#in essence. TOUCH GRASS TALK TO OLD PEOPLE

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

on a serious note going through active shooter training with people older than me on the order of decades makes me think that much more people would probably agree on tighter gun controls than younger generations realize. they just either can’t bring themselves to discuss it openly or feel like such discussion wouldn’t be welcome

[bambisnc]

i'm like some kind of supernova [ft. u.ae]

⤷ pov : literally all of the clocks of your house stop working and a random girl falls into your house?? she says she's like .. a goddess?? and now you've agreed to help her find her colleagues that disappeared?? or else she might torment you for all your life???

pairing : timekeeper!giselle x reader genre : serious codedish + crack cw/tw : talks about dying/not dying + giselle talks old timey-ish for a couple mins + lowk this is a fever dream + uneditted womp womp wc : 914 woooo !!

the strange quiet should’ve tipped you off.

when you woke up from an (unusually) dreamless sleep, your first instinct was to fight the urge to look at your phone and instead focus on the digital clock situated to the left of your bed. 

you were trying to make a conscious effort to “stop being dependent on your phone” and metaphorically touch grass.

and, obviously, that was your first mistake. 

the flashing numbers of the screen looked back at you, almost defiantly. 00.30.

one look at the sunlight streaming in through a conveniently located window proved that incorrect immediately. 

the clock appears to be broken.

pretty normal occurrence, could happen to anyone.

but when you venture out to the dining room, another clock, one of the analog variety, proudly displays the hour hand at 1 and the minute hand at 8. 

the clocks in the living room, guest room and kitchen all respectively seem to believe it’s around 2.45, 3.06 and 4.58 am respectively.

you can no longer put this off to a coincidence and the realization that there may be some foul play at work shakes you to the core. 

until, of course, there is a loud BANG! and a girl falls right on top of you. 

by then, your only coherent thought is AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

the girl groans, likely in pain from the fall (where did she fall from??? is she a neighbour and did your ceiling just … break down??). she’s quick to regain composure however.

“greetings mortal. be not afraid for i am merely a being that most humans desire to have control over, despite knowing how utterly unattainable it is.

i am giselle; the keeper of time, in its purest essence.”

“your name tag says uchinaga aeri though.” you gesture with your eyes as she still has your arms pinned down with just enough strength to render them completely immovable.

“and also,” your fight or flight reaction shows itself by a means of ceaseless curiosity, “isn’t time supposed to be .. an old bearded man holding an hourglass? wasn’t he called father time?

the time keeper/uchinaga aeri/giselle/ looks pissed. or is she just flustered??

“the name tag is just a slight error, okay?! and i actually DO have an hourglass. also assuming that time is “male” is sexist.”

“no that’s not what i meant-” you try to defend yourself, but she brushes it off with practiced ease.

“my colleagues and i recently faced a … misfortunate incident. they all disappeared soon after.  the thorough investigations i carried out right after lead me nowhere for quite a while. 

but now… my sources have led me to you, mortal.”

the way aeri giselle speaks is enough to show you that she would not hesitate to resort to any means necessary to bring back the people she’s lost. they are obviously much more to her than just “colleagues.” 

you admire that. but also … according to her “sources” doesn’t she think that you are the one responsible for the disappearances? 

giselle’s grip on your hands eases only slightly while your brain busily tries to make sense of the events; wondering if she perhaps terrified you into silence. 

you do not let that opportunity go to waste.

with a slightly awkward, not as suave movement as you would have liked it to be, you flip over so that the timekeeper is now below you. 

“mortal?!” she gasps out, “you dare manhandle one of the 4 Supernovas, the guardians of the universe?! why i should-”

“hear me out please, before you burn me to a crisp or whatever you’d like” 

giselle’s eyes twinkle. 

she snaps her fingers. and all the lights blink out.

you find yourself … in your bedroom? almost like you’ve been sent back in time to earlier the same day…

the time keeper sits at the edge of the bed, rather nonchalantly, for someone who looked like they were merely seconds away from..

“letting you age and age and age some more, until all that’s left of you is a shriveled husk and all you can think of is the sweet release of death; but alas you’ll never find respite, because i will simply ensure that you remain undying. i think that’s what i’ll do to you if you don’t cooperate <3 arson’s not really my thing, ningning however,-”

you interrupt her once more, probably not the best decision but you need to make your offer as soon as possible if you have any hopes of getting out of this alive, “i’ll help you.”

“what…?”

you ramble on about how all the clocks had stopped working and how you were 99% sure that this meant you were definitely a key part in helping to find the people who had disappeared.

it almost feels like an interview; trying to convince giselle to hire you as a helper and also, as a side bonus, not torment you for all of eternity. 

and surprisingly, it works.

as you’re ending your pitch, she suddenly leans forward so that her forehead almost touches yours. 

“rest up for now, then.” she says, “you need all the energy you can get for our mission. and if you even think of backing out…”

“i won’t!!” you affirm quickly, which makes her smile and

god she’s really pretty isn’t she? 

—

beep. beep. beep.

the digital clock on your bedside says it’s 00.30. 

you grab your phone.

the Contacts app opens up. the first saved number is of a certain timekeeper.

o giselle (NOT aeri.) xxxxxxxxxx

notes : I HATE THE TITLEEE IM MIGHT CHANGE IT IDK THO + [m.list] song rec : man idk i was js watching danny gonzales videos/horror video game playthroughs + supernova - aespa???

𐙚 . regulars : @skriri ⋆

[innicerulli]

HOLY WATER - NICHOLAS ALEXANDER CHAVEZ FANFIC

Full prologue:

Check out the Wattpad link to read more.

Note I: English is not my mother language. So, for sure, the fanfic will have some grammar mistakes. Sorry for that.

The repetition of some words is intentional to emphasize the conflicting feelings of the character Charlie.

Note II: I always use dashes, but Wattpad can change them to hyphens. Don't worry, I'll always be keeping an eye on this and updating the chapters so that they "accept" the dash.

Note III: Save the story in your library to receive notifications of new chapters, as I haven't chosen the posting days yet.

Enjoy the reading!

...

I looked at the horizon. The autumn leaves glided over my little feet. If I had just given up at that moment, my life wouldn't be the way it was. 

Beneath the oak tree, witnessing the flight of a dozen birds that I could not distinguish names from, I became "the holy child." Blame my damned mouth, which opened — innocent as any child's — and prophesied its own death sentence.

I saw — as clearly as I could — a woman's vision. I don't know if she had the name of a saint or if she was Mary, Fatima or Clare... But she was there, as pure as my heart. I stretched out my arms and walked towards her vaporous.

"Mom, look! Look!" 

Damn time my mother heard me and looked at me! 

Not that she had seen the same thing I did. No! She saw only her seven-year-old son, with tears in his eyes, hands stretched out, hoping to hold the wind and a voice charged with a feeling that perhaps faith could explain better than logic or mathematics. 

"What do you see?" She asked, as I walked towards the steamer, but the mist poured out and, with it, the saint I don't know the name of was gone.

Her black eyes and flowing hair in the same colour, I have never forgotten. Her fair skin, like an angelic image on the ceiling of some Italian church, was etched in my mind as the ideal of purity and holiness. I longed to touch her hand, to feel her fingers in mine and the glow of peace invade my pupils and march hurriedly to my heart.

But my mother knelt before me, shouted the names of almost all the neighbours who could come to her aid. 

It didn't take two days for processions to flow through the hills and invade the house of the "holy child". 

Flowers were left at the foot of my bed. Flower essences sprinkled my straw mattress, because at the dawn of the '70s, Mom lived in a small hovel, far from God and everyone else, with a handful of gossipy neighbours. The ones talked faster than they blinked.

I was a boy. Just a boy! 

I wanted to play soccer and walk with the wooden wheels — of a car made by my grandfather —, the soft grass in front of the house. I just wanted to watch the sun go down before I ran home and had the potato soup and a skinny piece of chicken. 

I didn't want candles lit in my name, nor flowers that smelled of death, not life. It was suffocating to see those strange, kneeling faces asking me to advocate for their souls, and to do miracles on their behalf. 

Cripples were laid before my feet, asking for mercy. Blind people touched my little shoulders and asked for the light. The poor demanded wealth and the hungry begged for food. 

Everyone said that I was there, on a mission to complete what Jesus had been forced to leave.

Damn time I saw that saint!

My mother charged a generous amount to allow a desperate individual to enter and ask for divine interference, in charge of my indigestible insignificance. 

However, the processions were dwindling. People did not receive their miracles. No one walked or saw the light again. The poor remained poor. The hungry starved to death. But, I had my fate sealed by my mother. She didn't let anything — or anyone — obstruct her dreams.

I would be a holy man, even if I had no vocation. I would be a servant of God, even if I never wished to pray in His name.

When I turned thirteen, my mother came out of that hovel, holding a small suitcase with two pieces of clothes, mine, of course! We rode in a cart to the nearest station. There was a gentleman — older than the tombs of the church in our village — with shoulders bent forward, sunken eyes, white hair and skin burned by the sun. He asked my name twice, because the first time it was said in a low voice, and he didn't seem to hear well.

My mother gave me the blessing that every woman pours out on a child, when the one leaves her home and proposes to see the world. But I wasn't going to see the world. It was not an adventure. It was a sacrifice. I was leaving my home and the little freedom I had, to be locked up in a monastery, to get out of there, when I was the "holy man" that my mother wanted me to be.

Damn time I saw that saint!

I got on the train, not knowing what really awaited me. The old man, almost deaf, spoke less than I wished, and explained almost nothing, to my stress.

When I arrived at the "boys' convent" — that was the name I gave to that disastrous place — I found children as desperate as I was, as insensitive to the faith as I was, as disbelieving in a good future as I was.

We prayed day and night. We woke up before the sun rose and we slept before it died on the opaque horizon. The day passed in an unhealthy, sleepy, flavourless monotony. The colours of life outside the windows have been lost, like photos aged over time. 

In the beginning, my mother visited me once every fifteen days. Later, this changed to a mere visit per month. Over the years, she only visited me at Easter and Christmas. 

After I turned eighteen, she sent letters every six months and visited me at Christmas. 

It was a short visit, thirty minutes, without any sign of maternal love. She spoke two dozen beautiful words as: 

"You've grown up!"

"You're strong and you look like your father when he was young."

Thus, she amended the worst words that a person like me could hear:

"You will be a good priest, a pure and honest servant of God. I am proud of the path you have chosen, my son."

I wanted to say — and it wasn't once or twice, but several times — that her choice wasn't my choice, that I wanted to be away from those mouldy stone walls and dusty books and scrolls. I didn't want to learn Latin, nor to walk around wrapped in an ecclesiastical robe. I wanted to walk like the young people my age, who attended the convent church. They seemed happy. Some had rings on their fingers, proof that they would marry the one they loved and not with God.

I never wanted to be a servant of God, nor married — as my mother used to say — to him. 

Well, my family experience was not the best. My father died of a massive heart attack, when he threw a chair on the back of my mother, who — in turn — crouched down to pick up the glass shards of the beer bottle, thrown by him on the floor, two minutes earlier. 

I never had a father present. That wasn't a problem. My problem has always been that my mother was very present in the moments when I wanted to be alone. That afternoon, when I saw the saint, was one of those moments when I wanted her far away from me.

My mother didn't realize that behind the tunic, there was Charlie, a man. This man had wills that God would not forgive — whether he saw or heard — the voice of the "holy child" uttering them loud and clear, between one groan and another.

At twenty-two, I finally began my work in the church. It was not every day that I preached, but I helped daily in the liturgy and final rites. It was up to me to clean the church and collect the liturgical leaflets, left in the wooden pews. Two old nuns joined me on the mission. Silent as death, as much as I was, they would break up and hurry away. There were no words, no nod or smile, no matter how discreet. 

I longed to see a woman's smile, no matter how tiny the movement of her lips. That would be enough to imagine many things later.

Time passed, like a leak in the ceiling, dripping slowly while rain still dripped down the gutters. 

Then the day came to leave. To feel the handcuffs of that place fall from my wrists. 

Because I was a good, respectful, honest and dedicated man, I was transferred to a small church in the interior of the state. 

You would ask me, the real reason for not being sent to a great apostolate, since my talents have always been a highlight before other men with the same mission to serve God. 

The intention to send me far away came from another old man — as deaf as the one who picked me up at the train station — who saw me in "impure acts." Those were his words. 

That impure act consisted of seeing me touching my genitals and feeling a slight pleasure from it.

After catching me in full obscene action, I was forced to get on my knees — still naked — and to infer twenty lashes on my back, in front of him, of course! The punishment was that my dishonour might be seen and heard by God.

So, that's how the "holy child" stopped being so holy, couldn't be transferred to a larger church and left for one that, if it had a firm cross on the bell tower, would be a lot.

[wellwhatisnttaken]

Through Miles Of Clouded Hell

Part 1

_________________________

For as long as Lucien could remember, the world had been dead. A gradient of brown and gray rot. The woods near the palace were a collection of dead trees, bark soggy and soft. The sun rarely shone on his Kingdom, watery overcast being the best they could hope for, with raging, destructive thunderstorms being the worst.

As a youngling, his mother had told him tales of why nothing ever grew, why the land was cursed to rot and decay. The way his mother told it, There was a female. The most beautiful female that had ever lived. She and her sisters were descended from the gods of old, with bronze hair that swept the ground when she walked. She lived with her sisters in a cottage on the edge of the heavenly city. The sisters were the fairest of all the fae, each known for their own special talent. The oldest wielded silver fire. It was her who kept the fires burning during wartime, her who kept the lanterns lit and the people warm. The youngest, she spoke in riddles and curses. She broke curses on those who brought her starlight, and with her Wick tongue, condemned those who did evil.

But the middle sister. She was the most powerful. She was connected to the very ground itself. Flowers bloomed in her footprints, crops thrived under her gaze, and trees shot sky ward under her touch. She was the very essence of life itself. She could breathe back life into the sick, and could just as easily snatch it away. Her name was Elain Lifebringer. It was her who tended to the mother tree at the heart of the heavenly city. Everyday she would visit and commune with the sacred mother spirit and tend to her tree. The mother tree was the source from which all life originated. Its trunk was wider than entire forests, and its hight reached far past even the most outer reaching of Heaven.

Elain Lifebringer was content to live with her sisters and tend to the lands and gardens and the mother tree. But the kings son wanted her for himself.

He had tried talking to her, courting her, even following her around. He became obsessed with her. One day he brought her a deer that had be nibbling on her flowers in the garden outside her cottage. He had slit its throat in front her as an offering, proving to her that he could vanquish her enemies. As the blood of the doe spilled across the lush grass in front of her home, she saw him for the cruel male he was, and horrified by his actions, she spurned him. She banished him from her home and cursed his name. But he did not give up so easily. The kings son was spoiled and haughty, used to getting what he wanted. And even if he could not have her now, she would eventually be his.

So, he devised a plan to rid her of the distractions clouding her judgment, ensuring that she works finally realize that they were meant to be.

Later that moon cycle, In the dead of night, the kings son stole away Elain’s sisters, and brought them to the mother tree. It was there that he strung them up. When Elain woke, she scrambled into the city, frantically searching for her sisters, only to find their blood soaking the rots of her beloved mother tree. They say her wails can still be heard on the wind if one listens hard enough, and that the ocean’s poured from her eyes, her tears creating the rushing rivers. The kings son stood over her kneeling form, a proud look on his face, for they could finally be together. But as she looked up, she felt death unfurl in her chest.

By now the people of the city had gathered in small crowds to witness what had happened, and Elain stayed her hand. Waiting for someone to speak out against this monster. But no one did. Faces that her and her sisters had grown up with, cared for, sheltered, and loved, stayed silent in the face of the murderer prince. So Elain picked herself up and went to the tree. Blood soaking the soles of her bare feet and the ends of her bronzed hair, and as the mother tree enveloped her, she roared a curse upon the land

No life shall grow

Nor rivers flow

No trees of green

Nor harvests seen

Your heart is black

I take it back

All the life poured from my hands

I curse death forever on these lands

It is said that the rot took hold of the land shortly after the tree petrified her. Black tears rolled down her now wooden face, and dripped onto the soil, spreading death as they soaked into the roots.

His mother had told him, that Elain LifeBringer could be awoken, if one true of heart, kind of spirit and brave of soul planted an offering of sacrificial love into her open mouth.

Lucien didnt know of any of this was true. Perhaps his mother had just been making up stories to distract him from his father’s cruelty. But his father was gone, and he was the king now. And unlike his father, he could not watch his people starve and die in silence. He wished there was another way, but he could never forgive himself if he didn’t try.

He would go to Elain Life Bringer, and he would bring her back. For his mother, for his people.

———————————

Let me know if there’s interest in more of this story! Im really feeling it tbh.

Tagging some friends so i dont get lost on the dash also shameless self promotion

@iftheshoef1tz @separatist-apologist @yourethehero

[foxleycrow]

Thranduil & Túrin playing together in Doriath, for @tolkiengenweek —when I realized they could have been kids in Doriath at the same time, I had to draw them together.

This one also comes with a short accompanying fic about their meeting:

To Wear an Elven Crown

Thranduil had longed to meet the Adan since he had heard the first tales of his arrival in Doriath. His wish had displaced most other longings in his heart. If he could speak to an Adan, he could practice his Mannish and ask him about so many things, like the life of his people and the world outside the Fence. Beleg Cúthalion had found the Adan lost in the woods, and then King Thingol had adopted him! Thranduil had never heard of anyone adopting an Adan, let alone the king himself. If he were now Thingol's son, did that mean he was an Elf, as well as a Man? 

Thranduil had asked his father several times whether he could visit the Adan, but each time he was told the newcomer was too unwell. He had been sick and weak when he was discovered, and he was not yet strong enough to entertain company. This news sank him into a deep state of worry. The Edain could contract illnesses, and were mortal. What if this one became very sick, or even died! Of course, the healers of Doriath were the greatest in Middle-earth, but the Adan had come from dangerous lands far from the protection of Doriath, where anything might have befallen him. Thranduil had heard stories of strange fevers and chills that Edain could suffer from; what if the Elven healers did not know how to treat them?

"If he were to speak with someone his own age, Ada, he might feel better." The Adan was young, like himself. Not precisely the same age, since Edain aged so differently, but near enough in essence. He wondered what kind of games the Edain played. Maybe they had invented some no Elves had dreamed of…

"Do you believe so?" asked Oropher, raising an eyebrow. "An interesting perspective. I did not know you had become such an expert on the matter."

"I would feel better, if it were me." In defiance of his father's eyebrow, he added, "I asked Beleg to tell me everything he knows about the Edain."

"Oh, so you are an expert. My mistake." Oropher's hand settled on his head. Thranduil felt the warmth of his father's skin on his brow and blinked. "He has been through much, little Tuil," said Oropher. "We will not tax him any more than we need to."

After offering a gentle pat, Oropher withdrew his hand. Thranduil lay back, resting his head among the grasses. Thranduil did not expect his father to understand, for Oropher was very old. There were no children in King Thingol's house, and if they would not allow Thranduil to visit and talk to the Adan, then they would not have let any other children in to speak to him; that was obvious.

"I am an expert," Thranduil murmured, closing his eyes. Beleg had told him that the Edain could grow lonely and sad, like Elves, and that they too loved to dance and sing and tell tales. The Adan was named Túrin, and his father had been an Elf-friend. That meant he was an Elf-friend, too. If he was a friend, then he should be treated as one and given a warm welcome by everyone in Menegroth. Surely that would make him feel better than being kept away from others.

"Are you falling asleep?" Oropher asked. "I'll take you back home."

He shook his head stubbornly, the blades of grass making themselves felt on his cheeks and chin. Narrow, but not quite sharp. They did not hurt, but he sensed each one keenly. "No, I want to nap out here in the sun." They were well behind the Fence and close to Menegroth, so these woods were safe and guarded. He could play or explore or rest among the trees whenever he liked, because Queen Melian kept them all from harm.

He heard Oropher's soft laughter and felt his father's hand settle on his head again briefly. Then he was only aware of the warm sun heating his skin and the faintly prickly touch of the grass carpeting the clearing. Soon, he was not aware of the clearing either, lost in a dream, wandering far from the waking world. He dreamed he was journeying through a dark, withered wood, bristling with dead branches. The sky was veiled with dense, gray clouds. There was an unnatural air to them, as if storm clouds had been thickened with smoke.

There was a cold wind at his back, and he was all alone. The dead trees were so tall, they made him feel smaller. He heard something moving behind him, breaking branches and rustling through shriveled leaves. An animal? Or something worse? He did not know, and he did not want to turn to look, so he ran. He ran until he felt he had been always running, yet no matter how quick his steps, the noises behind him persisted, never any closer, but never farther away.

Thranduil woke with a gasp. He sat up and scanned the clearing. It was as green and tranquil as it had been when he fell asleep. He heard the low buzz of insect song and the faint voices of the trees. Father was gone. He saw no sign of anyone nearby, although that was not unusual. The sun's light was starting to fade from the sky. It was that between-time when patches of sunlight were still scattered across the forest floor, while the first stars appeared in the purpling twilight above. Thranduil rose to his feet. He was a little hungry, but he was well-rested, and he wasn't ready to return home. He would rather play, until Father came to fetch him. He left the clearing, slipping into the undergrowth as soundlessly as possible.

One of his favorite games was Marchwarden. It was more fun to play with someone else, but it was a game he could also play alone, simply by moving as quickly and quietly as possible, so that no enemies could see or hear him—exactly like a Marchwarden. He was tracking. Not hunting, but searching for any sign of danger, to keep Doriath safe. He studied whatever tracks he came across, or other signs of passage, such as broken twigs or bent grasses, trying to judge who or what had come the same way, and how long ago. He could wander like this for hours, happily, alone.

He was not entirely happy. He was more uneasy as he searched for signs in the grass, because of his dream. Within the dead wood, he had felt like he would never be allowed to rest, racing with an enemy eternally at his back. Dreams always meant something, but not always what you thought they meant. It took a wise Elf to read dreams. He could have asked his father about it, and maybe he would later. Now, he stalked through the dense growth, crouching low so his pale hair couldn't be seen.

When he heard low and distant voices, Thranduil was still lost in his game, so he crouched lower, listening intently as he crept closer. He slowed his breathing, his heartbeat, hiding as he'd been taught.

"—where he could have gone—?"

"We will find him, and soon. There's only so far...."

"I hadn't thought he was strong enough. I would never have guessed he'd be so quick."

"You shouldn't underestimate—"

The speakers moved away, out of the range of his hearing. Those were two of Thingol's guards. Could they have been talking about the Adan? It was possible, and not only because Thranduil thought of the Adan so often. Who else would they have thought wasn't strong enough? If the Adan was lost, he might grow sicker. Imagine how upset King Thingol would be. If Thranduil was a Marchwarden, then he had a duty to do whatever he could to protect everyone in Doriath: including any Edain. He moved on again, more quickly and with greater purpose.

He studied the forest, down to the least leaf, and he listened to the birds singing, the faint breeze moving through the branches. He listened for telltale noises, or telltale silences. He wondered whether the Adan had had a nightmare, like he had. Maybe that was why he had run off. It must have been hard for him to leave his home behind, especially because of the war: that distant, dark shadow hanging over everything, even the forests of Doriath.

Where would an Adan go? Possibly into the undergrowth, where he was. A place where someone small would hide. Thranduil knew of many secret spaces ideal for concealing himself, but few of them were nearby, close to where the guards were hunting. A slight Adan would leave faint footprints. Like Thranduil, he would have been trained in how to hide, if he were in danger. Thranduil was sure that the great trackers of Doriath could find anyone, but maybe Túrin would be difficult to find, more difficult than they expected.

Thranduil headed toward the Dome—it was a vast, curving structure of twisted woody shrubs, crowned with flowering vines. It was bright enough to draw the eye of a stranger to these woods, and dense enough to provide ample cover and shelter. Thranduil often crawled in there to play, because it was like a fortress. He could pretend he ruled there, lord of the branches and leaves and blossoms.

Thranduil found a faint indentation that might have been left by someone running this way. Shortly after that, he spied a tiny tuft of thread, caught on a hooked thorn. It was bright blue in color, so it stood out more than it might have otherwise. Could he have been correct in thinking the Adan might have been come this way? He had been guessing, but maybe he really was a Marchwarden. He would have to tell Beleg, if he succeeded in his hunt.

Emboldened by the thought that he might be better at tracking than Thingol's own guard, Thranduil sank to his knees and crawled into one of the narrow passageways that led into the Dome. With twisting branches on either side of him, and a ceiling of ivy above, no one outside would be able to see him, once he had travelled the length of a few paces. There were no wider  ways in, the growth here was so dense. Anyone who was much larger than Thranduil would have had to cut their way through. Among the branches, Thranduil caught sight of another slight scrap of blue thread. The branches here loved to tug on clothing.

Encouraged, Thranduil moved faster, until he arrived at a fall of dense vines, pushed through them, and found himself confronted by a pair of dark, shining eyes, staring at him. The Adan gave a start, but did not run. It was hard to travel quickly within the Dome, especially if one didn't know it as well as Thranduil did. Thranduil had half-suspected he was imagining his grand success in tracking, so he sat, blinked and stared back at his quarry, startled and bewildered and pleased.

The Adan was seated with his knees drawn up toward his chest. He was very thin, the thinnest child Thranduil had ever seen. His narrow face made his eyes look bigger. Here, he was walled off from the world—or most of it. He looked a great deal like an Elf, although Thranduil could tell he was different as well. It was hard to say exactly why; he simply felt different, like the night air felt different from the air of day, or the atmosphere before a storm as opposed to in the dry season: different in so many various slight ways, some of which were easier to describe than others.

Although Thranduil had longed for their meeting with joy, he felt unexpectedly solemn, now that it was taking place. "Hello," he ventured, in Sindarin. "I'm Thranduil, Son of Oropher."

The Adan blinked, and for a moment, Thranduil wasn't sure if he would—or could—reply, but at last he answered softly, "I'm Túrin, Son of Húrin."

"Why are you out here?" Thranduil asked. He didn't wish to sound accusatory, so he added, "Did you want to play?"

Túrin looked away, into the shadows between the leaves. "I wanted to be by myself."

Thranduil nodded, as this was perfectly understandable. "I like to be by myself, too."

Túrin's gaze shifted back to Thranduil. He seemed relieved to hear this, exhaling.

"Can I stay, though?" Thranduil asked. "Now that I'm here."

"You can stay," Túrin said.

Thranduil knew that Thingol and all his guards and attendants and everyone must be nervous, but he didn't think a little while longer would do any harm, especially not when Túrin must have run here for a reason. Being surrounded by everyone at court could be overwhelming. Thranduil had never been far away from home and everyone he knew before, but it must be hard. It would be better not to rush him. He would let Túrin rest for a little while, and then he would take him to Thingol—just as Beleg had, before.

"I can show you something," he offered.

After another hesitation, Túrin nodded.

"Follow me," said Thranduil. He crawled ahead, between the branches, into the gloom. The last of the day's slight, slipping in through the leaves and vines above, made soft, pale shifting shapes on their hands and on the ground beneath. After a long way, the structure of the dome opened up onto a green glade, surrounded by dense undergrowth on all sides. No one would walk here casually, and if he and Túrin didn't stand up, no one would be able to see them from outside the enclosure. The glade was also hidden, but there was more room to stretch out, and even lie down. It was a fine place for a nap, with soft earth and open sky above. Clusters of flowers grew in profusion, along with tufts of dense grass. Thranduil and Túrin admired their new hiding place in silence, while birds sang in the trees overhead. It was not yet true night, only early twilight. The birds would keep singing a little longer.

"I come here sometimes when I want to be alone," Thranduil said. In the past days and weeks, he had formulated an ever-growing list of questions he would like to ask the Adan, but he did not ask a single one of them now.

Túrin nodded again, lowering his gaze. He reached down and ran his fingers through the grass. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and he did not smile.

"Everyone's looking for you," said Thranduil. "They must be worried."

"I didn't mean to make anyone worry. They shouldn't worry. I don't know why I—" He broke off, closing his eyes.

"It's all right. No one will be angry with you," Thranduil reassured him quickly, moved by Túrin's pained expression. "I'm not angry. I've been waiting to meet you. I've never met an Adan before."

Túrin's eyes reopened, slowly. "Never?"

Thranduil inclined his head in confirmation. "Never."

"I hadn't really met Elves before," said Túrin.

"But now you have. You've met Beleg, and King Thingol, and me. Everyone's happy you're here, that's why they're worried. But we don't have to go back right away. We can wait until you feel better." He cast about the glade, looking for something else he could show the Adan, to cheer him. Along with the two of them, the glade was bursting with life, all the usual green and growing things, rising from the earth and insisting on themselves… "Here—I'll make you something."

"Make me what—?"

"Look." Thranduil's gaze went to a stand of nearby pale purple flowers. These particular blossoms were edible and often harvested. It would do no harm to take a few, especially at this time of year. Quickly, he plucked a few of them, leaving a length of green stem on each. Once he had gathered enough, he wove them together. Flowers and grasses were easy to weave, especially into a circle. When they were joined, he tapped them with his fingers. He could feel the energy moving through the blooms and stems. He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on that living force, pressing the separate strands of it into one: forging it into a single, singing ring and willing the flowers—live, preserve. They were no longer separate blooms; they had become a single entity. Their petals, which had been in the first stage of wilting, straightened with pride, made fresh and new. It was such a simple thing to do, yet Túrin was wide-eyed and rapt, staring at his hands as if he had performed a wonder. "A crown for you, Prince Túrin." Thranduil reached out and settled the circlet of blooms on Túrin's head.

Finally, Túrin smiled at him. Thranduil smiled back.

They did not stay long, alone in that green glade together, hidden by a conspiracy of leaves and vines and branches. They were never meant to stay long. The world outside was waiting for them to emerge. While the sun receded and the stars began to show themselves—one by one at first, then all at once, like a rain of jewels scattering across the sky—they played and laughed for a few moments.

As Thranduil predicted, when they returned to Menegroth, Túrin did not receive a single scolding. Thingol wrapped him in a fierce embrace. Beleg was as impressed by Thranduil's skills as Thranduil had hoped. He praised Thranduil for his skill in tracking, and said he could visit Túrin whenever he wanted. Eventually, he was able to ask Túrin every question on his extensive list.

Many long years later, tragedy faded into myth for so many, but not for those who were there. Thranduil rarely listened to the sad songs that touched on the subject of Túrin Turambar, but when a certain mood was on him, he would ask the harpers to play one of the few he approved of. Thranduil had grown very old. Seated on his throne, wearing his own heavy crown, he would lean back and remember the smile of a young boy with his dark hair full of flowers.

[exy-softie]

neil and parental figures (maternal abby)

- a ted talk by me

(no but seriously before you read this you should know it was 5am when i wrote it you can’t blame me for being a sleep deprived mess i don’t even know what this is but i’m posting it for the sake of the impulse sorry for any type of mistakes, thank you)

okay so obviously kevin’s parental figure is wymack and we also agree that andrew’s is betsy right? right

but what about neil?

he has made it clear that he’s not looking for one nor does he need it, he’s actually rather uncomfortable with the thought but-

*sighs*

we can’t consider stuart as his parental figure; he may be his only family (by blood) and maybe they even get in touch now and then (i’ll probably write another post about this) but as much as i love the idea of neil having this cool gangster uncle who protects him from an ocean away, they aren’t really that close. 

*sips tea and looks into the horizon*

some may say that wymack is the closest he has as a paternal figure and i agree, since wymack always tried to help him and was there for him and he has very paternal vibes and is kind of all the foxes’ dad and whatever- 

BUT

*gulps what’s left of the tea agressively*

what if

abby

was neil’s maternal figure

aND his closest parental figure

*throws tea cup to a wall*

now i kNOW I KNOW,,,,that this is kind of impossible and just a dream cause canon neil would most likely never but we come here to be happy not to be real-

...

everything is fake-

...

*inhales*

(EVERYTHING IS FAKE EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD IS FAKE THE GRASS ON THE FOOTBALL FIELD ISN’T EVEN GRASS IT’S PLASTIC ALL THE PEOPLE ARE FAKE THEY ARE MADE OUT OF METAL BUT I LIKE YOU AND THAT IS NOT FAKE *hits head against the table* *cries and visibly shakes*)

*exhales*

(I APOLOGIZE BUT REGRET NOTHING)

(YES YG DID ME DIRTY)

(in a beautiful way)

anyways

abby being neil’s maternal figure. 

maybe he was curious. he probably used to think of mary as a “decent parent” (not that she was) but she was abusive, so he is intrigued, although first frightened, by abby’s nurturing and kind essence

abby was the first person from the team who saw his scars and was always making sure he was alright (when allowed). i like to think she earned his trust trough the years and maybe one day, abby gets to be the only person (apart from andrew and matt) who neil lets himself be soft with. 

he starts accepting abby’s gentle cares and finds out he enjoys her company and feels peaceful in her presence. 

while neil is at palmetto they meet once a month or every two weeks to have tea with cookies and they mainly talk about neil`s classes and exy and abby`s new hobbies

*suddenly remembers the tea and pours herself another cup*

*tries it*

*kinda cold tbh*

speaking of which, abby’s main hobby is to knit, so if you’re imagining her knitting neil hundreds of scarfs and sweaters and socks and gloves you’re totally right

neil loves them but he also encourages her to start doing them for the whole team bacuse he`s running out of space and it becomes a christmas tradition to get one of abby’s nitted pieces

she gives a matching pair of sweaters to neil and andrew as a present in one of their anniversaries

when neil goes pro tho, they don’t see each other that much, however one of them calls at least once a month and neil also visits when he has the chance and they have their tea afternoons. he also sends her little gifts from different places he’s been while andrew does the same with bee

(can you imagine bee and abby bff forever talking about their *sons* and how proud they are of everything they have acomplished and also how much they love each other)

*wipes away emotional tear*

*whispers* lovely bastards...

now....

just imagine...

the possibilities if:

ABBY IS AARON’S MATERNAL FIGURE TOO

*laughs manically*

imagine everything i just mentioned

but sometimes aaron is there too

like both neil and aaron go to abby’s on the same day and she makes them both stay and have tea with her and they can’t say no cause it’s sweet old abby. 

i think is easier (or not actually, because aaron is really suspicious and rejective towards anyone but wtv) to explain why aaron gets close to abby, since both of them are health workers (or student) and he already respected her professionally. with the time tho, he starts going to her for advice and he also (like neil) finds her attitude comforting. she makes them both understand how maternal affection is supposed to feel like. 

aaron and neil fighting over who gets abby the best birthday present. 

later on, aaron and neil bonding over deciding what to get her and weighing up the best options togheter cuz #thisisimportant

aaron, neil and abby sitting at the table gossiping about aaron’s co-workers and neil’s teammates and rivals (aaron and neil trashing them while abby tries to reprimand them but still laughs at her boys critizicing people togheter cause they seem actually happy)

(andrew having to stand this new awkward friendship between the two and sometimes just sitting there while they talk about random stuff)

[silverfootstepswrites]

Eden: ZERO

ZERO (here) / BLEACH / TWIST / REVERSE / DYE /  RED

Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it. - Haruki Murakami

+++

“You’re doing it wrong, you know.”

Those were the first words Madara had ever spoken to her. Arms crossed across his chest, over his half-buttoned shirt. Staring down at her with those arrogant eyes glinting bright red.

“Then show me how to do it,” she retorted. Unaware of how dangerous those words were.

A harsh wind swept through. Sakura squinted her eyes shut against the hair that blew into her face. When she opened them, the man stood just in front of her. Grinning with too-sharp teeth as he leaned over her. Those luminous eyes widened as he took in the golden light sputtering between her palms.

“What are you? 12? Don’t even know how to do basic channeling?” he asked, eyes darting back up to her face.

“8,” Sakura corrected him.

“Ah. Shit. Seriously?” His expression shifted. The furrow in his brows deepening as he squinted down at the magic twinkling and then dwindling in her hands.  Thumb on his chin, he leaned in a little closer to the sparks.

“Are you channeling through your solar plexus or your heart?” he demanded.

Sakura made a face. “My what?”

He sighed.

“Take a deep breath, through your nose. Like this.” And he demonstrated. Inhaling through his nostrils. He exhaled long and fast through his mouth. “When you breathe out, feel your abdomen move. Right here.” He touched his stomach.

Sakura watched him do it once more before she tried it herself. Breathing in deep through her nose. Exhaling through her lips.

“Now try channeling your magic through that part of your stomach you just felt,” he instructed.

Her eyes closed as she followed the steps. She gathered her breath, willing her strength into her palms as she exhaled. The golden sparks appeared again, but this time, they spilled from her palms, down her arms. They showered her clothes and the ground with bright lights before winking out of existence.

“I did it!” Sakura exclaimed. And when she lifted her chin to thank him, the man was gone.

++++

The world overflowed with magic. It clung to blades of grass and wafted off the smoke rising from chimneys. It lingered in the alleyways, mingling with the smells of food from all around the world. A melting pot of pastelitos, General Tso’s and doner kebab all in one.

Anyone who couldn’t perform magic bought it. And the more complex the magic, the more valuable it was. Simple levitation charms and giggle potions could be purchased in the same vending machines that sold soda. People walked out of salons with hair that changed color in the sunlight. Sleepy janitors on the night shift could twist a finger and let the mop work by itself as they took a quick nap. 

The city of Konoha was as old as it was busy. It wasn’t where Sakura had been born, but it was where she was now. 

She lived in one of the dorms at the Senju Institute. Many of the students there were children of non-magical parents and trained them to wield their powers. This program was, in essence, an orphanage, but no one liked to say that out loud.

There were many things to be grateful for. The Senju Institute fed her and kept a roof over her head. None of the teachers or fellow students were ever unkind to her. But a label seemed to hang over her head everywhere she went.

This girl can’t wield magic.

No matter how much she studied, how much she practiced, she couldn’t understand the lessons from the instructors. Who told her, “Follow your instincts” and “feel the energy”. Which meant absolutely nothing to her. Besides that odd encounter in the library, Sakura had never managed to properly channel magic before. And as her classmates learned to conjure light and summon orbs of water, Sakura found herself falling farther and farther behind.

Tutoring sessions with the teachers did nothing. So while Sakura struggled with the application, she threw herself into reading up on the theory. Because maybe there would be an answer in one of those big, dusty books in the library about what made her defective.

If anyone wanted to know how to do magic, Sakura could recite it without a thought. The irony was comical, in some ways. Although, Sakura didn’t find it very funny at all.

++++

“You can’t just show up whenever you want,” Tobirama griped, not for the first time, as he watched Madara peruse the shelves of the school library.

“Relax. Your brother said it was okay. Isn’t he in charge?” Madara said.

“Yeah. But I’m also in charge. And I hate you,” retorted Tobirama. Madara snorted. And then he found his eyes drifting past the shelf. Past the balustrade. Downstairs, he glimpsed a little girl sitting alone at one of the long tables. Her nose buried in a huge textbook.

“That girl,” Madara mused. And Tobirama turned to follow his gaze. He let out a heavy sigh.

“Ah. Sakura? Good kid. I feel bad for her,” he replied.

“Bad? Why?” Madara’s eyebrows rose.

Tobirama paused. He peeked over at the girl to make sure she hadn’t heard them before he leaned in a little closer.

“She seems to have the spark, but she can’t channel magic. Her pathways must be dead or blocked,” Tobirama whispered, hand covering his mouth. Madara’s mouth twisted, eyebrows rising.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

It was Tobirama’s turn to look surprised as he watched Madara cup his hands around his mouth.

“Hey! Kid!”

The girl’s head jerked up. Her eyes widened.

“You still remember this?” Madara asked. He held out his palm. Gold sparks flooded his palm, overflowing. Spilling over the railing. Down to the floor below. The girl nodded. She held up both her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lower lip.

“Feel where your breath is. Push the magic through there,” he reminded her.

Slowly, flecks of gold gathered at the tips of her fingers.

“Exhale. Push through your stomach.”

Gold welled up in her hands. And then it began spilling endlessly, bouncing across the tile. 

Madara turned to Tobirama with a smirk. “You know, Tobirama, sometimes telling people to just feel magic doesn’t work,” he rubbed it in. But Tobirama didn’t even see the expression as he hurried down the stairs to examine the magic. Sakura looked from Tobirama, up to Madara. Her face gold as the light from her magic bathed her expression.

Madara raised his eyebrows at her as he descended the stairs. 

“Hey. Try this,” he urged. And then he closed his fingers around the sparks. They spurted between his fingers before they began to lump together. Burning red hot, thrumming with energy. When he opened his hand, a smooth black stone glistened in his palm.

Tobirama sighed. “Come on, Madara. Even senior level students struggle with transmutation.”

The girl’s forehead wrinkled. She grabbed Madara’s hand, jerking it down to eye level. She scowled at the shimmering rock.

“How do I do that?” she demanded.

“Make the sparks. Breathe,” instructed Madara, snatching the orb away.

She took a step back. Sucking in a deep breath through her nose, she summoned the golden sparks to her hands once more.

“Now. Kid. The magic is moving quickly because all the molecules are moving fast,” Madara explained. He pointed at the sparks. She stared. “They’re all vibrating. Bumping into each other. All because it’s so hot.”

“It doesn’t feel hot,” she protested.

Tobirama sighed again, shaking his head.

Madara shot him a dirty look before he looked down at Sakura again. “Well, you’re not wrong, kid. I’ll get into that stuff later. For now, just believe me. It’s hot for the magic, alright?”

The girl continued to frown, but she slowly nodded.

“Then make the magic stop moving so fast,” he explained.

She blinked a few times. Then lifted her chin to look up at him. “So... tell the magic to cool down?”

He thought for a moment. And then Madara smirked. Hand on his hip, he nodded.

“Yeah, kid.”

She stared directly into the sparks. She sucked in another breath. And then she began to close her fingers, just as Madara had. As she moved her hands, she whispered to the sparks: “Cool.... it’s time to be cool. It’s not hot anymore. It’s nice and cool. Slow…”

Tobirama’s eyes bulged as the sparks slowly darkened. The magic began to swirl together in her palms, rippling back and forth with each of her breaths. Then, slowly, it gathered into a solid shape in her cupped hands.

“Show me what you got, kid,” Madara instructed.

As the girl opened her hands, the object between her fingers slipped out. Madara’s hand flicked. It rose in the air, sparkling as it rotated. It was a crystal with a pointed tip. Purple, green, and blue swirled together in layers, gleaming as light bounced off the surface.

“Huh. Fluorite. Good quality too,” he commented. When he flexed his fingers, the crystal began to spin in the opposite direction. But when he glanced at the girl, he saw that her eyes glittered even more brightly than the crystal she had created.

“I did that?” she whispered.

“Yeah. Impressive for your first try,” Madara replied. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the crystal flying over to her. She held both her hands out. It fell into her waiting grasp.

Smug, Madara turned toward Tobirama.

“See? Kid can do magic just fine. Pretty gifted, honestly,” he rubbed it in. Relishing the way Tobirama glared at him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tobirama ground out.

“Can you teach me from now on? You’re a good teacher,” Sakura spoke up. Still clutching the crystal she had created.

Tobirama and Madara both looked down at her. Her eyes gleamed. Rubbing his chin, Madara considered this.

“Tell you what, kid. I’ll do you one better.” Madara grinned.

“Madara, no,” Tobirama was already protesting.

“You ever had your own room before, kid?” asked Madara, hand on his hip.

It had taken some persuading. As a student of the Senju Institute, Sakura was technically in the care of the school itself. Plus, Hashirama, its headmaster, wasn’t keen on the idea of just… giving a student away. 

Madara, however, was not above playing dirty. When he began rattling off a list of all the ways both brothers owed him, Hashirama finally caved.

Madara would take custody of Sakura. He would instruct her on the fundamentals of magic. When Sakura was old enough, and had developed enough of her skills, she would resume her studies at the institute.

As Madara watched her pack up her things, he looked around the narrow room she shared with one other girl. Her roommate had some photos taped over her desk. There were a few posters on her side of the room. A picture frame sat on her nightstand. All Sakura had were her books, along with a blue vase filled with fake flowers. The books she scooped up into her arms and dropped into her suitcase. She didn’t move to take the vase.

“Ready to go?” he asked as she set the suitcase on the ground. The things inside rattled around. Half-hollow. Half-filled.

Sakura nodded.

Madara’s home sat halfway across the city from the Senju Institute. The inside of his car was old-fashioned, but it was clean. The worn leather seats gleamed. He drove with the windows down, his hair whipping back in the wind.

“So… what do you do?” she asked.

Madara pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. His lips twisted to one side.

“I dabble. Been going by ‘arcanist’ for a while now,” he replied. When Sakura continued to stare, he laughed a little, teeth glinting. “I research magic and how to put it inside things. I also come up with spells to use magic differently.”

“Do I have to call you ‘dad’?” she then asked.

Madara wrinkled his nose. He waved a hand, as if shooing the title away from him.

“Nah. I’m Madara. You can call me that. Or ‘teacher’. Whatever. Just don’t say ‘old man’,” he answered.

Madara’s home didn’t look like much from the outside. But inside, it was filled with books, spell ingredients, and whatever other clutter he had gathered over the years. Candles bobbed in the foyer. Shoes floated into a closet as soon as they were off the feet. The welcome mat shifted colors whenever someone stepped over it.

It was also much too big. 

Sakura’s jaw dropped the first time she stepped inside. She backtracked onto the front steps. Stared up at the narrow apartment. Then stepped inside again, staring at how tall the ceilings were. 

“Extension magic,” Madara chuckled as he watched her dumbfounded expression. 

The next few days were a blur of learning the house’s layout and trying to absorb all the information Madara threw at her.

“There’s no real schedule. Eat when you like. We can do your lessons in the afternoon, so you can sleep in,” he said as he poured himself a glass of wine.

“What about school?” she asked.

“I am your school. There’s nothing at those ridiculous schools that I can’t teach you better at home,” Madara scoffed.

“What about math? Or reading and writing?”

Madara heaved a sigh.

“Kid. I got it,” he assured her.

Despite his attitude, Madara was a proper teacher. He waited for her to understand before he asked her to do. Whenever she asked for him to explain again, he did so. The technicality of Madara’s casting made a lot of sense to Sakura.

“Not like that. Spread your fingers. You need to leave space for the magic to gather,” he explained as  he nudged her hands. He stood with his feet shoulders width apart. As Sakura adjusted, he pointed down at his feet. She inched her feet closer together until he nodded.

“Now. Let’s try again. Remember, you need to break the bonds and remake them,” Madara reminded her. He waited for her to nod before he took a deep, slow breath. Sakura copied him, feeling the heat gather in her fingertips.

Madara never made her feel like she had when she had stayed at the Senju Institute. Deficient. Slow. Somehow less than the others who ran around with their hands shooting sparks in every direction.

The Senju school of magic focused on drawing upon emotions and imagination. And while their magic was strong, it was also volatile and ran the risk of turning destructive.

The Uchiha family’s knowledge of magic emphasized understanding the science of magic. What created it? How could it be channeled optimally? They were the ones who had discovered that wooden wands and staves are actually a poor conductor of magic. The discovery had led to the development of new casting tools that had filled up the family’s accounts faster than the banks knew how to handle.

As Sakura spent more time with Madara, the more she realized that magic wasn’t just about the spells. It was woven into the very fabric of reality. It changed the structure of objects and bent light. All she had to do was tug on a few strings to set things into motion.

“Water and fire are kind of alike, actually,” Madara said. He held his hand out, palm up. His palm seemed to glow for a moment before a flame flickered to life just above it.

And with just a little more effort, he changed the fire into water. The droplets danced together before he crushed them in his palm.

“Why?” Sakura asked.

“It’s all about the energy of the matter. If you change the energy, you can change the state of things.”

Sakura touched her hand to her chin. “More energy is hotter,” she recalled him saying.

Madara nodded.

“But more energy can also be gas,” she went on.

Madara’s eyes crinkled a little, but he said nothing.

Sakura’s forehead wrinkled as she peered up at him. “Am I a water affinity?”

Madara nodded.

“And you’re fire?”

Madara nodded again.

“Can someone be good at both?”

Madara thought for a moment. “Your natural affinity is what you’ll be good at with little effort. It would be more challenging, but it’s possible to do both well,” he decided.

Sakura tilted her head

“What about earth?” she asked.

Madara laughed. He leaned back in his chair. “You must’ve driven those teachers crazy with all these questions.”

Sakura didn’t smile. She looked down at her feet. “They got mad when I kept asking…” she confessed.

Madara’s laugh cut off. He examined her expression. And then he ruffled her hair. “Aw, kid, don’t look like that. You can ask me as much as you like. Just as long as I’m not trying to sleep,” he assured her. And then he paused. 

“I mean... sometimes when I’m... ah whatever. Ask away, kid,” Madara concluded. Watching the dimples form in her cheeks as she gave him a shy smile in return.

++++

“Nice work today. Your basics are really coming together,” Madara commended her over dinner one day.

Sakura smiled around her bite of chicken. She was doing that more and more now.

“Next, we should take you to an appraiser. Your folks wouldn’t have brought you to Konoha if you didn’t have an affinity for dream magic,” Madara went on. He slathered a biscuit with too much butter, gesturing with his knife as he spoke.

Sakura’s smile faded a little.

“They did it once. At the Institute,” she admitted.

“And?” Madara prompted, cheeks stuffed with food. “What’s the verdict, kid?”

Konoha was famous for the art of dream magic. Unlike elemental magic, which most people could learn to use with the right training, dream magic couldn’t be learned. It was innate. Dreams, shadows, thoughts- those were all things that ran in the blood.

Someone had once thought to call those would could handle dreams dream casters. It was a silly name, but it had stuck. A low level dream caster could bottle a dream that already existed and sell it for profit. A more skilled dream caster could amend parts of a dream, or even piece one together from scratch. 

Sakura nudged a piece of broccoli on her plate.

“They never said.”

They had taken one look at the paper and sent her back to her room. The subject had never come up again.

“Those fuckers,” Madara sighed. His eyes widened. At the same time, Sakura’s head jerked up.

They stared at each other.

“Was that a bad word?” she asked.

Madara’s eyes darted to the ceiling. Then back to her. “Uh… yes. You shouldn’t say it.”

“Even though you just said it?”

“….Yeah.”

“….Okay.”

The test was simple.

Madara sent her to bed early that night. Reading the expression on her face, he mussed her hair. 

“Don’t worry, kid. It’s not hard,” he assured her. 

Despite all the questions swirling around in her head, Sakura managed to fall asleep. And as she found herself dreaming of a park on a sunny day, she spotted a familiar figure sitting on one of the benches. Madara lowered his round sunglasses with a smirk. 

“Well. Only dream casters can meet in dreams. Gotta make room for that in your lessons, I guess,” Madara mused, rubbing his chin.

When Sakura woke in the morning, she shuffled into the kitchen bleary-eyed. Madara stood flipping pancakes at the stove. Well, more accurately, he stood drinking coffee while a spatula flipped pancakes on its own. Madara turned his pointer finger in a circle. A glass flew out of the cupboard. The refrigerator door opened so a carton of orange juice would move to join the cup. 

“You ever get any training in dream magic before, kid?” Madara asked her.

Sakura shook her head as she watched the glass fill with juice. When she held both her hands out, the cup lowered down into her waiting grasp. 

“Good. Means I don’t have to undo any garbage they put into your head at that school,” Madara muttered. 

Nightmares were a common issue for dream casters. Especially in children. Who had an excess of magic with no way to use up the energy. The surplus magic seeped into their dreams. Twisting things into horrors that only a child could imagine.

Madara taught her not to fear. 

“You shape the dreams. They cannot shape you,” he told her. 

Each dream caster had a way of envisioning dreams. And a way to bend them to their will. 

Madara saw dreams as swirling black mists. When he casted, he sank into the endless field of mist, feet settling onto the soft black powder that coated the ground. He pulled the mists into shapes, sculpting them into people and objects. He could even sweep bigger sections into the skies and the ground. And when he channeled his magic, burning red for just a moment up his fingers, he filled the mist with color and texture. 

Sakura copied him, at first. 

But even as she learned, Sakura loved watching him bend her dreams. Twisting the nightmare shapes into harmless stuffed animals and pieces of furniture. He conjured ice cream out of thin air. He could even make stars appear in the sky where there had been none. It all felt so natural. And it was so easy to do it once she had seen him do it a few times. 

“Is it normal for us to have bad dreams?” she asked one night as he lit the incense in her room. The fragrance filled the air. Madara paused. And then he looked over his shoulder at her.

“In the beginning, yeah. Maybe it’s the cost of walking through everyone else’s dreams,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He lit the last stick of incense before he took a seat next to her bed. “But you’ll stop having them. Or you’ll learn how to make them good again.”

Her room was right across the hall from his. He had heard her wake up crying the first few nights in the house. So it had become part of the routine for him to check on her. He never said why. He didn’t really have to. And she didn’t thank him for it. Somehow she got the feeling that it would embarrass him.

“I wish I didn’t have bad dreams,” she muttered, pulling the covers up to her chin.

Madara smirked. “Same, kid. Good night.”

He mussed her hair before he got to his feet.

++++

“Alright. So.” Madara took a deep breath before he started.

“This is my little brother Izuna. That’s my nephew Fugaku. And those are his two kids Itachi and Sasuke. This is Obito, I think he’s a nephew. Or maybe he’s a cousin. Cousin’s cousin? Eh, whatever.”

He pointed to each face in the photograph as he rattled off the name.

“That’s too many people,” Sakura said. Cheek in his hand, Madara nodded.

“Family’s too damn big. Anyway, I’m the head, so you can be as rude or as nice as you want. No one’s gonna say shit to yo-” Madara broke off as he caught himself swearing again. Sakura scrutinized his expression.

“I’m not supposed to say that word?” she guessed.

Madara sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

And then she turned her attention back to the album.

“So… they’re my family too, now?” Her voice was suddenly tiny. Not like her at all.

Madara stared at her profile.

“Yeah, kid. You’re not alone anymore,” he answered. He rested his hand on top of her head. It was heavy, but she didn’t complain or shake him off.

It wasn’t difficult to get to know the other members of the Uchiha family. They came to visit often. So much so that Madara grumbled and threatened to kick them out each time they showed their faces.

But Madara’s too-big house started to make sense. All the spare bedrooms were perfect for when someone wanted to spend the night.

Shisui liked to crash on the sofa when he fought with his family. Itachi used one of the guest rooms when he wanted to study dream magic with Madara. And Sasuke was there the most often. When he needed a quiet place. When he just needed space from his parents. Because “they care about me, but they’re…a lot.”

None of them batted an eye when Madara introduced Sakura as their cousin. Shisui took to ruffling her hair the same way he did to Sasuke. Itachi reminded her about elbows on the table and offered to help her with her homework. Sasuke was just relieved to have someone his age around now. After years of Itachi and Shisui ganging up on him for being “the baby”.

The titles for how they were related to Madara were tangled and complicated. They called him “Uncle”, and Madara called them her cousins. And that was good enough for her too.

Sakura liked it when her cousins slept in the house. The proximity made it easier for her to visit them in their dreams.

In the early years, when her magic was still a tiny little sapling, she could only visit a dream that was very nearby. And that was almost always by accident. She would stumble into a place that wasn’t hers, baffled by the weight and shapes of things.

It happened the most with Madara, since he was usually nearby. And if he was irritated by her intruding on his dreams, he never let it show in his face. 

But as time went on, she began to wield her magic with more ease. And rather than falling thoughtlessly into dreams, she could imagine the shape of the entrance to the dream world. It was a worn wooden door, painted deep purple. There were vines crawling up the edges, spreading towards the keyhole. Which made no sense, because it always opened without a key at her touch.

Madara taught her about the portal that would take her to the Uchiha family’s dreams. It was a long corridor filled with ornate doors. Each one a different color and shape. And when she hesitated, Madara tugged her hand to pull her forward.

“Your door is here too,” he had assured her.

And Sakura blinked. “Mine?”

She memorized the shapes and colors of the doors she knew. Itachi, Shisui, Sasuke, Madara’s, and finally hers. The jeweled handles turning soundlessly under her fingers.

It turned out that even dream casters in the same family envisioned dreams differently.

Shisui dreamt of space. Each of his dreams was a different planet, swirling with cosmic dust. Nightmares were filled with storm clouds. Quiet dreams were barren moons that spun on in silence. 

On the nights when he worked, sometimes Shisui let her tag along as he cast together people and places into one planet. Crushing them between his palms as they rotated faster and faster. Until light shone between his fingers. And when he pulled his hands apart, a planet or a moon spun in place. A dream that he would then pluck out of space and file away for later.

Itachi saw dreams as a vast ocean. When he casted, he plunged into a deep ocean. He settled onto the soft sand at the bottom of the sea. Corals bloomed and seaweed waved in time to the current. And he pulled the fish and all the shells together, weaving them into a beautiful dream that could lull the most anxious heart to sleep. 

It was strange being where Itachi cast his dreams. Silence. Bubbles rising with each exhale, even as she breathed without a problem.

Sasuke’s was unusual, even among his eccentric family. He dreamt of a vast warehouse of boxes and jars. Sakura trailed after him as he wandered the aisles, grabbing things off the dusty shelves. Sometimes she even carried some of the things for him, listening to him mutter and sigh as he tried to find just the right ingredient. And then Sasuke dumped all these things into the giant vat in the middle of his dream space. 

It was fitting. Given how Sasuke liked formulas and order. Sakura sat to the side, watching as he brewed up a beautiful dream, more clinical and more calculated than those of his cousin or his older brother. But beautiful nonetheless.

With all of these influences around her, it wasn’t difficult for Sakura to discover how to cast dreams her own way. She experimented with different styles until she found one that just sang in her palms. 

When she entered her room in the dream world, she imagined fragments of dreams as colors and sounds. A little like Sasuke’s, these fragments lived in glass jars that lined the walls of the room. But when she popped the cork, sound spilled out of each one. Someone’s laugh. The honk of a car horn. People singing “happy birthday” off-key. 

When these fragments swirled together into a tapestry of colors and sounds. Thrumming warm between her fingers until they gathered together into a solid shape in her hands. At first, she made them take the shapes of smooth stones. But over time, she learned to turn them into crystals instead. Just like the fluorite Madara had first taught her how to make. The stronger dreams became more jagged crystals. While the softer ones became rounded gems that sat warm and curved in her palm.

And just as she liked to visit her family in their dreams, they liked to visit her too. Itachi, in particular, loved to sit on a cushion in the corner, his chin in his hand. 

“It’s elegant.”

Sakura turned to him, her hands still squeezed together. A snippet of laughter slipped through between her fingers. 

“What?”

“The way you weave dreams. It’s elegant. Just like Uncle’s,” Itachi clarified. He held his hand out. Sakura dropped the dream into his palm. It was a rose quartz, shiny and smooth. 

++++

Part of Madara’s deal with the Senju Institute was that Sakura was required to participate in the same exams as other students. So, once a year, Madara drove her to the school. He parked his car in the lot and waited while she took the exams.

Some of the other students recognized her. They whispered, nudging each other with elbows. Some snickered as they waited for a good show as she failed to conjure anything. Like always.

Instead, she recited incantations forwards and backwards. Her hands glowed as she filled the room with a rippling aurora. She conjured balls of light and turned them into water. The muttering and smirking stopped right away.

It seemed silly now. And she could hear Madara’s voice in her head. Imagine him slouching in a chair in the corner, acting like he wasn’t paying attention even as he advised her to straighten her posture. 

Breathe deep, kid. Magic starts with the breath.

Feel the heat gather in your stomach and pull it into your hands.

Water comes from your head. Imagine it spilling down your neck and arms. That’s the magic pathway you need to use.

The sputtering instructors tried to speak with her after. But Madara leaned on his horn. Everyone rushed to the windows to cast a glimpse of Madara poking his head out the car, one hand cupped around his mouth.

“Let’s go! Takeout’s getting cold, kid!” he called.

“Coming!” Sakura yelled back out the window before she hurried down the stairs.

And as Sakura got into the car, Madara always paused to glare up at the school. “Anyone give you any trouble?”

“No. It was fine,” Sakura always answered.

“Good,” Madara grunted as he backed out of his spot.

++++

At some point, Sakura couldn’t remember when, she stopped calling Madara by his name. Maybe it was around the same time, he stopped calling her “kid” or “squirt”.

It was odd, because that seemed like something important. So she should’ve remembered it.

But maybe it was because it had happened so quietly. So naturally.

One day, she looked at Madara’s back as he stood in the middle of the massive library inside their house.

“Papa.”

“Yeah?”

He didn’t laugh. As if that was what she had always called him.

“Can we go over that transmutation spell again? I’m still kind of lost.”

“Sure,” he replied, already descending the ladder with several books floating down after him.

++++

Before either of them knew it, years had passed. Sakura enrolled in the Senju Institute as a college student. She majored in Abjuration with a minor in Divination. When she graduated with full honors, Madara had barely batted an eye.

“Didn’t expect anything less from you,” he assured her as he took them out to dinner to celebrate. They clinked wine glasses together.

Four months later, she was back for her Masters in Magical Research. She commuted from home, like she had during undergrad.

“You know, you’re always welcome back here,” the headmaster liked to mention whenever they bumped into each other. Which was a little too often for it to feel like coincidence.

“No thanks,” she replied, barely looking up from her textbook, “I like where I am.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling as she pretended not to notice how the headmaster’s eyes narrowed.

“Tell that old man to go fuck himself,” Madara scoffed when she brought it up over dinner.

“Papa. Language,” she chided. She flicked her wrist. The pepper shaker glided across the table, into her hand.

“That is the right language for him,” Madara snorted.

Fourteen years had passed since she had come to live in that house. Her room still sat across the hall from Madara’s, all the way up on the top floor. In all that time, Madara had never once nagged her about staying up late at night. He didn’t complain about how she used all the hot water in the house whenever she showered. 

The closest they had ever come to fighting was when he had insisted upon hanging her diploma and her graduation portrait in the foyer. She thought it was embarrassing. Especially since Madara loved to brag about it anytime someone visited. He refused to let anyone inside until they made some sort of positive comment about the diploma. It made Sakura groan and put her head in her hands. 

“You hate it that much?” Madara had teased at first.

Lifting her head, Sakura wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t really say ‘yes’, though.

++++

“And this is where it all starts.”

++++

It was early in the morning on a Friday. 

Magic trembled in the air. Like a raindrop clinging to the underside of a gutter. Wobbling. Waiting until the moment that gravity would drag it down.

Madara rolled onto his side, his ears ringing and his ribs sore. He started when he heard someone exhale beside him. He didn’t remember bringing anyone home last night. He wondered what time it was.

“Papa. I need to borrow your scrying bones.”

He let out a sigh of relief at the sound of Sakura’s voice. Pulling the covers over his shoulders, he turned over again.

“Don’t you have your own?” he groaned. He felt persistent pokes to his lower back.

“Yours work better,” she insisted.

Madara didn’t respond. But after a long time, he heaved another sigh. He raised his pointer finger and flicked it through the air. The bottom drawer of his nightstand opened. A black velvet pouch floated up, landing in her hands.

“Thank you, Papa. I love you,” she said in a sing-song voice. She kissed the back of his head through the comforter before she pranced off. Humming as she rattled the dry bones together in the pouch.

“What’re you trying to scry anyway?” he asked, squinting as he pulled the comforter away from his face.

“I wanna know what I should wear on my date today,” Sakura yelled back from the other room.

“Oh,” Madara said. He snuggled back down in the comforter. Letting out a yawn, he closed his eyes again. Relaxing in the warmth of his blankets in the ear-

“Wait. Date?” Madara repeated, eyes snapping open again. The comforter tangled around his legs as he launched himself out of the bed. He scrambled to his feet, kicking the sheets aside as he hurried out of his room. Listening to the rattle of the scrying bones knocking together as she cast them to the ground.

“With who?” Madara asked. The door to her bedroom was wide open.

“A guy. We were in the same chem class last year,” she answered. She stared at the bones she had scattered across the rug. She nudged a couple of them with her pointer finger. Madara scowled.

“Hey. Don’t force the bones,” he reminded her.

Sakura’s lower lip jutted out.

“If you want a certain answer, you shouldn’t be consulting the bones in the first place,” he then scolded her.

Sakura pouted even harder as she turned around to stare at him. Madara flinched a little. He wasn’t proud to admit that he had succumb to those pleading eyes on several occasions.

“This is important to me, Papa. Don’t be mean,” she insisted.

Madara exhaled noisily, rubbing his hand through his hair. And then he flapped his hand at her. “Alright, alright. Keep at it,” he told her, crossing his arms across his chest. A proud smile crept across his lips as he watched the bones begin to glow a soft shade of gold.

Divination had always come easily to her.

Wisps rose from the blackened cracks in the bones. Sakura leaned in to listen to the whispers.

Eyes widening, she turned her head to look at her bed. There were a few different sets of outfits laid out on her comforter.

“Really? The red one?” she mused.

The bones hissed something else before the mist dissipated. Sakura stared down at them for a moment.

Beware of the dreams that linger, they had whispered.

“What?”

Sakura looked up to find Madara still in the doorway. He yawned as he stretched his arms over his head.

“You’ve got an eye booger, Papa,” she pointed out.

Madara rubbed his left eye.

“No. The other one.”

He rubbed the other eye.

Sakura scooped the bones up and dropped them into the silky pouch. She tied the string. Madara held his hand out. Sakura tossed the bag up into the air. It drifted to Madara, landing in his waiting palm.

“Do you have time for breakfast before your date?” he asked.

“Yeah. It’s not until tonight. Can you make pancakes?” she requested, staring up at him. Madara grumbled, scratching his stomach. Sakura pulled on the bottom of his shirt as he shuffled past her.

“Go wash your face,” he sighed as he walked out of her room. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the bag of scrying bones flying back into their spot in his room. Bleary-eyed, Madara made his way down the stairs towards the kitchen.

They had breakfast a little while later. Sakura laughed when Madara almost poured maple syrup into his coffee. Madara snorted into his food when Sakura read one of her texts out loud. Sakura snorted too as he began choking on his food. They were both in tears and wheezing by the time they had cleared their plates.

After they did the dishes, Sakura glanced down at her watch.

“I’m gonna go to the shop first. I won’t stay out late,” she promised. She gathered her hair in one hand and pulled it off her neck as she searched for her phone. Madara froze. Sakura looked back when she felt his stare.

“What?”

Madara blinked hard. And then he smiled.

“Your phone’s in your hand, kiddo,” he pointed out.

Sakura looked down. She laughed. Madara did too as he went to pour himself another cup of coffee.

++++

The Uchiha family’s dream shop sat in a quiet street not far from Madara’s house. It was close enough that she could walk, although Madara insisted that she ask him or one of her cousins for a ride at night.

It was a little cramped. And they could more than afford to move into a larger space. But there was something charming about that crooked shop. About the way they had to scoot past each other on the narrow stairs.

The sign above the door was in the shape of a paper fan. The white and red paint was peeling. Shisui and Sasuke nagged Madara about upgrading to a neon sign every once in a while, but Madara had ignored them for years. And would, undoubtedly, continue to ignore them for as long as possible. 

The store was already open when she arrived. Sakura felt a faint hum in the air as she rested her hand on the doorknob. Bells chimed as Sakura stepped into the shop. The dreams sat on the shelves that lined the walls. They glowed white for a moment when she stepped inside. Then they faded back to their natural colors. Dreams about adventures were green. The ones about love swirled pink and light purple.

These dreams had been collected from other people. Friends, acquaintances. Sometimes just strangers who slept beautifully. Sakura dove into their dreams and took a part of it home with her. Gathering the threads of the dream matter in her hands like glistening threads as she walked. As long as she was careful, when she woke, those threads were still in her hands. She could slip them into jars with a hint of enchantment to stabilize them. 

It was one of the first things Madara had taught her outside of basic magic. This was the cheapest form of dream magic. After all, dreaming someone else’s dream wasn’t perfect. Details didn’t always line up. Names and faces wouldn’t make sense. But for most people and their budgets, this was enough.

“Hey,” Shisui greeted her, leaning against the counter and the register. Sakura waved at him as she shut the door behind her. She ducked beneath the mobile of colored ribbons and bells that hung from the rafters. 

“Is it just us?” asked Sakura, pulling her scarf off. She tossed it into the air behind her. Along with her coat. An enchantment caught them and pulled them onto the coat rack in the corner. The spell even straightened out her coat so that it wouldn’t wrinkle. 

Shisui tapped a pen against the counter. He tossed it and then stretched his arms over his head. “Nah.” He interrupted himself with a big yawn. “Itachi’s upstairs with a client right now.” He blinked a few times, obviously exhausted. 

Shisui rubbed his eyes with his palms. “Sasuke’s doing something at the lab. He’ll be by later to lock up.”

“On the third floor?”

“Yep.”

Sakura craned her head to look up as she thought. 

The customers who weren’t satisfied with buying prepackaged dreams were where they made the big money. Some wanted the dreams that were tailored to their specifications. Others had nightmares that they needed a dream caster to untangle. Both services required the dream caster and the client to be asleep at the same time. The therapy rooms upstairs provided the quiet space these clients needed. 

Sakura made a note to stay extra quiet as she moved around the shop. 

Shisui watched the counter, checking on sales and appointments. Sakura kept busy organizing dreams and taking inventory of what they needed to harvest. 

This was how most days at the shop went. They swapped out roles as their clients came in for appointments. Sakura’s gentle touch with both clients and dreams made her popular with children. Women almost always requested Itachi or Sasuke. Shisui was the most popular among their older clientele. 

Madara himself didn’t come to the shop much these days. He always joked: “Why would I? When I have you kids to make all the money for me?”. They only pulled him from his research when there was something the four of them couldn’t figure out on their own. 

On the nights that Sakura stayed late, there was almost always someone who would walk her home. Or Madara would drop everything to be there once she texted him. Hand on the back of the passenger seat. Grinning with those sharp canines that she had once found a little intimidating (how silly).

“Hey kiddo. Ready to go home?” was his corny greeting each night.

That night, Madara didn’t pick her up. She still messaged him to let him know that she had left the shop, Sasuke would be closing up, and not to wait up for her.

Izuna brought jerk chicken. I’ll pack leftovers for your lunch tomorrow, Madara replied.

Sakura sent him a series of purple hearts in response.

The date went well. Gaara had sat next to her for an entire semester. They had spoken a few times. Once, he had asked for a pencil. So it had surprised her when he had asked for her number, face turning so red he looked ready to explode.

Dinner was at a tiny Turkish restaurant. They sat at one of the counters by the window, a little squished as they bit into spicy lamb and crispy falafel.

“What are you doing now that we’re out of school?” she asked. She took a slurp of soda through her straw as she looked over at him. She laughed when she saw him struggling to swallow his food to answer. She handed him a napkin.

“Eat. It’s okay,” she giggled.

Gaara blushed again as he wiped his mouth. The thin paper stuck to the oil on his fingers.

“I’m… working at city hall. For public works,” he finally managed to say.

Sakura tilted her head to one side. “I’m not really sure what public works is in charge of,” she confessed.

Something lit up in his eyes. He sat up a little straighter as he began explaining. “There are divisions within public works. But basically it’s in charge of taking care of public buildings and facilities in the city. I work for the division that oversees the parks. I go out to visit them and check that they’re safe. Sometimes I survey people to ask what they think we can do to improve things.”

Sakura smiled a little. She leaned on her hand as she listened to him. And when he had finished, he glanced over at her. Suddenly small and quiet again.

“You really like your work, huh?” she commented.

He flushed bright red, all the way to his ears. But he nodded.

“That sounds really cool. What are you working on lately?” Sakura asked.

They stayed until the manager of the restaurant apologized and said it was time to close. As they stood on the sidewalk, Sakura puffed out a breath. It was getting cold at night. Her hands in her pockets, she cast a sidelong glance at Gaara. He was looking down at his phone.

“I’ll call you a cab,” he offered.

Sakura thought it over. And then she nodded.

“Sorry. I’d give you a ride if I had a car,” he added as he pressed some icons.

Sakura snorted. “I don’t have a car either. Can’t judge.”

He chuckled too.

And then as they stood waiting, Sakura heard him shuffle his feet.

“Uh… so… can I see you again?” he asked.

Sakura rocked back on her heels. She took a deep breath of the cool air. When she looked up at him, she was smiling again. “You’re cute. You have good manners. You have a job that you’re passionate about. I don’t see why not,” she answered.

His eyes widened. Sakura burst out laughing at the look on his face.

When the black car pulled up, Gaara opened the door for her. He waited for her to get into the back seat before he closed the door. And then he hesitated, fingers resting on the handle.

“Can you text me to let me know you got home okay?” he requested.

Sakura leaned out the open window. She reached out to tap him once on the nose. “Sounds good to me. Good night,” came her reply. As she rolled up the window, his fingers slipped off the door.

Sakura listed out her address to the driver before she leaned back in her seat. She caught the driver glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

“Good date?” he asked.

“Yeah,” answered Sakura with a smile.

Even though she had told Madara not to wait up, he was sitting at the kitchen table when she got home. She tossed her coat in the air. One of Madara’s spells caught it and draped it over a hanger. Just like the one that gathered her discarded shoes and slipped them into an empty spot on the shelf. She climbed the steps, rubbing her hands through her hair.

“Hi, Papa,” she greeted him as she walked into the kitchen. He raised his eyebrows and nodded before he returned his attention to his book. Sakura scrubbed her hands clean in the sink. The smell of the fruity soap filled the room. She rubbed her hands on a kitchen towel before she took a seat next to Madara at the round table.

“How’d it go?” questioned Madara. He slipped a bookmark between the pages before he shut the cover.

“Pretty good. He seems nice,” Sakura said right away. Madara pulled his glasses down, hooking them into the front of his shirt.

“Are you going to see him again?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but Sakura wasn’t fooled. Tongue between her teeth, she grinned at him.

“Aw, Papa. Are you gonna feel lonely if I get a boyfriend again?” she teased.

Madara looked disgusted by the very idea. “No. I’m looking forward to some peace and quiet again,” he retorted. Sakura snickered. And a smile touched Madara’s lips as he got out of his seat.

“I’m going to have some coffee before bed. You want some?” he asked.

“I wanna try the one Uncle Izuna brought last time,” Sakura called after him before she slumped over the table.

The kitchen always smelled like coffee. Madara probably drank more coffee than he did regular water. It was no wonder that his sleep schedule was all sorts of messed up. Coffee in the morning. Decaf at night- even though that didn’t seem to help. The kettle let out a whistle when it was ready. Madara poured the water through the filter into her favorite cup. The white one with red flowers.

“How was the shop today?” inquired Madara when he returned. Sakura inhaled the fragrant steam.

“How was the shop today?” inquired Madara when he returned. Sakura inhaled the sweet-smelling steam.

“A little quiet. I need to get more childhood dreams. I’m starting to run low,” she mused. She reached over to pick up his book. It was old. The green cover was peeling at the edges.

“What’s this?” she wondered.

“I’m looking at tracing magic in ancient artifacts. Kind of dry,” he huffed.

“You writing a new research paper?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you pick a topic you like more, Papa?” wondered Sakura.

Madara rolled his eyes. “It’s a request from someone I owe a favor to,” he responded.

Sakura wrinkled her nose.

Madara sighed. “Exactly.”

They chatted for a little while longer before Sakura began to yawn. She rubbed her wrist across her eyes. “I have to head to school in the morning to pick up some materials. I’m gonna go to bed,” she announced, getting out of her chair. She gathered both their empty cups to place in the sink.

“Night,” Madara greeted her.

“Good night, Papa,” she replied. Sakura gathered her purse and her phone. She squeezed Madara’s shoulder as she walked past.

++++

As the weeks went by, Sakura found herself quite busy. Whenever she wasn’t at the shop, she was busy working on her thesis. Sometimes Naruto and Ino wheedled her into taking a break. They got cheap pizza and sat eating on the curb. Or sometimes her cousins barged in with Vietnamese food and soda, completely ignoring how Madara glared at them as they stormed inside.

“I didn’t invite you,” he scolded.

“Nice to see you too, Uncle,” Sasuke called over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs up to Sakura’s room.

Sakura met Gaara a few more times. He really was very sweet. He always seemed embarrassed whenever he caught himself talking too much about his work. But it was nice hearing someone so excited about something. They went to see a movie. Another time, they just walked in the park, getting lost among the winding paths and trees.

“I really want to focus on finishing my thesis right now. I hope you don’t feel like I’m leading you on or anything,” she had explained once.

“That’s alright. I don’t mind waiting,” Gaara replied. And then he walked into a tree branch, making Sakura burst into giggles.

November turned to December. And suddenly it started to snow all over the city. As the white flakes covered the asphalt, Sakura browsed the library inside their house. It seemed impossible that such a huge room existed in the building. Of course it was. But Madara’s magic played around with the dimensions of the room to make it happen. It was an odd combination of light and heat that Sakura still struggled to pull off after all her years of practice.

Sakura pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. The silver wire frames had once been Madara’s, which, like many of his possessions, she had claimed as her own.

“What?” she called, leaning back on the ladder to peer at him. With a flick of his finger, Madara pulled the ladder down the wall of shelves, closer to him.

“I asked have you seen Shisui?” And he punctuated the end of the sentence with a sigh.

“Yesterday. At the shop. Why?” 

“His parents say they haven’t seen him since yesterday. Can’t get in touch with him either.”

“Maybe his phone’s just dead, Papa,” Sakura suggested. She pulled another book off the shelf, leafing through it. 

Whenever he wasn’t working at the dream shop, Shisui was usually doing magical research of his own. In particular, he was interested in how the position of celestial bodies affected spells. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear with his telescope and his spectrometer for a night or two. 

“That’s what I thought at first. But it’s been a full day and no one’s seen him,” answered Madara. He leaned against the rungs, his hands under his chin. 

In front of him was a shelf full of manuals on torture and human anatomy. Those were from some of his darker days as a younger man. His eyes flickered over to Sakura before he slowly waved his hands. The spines sparkled before they blurred. The letters of the titles swirled around, rearranging themselves into different words. Then he shot Sakura another look.

She was still looking through the shelf higher up. She hadn’t noticed anything.

“Either way, his parents are worried. Keep an eye out for him,” Madara insisted.

Sakura considered this. “Have you asked Itachi? He always knows what Shisui’s up to.”

Madara shook his head. “Says he has no idea either.”

There was a pause. Sakura pushed her glasses up again, lips twisting to one side. She pointed to a few books, which slid out of place from the shelves. They hovered in the air around her. 

“I’ll ask my friends and see if they’ve seen him around,” she finally agreed. Madara smiled up at her.

“Great.”

That same night, only much later, Sakura’s shadow fell across the threshold of Madara’s room. She knocked on the open door. Which was a little silly, given that he could see her. But it was an old habit. 

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve got a headache again.”

Madara pulled his glasses off. Sighing, he put the glasses, along with his pen in the book to mark his place.

“It’s because you overdo it,” he scolded, even as he reached his hand out for her.

Pressing his fingertips to her temples, Madara channeled energy through the thin skin.

“Take a deep breath.”

He pulled the magic, which had twisted and bunched up in all the wrong ways.

“Inhale.”

He tugged. The threads of energy shattered. Like a jar of marbles overturned. The little shining pieces scattering in every direction. Gold fluttered from her temples, fluttering off in little glittering pieces.

Sakura’s eyes opened in time to catch the list glimmers of magic dissolving into the air.

“Am I channeling wrong? I keep getting them a lot lately,” she wondered. Rubbing the heel of her hand against her temple.

“No. It’s a common issue, actually. When you walk dreams, the residue magic follows you. It’s just buildup. Regular clarification like this is all you need,” Madara assured her. Sakura frowned a little harder.

“Have they found Shisui yet?”

Madara leaned his elbow on his headboard. He heaved a sigh. “Not yet.”

“It’s not like him to just run off. I hope he’s alright,” Sakura mused, frowning too. Sakura looked up when she felt Madara pat her knee. 

“Things’ll be fine. They always are,” he said. 

Sakura searched his eyes for a moment. And then a smile pulled at her mouth. She nodded, sighing. “You’re right.”

++++ 

A week later, and Shisui was still missing. Along with Itachi, who had never missed a day of work before.

“Still no word?” asked Ino.

“Nope. Nothing,” Sakura replied. 

“Have they called the police?” Naruto wondered, leaning his elbow on the front counter of the dream shop. 

“Yeah. They even went to his apartment. Nothing. Passport’s still there. None of his stuff is missing. It’s just... poof,” Sakura listed, shaking her head a little. 

It really wasn’t like her cousins to disappear without a word. The police claimed that they were searching, but both Sakura and Madara agreed that it obviously wasn’t enough. 

“I’m sorry, Sakura. That sucks,” Naruto said. Leaning against her, he put his arm around her shoulder. Ino took Sakura’s hand and patted it a few times. 

“Thanks,” was all she could think to say as her friends did their best to comfort her. 

And while Sakura really was grateful, she felt worse for Sasuke. He hadn’t slept in days as he took to the streets in search of his older brother. She tried to go with him whenever she had time. And she called him on the nights she couldn’t, just to ask how things had gone.

Sakura even considered planting a dream in Sasuke’s room. Just to force him to get some rest. But she knew he wouldn’t like that. And he was so sharp that he might even spot it before it had a chance to take hold of him. 

“You doing okay?” Ino questioned.

Sakura blinked. She smiled. “More than everyone else, I think. I’m trying to be positive.”

Naruto’s forehead wrinkled. “Aw, Sakura, I love you and your big heart,” he sighed, squeezing her a little tighter. Ino wrapped her arms around Sakura’s other side. 

“Things will work out,” Ino reassured her. 

++++

That night, Sakura walked into her house to silence. It was New Year’s Eve. She had promised to be home early so they could watch the countdown together.

“Papa? You didn’t pick up so I just walked home,” she called as she stepped out of her boots. She leaned a hand against the wall for balance. Paused. Waited for Madara’s voice drifting down the stairs to her.

Nothing.

“Papa?” she tried again. 

Something about the quiet made her uneasy. She walked up the stairs, looking for a glimpse of silvery wings. There was usually a spirit around that she could talk to. But even the usual hum of magic that buzzed around the kitchen had gone silent. 

The back of her neck itched. Sakura scratched at it as she wandered through the house. Nothing in the living room. Or in the laundry room. 

She climbed the stairs. Madara’s study was empty. So was the second floor bathroom, where she sometimes found him sitting with a cup of coffee and chatting with the water spirits. 

The third floor was silent too. But something about the air felt off as she climbed the last steps. And there was an odd smell. Metal. Metal and something that made her head begin to pound.

The floorboards creaked under her feet. She peered into her room first. Her bed was still unmade. One of her drawers sat open with her laptop resting on top. The string lights that framed her window winked at her. Everything was just as she had left it that morning. 

Part of her must have known what she would find. She found herself dragging her feet. Blinking too much as she forced herself to cross the hall. To knock on the door that was ajar. Pretending that the huge pool of dark red wasn’t spreading across the white wood.

She could hear herself screaming. She couldn’t make herself stop. Tears filling and blurring her vision. She screamed and screamed until she could feel her ears ringing with the sound. 

++++

“Hey! Sakura!”

Her eyes flew open. She could see a dark shape hovering over her. She flinched away until she recognized the glasses hanging from the front of his shirt. 

“It’s just a bad dream,” Madara said. He snapped his fingers. An orb of soft light flickered into existence. Just enough for her to see that this was her bedroom. She could also make out his look of exhaustion as he sat on the edge of her bed. 

“You okay?” 

Sakura shook her head. She sniffed. Rubbed her face. Her palms came away wet with tears. Madara clicked his tongue. She felt him lean over her to pluck a couple tissues from the box on her nightstand. He pushed them into her hands. She sat there staring at them. 

“You haven’t had a nightmare like that in a while. Must’ve shook you up pretty bad,” he sighed. And then his hand landed on top of her head. He patted her hair a few times. Still a little clumsy, even after all these years. 

Sakura didn’t say anything. She stared down at her hands. 

Madara patted her head again before he asked, “Wanna talk about it?”

Sakura shook her head again. 

He sighed. “Okay. Let me go make some pancakes. It’s almost time to get up anyway,” he decided. He squeezed her shoulder before he got up. She could hear his bare feet shuffling against the floor as he walked. And then thumped their way down the steps. 

Sakura sat in a daze for another minute. It took her a few tries to get her mind to focus on anything. She blew her nose, wadded the tissues up into a ball, and threw them in the trash. Out of habit, she disconnected her phone from the charger and lifted the screen up to eye level. 

Friday, Nov 3.

A notification popped up on the screen to remind her that she had a date tonight.

Sakura dropped her phone. It bounced once on the mattress. She cast another wary look around her bedroom. And then she was scrambling off her bed, stumbling into Madara’s room. She yanked the bottom drawer open. Underneath a worn journal sat his bag of scrying bones. Sakura poured them out onto the rug right there. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Madara’s voice came from the doorway. 

Sakura tried to push her tangled hair out of her face. She gave a hiss of frustration before she yanked it into a bunch on the side of her head and held it in place. She took a long breath before she could gather her frazzled thoughts enough to channel magic into the dry bones. 

The black fissures in the bones began to glow. Voices hissed out through the brittle marrow. 

Beware of the dreams that linger, they whispered again. 

Sakura squeezed her eyes shut. She channeled a little more magic. 

The whispers chanted the phrase over and over again: Beware of the dreams that linger.

And as the voices began to fade, they left her with one more warning.

Do not give your heart away.

“You know, you could’ve just asked to borrow them.”

Sakura’s head whipped around. Madara stood there, arms folded over his chest. He tilted his head a little as he looked her over. 

“Go wash your face,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the bathroom. 

Sakura turned back to the bones. They sat limp and cold on the rug. She scratched the back of her neck, heaving a sigh. 

“Okay,” she answered before she scooped the bones up into her hand and dumped them back in the pouch.

++++

“And this is where it all starts again.”

[itseivwhore]

~/Assassins as different literary movements' poets/~

✷ 　 　　 　 · 　 ˚ * . 　 　　 *　　 * ⋆ 　 . · 　　 ⋆ 　　　 ˚ ˚ 　　 ✦ 　 ⋆ · 　 * 　　　　 ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧　✵ 　 · ✵

I am a lover of literature,of all genres and movements (but without a doubt,like everyone else,I have my own favourites,and I will not stay here to explain and motivate my personal choice,because we are not here for this reason!��!¡).

Today I finished reading 'Notre Dame de Paris' (by Victor Hugo),and I immediately started another book, 'The picture of Dorian Gray' (by Oscar Wilde)

And as soon as I started reading the first few lines,I immediately thought...what if the Assassins were poets,writers?What literaly movement would they be part of?

And I think it's a good idea to share this with both other well acculturated fans of Assassin's Creed and literature's fans too.

~~~

I took in consideration only (yes,only) two specifics literaly movements:Romanticism and Decadent movement. Why only these two?Because (totally not a coincidence I swearrr),the books I have were respectly written by a romanticism writer (Victor Hugo),and by a decadent writer (Oscar Wilde). And also because there are A LOT of various literaly movements,and A LOT of Assassins (that's why I only made some of them):so since I didn't want to make a super long speech,I had to choose the literaly movements I am more accustomed with,for then linking them with some of the Assassins that I assumed would go well with the Romanticism and/or with the Decadentism.

Now let's get into it,shall we?

~~~

Firs of all,let's start with the main definition of the two literaly movements (shout out to the ols books I have at home,and to some research on Internet wowee!!)

•Romanticism:

artistic,musical,cultural and literary movement that developed in Germany towards the end of the eighteenth century and then spread to the rest of Europe in the nineteenth century.Romanticism focuses on the imagination,the instinctive side of men and their tormented relationship with nature and what surround them.Romantic men and women are courageous,stretched towards an unreachable desire:grasping the soul of things,to merge with nature and to be part of history.An arduous thing,to say at least impossible.Perhaps this is why romantics are always a little melancholic,but never apathetic.It's the melancholy of those who know they'll fight to the end for a 'batte' they already know they have lost...maybe.It's the melancholy of those who fight with an ardent,relentless passion,pursuit,against a society which is blind to the true essence of things in life.Yet,apart from being melancholic,Romanticism keep some faith,looking at the nature and trying to understand it at its best,denying any kind of rules,there are no limits.

•Decadentism:

very important literary movement of the second half of the 19th century.It may be similiar with the movement we talked up there before,but the Decadentism borns by the ashes of the Romanticism,but by being more extreme.The men of the decadent movement,in Europe,are dissatisfied with the rationalism of Positivism (a previous movement),but they are a bit nauseated by the bourgeois world,by the society that imposes rules and labels (and let's face it,hypocritical too),and they react by seeking in art and literature a way to feel better and to scandalize the well-thinking minds of the bourgeois that they despise so much.(little note to make things more interesting and less boring;definition of the term Decadentism:'décadent' is a French term,used in France in those days to define,in a derogatory meaning,artists who lived in a scandalous way,between drugs,luxury and other excesses.After a while,a magazine was founded by these scandalous writers who,in a provocative way,chose to call it "Le Décadent". Hence the term Decadentism will be used to indicate the decadence of the society that no longer had true values and that is disappointing them so much).But in which way they want to scandalize the high society?They're extremely spontaneous,there is no rigor in their speeches but just a lot of feeling.Plus,they tell rough episodes:they talk about sex,drugs,homosexual experiences too (obviously they're not experiences they make for the sole purpose of shocking;they're exuberant,rebellious and passionate characters and showing their life is the way they provoke the audience).Let's say,they are jus a bunch of cheeky,cocky people.

~~~~~

Ezio Auditore: Romanticism.

sweet smiles,calm glances,warm yet fervent eyes,gentle touches,low soothing voice,deep speeches,enjoyment;red ribbons,leather coat,glass of red wine;sunny days,grass field,soft cool breeze,spring afternoons,clear sky,smell of trees in bloom;instinct,nostalgic thoughts,family,fogged memories,strenght,faith,hope,truth,battle;reading poems,candlelight,incense,summer evenings;hearty laughters,reserved whispers,red cheeks,passional kisses.

~~~~~

2. Arno Dorian: Romanticism.

dark circles under the eyes,emotional veiled dark eyes,messy hair,scars,tears,deep sighs,love letters,desperation,lost memories,longing,tormented,melancholic bitter smiles,empty bottles of wine,insomnia,late nights,yet rising from the ashes;new pursuit,shiny sparkling gazes,charismatic grins,brilliant ideas,fancy clothes,red scarf,rolled up sleeves,golden bottons;early autumn cold mornings,old books,smell of fireplace,paintings on the wall;time,desire,nostalgic grimaces,humming a song,candid murmurs,promises.

~~~~~

3. Edward Kenway: Decadentism.

intense blue eyes,sunkissed skin,wide smiles,free will,clever glances,sharp gaze,messy blonde hair,loud confident tone,heavy accent,renegade;deep sea,salty wind,clear water,warm sunrises,calm sunsets,violent waves,morbid sand,cloudy sky,starry nights,stargazing,gold,treasure,tongues of the fire;rough insults,impertinent voice,arrogant speeches,drunk rambles,lost in luxury,tempting tone;ambition,fantasizing,dreaming,seeking the unbelievable,opposing,living.

~~~~~

4. Jacob Frye: Decadentism.

cocky smirks,hazel glimmering eyes,cheeky grins,nonchalant tone,laid back,mocking glances,loud voice,quick charming winks;slicked back hair,messy tie,black leather coat,strong cologne;confident,proud,wild,carefree,small of a egocentric,reckless brash actions,sarcastic comebacks,excited shouts,resolute answers,authoritative spirit,leader,louds amused laughters;full mugs of beer,playing cards,money,bets,late evenings in pubs,secret reunions;smell of fireplaces,foggy late London nights,rainy days,grey clouds;vintage Victorian house,wodden messy desk,king size bed,sound of muffled sweet moans,countless days of passional pleasure.

[tea-and-marigold]

The Story of my Life - Helen Keller

I remember reading a chapter about Helen Keller in Hindi at some point of my childhood and being deeply inspired by it. Ever since that day, I’ve had the aspiration to read more about her but I never got the chance to do so due to academic commitments. Now that there’s a nationwide lockdown due to the corona virus pandemic, I decided to finally take some time out to read the story of her life.

The book is a treat to read and Helen Keller is certainly one of the most inspiring women I’ve read about. She was born on 27th June 1880 in Alabama.  She lost her eyesight and hearing due to an illness when she was nineteen months old. During her lifetime, she faced numerous challenges and overcame each one of them with courage and determination. She learned to read, write and speak various languages such as English, Latin, German and French and graduated from Cambridge becoming the first deaf-blind person to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree. She went on to author many books and articles on various subjects especially socialism and women’s rights. She fought for the causes she believed in and was unapologetically vocal in her opinions and criticism of things she disapproved of.

The thing about this book that stood out the most for me was the way she described her encounters with various aspects of life and the world such as nature, history, literature and art. Especially in a time like this when we’ve been forced to sit at our homes, reading this book was like a breath of fresh air. She described nature in a way that it felt like I was sitting right there with her, feeling the blades of grass between my fingers and smelling the faint smell of lilies and roses and that of the earth after a heavy shower. It is a beautiful and inspiring account of her life until college, consisting of all the hardships she faced, how she overcame them, and stories of beauty, love and companionship.

Below are some of my favourite lines from the book:

#1 Keller’s teacher Anne Sullivan explains to her the meaning of love

“Love is something like the clouds that were in the sky before the sun came out. You cannot touch the clouds, you know; but you feel the rain and know how glad the flowers and the thirsty earth are to have it after a hot day. You cannot touch love either: but you feel the sweetness that it puts into everything.”

#2

“It seems to me that there is in each of us a capacity to comprehend the impressions and emotions which have been experienced by mankind from the beginning. Each individual has a subconscious memory of the green earth and murmuring waters, and blindness and deafness cannot rob him of this gift from past generations. This inherited capacity is a sort of sixth sense- a soul sense which sees, hears, and feels, all in one.”

#3

“Sometimes, it is true, a sense of isolation enfolds me like a cold mist as I sit alone and wait at life’s shut gate. Beyond there is light, and music, and sweet companionship; but I may not enter. Fate, silent, pitiless, bars the way. Fain would I question his imperious decree, for my heart is still undisciplined and passionate; but my tongue will not utter the bitter, futile words that rise to my lips, and they fall back into my heart like unshed tears. Silence sits immense upon my soul. Then comes hope with a smile and whispers, 'there is joy in self forgetfulness.' So I try to make the light in others’ eyes my sun, the music in others’ ears my symphony, the smile on others’ lips my happiness.”

#4 Helen Keller talks about the importance of friends and the beauty of companionship.

“Those are red-letter days in our lives when we meet people who thrill us like a fine poem, people whose handshake is a brimful of unspoken sympathy, and whose sweet, rich natures impart to our eager, impatient spirits a wonderful restfulness which, in its essence, is divine. The perplexities, irritations and worries that have absorbed us pass like unpleasant dreams, and we wake to see with new eyes and hear with new ears the beauty and harmony of god’s real world. The solemn nothings that fill our everyday life blossom suddenly into bright possibilities. In a word, while such friends are near us we feel that all is well. Perhaps we never saw them before, and they may never cross our life’s path again; but the influence of their calm, mellow natures is a libation poured upon our discontent, and we feel its healing touch, as the ocean feels the mountain stream freshening its brine.”

I don’t have much else to say except that I hope you read this book, enjoy it and get inspired by it as much as I did.

[datheetjoella]

Fantober 2020, Day 29: Soulmate

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: T Part: 29/31 (read the full collection here) Word count: 2,872 Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmate, Developing Relationship, Fluff, First Interaction, Mirror Link Read at: AO3, FFn, or right here!

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

Green. For as long as he could remember, Haruka had dreamt of green. It was vibrant, ever-present, warm, and above all comforting. Like the essence of happiness was captured in one colour.

Outside of his dreams, Haruka had never encountered a green quite like it - at least, not that he recalled. Grass seemed dull in comparison, while neon signs screamed to call attention to them, but Haruka's green was a gentle shade, bright but still soft.

Haruka didn't know what it was supposed to represent, if it even had a meaning or if it was nothing more than an image his mind conjured up at night because it couldn't be bothered to create something else. But it wasn't unpleasant, far from it, so he hadn't questioned it beyond a fleeting thought here and there.

It was no different this morning; the last rays of green lingered before his eyelids when he woke up and left contentment in his heart. What was different this morning was the time displayed on his alarm clock, that either hadn't gone off or that he'd pressed in his sleep. Seven-fifteen, half an hour later than usual. There went his morning bath.

His good mood instantly vanished and he was almost certain a bad day would follow. With a sigh, Haruka pulled himself from his sheets and dragged his feet toward the bathroom.

The mirror above the sink reflected his sour expression, but he couldn't be bothered to unfurl his eyebrows. It wasn't like anyone else could see him right now and even if they could, he couldn't care less about his appearance or their possible opinion at that moment.

He grabbed the tube of toothpaste and his brush and pinched some onto the bristles, then he sighed again. Of course it squirted out too much, half of it spilling over and wasting away in the sink. Scrap that bad day and make it awful.

The thunder clouds were nearly visible above his head as he lazily brushed his teeth. Perhaps he should've just turned around and gone back to sleep, school be damned. Judging by how this day was going so far, he'd probably miss the train or get hit by a bus on the way there.

He spat out some of the excess toothpaste, but when he straightened his back, he wasn't met with his reflection. Instead, he saw a completely different bathroom, with a white wall instead of small blue tiles, and a completely different person; a person he didn't know.

It was a guy who he estimated to be around his age. His brown locks were styled in the most incredible bedhead Haruka had ever seen and his eyes were squeezed shut, a large hand covering up a yawn. When it passed, he lowered his arm and revealed his heart-shaped face with thick, upslanting eyebrows, a straight and slightly raised nose, full lips and pearly teeth.

Despite the visible fatigue wearing down his features, he was undeniably handsome. Very handsome. But when he opened his eyes and his pupils shrunk as they adjusted to the light inside the bathroom, Haruka's breath was stolen from his lungs. His irises were green. That shade of green Haruka had been yearning for since he was a child.

After eighteen years, Haruka finally saw his soulmate and he was relieved and touched and immensely confused.

Most people first met their soulmate when they were kids. As soon as they heard about the connection mirrors made between two people, a phenomenon scientists couldn't explain to this day, they'd spend days in front of the most reflective surface in their house in the hopes of catching a glimpse of their special someone. While Haruka hadn't been quite that eager, he'd be lying if he said that he didn't coincidentally pass by mirrors more often than before and lingered for longer than necessary.

Not once had he booked any success and after a while, he gave up. If his soulmate and he were destined to be together, they would see each other eventually. As the years went by, the lurch of his stomach whenever he stood in front of a mirror disappeared and the thought faded to the back of his mind, where it lived as a cricket that blended in with the rest of the white noise.

And now, when he overslept like he never did and was angry at the world for the tiniest little things going wrong, the day that had been written in the stars since his birth or perhaps long before that had arrived. It was almost funny. Almost.

Haruka was sure he hadn't seen him before, because there was no way he could ever forget a face as beautiful as this guy's. What did leave him baffled, though, was that he'd somehow been dreaming of his soulmate's eyes for years prior to their first meeting. That wasn't supposed to be part of the deal and he never heard of anyone who experienced it too, not from his friends or family members, not even in the most romantic movies or tv dramas. Had his soulmate been dreaming of his eye colour too, or was Haruka special for some unknown reason?

He didn't have much time to ponder it over. When his soulmate processed what he was seeing, his jaw dropped, then his mouth moved rapidly and he frantically waved his hands. What he was blabbering about, Haruka had no idea since mirrors were not equipped with microphones and speakers, but once he said his piece, he was gone.

Everything happened in a flash and before Haruka knew it, he was staring back at himself again. Like the image of his soulmate was nothing more than a hallucination.

Unsure of what to do now, Haruka quickly finished brushing his teeth and rinsed out his mouth. He wasn't sure if his soulmate was going to come back, but if he left now, then he might have to wait for eighteen more years to see him again.

Fortunately, his patience was rewarded. After a minute, the guy returned with a notebook in hand. He held it up and scribbled on the page in fine letters was, 'Hello, nice to meet you. My name is Makoto Tachibana. What is your name?'

The writing was in English and Haruka felt like an idiot once more. He hadn't even considered the possibility that his soulmate could be from another country. While his name was clearly Japanese and his appearance matched, that didn't have to mean he lived here and spoke the language fluently. Perhaps his ancestors moved overseas a century ago and he didn't speak two words Japanese. The possible time zone difference that came with it might've been the reason they hadn't met sooner. If that were the case, they were going to have a problem because foreign languages were not exactly Haruka's strongest suit. There was only one way to find out.

He held up his hand to tell his soulmate to wait while he went to fetch a notebook and a pen of his own. When he got them, he sped back to the bathroom, where his soulmate remained with a kind smile on his face. The drowsiness had vanished and instead, his eyes were twinkling, making Haruka's stomach flutter. Even without the mirror, Haruka would've instantly known this was his soulmate; never before had a single expression done so much to his insides.

'Haruka Nanase.' He wrote down and then he decided to cut to the chase immediately. He scratched at his chin as he pondered over the correct English spelling. 'Where are you from?'

'I am from Japan, and you?' Was his soulmate's response and his heart sighed in relief. At least he didn't have to worry about his English vocabulary anymore.

'Me too.'

His soulmate's face lit up even more - if that was even possible - and he excitedly scribbled more into his notebook. 'Oh, thank goodness! I was afraid you'd be from abroad and that I would have to write in English the whole time. My English is not so good.'

A tiny smile curled Haruka's lips. So far, that was one trait they had in common. But before he could write that, his soulmate put his pen against his paper again.

'I'm so glad I finally get to see you, Nanase-kun. I was starting to worry we might never meet. I've been looking forward to this moment for so long and I have so many things I want to ask you. Sorry if that's weird.' When writing in his native language, Makoto appeared to be very talkative. It was kind of cute.

'It's not weird. I've been wondering about you too.' Haruka held up his notebook, but then he lowered it again and added, 'and just Haru is fine. No need to be so polite.'

'Alright, Haru, you can call me Makoto, then. How old are you?'

'Eighteen.'

'Oh, you're older than me. I'm seventeen. I'm turning eighteen on November 17th.'

November 17th. Haruka hadn't given his soulmate's birthday much thought, but now it seemed odd he always passed such an important day by like it was nothing, while he was certainly going to celebrate it in the future.

'That's less than a month away. I should get you a present.'

Makoto wrote something, then scrapped it and wrote something else. What was left was, 'Thanks, but you don't have to. When's your birthday?' But crossed out between the lines, Haruka could make out 'meeting you is already the best present I could've wished for.'

Haruka felt his cheeks warm up and he averted his head. Although they met a mere handful of minutes ago, Makoto was already proving himself to be overwhelmingly sweet and kind. Not that Haruka expected anything less of his soulmate.

'June 30th.'

'Only a few months apart. I'm assuming you're in your third year of high school too, right?' Makoto wrote and Haruka nodded. 'Sorry if this is too personal, but do you mind telling me where you live?'

That question made Haruka frown. Makoto was his soulmate and they were supposed to live their lives by each other's side. In order to meet in person, knowing where the other was located was kind of a requirement. Maybe Makoto was a bit too considerate for his own good. 'I was born in Kyoto, but I currently live in Tokyo.'

Makoto's green eyes lit up in something Haruka could only describe as excitement. 'Really? I'm planning to go to a university in Tokyo in April! Meijou Chuo, have you heard of it?'

If Makoto was coming to Tokyo, that meant he didn't leave here yet, but that he would be within reach soon. That brought some peace to Haruka's heart; now he didn't have to jump through hoops to see him in real life. 'I have. What are you going to study?'

'Sports Education. I want to be a swim coach for children.'

This time, it was Haruka's turn to gasp. Did that mean Makoto was a swimmer too? It seemed almost too good to be true, but would someone who didn't love to swim really be his other half? 'Do you swim yourself?'

'I do. I specialise in backstroke. Does that mean you also swim?'

By the look of his broad shoulders, that wasn't difficult to believe. Haruka could only imagine what kind of muscles were concealed by his orange and yellow shirt.

'I only swim free.' Haruka noted down and before he knew it, he added, 'I was offered a swimming scholarship at Hidaka University. I'll be starting in April too.'

Makoto's mouth fell ajar. 'Wow, that's amazing, Haru! I'm so proud of you.'

If Haruka's face felt warm before, then it was scorching now. 'If you're going to a university in Tokyo, then where do you live now?'

'In Iwatobi, a small seaside town in Tottori. I was born and raised here. Have you heard of it before?'

The coincidences were stacking up so quickly it was almost scary. 'My grandma was born in Iwatobi. She lived there for years until she and my grandpa got together and moved to Kyoto.'

'Really? Who would've thought?' Makoto held up his notebook with a small chuckle. Haruka couldn't hear it, but he was convinced the sound was as lovely as his sunny smile was.

'She always made it sound like a beautiful place, so I've been meaning to go visit it sometime.'

'You definitely should, it truly is an amazing place. The view of the ocean is stunning and the mountains are perfect to hike or ride a bicycle through.' Once Makoto was certain Haruka had read it, he flipped the page and wrote something else. 'I've lived here for my whole life, so it's going to be hard to adjust to living in such a big city without my family around. Although I set my mind to it, I've never been all by myself before and I was scared I wouldn't be able to get around, so knowing you'll be there is a great comfort.'

Without conscious input of his brain, Haruka wrote, 'It is a bit scary at first, but you'll get used to it sooner or later. If you're not comfortable living by yourself, you're welcome to come live with me. My parents moved to Hokkaido for my father's work so I live by myself anyway.'

The second he raised his pen from the paper, he began to question his own sanity. He just met Makoto and didn't even know what his voice was like yet, let alone the rest of his life and how he was as a person. Soulmate or not, suggesting to move in together right off the bat was absolutely mental and there was no way Haruka was showing him this page.

To his relief and to his regret, Makoto suddenly wrote. 'I'm sorry, Haru, I have to go. My mom is calling me for breakfast and I still have to brush my teeth and get dressed. I'd love to chat with you more and ask everything I want to know, but if I don't hurry up I'll be late for school.'

The thought of having to part now they finally met after years stung, but even though their worlds stopped turning when their gazes locked, the outside world continued on like nothing had happened. 'It's okay. I have to get going too or else I'll miss my train.'

'Before you go, could I ask for your phone number and email? Then we can easily keep in touch without having to stand in front of a mirror all day.'

Haruka nodded again. 'Wait a second. I don't know them from the top of my head, so I have to get my phone.'

'No worries, I'll wait.'

Once Haruka had retrieved his phone from some side pocket of his bag, he sped back to the bathroom. He wrote the information out on the page and Makoto copied it into his own notebook.

'Thanks! I'll send you a message right away so you'll have my contact info too. Thank you for chatting with me, Haru. I couldn't have imagined a better soulmate.' Makoto tilted his head, eyes falling shut with a beaming grin.

Involuntarily, a smile graced Haruka's face as well. When met with such a joyous expression on such a handsome face, was it even possible not to smile as well? 'Me neither.'

After they scribbled some goodbyes, Haruka dashed out of the bathroom, promptly forgetting to even wash his face because his frantic heart was trying to hammer its way out of his chest. He had to start cooking or else he would certainly miss his train, but Haruka couldn't look away from his phone's screen, waiting for that message to pop up. Until then, he wouldn't be able to get a bite down his throat.

A whopping two minutes later, his phone beeped at last.

'Hey Haru, this is Makoto. Here you have my contact info. Sorry if I'm being too forward, and if that is the case then you can tell me and I'll back off, but do you have time to talk some more later? I've been dying to meet you and like I said earlier, there are countless things I want to ask you. If not, that's alright. Please know that you're always welcome to call me or send me a message whenever you want. I'll try my best to respond as quickly as possible. I hope to hear back from you soon, but there's no rush. Have a nice day!'

Haruka stared at the screen, his stomach tingling with a wave of unfamiliar feelings. Now he was definitely going to be late for school.

Little did Haruka know back then that Makoto and he would see each other in person sooner than he had thought, that Makoto's dreams had been overrun by cobalt blue for as long as he could remember as well, and that their first interaction had not actually been their first meeting. But least of all, Haruka couldn't have foreseen that the mindless proposal he wrote on that October day in front of the mirror but hadn't held up to show Makoto would come true.

[silke-doomflare]

Meet the character: Silke

BASICS

► Name ➔  “Silke Doomflare. And yes, it’s got something to do with my profession!”

► Are you single ➔ Silke’s eyes suddenly get a bit wider. She blinks, and then purses her lips, becoming oddly interested in the nearby wall. “It’s complicated.”

► Are you happy ➔  “Mm, yeah, I guess I could say so”, she states after thinking for a moment. “I’m studying things I love, my family is safe and alive, I have a handful of people I could consider my friends.. Can’t really complain, although a little bit more gil wouldn’t hurt...”

► Are you angry? ➔  “Well, usually not. Though, at the moment I’m a bit pissed off at a certain colleague of mine who loudly and unnecessarily harshly judged my thesis of pyromancy in front of our professor and classmates. Like, hellooo? You can give critique and still be polite about it, geez…”

► Are your parents still married ➔  “They are”, Silke nods proudly. "I’ve seen so many broken families lately. I feel very privileged… and lucky.”

EIGHT FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “I’ve heard it was the place named Skatay Range. But I can’t remember a thing from it. I was so young when I was taken by slavers. So I like to think Kugane as my real birth place, since I grew up there.“

► Hair Color ➔ “Black I guess? At least it was the last time I checked! In bright light it looks like dark grey, though.”

► Eye Color ➔ Silke leans closer, so that the deep turquoise can hardly be missed. "You have troubles with your eyes or what? I happen to partly know a shady medic from a certain dark alley nearby. Want to know the address?”

► Birthday ➔ “Ninth sun of the first astral moon, I’ve heard.”

► Mood ➔ “Right now? I guess I’m feeling somewhat eager. There’s this new portal we’re going to test out tomorrow, and I was permitted to take part in it. Can you believe that? Usually they’re just like ‘no, Silke, don’t touch it, don’t touch anything’, but this time I’m allowed in. They must’ve finally noticed the genius I am.“

► Gender ➔ “God!” Silke yells and gets on her feet, pointing towards the roof. A long silence follows. “Seriously! Have you ever seen me on a battlefield? Have you seen the havoc I’ve --- no? Oh...”

► Summer or winter ➔ “Agh, such a difficult question. I like both. I like to swim and lay on a soft grass under a tree. But then again I also like to drink hot cocoa when it’s cold, wrap myself up into a blanket and watch the flames of our fireplace or snow falling outside.“

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Afternoon of course? I’m not even awake before noon… no, wait. I like sleeping as well. Both?”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Of course I am. If we don’t count the feeling of aether flowing through me while I cast spells and blow things to smithereens, I love most the smell of old tomes, parchment, ink and all sorts of sweets, especially ice-cream. I also love chocobos. If it wasn’t possible to be a mage I’d definitely become a chocobo breeder. Perhaps I’ll become one when my career is over and spells no longer stay in my head. I’ll retire and start breeding chocobos. Yes, a perfect plan!“

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “I definitely do! I fell in love with my dog the moment I saw him. Have you ever visited Kugane? Well anyway, they have these small, orange, pointy eared and curly tailed dogs there in almost every house. It’s like their national dog or something, they’re so popular.”

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “I hate to admit this, but it was him… I thought we were doing fine, but one day he started to complain I didn’t give him enough attention, and that I was studying too much. I mean… how can one even study too much? I don’t get it.“

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔  “I guess I have. Not on purpose, though! Honestly, some people are so sensitive it’s harder not to break their hearts, geez… What an annoying subject to talk about, anyway.” Silke ruffles her head uneasily.

► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “Of course not. I wouldn’t be able to ever become an archmage if I wasn’t dedicated to my studies.“

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Silke’s usually cheerful expression grows darker suddenly. "My sister. We don’t see very often, but when we do, I try to show my care as much as I can. She’s hanging out with shady folk sometimes, and I can’t help but worry at times will she come home or not.”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “I surely hope not! Would be creepy to have someone admiring you from afar, without letting you know. Isn’t that like stalking? It’s only good manners to make yourself known so we can find out do we get along or not.“

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “No, I don’t think so. Or perhaps I once almost did… there was this huge tome - as big as those holy scriptures they have in the cathedral - in a certain old bookstore. The merchant was old as sky and I was afraid they’d close the place soon. And the tome was expensive. I was a lot younger back then and didn’t have much money, and my sister was like ‘no Silke, you totally won’t buy a book written in some dead language no one can read to take more room in your previously cramped room and collect dust.’ At first I was about to leave it at that, but I ended up snitching money from her cache.” Silke grins impishly. “No regrets!”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “I have to choose again? You’re, like, asking me do I like to enjoy nice things existing or actually take them to be mine.”

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “What if I started to ask you annoying questions like strawberries or chocolate? Can’t choose, huh? Huh?”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ Silke falls silent for a moment. “…just when I was yapping at you for silly questions. Dogs all the way! I like cats too, and maybe I would be more of a cat person if my first pet had been a cat. But it was a dog, and there’s no going back!“

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “A few best friends, absolutely. I have both, but I’ve noticed I enjoy the company of my closest friends a lot more. You can do all sorts of crazy stuff with them you can’t with anyone else.”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Definitely a wild night out! I have romantic nights by myself all the time with wine and chocolate and our fireplace, and I rarely get to go out.“

► Day or night ➔ “I like both, actually. At days I’m studying, and at nights I’m doing my homework.” Silke shrugs and grins.

FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ Silke becomes more serious once more. “Like I told you, I was taken from my original home by slavers. Life wasn’t very nice back then. I tried to run, many times. But I was very small and weak, and they were big, strong and fast.”

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “This actually happened during one of my escape attempts. I was lucky I didn’t die. I still have a scar left.“ Silke lifts her bangs and shows a scar near her temple.

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Freedom. Yes… I think losing our loved ones is the first thing we usually think of when someone asks for the thing we fear the most. But I think losing your freedom would be even worse. If you’re free, you can always start anew, but if you’re being held captive, you can’t do anything. Nothing at all.”

► Wanted to disappear ➔ Silke gives a long look at you and raises an eyebrow again. “Considering the things I just told you, there just may have been such situations...”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Mmh, both are important, but I think I like eyes more. I’m not a spiritual person, but I still think you can kind of see their soul there. Their essence. If they’re good or evil. The creepiest thing I’ve seen is probably living people with empty eyes, especially those without any kindness in them…”

► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Shorter, definitely. I’m quite short myself despite my heels and I don’t like it when someone looks down on me. Well, most of people  kind of have to, they can’t help it, but you know?“

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔  “Pff, do you even need to ask? Intelligence, of course. There are very few things that… truly infuriate me… But the one thing I absolutely can’t stand in others is chosen stupidity. Yes, chosen! Can you believe, that there truly exists people who don’t want to learn new things, be it about themselves or other people or the world that surrounds them?” Silke starts to imitate an elderly person, talking in a low, hoarse tone: “Silly girl. If we would discover new things or try them out, we would be in a situation we’ve never been in before.” She bursts into a mocking laughter. “Yes, someone really said that to me…”

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Relationship, hands down. I’ve had my share of hook-ups.” Silke apparently can’t stop her eyes rolling towards the roof as a protest.

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “Yeah, we get along very well. I have some arguments every now and then with my two siblings, but nothing too serious.”

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “Not anymore. It used to be such a mess, though.” Silke lets out an uneasy laugh. “After me and Asagi were adopted, we got our life eventually back together. Despite a few ups and downs it’s been quite stable after that. A place to belong to and meaningful chores do wonders.”

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “No, definitely not. My parents have always been reasonable. Even during our wildest teenage years I can’t remember there would’ve been anything too major…“

► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ Silke has some difficulties holding back a sudden laughter. "I got kicked out of class, yeah! Though I still think it was unfair towards me. It wasn’t my fault. It was an alchemy class and I guess I had made some miscalculation with my mixture… I tried to tell my professor I’m not quite sure about it, but he just had to go and push his big head too close to the cauldron.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “No, I don’t hate my friends. If I did, I wouldn’t be friends with them, would I? Some of them have some annoying traits, but... hate? Nah.“

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ "Sadly no… I’ve had some… disappointments. You know, there’s quite a lot of people who seem like they’re good friends, but once you have a bad day, or few bad days, they suddenly disappear and want to hear nothing about it. So weird. I certainly wouldn’t abandon my friends like that.”

► Who is your best friend ➔ “Absolutely Iris. She’s a bit odd sometimes, in a good way though, and her vocabulary is quite vulgar and it upsets some people, but I think it’s hilarious. I’ve never met anyone so quick-witted before. There’s not a single boring moment while she’s around. Oh, and nowadays there’s also this certain miqo’te called Shaura. We haven’t known each other for very long, but just like with Iris, we just clicked right away.“

► Who knows everything about you ➔ “I think my sister might… I’ve tried to keep some secrets from her, like me loaning her gil without asking sometimes, but I think she knows. I have no idea how the heck! I mean, I’m smart, but she’s even smarter… If it was possible, I would like to change brains with her for a day or two. I want to know how she does it.”

[sunninja2002]

Autumn winds chapter fifteen: finally breathing.

Sunlight shone down onto the grassy plane where the caretaker lay, as he opened his eyes, his vision set upon 8 others, each were waking up, taking in their surroundings, autumn held her head as she woke, her mismatched eyes glancing around the cave. [*...guys..? Everyone is...your all here..] it was true, each child autumn had revived was there, in the flesh, the group looked at autumn, their eyes were no longer grey, they had... colour, life. "We're... we're alive! We didn't die!" Bandy looked at his hands, he heard a cough and noticed chara, chara stood as a shadow loomed over his eyes. "you, you ruined everything!!" Chara lunged for frisk and held her against the wall, autumn stood and kicked the back of chara's leg, making him fall back, he thrusted his knife only for autumn to grab it, he waited for her to stab him, she looks at the blade and stared at her reflection, she closes her eyes, a slash was heard, then a gasp from frisk, chara opened his eyes and saw two cut pieces of braided hair on the grass, chara looked up at autumn in disbelief and confusion. [*it's time to let go, chara] autumn dropped the knife at chara's feet and opened her eyes. she held frisks hand and stood over him, the others stood nearby. [*We aren't gonna kill you. And you won't be abusing this world anymore.] Frisk gripped autumn's hand as she looked at autumn's discarded braids, then to chara, waiting for an answer. "Why...i-I wouldn't have shown you- any of you, the same mercy!" Autumn was unphased, [*I know.] she walked around him, still holding frisks hand. The others followed, glancing at chara, autumn stopped and turned to look at chara one last time [*and that's why you've failed.] Autumn led the others through the hall as chara sat there, silently. Autumn's words ring in his head. As time went on for the 8 humans, frisk became the child of the dreemur family and became their greatest joy, while the other six besides autumn were constantly visiting the barrier, the king and queen were curious as to why they did this despite being told they were trapped here, autumn then came clean about her promise to them and how they miss their families. Asgore and Toriel looked at eachother in sorrow and decided to invest more time into the barrier.

Some time later.

The 8 humans stand in the laboratory as the royal scientist showed them a white vial. The scientist was a scaly pink dinosaur monster with hearing aids, she looked about 26 and next to her was her five year old daughter.

"ok, in this vile is the essence of a monster...that has passed away in the hospital, do not worry! The patients have willingly accepted giving their soul's for this cause before their passing. No need to feel guilt, as I was saying, with one drop of this in each of your souls, you should be able to pass through the barrier and back anytime you wish! So you can visit anytime. This has taken about 4 years to perfection. Alright. Who's first?" The children looked at eachother. Autumn stepped up. [*I'll go first.] The scientist had autumn reveal her soul and poured a drop of the white fluid onto the aburn orange heart, it swirled and created a white outline around her soul, autumn shivered at this feeling, each of the children were given the same treatment and they walked towards the barrier, autumn walked towards the light and touched it, she then fell through it as if it were water and landed on the other side. The head scientist looked on in amazement "it does work!" The other kids went through the barrier and back to test it, the head scientist was right. They could come back. They each looked around and took in a deep breath, for the first time in years, they could breathe. Autumn stood and smiled at the others. [*Cmon guys, let's get you home!] The children walked down the mountain, they entered the cave where it all started, frisk spotted her bike and picked it up, autumn spotted hers and got on it. Katt and Jodie spotted their old tent and camping area, vines and moss had claimed the metal and worn fabric over time. They looked at eachother as memories flooded back slowly, Finally, they embraced eachother in a tight hold, whispering apologies and 'i love you' to eachother, they broke the hug and walked back to the others, hand in hand, they reached the end of the mountain and reached the road, they walked the streets and followed direction given by each child, however, each home they found, noone was there. The six looked dejected and hopeless, autumn gave them a sorrowful look [*I...I'm sorry guys, let's head to my place, you can stay the night if you want.] The others looked at eachother before nodding sadly, the journey back to the cul De sac was long, however, on the way, autumn noticed the police station was open at a time it wasn't supposed to be, she stopped and looked, she parked her bike at the bus stop she was standing near, only stop as she spots a phone in the garbage can, she picked it up and saw frisks name on the phone case, she looked at frisk. [*Frisk, why is your phone in the trash?] Frisk took her phone and checked it, she looks at autumn with guilt. "I....I threw it away when I ran away..." She admitted. Autumn pet frisks head and ruffled her hair. [*Its ok, I'm not angry] Nona looked into the police station window "mana there's people in there, in a circle" said Nona, autumn looks in [*what is this? Looks like a therapy circle.] They walk into the police station and noticed a few flyers on the walls, one read: "group closure therapy today at 10:39pm for victims of the "Ebott's missing children" tragedies.

Children's first names, in order: chara, poppy, Brandon, Ivan, Kleo, Annie Jane, Polly, Francis, autumn.

Today's session: closure for grief."

The children looked at the poster in surprise, it was their names, true names, "that means our parents are here.." Said said irro. Bandy noticed a ginger haired man sitting with his head in his hands, bandy walked up to him and was able to hear him whispering things "so stupid.... such a stupid, stupid idea... little brother I'm sorry..." Bandy reached out to him. "... Terrance..?" He recognised the man's voice as the eldest of his siblings, the man looked up, seeing his youngest brother, who hadn't aged a day passed 11. "Brandon...? N-no...I'm going insane...your not here..." The 21 year old reached out and put a hand on bandy's shoulder, his eyes widened as he came in contact with physical mass, this meant he wasn't insane, that his brother was here. "..Terrence your not dreaming, I'm real- hey! cmon! don't pretend I'm invisible again! you bully." said Bandy with a teary, pouty look, Terrance pulled bandy into a tight hug, repeating apologies over and over. Autumn smiled warmly at the sight, the two talked about what happened and were able to reconcile. Autumn noticed the others besides her, Nona and frisk were gone, they walked through the station and noticed the room with the circled chairs, Katt, Jodie, Ivan and Polly were all there with adults and even other kids, they all had emotional expressions, Nona looked up at autumn. "Mana, can we go home now? I'm hungry.." autumn picked her up so she could ride on her shoulders. Then realised something. If her parents weren't here, she knew exactly where they would be.

Autumn parked her bike at the gate, there stood an old house made of wood and bricks, frisk looks at it in awe. "Autumn, what is this place?" Asked frisk. Nona butted in and got off of autumn, she ran to the door. "Mama! I'm home! Mana brought me home!" Said Nona. Autumn walked up to the door and opened it, Nona Ran inside only to notice the decor had changed a bit, there was more furniture and the walls were painted. Nona looked at autumn in confusion. Autumn held her hand [*cmon Nona, I wanna show you something.] Autumn held a sorrowful look as she led Nona to the garden, there was a wooden cross headstone with the word POPPY engraved into it, it was decorated with red flowers and there was a small, plastic, flowery teapot, it was old and dirty. Nona picked it up. "My teapot..." Autumn put a hand on Nona's shoulder, ready to tell her something when they heard the sound of breaking glass behind them.

To be continued....

[*knowing that your fulfilling your promise, fills you with COURAGE 🧡]

[yoekko-novels]

To Touch The Sky - Weighing You Down - #005

Synopsis: A strange voice calls out to a weary Hubrid. The books he carried makes his body frigid and his robe weighs him down as he tracks through a barren wasteland covered in mud and dirt as he experiences something new for the first time.

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Sitting on the ground Hubrid feels hopeless. His stomach rumbles as he crosses his arms around his belly. This feeling of hunger was something he’d gotten used to long ago. However, this amount of loss was something he’d never known. Everyone and everything precious to him was gone.

He begins to nod off and hears a voice as the air becomes stiff.

“Hubrid!” A voice similar to Druchess’s shouts out to him.

“Huh?” Hubrid looks around, darting his eyes across the mass grave only to see the freshly dug holes he’d made.

“You should give up on going to Arupio!” It shouts out again.

“Who are you?” Hybrid retorts as he begins to hear masses of people talking.

“You’re being played for a fool Hubrid. Do not free that demon from her Bindings!” The voice begins to sound more distant.

“Druchess?” Hubrid shouts out as his voice echoes across the plains.

“You’ll doom this world! Turn back now to the cavern and live your life naturally!” The voice becomes deeper.

“I don’t know who you are, but I have to see them again!” Hubrid shouts out as he begins to try and run towards the voice.

“She is not the benevolent god you think her to be, Hubrid,” the voice says it nearly becomes inaudible.

“You’ll never see any of your family again. Deep down you know that so just give up on them and become your own person!”

Hubrid stops looking around and sits still on the grass.

“I’ll see you again too,” Hubrid says while looking at Druchess’s grave.

“The path you’re walking will kill many people Hubrid!”

“If the path I walk kills people, they should find their own paths and get out of my way.”

“Are you dense? Look at the graves you’ve dug. Do you want to dig a million more holes?” The voice retorts as it becomes gruff, nearly unrecognizable.

Hubrid sits in silence as his right hand glows brighter than it ever had before as he reaches into the sky. It illuminates the ground, breaking it free from the shadows of Arupio.

“What are you doing?” The voice shouts as it becomes nearly unrecognizable.

“When all seems lost, just look at the sun and smile,” Hubrid says as he stares at his hand glowing viciously as he raises it above his head. Hubrid closes his eyes and torts the sadness on his face into a smile. His face trembled as his facial muscles tried to keep it down but he continued to smile with gaiety with every ounce of will to his name.

“You will come to know true loss as you carry on with your goals Hubrid,” the voice says as the air once again resumes.

Hubrid awakens to see the graves he’d dug once again as he begins to leave. The robe he wears begins to feel heavy, he takes it off and as he does so he begins to gasp for air. The robe falls to the ground and he puts it back on in a hurry.

He catches his breath as his hands turn pale and his body cold. He lets out a breath of air and a red mist leaves his mouth.

Hybrid begins to walk back from where’d he come as the air becomes more chilly. He decided to listen to Druchess and educate himself so he could walk upon the clouds of Arupio. He read books along the way back to the cove as his emotions dwindled with each page he flipped.

He read of massacres, wars, famine, and death. He felt nothing, it was something that he’d been through before. His fingertips became frosty as he continued flipping the pages of “Erased History,” the book told stories of heroes and villains. Hubrid could no longer tell who was who though.

In one of the books, there were old stories about the early days of the world, there were tales of two kingdoms fighting. The Kingdom on the ground and the Kingdom in the heavens.

The strong users had once been their own kingdom, they reigned over all of the ground and oceans. The Strong Users prohibited the people of the clouds from coming to the ground. The people of the clouds began to starve and plotted a way to usurp the kingdom of the ground.

They thought they were siphoning the powers of Aaura by sacrificing their weak and feeding them to the strong. The stronger Magic-Users ate the aura of the weaker by stealing it from their bodies. They would stab their prey through the heart with a special straw that could suck the essence out of their bodies.

Eventually, the Strong holders could no longer face the Magic Users as their power continued to grow and their numbers dwindled. The army that’d once been large enough to settle across all the lands of the planet turned into a small number of 10,000. 10,000 soldiers wiped out the millions of people on the ground without being able to fight back. They went past the sea to the farthest edges of the earth making sure none could escape.

The last of the Strong-Holders were royalty. They’d been spared so that they could be herded up and tossed into a pin, forced to imbreed with one another and work for the rest of their lives along with their children.

Hubrid slowly began to realize who, and what he was. His people had started the fight with their selfishness, unable for his emotions to take hold, he continued to read the stories.

There was a single Strong User who was not affected by the Magic-Users but he could not fight their numbers alone. So he hid away with his family in a cave. The cave could not be sensed or detected by Magic-Users. He hid away living off of the land as he watched his people suffer from afar. He often dreamed of saving them from their torture, but he knew it wouldn’t be possible as he was.

Hubrid’s fingers become even more frigid and worn as they begin to shrivel up when he turns the next page.

On the next page were events and years along with hand-drawn photos, however, Hubrid still hadn’t known what year he was in, but he read anyways.

110 - The beginning of the war against Strong and Magic. Because of the greed of the ground, the people of the sky were forced to use questionable magic in order to gain control of the ground to feed our people. The picture shows malnourished children and adults, sitting on the ground waiting for their lives to end.

112 - Our numbers dwindled because of the sacrifices made in exchange for power. Our entire nation had dwindled down to 10,000 people, all soldiers willing to fight and die for Arupio. A picture of a legion of soldiers is shown. They all wore white robes and looked healthy, they nearly looked like they were the opposites of the people in the last picture.

113 - We Arupians won the war, the only thing to do now was to clean up the mess. A picture of dead bodies littering the ground is shown. Close-ups of their faces are shown, it looked as if they were begging for mercy as their photos were being taken.

114 - We scoured the continents in search of strong holders that’d fled. We found small tribes, unaware of the war that had taken place, living in peace. A picture is shown of Strong holders in strange garments staring at the drawer.

The years 115-190 are unreadable to Hubrid. The language was different from what Druchess had taught him, even his large vocabulary from the page of the book Druchess burnt was of no use. On top of that, it was scribbled over in a spot of black gooey ink that dribbled down the pages making it nearly useless.

Hubrid flips the pages looking for more information until his hands are too cold to move. With his hands shivering he puts his book away and continues walking on the purple grass as the sun did nothing to give warmth to him. His body wavered as he trembled with each step he took.

The wind blew voraciously but Hubrid could not feel it, the robe grew heavier, Hubrid could not feel it. Eventually, Hubrid found the cave that he and Druchess had come from and walked through the exit that Druchess had made earlier, pebbles crunched against the ground as he walked through the cavern. The wall closed itself seamlessly and Hubrid found the room he’d lived in for the past couple of months.

Hubrid sits on his bed attached to the stone wall and it crashes to the ground from the weight of the robe. He felt every sin of its past wearers, it was heavier than any hay bale or boulder he lifted on the farm. He began to lay on top of the broken stone bed as he began to rest so he could prepare himself for the next day.

The cave had usually felt damp and humid, today it was lifeless and chilly, not even the bugs that usually danced around Hubrid would appear. The grey and black rubbled that the ground was made of stared at Hubrid as he fell asleep wearily and began to dream.

“You believe the silly stories of that book?” An unknown voice speaks.

“What else can I believe in?” Hubrid responds to it with nonchalance.

“... Do you want something to believe in?” The monotone voice asks curiously.

“Like what?” Hubrid retorts.

“Revenge.” The voice states as it deepens even further than it’d previously been, nearly startling Hubrid.

“Druchess told me revenge was a bad thing, he said it would only create a perpetual war or something like that,” Hubrid says to the voice as it begins to cackle and cough.

“And… Where is that old man now?” It says as its cackle turns into full-fledged laughter.

“He’s Dead,” Hubrid says as he awakens from his slumber with a jolt and feels his body quivering. His body still frigid and his emotions halted, his dirty body spread a filthy odor throughout the cave. Despite the pain, he’d had in his bruised hands and the dirt full of bacteria filling his wounds along with small amounts of poison magic, his robe and body felt lighter than they ever had before.

[al-n-cartoons]

The Multiverse in a Blender: Prologue

      "Hello? Is it-yes, the light's on. I think that means that it's recording. Let's see...where do I start? Well, first of all, my name is Ben. Benjamin Kurby Tennyson from the realm 1.1, alternate name "Soma Benton".

      I've been dimension-hopping for a few years now, and it's gotten me in trouble more than once. I've also time traveled a while ago, but that's not important. There were a few 'spats' between dimensions, too, called the "Wreckonings", but they...they're also pretty irrelevant. Anyway, I like to go to different dimensions or realities or realms during my down time, although I normally find them while trying to keep someone from tearing apart the fabric of reality.

      That how this whole mess came to be. See, there was this dealer guy, kind of like a bipedal porcupine, his name's "Argit". He'd found a weapon from old stories, swearing to the stars it was real, and made to sell it. I was there only because some other low-lives, as well as the leader to an intergalactic armada, were there and I needed to keep tabs on things. I doubted that the weapon was real, but kept it in mind.

      The weapon was called something like "Annihilator" and "barge", it's function was to delete an entire reality and leave it an empty void. Argot got his hands on it, tried to profit off of it, but accidentally set it off. I was saved from being erased only because I'd been in the form of a higher being, Alien X. In that form, I can make anything happen, so long as the two other personalities of the form and I are able to come to an agreement. It's nearly impossible to convince them. By the time I did, though, it was too late, all we could do was make a copy of what once was. I...didn't want that.

      Remake the universe and walk around, surrounded by lifeless husks? Because that's what they would be; empty and lifeless, entirely hollow. As Alien X, I could feel the life essence of everyone and thing around me. Bacteria, the grass, the birds, the people. Rook. It was all whisked away, burned and obliterated! I-

Sorry, I got a bit...loud there.

No, I couldn't do that. I grabbed the nearest fistful of realities and yanked them closer, making us whole. Two, three, four, five? Maybe more? I don't know how many in total, but suffice to say there were a lot. Some of them fit nicely together, like Rex's and mine, others are only partially connected. I'm not a hundred-percent sure yet, but if I were to cross certain geographical boundaries, I can cross into another world. I learned that while I was flying, one second a recognized hero in Summer the next a strange beast in the Fall. It was disorienting, to say the least.

     So far, I've found and talked with people from three realms. Only the people I'd known of or met before all of this are aware of the change, because now they-you-have multiple different memories of the past. For example, there'd been an enormous explosion of a research facility some years ago that devastated the world, spreading micro-no, wait, sorry-nanobots, that infected every living thing. These caused mutations, most of which happening in the span of a few seconds, turning what was once a perfectly normal individual into a violent, maddened beast. There was an organization for these sudden bursts in mutations, "Providence", but I'm detracting. "Providence" exists in my world now, as a separate branch of the organization I help out with, the Plumbers. Bad name, I know, but it's better than the "Secret Scientists" or the "Men in White". I need to trash that last group fast....

      Some people remember the event, some people don't. It depends on where that person is. If someone were to go to an area where, I'm the last, had high E.V.O. activity and had been effected in the world it originally came from, they would have the set of memories from that world. If they're in my neck of the woods, they remember the armadas and invasions instead.

      Here's where things get hairy; the walls between our realm are thin and getting thinner. It can't keep the otherworldly beasts out anymore. If the last week is any indication, life will be getting a lot more tough for all of us. That's why I'm contacting you. I am personally delivering copies of this recording to the people I used as links, not just as an explanation, but as a warning. Be careful. Our enemies are probably going to catch wind of this soon, or be otherwise empowered, and we can't just sit back and wait for that to happen. Now, more than ever, we need to talk to one another.

The day you find this recording, around noon, I'll show up at your door. If you decide you don't want to continue on with this ordeal, then you can ask me to leave. If you'd like to help out, ask questions, or meet the others, invite me in and we'll talk. Some of you are more mobile than others and won't need my help getting around. For those of you without some way to fly around the world, I'll give you an all expense paid trip to some place were we'll all meet. Don't ask how, just know that I make bank off of copyright stuff. People really like to merchandise me, and I get a nice percentage off of anything they use my appearance, history, or abilities in.

I just explained it, didn't I? Well, one-take-wonder, keep it rolling.

       One last thing, I wouldn't share this message with anyone other than those I wrote on the disk. Just a friendly reminder, not a threat. I told my partner and some of my friends, so they took me off duty for a mental health break. I spent all of this Sunday in a mental hospital until I could convince them that I was fine. They think I had a mental break down from the stress and suffered from a small delusion. Not. Fun.

      We'll be in touch."

[fanfoolishness]

Steven Universe: Future thoughts

Spoilers for the first four episodes below the jump!  All sorts of rambling ahead!  Please message me or reblog to share your thoughts, I wanna talk about it all!

I’ll try to organize things by episode.  I won’t be able to rewatch them until they go up on Apple TV so this is all off the cuff.  AHOY!

1x01 Little Homeschool

Steven has White, Blue and Yellow essences in his bathroom cupboard.  Maybe keep a bottle of your own spit just to be safe?  You never know? 

Aww Cherry Quartz is cute.  Did she actually get named? I assume that’s who that is.

I had thought that shot in the trailer was going to be Pink Smoky Quartz.   I was wrong, but then we DO get Pink Smoky Quartz next episode ahhhh!

We all know Steven drew that picture of himself and the Diamonds on the brochure.  

I like to think that Steven keeps up with his drawing during quiet times, and while he isn’t technically great, most 16-year-old artists aren’t great per se.  What’s important is that he keeps doing it and he’ll keep getting better!

Little Homeschool looks awesome and I want to go make some morps with Vidalia.  Wait, were Lapis and Peridot there? I don’t remember.  They should be!

I’m so glad Jasper isn’t the big bad!!! And I love that she’s just antisocial but not actively harming anyone (beetles and grass aside).  

Still no explanation for the blanket, I love it

STEVEN GO OFF, YOU TELL HER NOT TO HURT THAT BEETLE

Whoa Steven, that rage is juuuuust below the surface these days, isn’t it?  I get being annoyed at Jasper and I’m sure this isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion but he really does just go off on her pretty damn quickly, and several times.

I am concerned that he referenced her corrupting herself.  I DON’T WANT CORRUPTED STEVEN Y’ALL, this better not be foreshadowing!!!!!

Honestly Jasper just needs to get into wrestling, I’m shocked Amethyst and Steven haven’t pointed this out to her

I’m dying at her attacking all the Earthlings in her little radius

Awww Steven, at first he’s really intrigued by Diamond Mode and wants to learn how to use it better.  So optimistic!

Except you totally killed about 10 conifers and only healed one, so way to hurt the forest dude

Am I the only one wondering how conflicted Dr. Maheswaren must feel, knowing Steven can heal all this crazy shit and that a) she’s toiling at doing it the old-fashioned way, b) he could really help her patients, and c) he isn’t?

Looking forward to seeing Steven and Jasper talk again, but I really hope it’s not because Steven’s been corrupted and is trying to get over it.  Urrrgh no ;_;

I do want to see if she has tips for how to control anger.  Or how to use it and learn from it.  But I’m not sure she knows either.

Steven is a shark.  Because if he’s not swimming, he’s sinking.  And swimming to him is helping people.  If he can’t do that, if he can’t do what he’s supposed to do in his mind, what is he doing?  He’s gonna sink this season and it’s gonna be FUCKING SPECTACULAR.

1x02 Guidance

Amethyst is so proud of herself!  It’s awesome!

Steven is clearly a little uncomfortable that he didn’t come up with the idea, isn’t he?  He also has a hard time figuring out that there are ways to use what you’re made for instead of having to run from it.  Of course, that isn’t true for everyone.  Little Larimar did love screams and children more than ice.  The best lesson is that people are different, some are comfortable working in a certain zone whereas others need to struggle past it to feel complete.

Amethyst was sitting in front of the Teens of Rage video game.  I FEEL THIS WILL BE SIGNIFICANT Y’ALL.

I’m just so glad Mr. Smiley finally isn’t understaffed. He could take a day off and go visit Mr. Frowny!

Uncle Andy is back!  Yay!  And he’s getting involved with Beach City in general, I’m really happy to see him putting down some roots.

Smoky Quartz is back!

PINK SMOKY HOLY SHIT LOOK AT THEM GO

Love love love the pink/purple asides for the Steven and Amethyst debate while being Smoky Quartz

TIME SLOWING/SUPER SPEED POWERS??? I WAS NOT PREPARED

The roller coaster exploded IN THE OCEAN I can’t EVEN

So far both Steven and Amethyst are intrigued and impressed by Diamond Mode, and sure, it seems harmless now... 

Steven is worried he’s losing his touch helping people.  That makes me worried that that’s part of a bigger feeling, not just this particular snafu.

Amethyst being so direct is often the one who gets closest to Steven talking about his feelings.  He started to go there, but then Little Larimar showed up again with their terrifying talk about screams....

1x03 Rose Buds

I’m really glad Greg and the Gems aren’t giving Steven shit about not wanting Rose to be looming over him in portrait form.  Now if y’all will also TALK to Steven about how he feels about it... but at least they’re okay with him removing the portrait.

HOOOOOOLY SHIT Y’ALL

I’m so happy J-10 and Y-6 are back!

OMFG they are NOT over Greg and it’s amazing

GAH-REG HOW COULD YOU

I’m glad the Zoomans are in control of their own destiny and able to go where they wish!  

no no no no no no no no no no we all know what’s coming here

Coming face to face with Rose Quartzes = instant KO for one Steven Universe

I almost had a panic attack with him as the Roses clustered around him and the music got tenser and tenser and the camera zoomed in on his face and that was fucking INTENSE PEOPLE

Greg seeing the Roses and just noping the fuck outta there, amazing, everyone in this family is so repressed

Poor Garnet and Pearl hiding in the bathroom

“Yeah, it’s weird”

Poor Rose Quartz-who-most-looks-like-our-Rose-Quartz, it’s clear she is much more emotionally in tune than the other two (due to her belly gem placement?)

STEVEN GOT NEW PAJAMAS

but let him sleep shirtless you cowards!

Also he just looked... so GROWNUP in that scene by the warp pad?  His proportions were just no longer little kidlike?  And he is still cutely beefy but not really little-kid chubby anymore and teen me would have had it BAD for him at this point, I’m just sayin’

Steven is S O O O O   S T R E S S E D   R I G H T   N O W

he’s eating his fucking blanket in an attempt to not talk about his problems I CAN’T

also HAVE WE NOTICED that Steven will eventually end up telling strangers at least some of what’s bothering him, but never the people who actually love and care about him

this episode was so damn tense it is masterful

I’m glad they managed to talk things out a little

but clearly Steven is still, as always, just scratching the surface, this poor kid just needs to GO OFF.

did he go pink in this one from stress for a second?  Or was that the next one? 

1x04 Volleyball

You cannot tell me that that white coat is not a hand-me-down from Dr. Maheswaren, it is CANON IN MY MIND

also damn how many Gems are cracking themselves right and left that this needs to happen regularly?

seriously though Steven, you might just want to get a spittoon and start sending one to every hospital ever, you would undo A LOT of human suffering....

Steven honey I’m so sorry your mom did you so wrong and I’m so sorry you’re so scared of everything to do with her and NONE OF IT IS YOUR FAULT OKAY

but maybe also you need to learn how to face some of this stuff so it doesn’t scare you so badly

Poor Pink Pearl!

Volleyball? Seriously Steven? so insensitive how do you know Pink didn’t throw a volleyball at her head

Poor Pearl and Volleyball feeling so jealous about each other

Volleyball is 8000 years old??  damn how old was Pink?

oooooooh the Reef!  so cool and mysterious!  Look at all those Pearl possibilities!

So Pink damaged her Pearl, and she sent her to the Reef for repair.  They fixed her gem, but when she reformed, the trauma was still so severe that she reformed with the crack.  Oh man :(

Now again I don’t want Corrupted Steven but you could probably wrangle that into support for the theory.

I prefer to think that Steven will do something different than straight-up Corruption to himself, but we could see something like the crack form instead of Corruption.

Willing himself into a monster form only works if he thinks of himself completely as a monster.  Right now he thinks Pink is the monster, and he thinks, finally, that he isn’t Pink.  So either he’d have to really hurt somebody and then view himself as a monster, or, my preference, he would develop something like a scar or pink eyes or stay pink all the time or something until he’s figured out his issues.

I JUST DON’T WANT HIM TO HAVE HORNS, YOU GUYS.

Pearl WAS protecting Volleyball from Steven oh NOOOOO

STEVEN SONIC SCREAM

So we’ve got Diamond Mode Strength, Super Speed, and Sonic Scream, man oh man oh man

this finally makes sense because all the other Diamonds have such well-developed offensive powers

Pink must have been like “no those are dangerous I don’t want them, what else can I do” and developed her healing powers secretly

I always wondered why the Diamonds never recognized Rose Quartz’s healing tears or shield as belonging to Pink

And it must be that she never showed it to them

They maybe only knew about her offensive powers

MEGA PEARL IS SO BEAUTIFUL AND WISE AND HER RIBBON DANCING IS SO MAGNIFICENT AND I LOVE THEM JUST TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER YOU TWO

I can’t believe we got a new fusion so quickly!!!!

Fuck that bitch Shell amirite

look, someone help Steven.

Please help Steven.

HELP. STEVEN.

No new trailer for next week???? COWARDS

omg someone please please scream about all this with me

[brooklynislandgirl]

five times kissed {in boots or not}

Sweeter than Wine || Not Accepting

I. The darkness breathes around them and there are no moons to shine down in the vaulted space between their sleeping mats and the impossible ceiling above their heads. There is not really silence either with the breath of twenty younglings scattered about as she creeps her way on hand and knee, dragging pillow and blanket along behind her. She cannot see where she is going and relies on a rudimentary grasp on the Force to offer her a compass point. The fits and starts of his breath help. The distress is palpable. It feels like a burning stone in the middle of her chest. Feels like the way the sky looks just before a sudden squall.

It takes an eternity for her to finally get to where she intends to go, and it is there she hesitates. She knows instinctively were someone to touch her in the dark when she can’t see what is coming, she would lash out in fear and terror. And while the Masters say that one must control one’s fear because it is not a good thing. Bad things should be eli...elem...should be done away with. She doesn’t want to do away with the boy with sun coloured hear and lakes for eyes. Her boy.

She curls up around him. Forming a cocoon of flesh and blood, sharing warmth as she settles her pillow beside his and draws her thin, scratchy blanket across them both. Like her fathers would do, she rubs small circles against his back and leans in close to kiss his cheek. In a voice that is more Force than whisper, she says, “A long time ago, in a galaxy far away there was a beautiful world. And on this world there was a boy and a girl and an enormous garden...” ~*~

II. Her lungs burn. Her muscles threaten to seize. She doubles over. Hands on her knees, gulping in breath after breath, wincing at the sudden stitch in her side. Sweat pours down her back. She doesn’t have half the length of his legs and it’s so unfair! Only a standard cycle ago she’d been taller than him, faster. But now he’s out matched her, even if he’s paid for that growth in pain from bones, from muscle, stretching to new heights. He can now take the stairs two at a time, sometimes three when he’s daring, and all she can do is to try and catch up at a far slower pace. To add insult to injury, he doubles back. Cloak flapping behind him and robes threatening to wrap around his boots. He’ll need a new pair soon. She can tell, being so close to them in the moment, trying her best to not look like some mottled green, sweat coated disaster of a near-human. She is about as successful at that as she has been in keeping up with him.

“You almost had me until the stairs.” Oh yes, he’s just so helpful, isn’t he?  “I know.”

“You’re mad.” Thank you, Captain Obvious. “I know.”

“There’s something you don’t know,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice. She’s hurt his feelings, unable to keep her internal comments to herself. She risks straightening, determined to meet his gaze when she apologises. That doesn’t happen because as soon as she can meet him eye to eye, she catches the thoughtful look on his face. Eyes too bright, pink in his cheeks, lower lip caught between his teeth. And the next thing that happens is he steals a quick but unmistakable kiss to her forehead. “You just-” “I know.” And with that he’s gone again, only the echo of his laugh teasing her to catch up. ~*~ III. Even apart there’s always something extra, something indefinable that others take note of even if it’s only at the edges of their animal brain, the senses enhanced by their training in the Force. A feeling like neither one is entirely in the physical space they occupy. It is like gravitational pull, perhaps. Something that extends out into space in all directions, for an infinite distance.

On Naboo, Anakin walks in a garden, the grass bending softly beneath his boots, the sun dappling his face as he turns it upwards toward the sky, eyes closed in something very similar to meditation were he not so aware of his surroundings. On Coruscant, Melakeni runs her fingers over a work bench, feeling the cold metal along the edges of her arm as she turns her gaze downward at half-sketched designs. Pod racers, strange ships, a new hand. A moment later, she picks up a neatly folded shirt and holds it up to her face.

She breathes the scent of him in. He feels the breeze waft across throat.  They reach for each other across the vast distance because they both know what it is like to be surrounded by people and be very alone. Some time later, he arrives in the common room and is greeted by the familiar faces that have always been there like stonework or stars ~hazy but really indistinct. They all have names, he even remembers a few of them. It isn’t long after that she arrives. A thousand new suns are born in the clash of blue and green, even if not a single word is spoken, if the only thing that happens is that look.

One person whispers, “Wasn’t he sitting by the window?” Another nods. “Wasn’t she reaching for a book on the shelf?”

And so it goes until the others filter out to get something to eat, called to another part of the Temple, or simply to not be HERE right now.  He gestures and her page turns. She hands him a new stylus.

Only a hand-span separates them.

Lips do not have to touch for a kiss to be so profound. ~*~

IV. She lies motionless in his arms as he carries her solemnly to her resting place. A single petal drifts down from her hair to land at his feet and he will mourn that just as much as the any other part of that except that at least the petal he can keep secreted in a pocket, where fluttering and twitching fingers can close around it, careful not to crush it. It will leave its scent on his skin no matter how often he washes that hand, because it will always and only be the one made of flesh, never the other.

It is both boon and bane that she still looks alive. 

He lays her gently amongst the pillows. With the utmost exquisite care, he strokes her hair. Her still warm cheek. Brushes the pad of his thumb along the curve of her lip. There is no political statement to be made now. No other thought but that in her demise she looks tranquil. As death, tender in its enactment, should be...or so she’d said once. His chest is tight and it’s so hard to breath when hers neither rises nor falls. Pressure builds behind his eyes as he tries to stand still, gazing down at her. His throat dry. Because he’s done this, hasn’t he? It’s all his fault. One moment she was laughing, and the next...

Her eye cracks open.

“Only way this works is if...you know... you can come down here for my dramatic turn to undeath and I savagely tear your throat out in a gush of hot, pulsing blood.”

This Impending Doom comes too close to the real thing for a moment before what she says actually registers somewhere between the layers that he so often exists between.

“And how am I supposed to be horrified at the punishment for my crimes if you keep talking. You’re supposed to be dead at least until I’ve eu-logised you.”  The word is not one he normally uses, and there’s a catch in his pronunciation of it that sets butterflies adrift in her belly, and suddenly their game...isn’t one. Before she realises it, she’s scrambled up to her knees on the impossibly thin mattress. Her hands become steel fists in the seams of his under-tunic. The tip of her nose caresses the underside of his jaw as her lips press into his throat. The desire is there to sink into his flesh. To drink down his freely given essence. But she doesn’t. Even when she can feel him pressing even closer into the kiss. Can savour the shudder that passes through him both in body and in Presence, more radiant than anything she’s seen, all heat and light when her lips part and she traces lines around cartilage there. Can feel the weight of one arm that wraps instinctively around her waist, the other becoming lost in her hair. Every single ounce of her writes into his skin; I love you, I love you, IloveyouIloveonlyyou.

~*~

V. He bolts upright. Sweat sticks to him like a second, clammy skin. His heartbeat sounds like thousands of troops marching at a pace that can never be achieved or sustained even by the most extraordinary means. The breathes he takes are far too quick and far too shallow for her liking. This has happened to Anakin throughout his life, from the first time he slept into the Temple, to now, in the aftermath of all that has happened. They would tell him that it was only nightmare. They would tell him to control himself better, that the dreams have no power over him that he does not give.

And she knows just what a load of bantha dung that is.

It’s been a while since he’s had a nightmare that powerful, that has ruined and will continue to ruin his sleep for days. She keeps a hypo in the drawer on her nightstand, but she’s not wont to use it, hasn’t before. Forcing him to sleep is just as horrific, if not more so than telling him it’s all in his head and to simply let it go. She shifts under the covers that he’s thrown off, and doesn’t take offence when his body stiffens at her touch. She waits for him to become acclimatised to the feel of her. Because nothing is as important in moments like this than for Anakin to feel safe, that he has the power to consent or decline as he wishes, even when all he might want to do is give himself over to her so he doesn’t have to make himself think. So that he can just be, which is often taxing enough without adding anything else to it. When she feels him relax even slightly, she curls an arm around his waist. Leans into his back and presses small, soothing kisses against his shoulder, against his back. With them comes a kind of clarity, not exactly of mind, but of body. She lets go only long enough to allow him to rise. At times like these he has a biological imperative to move. To stop him is to hurt him in an unforgivable way. He chooses pacing and that’s fine.  “Do you want to talk about it, Za’lali?”

“No.” He sounds so young and yet so terribly old. Eventually, he walks himself into exhaustion and comes back to bed, where she’s waited patiently. His head cushioned in her lap as he curls up as tight and small as his body will allow. She never really knows what it is he sees in his dreams. What they show him, what they warn of, but one thing she’s learned, is that they must be listened to. And he will tell her in his own time. In bits and pieces as he’s able to, and she will stitch them together into whole cloth.

She contorts at an odd angle to brush another kiss, this time to his hair. “A long time ago...”