the items while talking. “There’s Mioda-san. She’s… sorta loud, but she’s the Ultimate Musician, so that makes sense, I think. She’s really optimistic, she likes bright colors… reminds me of a dancing game… you’d get along with her, probably.” The idea that Hinata could be friends with someone like Mioda Ibuki is unsettling in a hopeless way, but he’s interested in the descriptions regardless. “She gets along well with Pekoyama-san, who’s the Ultimate Swordswoman. She’s really pretty and quiet; she’s defensive over Kuzuryuu-kun, too. Like a Skyrim housecarl, kinda. I remember Komaeda-kun saying something, once, and she was immediately at Kuzuryuu-kun’s defense. I don’t think Komaeda-kun meant it badly, though.”

Hinata tilts his head. “Who’s Komaeda?”

Nanami bites her lip, stacking some potions before saying, “He’s the Ultimate Lucky Student. He’s… sort of an outcast, I think, but he cares about the class a lot. I wish he would talk to us more.” She puffs out her cheeks in a cute way. “You might like him… but you also might hate him. Maybe.”

“Why would I hate him?” From what Hinata’s hearing, maybe dislike would make sense, but hate sort of implies he would have done something… really off.

“Mm… Komaeda-kun has strong views on talent and hope. It might annoy you, but…” she sighs. “I dunno.”

That’s a vague description, but it gives Hinata enough information to sort of… make inferences. Of course, Hinata sort of expected some Ultimates to view talent as superiority, and he knew that some of the adults believed it, but to hear it being an actual thing from someone his age… sort of sucks. At least the rest of the class seems to not agree with it.

But… is Hinata really sure of that?

In any case, he tunes back into the way Nanami continues talking about her classmates, about a sheepish mechanic and a princess she seems to have a slight crush on. He laughs along with her, listens with intrigue and fascination at some of the things her class has done and somehow not gotten expelled for, and feels the sense of peace grow overtime (alongside his quiet bitterness).

All the while, though, part of his mind thinks about Komaeda with a… weird sort of interest.

(And for some reason, Hinata wants to both avoid him as much as possible– which might be a bit harsh, admittedly– and also… maybe meet him.)

–

Hinata doesn’t sleep well.

His sleep patterns vary. Sometimes, he falls asleep in a random place– he’s been found on the floor of the dining hall and at the beach, once, both instances embarrassing– and stays asleep for the better part of a day, barely brushing below twenty hours as he restores his energy. Then, he pushes himself, neglecting rest for three days straight until he downright collapses again.

He tends to get nightmares, too. When he’s sleeping deeply and for a long time, it’s not enough to jar him. When he first woke up from the Neo World Program, though, they were relentless, leaving him paranoid and guilty constantly for all he has done to his friends– his family, now.

His family that he needs to stay awake to care for. His family he has to keep intact– physically and mentally.

(He remembers that, for a week, all he saw in his dreams was a burning warehouse.)

He doesn’t sleep well, working on restocking and labelling all the medications they have in the infirmary, and he finds that none of the others sleep well, either. Some sleep too much, some function on caffeine and nothing else. But there’s one other person on the island that varies with Hinata, not exactly the same but similarly.

Komaeda.

Hinata’s been monitoring Komaeda’s progress closely, almost closer than the way he fusses over the others. Komaeda’s health is precarious, even with the rotting flesh of Enoshima’s arm fully removed from his body, and one of the facets of his lifestyle that directly impacts his not-ideal progress is his shitty sleep schedule.

A simple example: he falls asleep at 4:00 PM, wakes up at around 7:29 PM. He goes to the dining hall, all of the other inhabitants having finished dinner and retired to their rooms for the later parts of the afternoon, and eats a worryingly small portion of dinner. He goes to his room, stays up for hours, and falls again the following day at 10:00 PM, successfully bypassing lunch and repeating the process.

It’s horrible in every possible way– it doesn’t do wonders for his prognoses and mental health, and Hinata doesn’t like the dark circles under his eyes that grow more familiar with each progressing day.

(It doesn’t suit his face. Because, well, Hinata can acknowledge that Komaeda is very, very pretty. But the shadows are… worrying. He still looks beautiful, but he looks more fragile than he’s ever been, even in the green pods, and Hinata wonders why he’s worried in a way beyond medical observation.)

However, there is one benefit to it, a meek silver lining that could hardly be considered one at all: Komaeda and Hinata end up accidentally interacting quite a lot. Komaeda follows lights– buildings with fluorescents open, signalling that Hinata is currently occupying them– and Hinata follows the soft sounds of Komaeda hanging out at the beach, throwing rocks into the ocean or tripping on some ridges and yelping.

The latter ends up happening when he exits the infirmary and sees in the distance a white-haired man face first on the beach shore, and he sighs in a way that isn’t fully exasperated as he walks over to help him out (maybe fond, maybe fond).

Komaeda tilts his face, his cheek still buried in sand, and looks up at Hinata. He decisively accepts his help, straightening himself out and brushing the sand off his pants with a smile. His voice is cheerful– far too cheerful for 5:00 AM– as he says, “Good morning, Hinata-kun! I’m so sorry you had to see me in such a disgraceful way!”

Hinata rolls his eyes. “You weren’t disgraceful. You just tripped. Also, why are you even out here?”

Komaeda’s lips curl slyly. “Do you even have to ask, Hinata-kun?”

“Ah.” Fair enough. “Well, you should, uh, try to get some sleep.”

“Will Hinata-kun get some sleep?”

It’s equally frustrating to talk to Komaeda and get him to do anything… and interesting. There’s also a bit of heat that wants to pour into his cheeks, something he fights with a poker face, at the idea that Komaeda cares about his sleep schedule. Technically, a lot of people on the island do, but it all comes back to the inexplicable feelings he has around the other. In any case, Komaeda’s due for an answer. “I was actually heading back to my cabin to do that.” It’s sort of a lie. Sort of.

(He was probably going to lay awake, staring at the ceiling again. Maybe he’ll think about the other, maybe he’ll think about everything else.)

“Can I come with you?” Komaeda asks.

Hinata squints. “… Why? How would that help either of us sleep?”

“It could be relaxing to be near another person,” Komaeda defends, his logic slightly flawed. “But I understand that being around me is absolutely dreadful, and I shouldn’t impose even the disturbing thought upon another person. I apologize for that, Hinata-kun! I’ll get out of your sight, now!”

“Wait,” Hinata finds himself saying before Komaeda can actually leave. The other stops and looks at him, a curious but not demanding expression in his murky grey eyes. It’s sort of cute. Hinata isn’t sure why, why he looks at the other in that way.

It’s with a defeated sigh that he says, “You can come with me,”

and Komaeda’s eyes light up in a way that’s really, really endearing.

–

The first time he meets Komaeda is a month after his conversation with Nanami.

Stress has settled onto his shoulders, making a permanent residence there, as exams approach at increasingly rapid paces and life-changing emails chase him forward, forward, forward. He finds little enjoyment in his spaces between classes, isolating himself up in his room and hardly having time to reply to any of his friends (not that there’s an overwhelming number of people on that list). Occasionally he takes a break, but these times just remind him that he has so much to do, so much to consider, his entire life might change with a few signatures and-

-he needs a breather.

He ends up leaving half-finished history homework on his tiny desk, nearly tripping over his laundry bin in exhaustion as he makes his way out of the dorms. He figures a small walk might do him some good, since he’s hardly seen the sun as of recent and it might be less intimidating to think through things when he has fresh air to breathe and the soft ambience of nature surrounding him.

He hums to himself for the first part of his walk, careful to stay out of the way of others, but he eventually falls into silence as the number of people around him dwindles. He’s tired– he’s so, so fucking tired– and he should probably be adjusted to fatigue and restless nights, since he’s not exactly new to overworking himself, but he hasn’t. Not fully. And God, he’d probably kill for a nap, for someone to hear him scream everything he thinks, to go to a completely different school for a few days and relax.

But would he even want that? Would he know what to do with so much free time? Would it even be okay, going to a place that would view him as equal, not endlessly lesser than another sector of the school? Would it even make sense to be worth something, when he has spent so long not being worth anything?

It’s in this rumination that he ends up near him and Nanami’s fountain, and he almost expects to see her there…

… but instead, he sees someone else.

The Main Course uniform is the first thing he sees, the red tie loose around the Ultimate’s neck, their jacket still buttoned properly. They must have been out there for a while, since their white hair, unruly atop their head, is slightly ruffled from the wind. Their grey-green eyes that remind Hinata of mercury he had seen in chemistry class is focused on the pavement, but looks up when Hinata’s footsteps grow closer. On their face, there’s a pleasant smile, one that Hinata finds strikingly pretty…

… one that disappears when they make eye contact with Hinata.

He can’t say he expected anything other than this.

“I thought reserve course classes were still in session,” they muse, which is an interesting conversation starter in any case. Paired with the way they were almost glaring at Hinata, it left him with… an unsettling feeling.

“They, uh, aren’t,” he replies eloquently. “They ended a bit ago.”

“Ah.” They smile, slightly, but it looks… more cold than friendly. “Can I get a name? Or should I just refer to you as ‘reserve-kun’?”

Hinata quickly decides he doesn’t like this person. “Uh, Hinata Hajime.”

They nod. “Komaeda Nagito.”

That name is… kind of familiar.

Oh. Oh. That’s the name of Nanami’s classmate. The Ultimate Lucky Student, who has strong views on talent and hope, if he remembers Nanami’s words correctly. Someone that Hinata would either like or hate– and it is strongly veering towards the later– someone who is a bit of an outcast. Someone who Hinata isn’t sure if he should have a lot of pity for, or none at all.

He’s heard more stories since, ones where Komaeda is a background character. He’s gotten the vague idea that aside from his unsettling opinions, he also tends to be an overall concerning individual, with a shocking inferiority complex, calling himself trash near constantly. It seemed to worry Nanami, which in turn worried Hinata.

But from the way this guy is talking, it doesn’t really seem like this guy feels inferior at all. At least, not compared to Hinata. Which is…

… not surprising.

Hinata isn’t really sure how to progress the conversation, especially one that started this oddly, so he figures he should make do with this new information, asking, “Oh, you know Nanami, right?”

“Nanami-san is my classmate, yes.” He tilts his head to the side and sits up a bit straighter. “You must be the reserve she’s friends with, then. In retrospect, I remember she’s mentioned your name once or twice. I thought she was kidding.”

Yeah. Hinata definitely doesn’t like this guy. “Well. She wasn’t.”

“So it seems.”

This conversation is going nowhere. “Well, I’m gonna go. And, uh. Finish my walk. So-”

Before Hinata can leave, Komaeda speaks up. “Don’t you feel awe, Hinata-kun, walking around Hope’s Peak, looking at a school filled with such hope and talent?” He punctuates those words, wrapping his arms around himself and looking up at Hinata. “Doesn’t it put you in your place? Knowing that you’re a stepping stone for hope, just here to further the Ultimates’ abilities? Isn’t it beautiful, so beautiful that you know you’re unworthy of it? Do you have another purpose aside from this, or do you put your value in mindlessly pacing the perimeter of Hope’s Peak Ac-”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Hinata interrupts. This guy looks really worked up over the random bullshit he’s saying. He’s managed to get under Hinata’s skin really fast– which, yeah, Hinata has kind of a temper, but Jesus Christ.

This must be the whole concerning thing.

Komaeda just smiles wider. “You’re rather disrespectful for a reserve. Shouldn’t you be worshipping me? I mean, I’m utterly worthless in every possible way and deserve to be destroyed like the filth I am– but at least I’m an Ultimate.”

Hinata gives up, walking away from the other and running an agitated hand through his hair. He can hear Komaeda laughing raspily, still at the fountain, and it just forces his steps to go quicker.

(The most aggravating part of all of that is that it hurt. It shouldn’t– the opinion of a slightly-unhinged, annoying, pretty Ultimate shouldn’t hurt him. But it did.

Because there was some truth in that mess of shit he was saying. Hinata is inferior. Hinata would always be inferior to the Ultimates he looks up to– not as much as Komaeda said, but still. The whole being a stepping stone thing, he didn’t get, but… he is unworthy of this place. That much is true. That much hurts.)

He decides, without much hesitation, not to mention the encounter to anyone.

–

“Uh, make yourself at home, I guess,” Hinata says when Komaeda steps into his cottage, his eyes wide as he looks around the scene. Which is fair– Hinata hasn’t exactly had time to clean the place, and he’s sort of a restless sleeper, so it’s a shitshow of a mess, as of current. Komaeda’s room, from what Hinata’s seen, is a lot neater than this, so hopefully he isn’t all that judging.

(Not that Hinata really cares about Komaeda’s thoughts on his cabin.)

“Thank you, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda replies politely, sitting on the edge of the bed. Hinata sits beside him, and they both ignore the bed sheets that are tangled at their feet. “Once again, I apologize for intruding.”

“I invited you,” Hinata points out.

Komaeda frowns a bit. “Well, yes, but-”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you here. I don’t exactly do things out of pity or kindness when I’ve been awake for over a day,” he states bluntly.

The other stares at him with a weird expression in his eye, something like understanding. “Ah.”

“Yeah.” Hinata kicks the sheets. “Speaking of.”

“Are you going to sleep, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda sort of teases, but there’s a level of seriousness in it. Hinata sort of hates the way the other makes him feel like he’s fucking up by neglecting himself (which is sort of an oxymoron in thought, but). It’s something Komaeda has always done– made Hinata feel like a fuck up, that is– but it’s sort of different, now, when it’s more of a constructive criticism than a blatant attack.

He’s not sure how he feels about the change.

“I was going to talk about you sleeping, actually,” he retorts, clearing his throat.

Komaeda smiles mischievously. “Did you invite me here just to watch me sleep? How flattering, Hinata-kun, but I assure you I would not be able to do harm to others or myself whilst asleep.”

“That’s,” he takes a deep breath, “not what I meant.”

“Ah, okay. Sorry for assuming!”

“It’s fine?” It sounds too much like a question to his ears, but. Whatever. “I just meant, like. I’m sort of concerned about your health.”

“This doesn’t seem like the mood to discuss this,” Komaeda observes.

Hinata blinks. “Was there a specific mood set by any of this?”

Komaeda looks unimpressed. “Hinata-kun, we’re in your room at 5:00 AM, spending time together. I don’t think this is ideal for a medical visit– especially considering how exhausted you are. I thought you were more trying to be a person than a doctor, right now.”

… There’s some truth in that. There’s some pain in that. Hinata doesn’t try to be inhuman in any way, but he knows, deep down, that it’s a difficult task to accomplish. Months of conditioning combined with the instinctual drive for survival resulted in Kamukura’s eternal boredom and apathy to manifest as a defense mechanism, one that Hinata employs in situations that aren’t necessarily defense-requiring. Like administering medicine, or investigating his own psyche, or trying to breach any topic with Komaeda.

He hates it, but it’s part of him, neither nature nor nurture. Just… a trait, forced upon him, one he has to adapt to.

“Hinata-kun?” Komaeda’s smile is thin. “I apologize for overstepping!”

“It’s fine.” He sort of has a headache. Maybe he should sleep. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Ah, Hinata-kun doesn’t have to apologize! He can do whatever he likes! I still appreciate him regardless!” he reassures enthusiastically, in an almost adoring way.

… And. The thing is.

Hinata has been viscerally aware of Komaeda’s attraction to him ever since he awoke from the Neo World Program. It didn’t take overwhelming amounts of self reflection and memory analysis to realize that Komaeda has had feelings for him, ever since the Despair Era, when neither of them were the person they are now or were before it all began. It’s present in Servant’s endless worship and Komaeda’s subtle (and sometimes, less subtle) affections.

It’s something that Hinata thought, initially, he could just… accept. The fact that the other likes him is simply a fact of life, like the fact that this same individual is still suffering from frontotemporal dementia and lymphoma, like the fact that the other has trauma neither of them can even begin to impact, like the fact that Hinata is privy to entirely too much about the other that he’s hardly aware of.

This is why his yearning and fondness for Komaeda, despite his conflicting thoughts of romance, takes him by surprise. The idea that Komaeda’s affections could be requited is a shocking concept to both of them, one that might be earth-shattering or simply a natural progression of their current behavior. It’s a thought that he keeps in the back of his mind, primarily, believing that not much can be done until Komaeda heals.

And yet, it surfaces in the quiet moments like this, where Komaeda has that energetically adoring expression, where the moonlight accentuates his face in a pretty way that will only get more beautiful with daybreak, where Hinata is just staring at him mindlessly. It surfaces like this, and Hinata wonders, to himself, if he loves the other.

If this is how it comes to him.

“Hinata-kun?”

Or maybe it’s just a lapse.

“I’m tired,” he replies, which isn’t a proper response but it is the only thing he can find himself saying, right then.

Komaeda nods and starts to stand up, “Ah, okay! I apologize if I bored you, I know I can tend to do that. I hope you sleep well, Hinata-kun-”

Hinata catches his wrist.

“Maybe,” he inhales. “You can stay? And sleep beside me?”

Komaeda’s face shifts, emotions spreading across his face like auroras, but they’re quickly stifled by another smile, one that seems a bit more genuine. “Ah, of course! Whatever Hinata-kun wants.” He takes the eagerness Komaeda exhibits while taking off his shoes and scooting to the center of the bed as confirmation that Komaeda wants this as well.

It’s odd how Hinata has the courage to ask something like that, despite everything.

Hinata draws the curtains closed, hoping that the sun won’t wake them up, and he slips beside Komaeda in bed. The other adjusts well to sleeping in someone else’s bed, all things considered, but he looks fairly stiff all the same. Hinata knows there’s nothing he can do to change his slight discomfort– anything he could do would be a bit too courageous, and he’s already expressed a lot of bravery considering that he’s more contemplative than rash, at the moment.

So he lays down beside him, facing the other who faces away, and he finds himself tracing the contours of his body (innocuous and entirely unrelated to medical concerns), the way his hair curls against his nape, how his hands lay at his sides. It calms him to study the other, and he wonders if that is love, if all of this is love, even if he has a thousand other concerns.

It takes a pathetically short five minutes before he says, “Komaeda…?”

“Yes, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda still sounds awake. He wonders if he was planning on sleeping at all.

He breathes out a soft exhale. “Can we talk?”

–

He does not see Komaeda again until after despair overcomes the world.

But by then, both him and Komaeda are separate people. The memories prior to the creation of himself– Kamukura Izuru, that being– are vague and only documented in a diary that Hinata Hajime struggled to maintain. And Servant, while not suffering direct memory loss of everything regarding Hope’s Peak Academy, does not appear to want to verbally recall anything regarding the school to Kamukura. This could be from lack of trust. This could be his nature.

They meet in a bloodied street, bodies scattered across the asphalt in an unpleasing way. From an aesthetic standpoint, it is disgusting, but Kamukura does not necessarily dislike it. He does not dislike anything.

He only finds this despair base.

Servant’s hands are dirtied from crusted blood, which is to be expected. His hair is awry, his face in a considerably tormented frown, and his attire is dirtied aside from his chain that drags obnoxiously loud on the pavement.

Kamukura clears his throat.

His face shifts drastically when he sees Kamukura, which is the most interesting part of his appearance, as of current, and he immediately drops to his knees. It is certainly an interesting display, yet predictable, and Servant’s voice is raspy when he says, “Kamukura Izuru.”

“So you have heard of me.” That is understandable. The only reason Kamukura is at this location, after all, is because Enoshima requested prior to her death that Kamukura take ownership of Servant. She had considered it a present to him, but Kamukura finds nothing to be a gift, especially when it is at her hands.

One of her hands is severed and attached in place of where Servant’s would be. Expectable.

“You’re the Ultimate Hope,” he breathes. “I- I have been looking for you-”

“How convenient,” he cuts off his likely obnoxious rambling. He does not want to hear about his godhood from the lens of a worshipper. “As I was looking for you.”

Servant’s face flushes. “You were looking for me? Ahaha, I’m sure you must be mistaken.”

“Enoshima stated that in her death, you were to be my property. Transitive ownership.” His face twists at the sound of her name, which is not necessarily expected, but can be easily explained retroactively. “You are mindlessly idling, as of current. You plan to travel to Towa City, but have not done so yet. You have killed seventeen people directly in your time of being a Remnant of Despair, but you are growing bored.”

Despite his wide eyes and droll expression, Servant is clever enough to catch on. “You would like me to travel with you, Kamukura-kun? I warn you, I am useless in every possible way and unworthy of your presence.”

Kamukura glares at him. “I will determine that.”

“… Understood.” Servant hesitates before standing up, and there is shocking amounts of excitement in his expression. “I apologize for being overeager, I’ve never travelled with someone like this before. Someone like you before.”

“That is to be expected,” Kamukura says as he begins to walk, stepping over corpses with grace as the Remnant beside him trips and stumbles, babbling about despair and hope and talent all the way.

From there, an attachment forms. They continue to travel in this manner, relocating from place to place with little but each other’s companionship (and what they can find, in this cataclysmic scenario– assorted piles of canned vegetables and month-old water bottles). Along the way grows learning, basic answers to questions that benefit both of them only slightly, though prove to be boring, as Kamukura does not have a favorite color or movie or food. But the basis of small talk leads to a more expanded exploration of morality, of death and life and the liminality of such matters, philosophy and physics and their prediction for where the world will be.

Kamukura discovers, then, that Servant is not capable of matching him in intelligence. However, he nears close to having this ability, exhibiting his cleverness in a distinctly separate way than how Enoshima enforced her analytical prowess upon her victims. It is refreshing, to have this difference. It is refreshing, by extension, to have him.

That is how the evolution of their relationship begins.

Sexual ties between them have been present from the start. Servant is poor at concealing his overwhelming attraction to the other, and Kamukura has curiosities he was not interested in exploring with Enoshima. Thus begins tumultuous, albeit safe to an extent, exploratory intercourse, which Kamukura finds not particularly boring.

Then becomes an inherent domesticity in residing together, in sharing beds (although, Servant only allows himself to sleep beside Kamukura if he is particularly in pain, that day. Kamukura does not necessarily mind if Servant continues to sleep beside him, but it is a matter of principle that is tedious to undo, especially with no distinct want to commit effort to it). Along with sleeping together, there is having meals together, defending each other from robotic Monokumas when it becomes necessary, and even reading together.

It is all not particularly interesting. It is all not particularly boring. It exists in a grey area that Kamukura struggles to define.

He dislikes struggling.

There is a particular day, once, that he would consider lucky (were he to indulge in this thought towards Servant, the other would likely break down) due to the numerous realizations had. The primary one, and the most convoluted one by far, is the realization that he is perhaps infatuated with the other.

It comes whilst Servant is asleep, his body bare aside from the marring of bruises and hickeys, thin sheets layered in dust resting atop him. Kamukura observes him from where he sits at the edge of the bed, admiring the way the red sky highlights Servant’s body in an almost rosy way, porcelain skin glimmering with red contours that made the Ultimate Artist in Kamukura transfixed. Part of him desired to reach out and trace his body on impulse– and it would not be the first time he sought touch out of poorly placed impulse. However, he refrains.

A small part of him– a romantic, likely, in all but practice– finds that touching him may, perhaps, detract from the natural beauty he exudes. It is not like Kamukura is anything other than manmade.

This is a thought that crosses his mind often. Rather, the latter is. However, with Servant in his life as a catalyst, the frequency of such thoughts rapidly accelerates, and he finds a sense of permanence in the other. Something he is rather interested in exploring, given the time. There are many, many inquiries he would indulge in, given the time.

They are not given time.

He had prepared an injection in advance, one to make Servant unconscious for approximately 48 hours. It is enough time to execute a procedure that would remove Servant’s memories of Kamukura, a similar procedure that he will attempt to repeat on himself (he has done thorough research into lobotomies due to his experiences. Even without this research, it would not be a particularly difficult task. However, his emotions pose a hindrance). He is aware that he should inject Servant now, as, according to his predictions and intuition, he has confidence in the fact that the Future Foundation will locate them within that period of time.

He would like to evade them. He knows he is able to, that he has a capacity to outwit them, that Servant would heed every command necessary to guarantee their survival. After all, there is no certainty in the prospect that the Future Foundation would keep them alive.

Despite this, Kamukura is… curious. He is intrigued as to what the Future Foundation will do, once they capture him and Servant, and he knows that they cannot evade the Future Foundation forever. They will grow bored.

It is regrettable, he thinks as he injects Servant with the serum, stroking his hair for purely selfish purposes as he does so. It is regrettable that they did not have infinite time together. However, Servant is dying to his own illness, and Kamukura is dying, metaphorically, to the boredom that he can not fully stave away, even with his agreeable companionship. It is poetic, in the same sense, that they will be captured and perhaps be executed before they could fully breach the barrier of worship and love, something Kamukura is not certain he could attain.

In all senses, it is over, and Servant will not remember him by the time he awakes in the grasp of the Future Foundation.

(A part of Kamukura recalls their first meeting with feigned nostalgia, remnants of the emotion that must have existed before his creation, and he wonders– or, cynically, he hopes– that he may meet the other again, and finish the life they began.)

–

Komaeda rolls over and smiles, slightly sleepy. “What do you want to talk about, Hinata-kun?” After a pause, he asks, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he says with a little too much force. “I’ve just had some. Things on my mind. That I want to talk about?”

It’s sort of a half-truth, because it feels wrong to say that it’s been something on his mind. Because it has been, and it has been for a while– but he hardly knows if what he’s feeling is love, if it’s worth indulging in this when he has so much to work on. If he can even be certain of his thoughts at all.

But he wants to talk to Komaeda– maybe to get perspective, and finally decide.

So, he closes his eyes and starts talking. “I was thinking about the simulation, and before. More specifically, us.”

He can hear the bitterness in Komaeda’s voice when he says, “Ah. How I betrayed and belittled you?”

“Not exactly.” But it’s part of it. “… You said in the simulation that you were in love with me, right?”

There’s a pause. One that’s long enough that Hinata almost wants to open his eyes, but he needs to isolate himself in his thoughts temporarily, dissect the words and his feelings and come to a conclusion. It’s something he’s good at (but love isn’t survival games, or class trials. If they were, he would have figured this out a long time ago, back when Nanami was still around).

When Komaeda eventually speaks, it’s brief but telling. “… Yes.”

“And. You didn’t like me much before all of that, but… as Servant, you-”

“Worshipped and admired Kamukura-kun, yes.” He sounds almost nervous. Komaeda rarely sounds like this, and it’s almost enough to stop pushing. “… Why do you ask? Don’t you already know this, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata sighs. “Yeah, technically. But I’ve been thinking about it more, and…” he opens his eyes, now. Komaeda’s face is vacant– no smile, no frown, just a straight line that wavers if he stares hard enough. His eyes are filled with emotion he can’t uncover, emotions he doesn’t want to uncover. But… he watches them carefully regardless, makes note of how they shift. “We’ve had an interesting relationship, throughout all our time knowing each other. In our one encounter back at Hope’s Peak, we didn’t get along, and things in Despair were… intimate, yet twisted.”

“That’s one way to consider it,” Komaeda says, and it isn’t quite hatred in his voice, but something close. Something Hinata knows not to take personally.

“And. I’ve been thinking about where it leaves us, now. And– I mean, it’s something in the back of my head, but not really. Filling all my thoughts? It just sort of came up while we were sitting here, before I said we should sleep, and sometimes I think about it when I’m not working around the island. So it’s sort of…” a dormant thing, has been in the back of my mind forever because I put it there, because I didn’t want to accept that I like you, because I’m too afraid and I know you are too, but there’s something about you, something about this, and I’m curious to know where it goes- “Yeah.”

Komaeda nods. “I see.”

“I think you know where I’m going with this.”

There’s a silence. Then- “I’d rather not.”

“… Rather not what?”

He already knows, but he wants to hope, wants to hope that Komaeda will allow himself this, despite everything. And yet…

… “Rather not believe what you are implying, Hinata-kun.” And the bitterness is directed at him this time, but Komaeda has always tore at him claws to hide something else, whether it be personal insecurity or infatuation or fear. Hinata thinks it might be all three, now. “You are aware of my love for you, how you could use it to your benefit, how you could disregard me and I would-” his breath catches.

“Komaeda?”

“… hardly complain,” he finishes. “I would hardly complain if you used me, because it’s you. You’re aware that you could make this so easy– and you aren’t even certain of this. I’ve been certain ever since I knew you, even when I hardly knew anything about you, even when I stayed with you to wake up on that island, I knew. But you don’t, and you could make it so easy and just give up on me, because it’s not like I would love you less or hate you more, but you’re acting on impulse. You rarely act on impulse, so why are you…”

There are tears in Komaeda’s eyes.

“… When I first met you,” Hinata starts. “I thought you were pretty. An asshole, but pretty. In despair, Kamukura was interested in you, and he was bored of everything else, even her. And he knew your worship, and that was the most boring part of you, to him, because he didn’t like being treated like a god, not by you. And… and in the simulation, I remember the betrayal I felt when I knew one of the only people I trusted turned their back on me. And- and when I saw your corpse-”

Komaeda shakes his head, but Hinata doesn’t stop. “-When I saw your corpse, I was so fucking pissed, because you’re smart and fucked up and I almost missed you that trial, despite everything. And despite everything, now when I woke you up, when I had to run into the infirmary and out of it and had to do all those fucking psychodives to get you out, I thought it was worth it.”

“Hinata-kun.”

“I thought– I knew, and I know– that you are worth it.”

And even though Komaeda’s stare is intimidating, and even though Hinata’s so uncertain of everything right now, he’s confident in that.

He’s never been more confident in anything, actually.

–

When Hinata wakes up on an unfamiliar island, with an aching head and endless questions about his surroundings, he’s greeted by a stranger, with a slight smile on their face. They had slightly tostled white hair, cloudlike and wispy, that falls just above their dim green eyes, and they have a slender yet alluring physique that Hinata almost finds pretty, in his dazed state.

After they confirm that Hinata is awake, they introduce themself. “… I’m Komaeda Nagito. Nice to meet you.”

Hinata accepts the hand he offers him and stands up, brushing sand off his pants (why are they at a beach?) and replying, “Hey, I’m Hinata Hajime.”

Komaeda leads him around the island, introducing him to all the others that had left him behind, unconscious, on the beach (he can’t really blame him. He’s still embarrassed about how he just… passed out. At least Komaeda isn’t judging him for it). He offers his own quips and commentary about the island, one Hinata finds insightful, if not slightly odd at times, and he begins to develop a trust for the other.

Sort of. Because, well, it’s not like he can really trust anyone, when they all woke up on a random fucking island with no idea of what’s going on, aside from some random shit a rabbit tells them. But, for as weird Komaeda can sometimes be and the weird situation they’re in, he establishes him as trustworthy early on. Someone to rely on, even when everything goes to hell.

(And littered in there, far enough in the back of his head that he sort of forgets about it, he is sort of infatuated with the other. In a super base way– because he’s a teenager, c’mon– but, still. Komaeda’s pretty, and he’s friendly, and he thinks there’s some significance in that.

Of course, everything changes when the first murder occurs. When the trial happens, and truths are revealed. When everything spirals downwards for the rest of their ‘island vacation’, and Hinata realizes that Komaeda should have never been trusted at all.

… But he can’t bring himself to hate him, despite everything. Even when he’s faced with his corpse.)

–

There is a long silence that fills the room, after his admission.

It’s understandable, considering that Komaeda… has never quite had anyone stay by his side as long as Hinata has. He’s probably never considered the possibility of requited love or care of anything, has never been able to reconcile with the idea that Hinata wants to stay despite the fucked-up mess of trauma and disease his brain is filled with. He probably finds himself vacant, like Hinata does, sometimes, like every quirk about him that makes him distinctive and worthy of love is completely null, and that he is cursing Hinata by being around him this long.

It’s more fucked up than Hinata can sometimes conceptualize, but. As he said, it’s worth it.

Hinata breaks the silence, knowing that he should be patient with the other, who has had his mentality partially shattered in a brief period of time, but slightly worried that the progress they’ve made would fall at a stalemate in complete silence. “… Komaeda?”

“Hinata-kun.” His voice is both empty and emotional, and it leaves an ache in Hinata’s chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand, still. I’m not…” he trails off.

“You are worth it,” Hinata insists, because he knows the way that Komaeda thinks, knows where his mind is going. “We don’t have to do anything, or be anything, if you don’t want to. I just… thought you should know, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot, so. Thought it was worth saying.”

“Worth,” Komaeda echoes quietly. His laugh is at the same volume, raspy and choked. “I… I really like you, Hinata-kun, but I can’t let you endanger yourself.”

Hinata shakes his head. “Your luck can’t affect me badly, remember? I’m lucky too.”

“It has in the past. Before you remember. When me and Kamukura-kun were together, and how bad luck and consequent good luck would follow us around. He thought it was interesting. I knew we weren’t safe. And we weren’t.” He sighs, and Hinata wants to reach out and brush his cheek with his fingertips, ensure that he isn’t just a ghost. “If I hurt you, Hinata-kun-”

“You won’t,” Hinata argues.

Komaeda raises his voice, slightly. “But if I do, then I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Knowing that you chose to have something with me, despite all your responsibilities and all the risks I bring to you just by existing… it would kill me, Hinata-kun. I’m already dying and I’ve done it once, but… it would really, really kill me. I don’t think I would be able to lose you. I don’t…” He looks so tired.

Hinata reaches out, then, and intertwines their fingers. Komaeda doesn’t push him away, and he takes it as a good sign. “You aren’t going to lose me. And I know we can’t be certain of what’ll happen in the future, but… I think we deserve something good. So much bad shit has happened, and we’re healing and everything, but I think we also deserve to find something like… hope. In each other. Y’know? And, obviously, it’s only if you want. I’m not gonna, like, make you date me, or something.” He squeezes his hand. “But, I don’t want you to keep yourself from someone you want– something we want– out of fear. We’re not going to die, Komaeda. And even if we did… every second that led to it would be worth it.”

Komaeda’s eyes flutter shut. It hurt to see the pain in his eyes, but his scrunched eyebrows and shaky lip is almost worse. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?” Hinata asks gently.

“I…” he cuts himself off, thinking in silence as Hinata rubs circles into his palm. Eventually, his eyes open, and his expression is tentative and a bit scared, but Hinata can see some hope in it. It’s almost enough to make him smile, but he fights it off and waits for Komaeda to finish. “I… I want this. But, I don’t deserve it.”

“You want it,” Hinata reminds him softly, “and I want it. So, I think it’s okay for us to have, yeah?”

He hesitates, but eventually says, “… Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he repeats, and then he gives him a slight smile. “I can work with maybe.”

Komaeda responds with a fleeting smile, one that makes Hinata let go of his hand and tug him forward into a warm embrace. Komaeda’s face nestles into the other’s shoulder, and he can hear a muffled voice whisper, “I love you, Hinata-kun. I really do.”

A weight he thought would permanently be on his shoulders disappears, and he breathes out a long sigh of relief as he tightens his grip on Komaeda’s waist. And, with a voice that echoes himself through all of the years of knowing Komaeda, through the stress and irritation and curiosity and trust, in a journey that was just as much his as it was theirs, he says, “I love you too.”

Even after everything.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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elmidol · 5 years ago

Text

Error: Program Not Found - One

Summary: You are in charge of programming the droids that work most closely with both General Hux and Kylo Ren. Unbeknownst to you, each of these two men have it in their heads that your relationship extends beyond the workplace. This causes things to escalate quickly when your two apparently secret boyfriends compare notes on their respective partner who is far too similar for their liking.

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“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.” -Lao Tzu

One: Reboot

Of all responsibilities that you had experienced firsthand when it came to working with the entity that called itself the First Order, you found that the most taxing entailed interactions with senators. These self-entitled politicians presented a visible change in demeanor for one man in particular; the man charged with the task of completing a project known as Starkiller. The less pleasant atmosphere that developed did not lessen the intrigue you felt to work alongside the ginger-haired general. The woman you had worked with prior to accepting this position with the First Order had made your life miserable. She had learned each and every one of your insecurities while in the guise of a trusted companion then tore you down as best she could. Generally you did not think of her anymore, however there were occasions when this changed.

You were in charge of the maintenance of the protocol droids that General Armitage Hux used when he confronted Centrist senators of planets not well versed in basic. The droid currently present was one that you yourself had designed and named when working with the aforementioned woman. TeeArr, as you fondly called him, was offering facts that General Hux clearly believed unimportant and unnecessary, thus slowing the progress of the meeting. The man’s attention to appearances was what had him restraining himself from shouting at TeeArr to silence itself. If looks could kill, though, your droid would be long dead.

“Assassination attempts on individuals of your stature are not unheard of. It is unlikely that we will encounter such obstacles with this senator. Although we cannot rule out the potential that we will be double-crossed.”

A part of you wondered if this line of thought stemmed from that history between you and the other woman. TeeArr was protective of you, more than most protocol droids were. It was one of the reasons that you had grown more attached to him. Others might have laughed that you considered a droid to be your dear friend, but you would tell them to shove things where the sun didn’t shine.

Prior to the unsolicited comments from the droid, the room that the three of you occupied had been filled with silence. There was a podium at the front along with a holoprojector that could be used to display a variety of pertinent data. You were seated in one of the chairs that likely held the daily function of holding the students that were enrolled in the academy as they listened to lectures. General Hux sat mere feet away, and TeeArr hovered almost directly atop him. You were somewhat surprised that the redhead had lasted this long without fully scowling. He had glared vibroblades at the droid, yes, but no expression had utilized his entire face. Until now. That expression of disdain and annoyance presented itself at long last.

“It would be unwise to voice these suggestions where they can easily be overheard.” His eyes slid away from the droid over to you. A nonverbal tell that his patience was running thin. While you did find the situation mildly amusing, you were a professional. You kept a straight face and gave a nod to indicate acknowledgment of the order he was giving you.

The protocol droid was rather oblivious to the man’s ire, although TeeArr did verbally acknowledge that yes, it would be unfortunate to be overheard. After clearing your throat, you suggested that the droid, being so concerned, move closer to the door and see if it was able to hear if anyone was coming. While TeeArr completed this task, you mentally calculated just how many times the man you worked for would impatiently tap his foot. You were grateful that this particular protocol droid never complained when assigned menial tasks. The same could not be said for other droids you had programmed. Another model, for instance, had met its end via a bolt from Hux’s blaster, which had decimated the droid’s head.

TeeArr returned with the information that there were no signs of approach from the other side of the door. In truth, you had expected no different. Your attention slipped back to the General, whom you watched as he stared at the floor like he was determined to change the ugly carpeting inside the room. You recognized it as a pattern that had been installed in part of the base you had first worked on after joining the First Order; the carpet had been due to an inventory error that was caused by a disgruntled former employee. It had taken weeks to install and another three weeks to have it successfully removed. The room was now referred to as Kylo Ren’s tantrum room by a select few, yourself included. General Hux was frequently reminded of all the equipment that had been damaged by the Knight’s saber because of the error. It was no wonder he was in a sour mood.

The comfortable silence that had befallen the room persisted until a young assistant entered the room. She bowed by way of greeting whilst saying, “General Hux, the senator has finished preparations for the meeting and will see you now.”

“Very good.” His tone betrayed the words. It was not ‘very good’ that it had taken this long for preparations to be completed seeing as how this meeting had been the senator’s idea. The unprofessional manner in which the senator was conducting himself was nothing that the redhead hadn’t experienced.

You inwardly chuckled upon noticing that he had a slight limp, likely from his foot falling asleep. When General Hux started to look over his shoulder to check whether or not you were following him, you lifted your gaze to not upset him with your observations. To him, looks were everything.

The assistant wore flats, which ensured little sound was made with each of her steps. You were impressed by this, and you had a vague impression that General Hux was taking silent notes. Less noise meant less distractions in the workplace. It would not be the first time someone suggested that female officers would not be allowed to wear heels. You varied between flats and heels; it was dependent upon your mood and what tasks would be yours for the day. There were also occasions when it was easier due to after work events.

It took roughly three minutes for your small entourage to reach the room. The assistant opened the door, stepping aside for your superior to enter. You pressed two fingers against the bridge of your nose as the TR droid rudely stepped in front of you to file in after the man. This was, thankfully, the droid’s trial run for working in this environment; the meeting would largely consist of individuals who could speak Basic. It was a test in behavior. So far the droid was failing. You were not going to point that out yet. It was difficult to predict how droids would react seeing that they had no facial expressions.

You thanked the assistant by way of a quick nod as you walked past her into the room. She returned the gesture. The door closed behind you without the woman joining you.

You, General Hux, and the droid stood on one side of a long table that was in the center of the room. The other party was directly across from you. The senator was quite like how you imagined. Richly dressed to the point of gaudiness. You held in your opinions. After all, you were a professional and knew that anything you said would reflect on the entire First Order. The senator and his group viewed you as nothing more than an underling. Some hound to be kept muzzled. You would entertain this view with the knowledge that in reality you were one of the top droid programmers from your home system.

“We are appreciative of your presence here,” an older gray-haired man said. His attire marked him as one of the senator’s advisors.

General Hux stood more straighter still, something you had not realized was possible; the man was so rigid. “I am hard pressed for time considering the projects that I currently am charged with overseeing. Due to the delay, I have to admit that I find myself doubting the sincerity of your words.”

You would have felt sorry for the blushing senator if it hadn’t been that exact individual who had arranged this meeting. As for the underlings of the politician, you did empathize.

“Please, have a seat,” the senator said. It was notable that he dismissed General Hux’s valid complaints without acknowledging them at all. By way of response, the redhead crossed his arms as he scowled and continued to stand. You were not certain if you should stand or sit. Feet hurting from the heels you were wearing, you silently cursed the pain of several forming blisters and decided to stand in solidarity with your superior. You were hopeful that with General Hux having seen the practicality of the assistant wearing flats for this occasion, that maybe the redhead would not push for you to follow the current First Order dress code for meetings which did involve heels for non-officers. After all, it was only because of his insistence and love for appearances that you were wearing the shoes that you were.

“I require more information on these projects that you speak of. I am providing funding for the Order.” The senator drummed his fingers on the flat surface in front of him while TeeArr translated his subsequent words regarding that this had been stipulations agreed upon at the start of their contract.

You observed your superior in your peripheral. The protocol droid remained silent, and this was something that caused you to feel an enormous amount of relief. General Hux’s lips were a thin line as he stared at the party across the table. He understood the impact silence could have on people. The senator swallowed thickly. Beads of sweat began to gather on his brow. The red-haired man was in contrast perfectly calm. On the exterior, that is. This was a topic of annoyance for him. Senators were far too nosey, which was frustrating. They provided the funding yet they also had loose lips when it came to information that could be sold or further their political career.

“The plans have not changed,” General Hux said simply. Irritation flashed in the senator’s gaze, a deeper blush forming on his cheeks. He sputtered, spittle hitting the table. You were thankful that it did not reach you, something that would have been more than a little disgusting. “Our agreement was that you would be given limited information for the sake of privacy and reducing the risks of security breaches.”

“Regardless, we need to know where the credits are going,” the senator said, slowly raising his eyes to appraise the General’s well-groomed hair before considering your attire as well. “It could be that you funnel the credits for your own personal expenses.” It was a good thing, you reasoned, that you had previously set down your datapad, as you would have dropped it. This senator was far more bold than the ill-mannered protocol droid with which General Hux had been contending

It was through clenched teeth that your superior responded. “I can assure you, senator,”--he spoke the title as though it were a swear-- “that I do not allow my personal interests to interfere with my work.” You wondered just how many times and in how many ways he had imagined himself murdering the man.

“If I may,” you said quietly, prepared to be silenced by either your superior or the senator. Neither broke out of the staring contest into which they had entered, and yet you could tell that you had their attention all the same. “Our reasons for requiring more funding is that we are dedicated to completing a project that will assist us in our ultimate goal. Right now it is one of our main priorities.”

“And what is this ‘main priority’?” the senator asked with a sneer. You knew that this expression came as a result of his having broken eye contact first in order to properly address you.

General Hux glared, his eyes landing on each person sitting or standing in the room. “It would be unwise to allow this information to leave this room. We are currently working on an army of assassination droids.” The man raised one of his gloved hands, making a gesture in the air towards the protocol droid that was standing beside him. You had a good sabacc face, which is what kept you from reacting. As for the droid…

“Well, this is an honor, to be allowed to present the fine details of such a highly important project. Alas, sir, I regret to inform you that I have not been granted access to any such files on the matter.” TeeArr took another moment to notice that General Hux was essentially pointing at him for another reason. “Sir! I am a protocol droid, well-versed in--”

“That, of course, is the cover,” the redhead said, cutting off both the droid and the response that the senator had started. Trying again, the senator properly voiced his skepticism and the doubt he held regarding the protocol droid as an assassin.

You nodded when General Hux looked to you to continue. “Beginning with this new line, we will be able to place the droids where they will eventually be hired by the target or someone close to the target. The TR line is short for TR8-0R. Since the droids will be viewed as traitors, and thus those who arranged the hit will never be revealed, this was the agreed upon name. It’s been rather exhausting, ensuring that both the assassination and protocol programs are correctly coded into the droids’ memories.”

You did not miss the way the senator’s eyebrows started to rise. He was nodding with approval. His lips were pursed forward, and you wondered if he was thinking of political rivals he would love to see assassinated. Would this be a new project that would now be official for the First Order? Or would General Hux be able to make up an excuse for the project failing? Should that occur, the senator would possibly demand a return of finances. Unless he died…

TeeArr had switched its optics to watch you. The droid was loyal to you, for which you were grateful. He never said a word to undermine your authority or unveil this lie. This served you well since the senator expressed increased interest in the line of fake droids. He was curious to see them in action, which had you silently speculating that he was imagining assassinating numerous rivals with the droids. This was not unlike some of the officers in the First Order. Politics was a deadly business, and the militaristic life of the First Order bred a similar mortality rate.

Likely sensing that the tense atmosphere in the room was not going to dissolve despite the ability to share ideas without either side firing shots, the senator conferred with his advisors and proposed an end to the meeting. He did press to be kept updated in regards to this new project that he would be financing. You nearly snorted. It was funny, you thought, that in the end he was forking over more credits when he had been the one to propose this meeting to see where his credits were going. Some people were reckless. A pity for those on his planet that had to suffer in order to line his pockets.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” the senator said with a nod of dismissal.

By some miracle, TeeArr held its vocoder long enough for the three of you to leave the room before uttering. “That went rather well. You have been properly paid for the service of your time, General. Perhaps being inconvenienced should not be frowned upon if the perpetrator is willing to listen to reason. Although I do suggest a different cover story. Me as an assassination droid. Can you imagine?”

Being that you took pleasure in designing and improving upon droids, you could do just that. General Hux, on the other hand, was not interested in that sort of mental gymnastistics.

There was a certain art in the language of silence. One had to understand mood above all else. Facial expressions, the way the body talked. For instance, the scowl that remained present on General Hux’s face informed you that he was still frustrated with having been pulled away from his work on Starkiller to play nice with the senator. The redhead clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes each time TeeArr moved so much as a millimeter out of line. This practically screamed out the man’s annoyance of the droid. Under these circumstances, you could not say that you blamed him. This behavior from TeeArr was not a glitch sadly. You had sought to create a more free-thinking protocol droid in the hopes that it could offer valuable input when the situation demanded it. The sass was not something you had realized would enter into the equation on this level.

The assistant that had led the three of you to the room in which the meeting had taken place was now walking beside you as a sort of guide, albeit an unnecessary one, back to your transport shuttle. Your eyes dropped down towards the floor. You truly did envy her those flats. You had been aware that there would be excess walking today, and thus when General Hux had insisted that you follow proper uniform protocol, you had felt your mood souring. You were already able to feel where there were blisters forming. It was a topic that irritated you. Women having two separate uniforms depending upon the occasion. Granted, the men did as well. Their shoes were always either flats or boots. They never had to endure heels. Lucky sonsofbanthas.

Of the triumvirate, you favored Captain Phasma at times since you had less direct contact with her. Your meetings were always brief, long enough that she could tell you exactly what her ‘troopers needed, and then you were left to your own devices.

General Hux preferred that you be present during any trial run with newer droids. This was reasonable, you conceded; however, if it meant heels and blisters, you’d rather the man take a flying leap into the nearest trash compactor. Well, not really. He was a good boss overall.

As for Kylo Ren, that man was far more volatile. He had not once harmed you. The same, unfortunately, could not be said for some of your droid projects. The man was sometimes patient enough to allow you to finish before using them. Other times he either forgot that you had not yet installed the shields that would prevent his lightsaber from completely destroying them, or else he was too angered to care. Another thing was that the man never once apologized when he did destroy the droids. His actions did change. He became almost hesitant around you, which always allowed you to know that, on some level, he did feel guilty.

That never stopped you from wanting to take his lightsaber and use the hilt against the side of his head. Not that you could . But you wanted to.

You puffed up your cheeks, blew out a steady stream of air without making much noise, and lifted your gaze so that you were watching where you were going. The docking bay was just up ahead. General Hux appeared to lengthen his strides, likely wanting to quicken your departure so that he would not have to keep face and play nice with TeeArr. Said droid pleasantly made remarks on the layout of the place. It was superior to other locations where the rooms for meetings were too close to the shuttles, which caused difficulty when one was trying to listen and also a higher percentage of permanent damage to hearing. You bobbed your head as you absently listened to the droid. In your mind, you had begun to go over what adjustments would be needed to increase the droid’s probabilities of survival. Had this mission included Kylo Ren, TeeArr would have likely been destroyed.

The senator’s assistant bid farewell when the four of you arrived at the ramp of the shuttle. General Hux gave a curt response without turning around. You would have thought him rude, save for the fact that you, having worked closely with him off and on, knew that he likely was dealing with a forming headache. You kept your response to the assistant brief, however you were more polite than your superior. She smiled, gave a wave, and then started to walk away. TeeArr had since followed in after the redhead. You quickly hurried up the ramp, which began to rise behind you.

#kylo ren x reader #general hux x reader #kylo ren imagine #general hux imagine #kylo ren smut #general hux smut #errorpnf

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fatehbaz · 5 years ago

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hi, sorry to bother you but i recently saw the post you reblogged on glacier mice/moss balls and that you posted some more info about them, i was wondering if you still had the link to the post with moss ball info?

Hi. No bother at all. :)

Here is the post that I made about moss balls, discussing the origin of the term jokla-mys (”glacier mice”), from “the love letter to moss” sent on Halloween in 1950 to the Journal of Glaciology: X

I was sharing this because of the recent headlines, about how it has been discovered that glacier moss might be moving around in coordination with other nearby moss balls, in moss “herds.” And the movement, the “rolling around” of the moss balls, is apparently not random, and instead seems to be “choreographed.” Glacier mice are apparently known to live in the Andes, Iceland, Svalbard, and Alaska. At one Alaskan site, where this research was done, the moss balls apparently move an average of 2.5 centimeters each day. This was reported in a May 2020 article in Polar Biology:

Scott Hotaling. Timothy C. Bartholomaus. Sophie L. Gilbert. “Rolling stones gather moss: movement and longevity of moss balls on an Alaskan glacier.” Polar Biology.

You should be able to read the article for free, if you search for it (and if you read the short-ish NPR article linked below, it contains a link to the academic article, for free). Here’s a photo of the glacier moss balls, from one of the article’s authors:

Here’s a photo, from 2005, of moss balls at Breidamerkurjokull, a glacier in Iceland, from researcher Ruth Mottram (DMI):

And here’s that image of the original source of the term “glacier mice,” from the 1950 letter, which you can find by looking up: Jon Eythorsson. “Jokla-mys.” Journal of Glaciology. Volume 1, Issue 9. 1951. Page 503. International Glaciological Society.

Part of it reads:

‘Up on the moraine, 3 to 4 km. from the snout, I found some of these moss-covered stones but they were only few and scattered. So I think they may be formed on the medial moraines of slow-moving glaciers. Some of them have rolled from the moraine ridge and were lying on the glacier nearby. I have nowhere and never seen this kind of vegetation before, and only a few local people had noticed it at Hrutarjokull and its neighborhing glacier, Kviarjokull. I call these mossy balls jokla-mys, literally “glacier mice,” and you will have noted, Sir, that rolling stones can gather moss.’

Here’s another set of photos from one of the May 2020 article’s authors:

One of the first pop-sci/mainstream outlets to report on this was NPR, which provides a kinda nice summary of how the moss are moving and why the news is important. That article: Nell Greenfieldboyce. “Herd Of Fuzzy Green 'Glacier Mice' Baffles Scientists.” NPR dot org. 22 May 2020.

An excerpt from the NPR article: In the journal Polar Biology, they report that the balls can persist for years and move around in a coordinated, herdlike fashion that the researchers can not yet explain. "The whole colony of moss balls, this whole grouping, moves at about the same speeds and in the same directions," Bartholomaus says. "Those speeds and directions can change over the course of weeks." [...] They've been seen in Alaska, Iceland, Svalbard and South America, although they won't grow on just any glacier — it seems that conditions have to be just right. [...] "These things must actually roll around or else that moss on the bottom would die," says Gilbert. [...] The movement of the moss balls was peculiar. The researchers had expected that the balls would travel around randomly by rolling off their ice pedestals. The reality was different. The balls moved about an average of an inch a day in a kind of choreographed formation — like a flock of birds [...]. The researchers considered several possible explanations. The first, and most obvious one, is that they just rolled downhill. But measurements showed that the moss balls weren't going down a slope. "We next thought maybe the wind is sort of blowing them in consistent directions," says Bartholomaus, "and so we measured the dominant direction of the wind.” That didn't explain it either, nor did the pattern of the sunlight. [...] Indeed, tiny critters including simple worms and water bears can even live inside moss balls, according to one study from 2012.

Glacier mice from the Alaska site, in a photo by Bartholomaus:

So yea. I wrote another post, that day, about the moss balls and how much I love moss, but it’s too earnest and embarrassing to re-share. But basically, I love the presence of mosses, and the diversity of mosses: Mosses living in caves, in the shade of overhangs; there are the mosses brave enough to live in prairies and dry soils of the sagebrush steppe; mosses in forest canopies, in the sky. And I’m a big fan of temperate rainforest, so of course I appreciate that mosses are sort of like the ubiquitous presence in the rainforest, along with fungus.

Here’s something that Robin Wall Kimmerer said, from her book Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History of Mosses (2003):

The revelation of suddenly seeing what I was blind to only moments before is a sublime experience for me. I can revisit those moments and still feel the surge of expansion. The boundaries between my world and the world of another being get pushed back with sudden clarity, an experience both humbling and joyful. Mosses and other small beings issue an invitation to dwell for a time right at the limits of ordinary perception. All it requires of us is attentiveness. Look in a certain way and a whole new world can be revealed. […]

Learning to see mosses is more like listening than looking. A cursory glance will not do it. Starting to hear a faraway voice or catch a nuance in the quiet subtext of a conversation requires attentiveness, a filtering of all the noise, to catch the music. Mosses are not elevator music; they are the intertwined threads of a Beethoven quartet. Knowing the fractal geometry of an individual snowflake makes the winter landscape even more of a marvel. Knowing the mosses enriches our knowing of the world. […]

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kbstories · 5 years ago

Text

Ontological

on·to·log·i·cal (adj.) Existing as such; metaphysical.

Eustass Kidd and Killer, during and afterwards.

(Or: Killer and SMILE, let’s talk about it.)

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Aftermath of Violence, Reunions, Body Dysmorphia

Read Chapter 1 here. Soft spoiler warning for Chapter 981. Content warning for discussions of Body Dysmorphia/BDD. Read Chapter 3 here.

***

They walk for hours, across dusty desert plains and past the outskirts of a bustling city to the very edge of a forest, every leaf covered in delicate frost. Kidd doesn’t have a single clue where they’re going – all he’s seen of Wano Country is a waterfall and the inside of a cell and what a lovely first impression that was – but Killer seems to, always two steps ahead of Kidd.

In that dark kimono and cloaked in patterned fabric, Killer looks like he belongs here, roaming wherever the wind carries him. All formal-like with his hair pulled up high and out of his face and his wrists bandaged all the way to his fingers.

Fucking uncomfortable is what he looks like, shoulders drawn and hands clenched where the grip of his scythes would be, and Kidd’s stomach roils with a fury that has nowhere to go.

Not right now, anyways.

Yet he’s still just Killer: despite the smile that remains on his lips, cold as the snow beneath their feet, despite the weeks they spent apart. Still the man that has been by his side since Kidd can remember, all the way back to the days they were snot-faced nobodies from South Blue dreaming of the wide-open sea and finding One Piece.

Killer’s always been a man of few words. He’s calmer now, hasn’t said much of anything since they left the prison gates behind. When Kidd had asked if he knew where the others were, Killer had nodded and led the way.

He hasn’t laughed either, as much as every breath threatens to change that. Kidd keeps a tight hold on his metal fist and doesn’t stare.

It’s quiet out here, eerily so. They come by a bridge and bloody arches splattered on cracked wood and snow alike. Across countless graves, old and frozen over to the point of illegibility – and while Killer’s gaze falls on the swords stuck in front of them, he does not stray from his path.

Idiot. Kidd rolls his eyes and gestures to a pair of short ones that are vaguely curved. They are torn from their place of rest with nary a sound; hovering, just as soundlessly, until Killer sighs and takes them in hand.

“A spirit guards this place”, he says, as if Kidd has ever given a shit about anything holy. Killer glances at Kidd’s deadpan stare, his eyes meeting Kidd’s before flitting away again, and Killer’s lips twitch. “It’s bad luck, that’s all.”

“Whatever”, Kidd huffs. Watches Killer draw each of the swords, quick and precise, and they can’t be all that crap given the care with which Killer ties them to the sash around his waist.

Onwards they go until the trees part and Killer finally stops. Kidd does so, too, shoulder to shoulder with him as the wind tears into the heavy fur of his coat. One step further the ground gives into a steep cliff and jagged rocks below. Beyond that: the rumbling of waves against shore.

They found the ocean.

Tucked into a cove, the Victoria Punk lies at anchor and there, in the middle of deck, a bonfire casts its warm glow. A light that calls her captain home and Kidd grins. They made it.

It’s a bit far to the metal in the Punk’s skull but Kidd doesn’t care. He reaches for it, feels its presence hum under the palm of his hand and it’s enough, the connection strong and unrelenting.

“Got her. Let’s go, Killer.”

Kidd’s metal arm opens to let him grab on and Killer– He stays right where he is, stiff under all those layers of fluttering fabric and Kidd looks at him. Really looks, his gaze searching for that face he knows so well and sees so rarely and much less like this, with lips pulled unnaturally wide and eyes shifting with hesitation.

A face none of the crew would recognize because they’ve never–

“They won’t care, K. You know they won’t.”

“I know”, Killer grinds out between clenched teeth. The thick muscles of his throat work; the chuckle still makes it out of his mouth, a strangled, joyless noise. “I know but–”

That’s the problem, isn’t it? That sliver of doubt that Killer’s worst fear could come true is almost as terrifying as the thing itself, and Kidd swallows whatever else is on his tongue. Promises himself he will speak every ounce of truth when the time is right, will whisper reassurances against Killer’s skin from here to eternity if that’s what it takes to make him believe them.

Kidd’s hand drops, as does the surge of power pulsating from it. “Okay.” He turns away from the Punk and towards Killer, a moment spent figuring things out before he tugs the cloak… thing off Killer’s shoulders.

(Killer doesn’t flinch from his touch but it’s close enough. Kidd pretends not to notice.)

Without hesitation Kidd digs metal fingers into the fabric and rips it apart, a long tear splitting the silk in two. Frowns at the one which is longer and dipped in old blood and shrugs. There are feathers on it.

It’ll do.

Killer is watching him, a line between his brows and his gaze a little squinted like he’s trying to gauge what the hell Kidd is up to. It makes Kidd wonder if whatever happened to him also affects his brain somehow because seriously.

“Get that shit off your face. I’ll do your hair.”

The tie keeping everything tightly bound suffers the same fate, shiny and expensive and ruined as Kidd throws it over his shoulder. Killer’s hair explodes into a familiar cascade of blonde in the matter of moments – the knots and tangled bits will take ages to comb out, which makes another item on Kidd’s to-do list.

Kidd shakes out the front until it falls over Killer’s eyes. “There”, he mumbles with some smugness and can’t help the nostalgic smile it brings to his lips. “Hah. This takes me back.”

Hidden by hair or not, Kidd knows where to catch the glint of Killer’s eyes in there and how they soften. “Mhm.”

The rest of Killer’s face is painfully bare without the bandages and so Kidd doesn’t linger. Just gives Killer the makeshift scarf he made and waits until he’s wrapped it around his neck and pulled it up to the bridge of his nose to tie it in place with a clumsy knot.

There. Not much finesse to it, the torn edges and messy strands clashing against Killer’s outfit with all its elegant folds and neat lines. Even muffled by the mask Kidd can hear the quiet sigh Killer breathes and something in him settles, too.

“C’mon. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

They come home.

Afterwards, that’s when Kidd asks.

After his boots hit deck for the first time in weeks and he thought finally; after both he and Killer were barreled over in a mass of hugs – warm, so warm – among shouts of “Captain!” and “Killer! You’re back!”; after Doc descended on them with the righteousness of a Valkyrie from myths and legends and Killer pointed at Kidd and said, “Kidd got shot”, and Kidd hissed back, “Bastard”, and didn’t mention the cuts hidden under that damned kimono (not yet); after Killer slinked off in the direction of their room (one hand keeping the mask in place, not that anyone had given a rat’s ass because the Punk’s right here and they’re all still breathing) and Kidd surrendered himself to his fate at Doc’s hands.

It’s what the crew needed, in that moment. Red-nosed and shivering from temperatures they’re not really made for, and Eustass Kidd is a captain to them all, not just Killer.

So he let Doc fuss over bullet wounds and overexposure to Sea Stone. He listened to Wire’s calm voice re-tell the story of how they got here, how Killer set off to find him and the day Pirate Hunter Zoro wandered by, clearly lost. In turn, Kidd told them the gist of what happened half a country away: about Udon’s downfall and the tides of rebellion crashing against Onigashima’s shores soon enough.

The bonfire burned on. There’s a decision to be made there, Kidd realized as he stared into its flames. Every expression around him carried the same conviction, encased in flickering orange and the bite of snow and Kidd knew, if he asked then and there, they would follow him into a war they'd lost once before.

Yet Killer’s not here and Kidd was tired, so fucking tired.

Across from him Heat shifted, a frown deepening the scars on their face with the things Kidd didn’t say: They have been with them longer than anyone else has, the first to join and the only one to have witnessed what’s beneath the mask. Heat’s gaze searched Kidd’s over the glowing embers between them and they, too, didn’t press for answers.

They smiled, instead, old stitches pulled taut. “Dinner’s on me. Welcome back, Captain.”

Through it all Kidd bit his tongue and waited. Killer is nowhere to be found when he finally steps into the captain's cabin: There’s a pile of used bandages and dark silk on the floor, the sound of a shower running the next room over. Filthy as it is, Kidd deems his fur coat a lost cause and tosses it to the ground along with the rest.

After days of wear, the clothes peel off like a second skin. The dust of the stone pit has been washed off yet it lingers, stuck under painted nails and in the greasy spikes of Kidd’s hair.

The goggles come off next. Kidd… sits, for a while, buck-ass naked on the edge of the bed occupying most of their quarters. Lets his fingers run over old, black leather and the holes missing studs have left behind, and his eyes are dull where they’re mirrored by tinted glass, monochromatic.

Killer’s mask is right there. Blue-and-white, mounted on its stand, not a single scratch on it – Killer’s design and Kidd’s handiwork, its individual pieces welded into place damn near perfectly so it won’t come off unless Killer wants it to.

Kidd stares at it, alone in this space they carved for themselves in this world, and remembers: Killer’s laugh, choked and wrong; Killer’s body, limp in the water; Killer’s face, tear-stained and bared for everyone to see–

Fuck.

Kidd’s palm is rough against his face, skin grown tough with callouses and burn marks. His fingers dig into his mouth and his scar and his eyes and they sting as his eyeliner smudges beyond repair.

How the fuck do I fix this?

Steam rolls into the room like thunder over the sea, the air charged and heavy with it. The bed dips behind him, legs bracketing his; hands slide over Kidd’s back to his chest, slightly damp. Naked skin against naked skin.

This is the thing Kidd missed the most, locked away and powerless.

“Kidd.”

There’s layers to it, the way Killer says his name. A weight behind that one word that invokes the thousand other times he has uttered it just like this, lips a phantom sensation at the nape of Kidd’s neck. The smile is still there, Kidd can feel it, and that too is a memory made physical.

It’s warm summer nights, it’s skinned knees and knocked out teeth, it’s mornings spent in bed with the Punk’s lazy sway beckoning them back to sleep.

Kidd loves Killer’s smile, has loved it before people started mocking him for it and continued to love it past the day Killer decided to hide it. He’d hoped, even as he made that mask, that a time would come when it wouldn’t be needed.

Not like this, though. Not against Killer’s will.

“It’s that SMILE shit, isn’t it?”

Finally, finally Kidd gives voice to the question burning in his mind, his heart, his lungs. Killer’s arms tighten around him but Kidd can’t hold back, can’t–

“Those fake Devil Fruits Strawhat was talking about, that’s what causing this. That’s why you can’t stop. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Killer is a force of nature on the battlefield, a whirlwind of blades and raining blood – here, now, his chest shifts against Kidd’s back with a breath that trembles on the line of becoming a laugh. “You’re not.”

Finally, Kidd allows himself to feel the ache at his core, the sheer grief of it all. The goggles drop to the ground as his fingers claw at fire-red hair instead, pulling. Pain, sharp, sizzles across his scalp, does nothing but add to the suffocating pressure building in Kidd’s throat because there’s no way out of this.

Artificial or not, Devil Fruits are forever.

“Why, Killer? You’re strong, they can’t… Just eating the fruit doesn’t work, you gotta swallow it. You gotta want it. What the fuck were you thinking?!”

And damn Killer, damn him for hearing Kidd’s voice shake and wrapping around him like Kidd’s the one falling apart. For running his hand over Kidd’s until he clings to that instead, strong and steady where Kidd can’t be, not anymore.

They’ve always been together, their lives and pasts and dreams entangled and breathing as one. From South Blue to the New World they've kept this secret safe and–

“There was a choice. They gave me a choice, Kidd.”

It’s mumbled right against Kidd’s ear like the truth will hurt less if spoken quietly. Because there’s no regret in Killer’s voice, none, and there’s only one thing he’d give up everything for.

Kidd clenches his eyes shut, groans out, “No–”

Killer doesn’t let him go, pressing a kiss to his shoulder with smiling lips.

“I just picked the one I could live with.”

>>Chapter 3.

#one piece #eustass kid #killer one piece #kidkiller #fanfiction #one piece fanfiction #one piece spoilers #hi i'm still emo about killer :(#this fic is also on AO3!!#my stuff #EDIT: i forgot to tag BDD in this hhh sorry 'bout that! fixed it on AO3 as well 🙏🏼

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qhostqizmo · 4 years ago

Text

A Well Earned Break

Amon couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been to a pub as dynamic and energetic as this place. Every bench and seat in the building was occupied from one end to another. A few women even boldly took it upon themselves to sit at the edge of bar’s counter. Row after row of table tucked from corner to corner, wall to wall, were covered in dishes and empty tankards; leaving attendants and maidens to hustle swiftly in and fetch them for cleaning. It was messy, it was loud, and it smelled like sweat, liquor, and strong perfume.

Beneath his boots, peanut shells crunched. A few surface-spots stuck to his heels, causing them to peel up from the floor with a sticky squeak. A young woman caught his wandering eye as he stood uncomfortably off the side. She slanted him a smile; her ruby-red lips puckering into a kiss she blew his way with a wink. He quickly adverted his eyes upon spotted the jade beaded bracelet on her wrist. Many individuals throughout the tavern appeared to be wearing the same piece of jewelry, and the symbolize didn’t go without his notice. Different places did different things: sometimes earrings, or neckties, or bracelets, or tattoos; but he recognized a pattern such as that in a venue such as this. It he wanted a ‘good time’, at least he knew where to look.

Face and Penimra already found laps to occupy instead of stools. Even wearing masks, both appeared to be in the same state of bliss: hooded eyes, heads tilted to lean forward with intent, curious hands exploring the surface of the gentleman’s chests they sat on. Their company’s wrists each had the same glistening beaded bracelet as the lady who had previously been giving him a lingering gaze.

He grimaced and looked to his side where Sulhadur stood. The red Dragonborn wasn’t that hard to pick apart. Young; almost innocent, Sul kept his own eyes fixated on the floor and quickly turned away from any approaching curious individuals. If he’d been human, he’d probably have a face as crimson as his the scales on his body were.

Pitying the poor lad, Amon placed a hand upon his shoulder. The sprouting Paladin turned his snout quizzically towards him.

“We don’t have to stay here, Sul. You and I can go, if you’re not comfortable.”

They swallowed nervously. “Maybe-” he choked, turning to shake his head at a Tiefling who begun sauntering over. She had a lovely figure; no bracelet, and a sullen expression to be so quickly shot down.

Amon snorted back laughter. Tall, youthful, and clearly in good physical health; Sul had caught a lot of eyes rather quickly. They were fresh faces to this region, and a great many intrigued local gazes were trying to size them up for a snack. Sul however seemed more content to be a solitary fish rather than school in the haze of breeding swarms. The ex-nobleman wasn’t sure if he was simply naive, shy, indifferent to the art of sensuality; or all of the above.

“Let’s move around the room,” he offered, “Face and Lord Korvis appear to have this area covered.”

“Good idea.”

Exhaling with relief, Sul trailed at his side as they roamed through the tightly people-packed spaces of the room. A couple of men they passed were being torn apart from a drunken brawl, and there were was an intense beginning of an orgy between a handful of individuals at another table they passed. Some girls giggled; shamefully young for the crowd of old men they were giving their attention to, but the fellow’s looked well-off in their wealth, and women were wearing the jade wristlet as many others. They hit the proverbial jackpot.

Squeezing around a chatty group, Sulhadur’s shoulder collided with Amon’s. He looked up to say something, seeing the eagerness in the Dragonborn’s expression as he looked off. Training his eyes in the same direction, he looked upon a group of individuals who managed to lay claim to a rickety table. The various races were all snarling and chuckling, a board game in front of them Amon recognized as seeing a few times: jump chess.

“I haven’t gotten to play in ages,” the Dragonborn whisper-shouted, his gaze glittering.

Amon winced internally, dreading the idea of pacing around alone. That was his selfishness talking though…

He indicated with a wave towards the group. “Go, introduce yourself. See if they’ll let you in their next game.”

“Why don’t you join me?”

“Jump chess isn’t a particular favorite of mine; besides, I’d probably end up somehow swindled out of coin. You should enjoy yourself now though, like everyone else. Go, I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe you should go look for Pri’cha and the ladies?” Sul offered, something mischievous in his tone. He tilted his maw down; eyes wide and teeth bared in what should have been a grin, but appeared more like a menacing and sadistic smirk. He turned tail; quite literally whacking the tip against the ex-nobleman’s shin, and parted his way through the crowd to the table.

Taking a moment to rub his leg, Amon glimpsed around the room. An older halfling man; probably around his age, wearing jade licked his lips as their gazes jumped to each other. Finding the others sounded like a safer option than standing awkwardly around, alone.

He shuffled his way into the throng; going in the opposite direction of the flirtatious individual. A foot stepped on the edge of his cloak, snagging him backwards as he grumbled and cursed. A half-slurred apology with whisky-scented breath acknowledged him as a shoulder jammed into his ribs. This place was miserably busy; how on Earth did anyone enjoy this sort of atmosphere? And was that the smell of urine coming from the corner of the room? Revolting.

Sure enough, a young lady came whisking by him, trying to balance a full bucket of water and not slash too much of it as another followed with a bristly old mop. The duo cursed and spat at some of their pedestrians, swatting a few towards the door for their behavior. They were about to have their hands full.

Amon sucked in his chest, pulled up his cloak, and slid along the wall to avoid a few drunken fellows to scout along the other side of the pub. His eyes boggled for a moment, spotting Ravamora of all people arm-wrestling a line of folks. A small stash of coin had stacked up in her favor; bets it looked like, and people were howling and hooting as the young elf finally managed to slam down a beefy half-orc’s arm. They growled, shoved back their chair, and immediately the next contestant was taking their place.

Always after a bit of cash, that one. He wondered if she was still somehow cheating to earn it like she had tried on him all those years ago. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Nister Anon!”

Now that was a recognizable voice. Amon strained to listen for its speaker, peering around others knees.

Pri’cha poked a man, squeaking a polite request for them to move. They did, to the ex-nobleman’s surprise. Sometimes he forgot how startling it could be to see a large, sentient bug-like individual in Etheron. When someone such as Pri aimed for your attention, if it wasn’t their wholesome politeness that got you, it was the sheer wondrous oddity of their presence.

“Hello Pri’cha,” he greeted warmly, “having any fun?”

The golden Thri-Kreen’s antenna wriggled. “I an learning a lot about this location’s culture,” they admitted a bit nervously, mandibles twitching. “I do not see Sul, Face, and Pen nith you anynore, nister Anon.”

The ex-nobleman smiled sheepishly, swallowing. “They all found their niche things to do, Pri. What are you doing by yourself? Where is Essie, and Adela?”

“I have been trying to find a barkeep to get drinks! Niss Essie and niss Adela are over there, if you’re looking for them?”

“Do you wish for me to go with you?”

“No thank you, I have enough arms to carry the drinks. I’ve been making friends along the way too, krr.”

A soft smile tugged at his lips. “I’m sure you have Pri.”

“Would you like ne to get you anything?”

“I’m fine, but thank you.”

“Of course. If you’d excuse me-”

“The bar’s that way actually, Pri’cha!” He piped up, pointing far to the left.

The little cleric bounced happily at his aid. “Thank you, nister Anon!”

Chuckling merrily, Amon followed the general direction Pri’cha had pointed to. The bodies of strangers began to thin out and disperse; giving room to more and more space. He began to wonder why, until a few people began to sway around him. Instead of shouting, he could make out a noise he hadn’t paid more attention to or picked up a lot until now: music.

It had a wild swing to it; almost a festival sort of jig. The instruments collided and crashed; they coordinated and collected into a collage. It was certainly an entertaining tune that even he found his foot tapping to as he pushed through the group. Some were stomping their feet and clapping their hands, forming a wall around the band.

Amon poked his head around an elf to see what everyone was staring at.

His jaw dropped wide open.

It wasn’t a sophisticated choreography performed before the orchestra; not like the kind he was often used to, but he’d seen versions of it before. It was wild; a routine not learned, but following the improvisation of the beat. The symphony of the song swelled, and arms raised; feet spinning, hands interweaving and crossing in some foreign move he didn’t know, but immediately was transfixed by, like magic.

He was immersed in how Essätha moved; her rhythm striking with different unexpected cords to create a painting. He blinked as Adela hopped to the forefront; intruding on his vision. He blinked a few times, capable of finding his breath and smiling to himself. The pink Tiefling twirled and spun; gemstones and precious metals flashing in the light of the room radiantly. The noise they gave off almost seemed to add to the music, although was mostly drown out by the cheering and sound of the instruments themselves.

The duo was graceful as they spun towards each other; greeting palm to palm. They ladies grinned; feet gliding around in a circle and drumming against the floor like the beat of the drums. Amon felt a creeping heat in his cheeks as his eyes soaked in Essie’s movements; the sensual twist of her hips as she curled her body away from Adela’s and then back in to bump her hip against hers, laughing.

Her laugh stole the air from his lungs in a pitiful wheeze.

The Yuan-Ti woman swayed and hopped, pivoting and dancing away from some of the more eager individuals of the crowd trying to leap in on the two sorceress’ frolic. She laughed, grabbing Adela’s arm and spinning around and around again as someone reached for the pink Tiefling, dragging her safely away from a boisterous young man eagerly trying to leap in.

Essie was elegant and poised as she moved from heel to toe, drawing the eyes naturally along the flow of her body where the light and shadows broke as she turned the opposite direction. Her movements were not simply dancing, it was an adventure’s storytelling in motion. A chasse turned into a journey to new lands, and her playful heel-turns fleeting from playful outreached hands were both a tease and a sense of character. It said: I am my own first.

Prancing around each other; sweat on their brows, the two women panted for air as they stopped, facing each other, to swing their hips and drop lower; raising back up to the whooping approval of the crowd. Amon joined a few of the bystandards in clapping. Gods knew dropping that low on bent-knees was probably agony; he’d probably end up on his ass trying anything similar.

Adela swung to the left, and Essätha the right. As they turned, Essie’s shining eyes met his.

Amon felt his heart stutter as his breath stilled. He swore for two heartbeats, he stopped hearing the music altogether as her gaze rounded, and her mouth hung open.

Waving an arm, Essie tip-toed around Adela to bounce his way. “M’lord!”

The color quickly spread over his features. Should he feel guilty and shameful caught staring? There was certainly enough people watching. His throat tightened, and his hands felt clammy and sweaty as he fidgeted stiffly.

“Sorry if my uh, watching ruined your dance.”

“Nonsense, we were trying to encourage Pri to join earlier too but they weren’t interested; something about not knowing the dance?” She laughed weakly, trying to catch her breath. “I tried explaining it’s not really something you learn, you just feel it, but I’m not sure they got it.”

Amon smiled stupidly, his heartbeat galloping. He could feel something just watching her. There was emotion in her movements; passion; joy, happiness, beauty. She made dancing seem raw and intense and damn sensual. He hadn’t been able to tear his gaze away.

It was simple. It was spontaneous. It didn’t make sense; it didn’t necessarily have an order, or a reason, or a professional’s years of study. But when she moved, she was breathtaking.

“You should join us,” Essie encouraged, grabbing at his sweaty palm. She raised her eyebrows suggestively, grinning at him. “You could show off some of your noble moves for me.”

The tightness in his throat increased. The ex-nobleman cough-wheezed, feeling heat and tension gripping his body in a rigid line. Was she teasing him, or flirting with him? Or both?

“I um- I’m okay,” he fumbled, nerves on edge and sweat beading up beneath his clothes. Pelor it was hot in this building. Stuffy. Humid. His skin was growing terribly flush, and he was beginning to feel an uncomfortable amount of sweat between his legs. If his thighs chafed, he was not going to be happy.

She pouted out her lower lip, tugging gently on his arm. “Please?”

How was he supposed to say no to that? His heart ached, even knowing she was messing with him.

“I-” he took a step forward helplessly, “what do I do?”

“You know, just- grind your hips a bit.”

“What?”

A different, more complicated heat and stiffness began to form between his legs. Even worse, the way he moved, the more it rubbed against his inner leg; stuck unpleasantly in place. Hidden, but annoying; and the friction was not helping.

Adela eyed him as Essie encouraged him into the middle of the crowd. She looked him up and down like he was a hair in her drink.

Amon deflated more. So much for confidence.

Giggling warmly, Essätha grabbed for Adela’s hand. The Tiefling instantly brightened a bit, and whirled around with her dance partner with a laugh of her own.

If he could blush and deeper, he’d probably look a lot like Sul; or maybe even darker. He shimmied in a fixed position, uneasy and fearful of his erection becoming noticeable. A couple of individuals in the surrounding semi-circle whispered and outright laughed at him. This was borderline mortifying.

Still…

With the fingers of one of her hands still clasped with Adela’s, Essie reached out for his hand, offering him a dazzling smile.

Yet again he was awestruck; automatically reaching for her hand without thinking. He wanted her touch. He wanted her hand, and the promise of salvation that came with it. Take me with you.

Her dance moves were simple and delightful; lacking a little of the complexity and alluring quality as before. She pulled all three of them into a sort of child-like merry-go-round before bumping her hip to each of theirs; making him grunt and swallow the frog in his throat. She twirled Adela around like she was a princess, and tossed his arm back and forth like they were talking an afternoon walk.

As he waved his arms awkwardly and jumped from leg to leg; certainly the worst excuse for a sober dancer this tavern had ever seen, Essie released his hand, and once again Adela and her began to form their integral duet. He watched more than moved, and then moved even less as they used him as a center-point to spin around. Not the best view from any angle, but gods he wished this was a private session for two instead of room filled with dozens of drunk, loud, rambunctious strangers and the rest of his companions.

Essätha shifted closer; her waist rocking from side to side dramatically, her body dancing to the beat. Amon felt her hip hit his; and she didn’t move as the heated grating of her clothes rubbed against his. He could smell the lavender on her skin; the sweat, the shampoo in her hair. She was close, and warm, and bright and golden and flush…

He began to pray; his lips twitching as his nostrils flared, trying to control his breathing. She made everything intimate and sexy and he was so gods-damn thirsty-

“Niss!! Niss Adela, niss Essätha! I have brought back drinks!”

Perfect timing.

Some of the mass groaned as the cleric presented themself proudly, holding up a tray filled with four mugs.

“I got you a nater too, nister Anon. I thought you night nant a refreshnent.”

Not exactly the sort of thirst he had, but bless that Thri-Kreen and their good life.

“Thank you, Pri,” he grunted, inching forward. Each shuffling movement caused his hard-on to brush against his inner thigh. He pulled his cloak around his frame, hoping to hide the inevitable tenting that was going to start forming.

“Your nating naneuvers were nost superb,” they encouraged, holding up the tray.

“Thank you, Pri,” Adela echoed in a sing-song voice, raising her volume over the ongoing song.

Amon bent a bit to grab for his drink. Essätha, not paying attention as she began to string out a ‘thank you-’ bonked her noggin against his as they huddled close to the cleric.

“Ouch-!”

“Fuck- I’m sorry-”

“You’re fine, it was my fault,” Essie mumbled, tenderly rubbing at her head. She smiled into his gaze warmly.

His brain fritzed out.

He watched as her gaze shot past his face to his trousers. At the slanted viewpoint they were at, she was nearly face-level with them, and his cloak had fallen aside…

The color in her face instantly deepened as she looked away, snatching for her drink.

If she hadn’t been so quick to advert her gaze, he could have convinced himself she saw nothing. As it was, he shakily picked up his water; slopping some onto the floor, and rearranged his clothing, hoping it was mostly an inconspicuous gesture. Fuck he d give anything to fling himself into the void for just a few minutes right now to scream.

“We should go find the boys,” Essätha bluntly announced, clutching her drink close after chugging most of it in a few gulps. “Make sure everyone’s okay.”

Adela eyed her quizzically. “If you’re sure?”

She nodded. “We should see about getting a meal- right Pri?”

“Oh-? Yes, dinner would be nice.”

A curt nod. “Good.”

Offering a gesture, she invited Pri’cha and Adela to take the lead; pushing through a disappointed looking crowd of onlookers. Amon downed his entire glass of water, sweating bullets.

Turning to look up at him, their gazes locked. The heat in his lungs was almost unbearable.

She offered out her hand to him wordlessly. A shy, nervous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “You comin’?”

He couldn’t resist taking her hand, mutely nodding. Her golden butterscotch eyes were more addictive than the treat they represented.

Her fingers curled; finding the spaces between his. She guided him forward; parting the crowd like a deity’s chosen vessel to speak through. More importantly, assisting him; leading him. To where, he didn’t know, but he was willing to go anywhere, as long as she would be there, too.

#qhost story #OTP: Essamon #Essatha Meduza #Amon Illiad #Softly written #ft: Noisy Bastards

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