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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

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Look Upon the Light

(Chapter 8: Terrify)

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, angst, general melancholy

Word Count: 7765

“I know who you are.”

Shigaraki lifts your console up, turning it this way and that, ignoring your declaration. “The facing got knocked off,” he states, his four fingered grasp lifting it up for you to see. His eyes catch yours, the crimson ensnaring you. “I don’t think it’s going to fit back on. Lucky you, you don’t really need it to operate the machine.”

His pinky comes down against the plastic, joining the rest of his finger pads. The plating is gone in an instant, dissolving into a fine dust and drifting to the mats beneath Shigaraki’s feet.

Moving to Japan has been an absolutely terrible life choice.

Notes: Not beta edited, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Chapter 1: Encounter || Chapter 2: Observe || Chapter 3: Hello || Chapter 4: Intoxicate || Chapter 5: Taste || Chapter 6: Teeth || Chapter 7: Polaroid ||

Terrify ter·ri·fy /ˈterəˌfī/ verb cause to feel extreme fear.

In hindsight, you should have known. It was too quiet.

The moments that stretched between Tomura’s visits narrowed and shrank. You’d come to expect him whenever you walked into your living room, your bedroom, your kitchen. He stuck to your ribs, pulled at you, wordlessly asking you to stay close. You’d wake to his warmth, his touch, the reds and whites blurring together.

Despite these moments of tranquility, he was tense. Thrumming with an energy that made you shake.

It was dangerous.

But, you’d always known that, even if you pretended that the tiger at your door was as gentle as a kitten. Something was closing in. It felt like the calm before a storm, the air pulling back and pushing forward, misting over the pliant ground.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

Like the best ghost, it only made its presence known in the chill of pre-dawn. Slipping over your sleeping bodies and seeping into your skin, slowly tarnishing, rusting out.

You wake one morning to see Tomura leaning over you. He isn’t touching and is barely breathing, his exhales coming out in little puffs of air. His eyes rake over you like coals, smoldering as they set you aflame.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice heavy with sleep. He doesn’t answer, just continues his silent introspection. There it is again, that creeping sensation that’s been nagging at you. You don’t question him further. Instead, you roll toward him, pressing your cold hands into his warmth.

Something unspoken has been drifting above the two of you for weeks. You knew that you could give it a voice. But, you were unsure if he could. You wanted to tell him about it, to make it solid by speaking it into existence, but you didn’t know how he would react to your declaration. And provoking an unknown reaction out of Tomura was never a wise move.

Did you even need it to be said when you’d already accepted it as fact? You loved him.

And, he loved you. You knew that, you’d never doubted that. His walls had come crumbling down with yours and Tomura was nothing if not passionate and possessive. He couldn’t help himself. He might disguise it as something else, tell himself that it was another thing he was entitled to, but you knew the truth. You clutched at it, keeping it safe, holding it to you so he could never tear it away. Even if he left, even if you never saw him again, you would keep that small piece of him.

You could feel that love when he came to you like this. He would soften, his voice and touches lingering, tender. He wouldn’t let you go. Insisting that you hold onto him, that you come to him. He was at his most desperate in these moments.

Running your hands along his bare legs you look back up at his face. He is leaning closer, practically bent in half as his hair trails against you.

“Come here,” you whisper, arms lifting to pull against his neck. He doesn’t resist and you tug him back to you, trying to leech some of his warmth. He lays his head against your breasts, his low breathing making you shiver. Your hands tangle in his white hair, cascading the tendrils against your palms.

His eyes finally drift closed as the sun peeks playfully against your curtains. You should get up, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him alone in the bed. Burrowing against his slackened form, you fall blissfully into sleep, content to let your whirling anxieties still.

******

It was the little things that tripped the two of you up.

He’d been careful, and you’d been protective of his presence, keeping your movements to a minimum. But, it had always been a matter of time. He wasn’t infallible and you, well, you couldn’t stop time.

At first, the extra patrols made you feel at ease, especially when you were returning to your apartment late. There was a new hero in the area and she seemed determined to make a name for herself. Although you had never run into her, the shops and local papers were chock full of her name. She had brought along two sidekicks, kids really, but between the three of them, the crime rates had steadily decreased.

Then, you remembered what Tomura had told you once, “Guess this prefecture isn’t important enough for any hero to deem it worth their while…I doubt anyone will notice a villain respawning in the vicinity.” Now, the patrols just made you jumpy and you couldn’t help but worry for him each time he stepped out your door.

Tomura became even more inscrutable as the days wore on. He was practically seething, a deep rage bubbling over him and tipping, spreading. It tainted his voice, his movements. However, he was careful to not take his brittle aggression out on you.

No, he was never rough with you, at least, unless you wanted him to be. But, that was a different sort of dynamism he would retreat into. And it was one that you welcomed. Often, it could pull him from the brink of his restlessness.

Even with the distractions, Tomura was still on edge. He’d always worn his emotions in his eyes and body language. You could map every inch of him now and that power never brought reassurance. You didn’t question his anger.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, you just knew that it was a part of him. It sat against his heart, beating in tandem with the muscle. But, it wasn’t his budding aggression that set things in motion.

Instead, something more insidious crept in.

******

A knock at your door startles you, your pen dragging against the drafting paper, an unseemly line etched across the design. Shit. You look at your phone. Although Tomura didn’t text every time he came by, he usually kept his travels to and from your apartment to odd hours, like pre-dawn, or the dead of night. According to your device, it’s just after noon. No, something isn’t right…

The knocking comes again, louder, insistent.

You stand, gulping down your shaking nerves. It could be nothing, you tell yourself as you walk to the door, your feet padding against the wood, just calm down, (Y/N).

Two men stand outside your doorway. They are wearing professional, dark suits and they look like bad fucking news.

“Miss (L/N)?” the shorter one asks, removing his hat and bowing to you.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your heart beating tightly against your chest.

“I’m Detective Ito and this is Detective Yamashita,” he gestures briefly to the taller man, who gives you a cursory bow. “Sorry to bother you during the work day, but we have a few questions for you. Do you mind if we come in?” his voice is liquid and you distrust it immediately.

“Right now? I’m in the middle of a project, is there any way I can get a card and possibly meet with you later?” You try to make yourself stand up straight, projecting a calming lull over your tone. Come on, (Y/N), you’re not bothered by this, if anything you’ve been preparing for this. Handle them and don’t let anything slip, you have nothing to hide. Except for the villain who haunts your bed. No, don’t think that. You’ve got this...

“I’m sorry Miss (L/N),” the taller gentlemen, Detective Yamashita, presses, stepping toward you. “It can’t. This concerns some delicate information and we need to make sure we can clear you. While you’re not being accused of anything,” he amends, catching sight of your narrowed eyes, “we do need to make sure we’re covering our bases.”

“And my rights as an American citizen?” you press, holding your ground. You have a feeling it will be a null point, but it’s worth a shot.

“I’m afraid your visa doesn’t grant you any special privileges. Now, I’ll ask you again, may we come in? Or, do we need to come back with something a little more…stringent?” He lets the final word hang, a warning. Detective Yamashita is clearly playing the role of bad cop in this little interrogation, that’s not an interrogation. Yeah, right.

You pause, biting your lip, thinking. If you push back, then you might find yourself in more hot water, besides, as far as you can tell, you aren’t under arrest. That means they don’t have anything concrete, for the time being.

You bow, “I apologize gentlemen, I don’t mean to be rude, I just don’t understand what two detectives could possibly want to question me about. Please, come in.”

They seem placated by this response and follow you into your living room. You offer them a seat on your couch and bring your work stool around to sit in front of them, hands folded in your lap. Here’s hoping the demure act will work in your favor…

“It’s no problem Miss (Y/N), I know you haven’t been in Japan long. I’m sure it’s unsettling to see us. Now, before we proceed, would you please show us your U.S. passport, work visa and residence card?”

You nod, keeping your face neutral as you gather your paperwork, holding them out to Detective Ito, who takes a small flashlight to them, scanning for any forgeries. Satisfied, he hands them back, a small smile on his lips. Still doing that good cop routine, you think irritatedly, tossing the papers on your media stand.

“We’ve heard that you’ve found a boyfriend while you’ve been here,” detective Yamashita pries, crossing his legs and leaning toward you. “Where is he?”

“Not sure I’d call him that, he’s more of an acquaintance. He lives in another city,” you lie. Keep things simple and to the point, don’t supply anything you don’t mean to.

“Which one?”

“Esuha City,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the detectives.

“Your landlady said he has very distinctive features,” Detective Yamashita pauses, writing something down. Then, his eyes lift, waiting. He’s not going to let you slip past this query.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your head tilting questioningly.

“She said he had white hair.”

You tap at your chin, pretending to think. “Oh, I believe he did. He dyes it a lot.”

“What color is it now?”

“Not sure, I haven’t seen him in a while.” Well, you think snidely, that one is partially true, it had been about a few days since you’d last seen Tomura.

“A co-worker of yours, Mr. Suzuki, also mentioned something interesting about your, er, friend,” Detective Ito pipes up, and you arch an eyebrow at him, not answering, holding back.

“He said that he acted strangely when he came by. Apparently, he was very aggressive. Mr. Suzuki said he felt threatened.”

It’s really shitty luck that interaction has come back to bite you. “Oh,” you feign remembrance, “well, my co-worker, Mr. Suzuki, had decided to walk into my apartment unannounced and without knocking. Naturally, I thought he might have been a burglar. I’m sure my landlady has told you that my unit has been burglarized before?”

“She did,” Detective Yamashita replies, his eyes finally drifting away from yours. “While this might be a long shot, we would like for you to look at some pictures.” He snaps open his briefcase and pulls a collection of images out, pressing them into your hands.

You can feel them both eyeing you carefully as you shift through the images. Some of them are Tomura, some are others, and most are blurry. You lift one curiously. It’s the image of a man standing on a train platform in a dark trench coat. Squinting, you try to see the station name. You can just make out the lettering, Musutafu Station. It’s the one that is close to UA. Taking another look over the others you see the same station tiles, your heart feels like it’s floating away.

Maybe they really are just checking leads, they do seem a bit bumbling, but that could also be an act. Something that makes you drop your guard, something that could put both you and Tomura in danger.

“No, I’m sorry. Although,” you tug out one of the pictures that is not Tomura, “this one looks a little familiar. I just can’t think where I’ve seen them before…”

“That’s the League of Villain’s leader,” Detective Ito provides, and Detective Yamashita glares at him, his eyes darkening.

“Oh! God, is that who you’re looking for?” you ask, eyes wide.

“We’ve been canvassing the area, asking questions of some of the locals. A girl in downtown Tokyo thought she saw him the other day, like I said, just covering our bases.” Detective Yamashita admits, taking the pictures from you.

“But, that doesn’t explain how I ended up in your investigation. Is it because my friend had white hair? I mean, not to be rude, but that feels, vague…”

“Since Shigaraki was seen near the train, we traced other CCTV cameras in the station. We noticed that someone similar to his description was seen exiting at this station, as well as several stops in Tokyo a few months ago. Your, uh, friend, as of now, fits a similar description. We’re just checking the area for anyone who has been in contact with persons similar to Shigaraki.”

“So, no recent sightings?” You opt to ignore that last bit of information, it would make more sense for you to be worried about the bigger picture.

“It’s terrifying to think that a villain might be lurking around. After the burglary, I really considered moving to another complex. I was hoping that that new hero would turn things around.” You duck your head, trying your best to look flustered and scared. They aren’t hard emotions to reach for, given the circumstances.

“He hasn’t been seen in a while, ma’m, please, don’t worry,” Detective Ito says encouragingly, earning him another glare from Detective Yamashita.

“I just, I don’t understand something, why talk with my co-worker?” you ask, your voice low.

They're hiding something. Suzuki could have reported his minor encounter with Tomura to the police, or maybe these men approached him. It was frustrating and frightening. It’s something so small, such a tiny slip in time. You’d honestly forgotten about Suzuki’s visit, so much had happened since then. But now, thanks to Suzuki’s report, there are detectives sitting in your living room. There’s no way you can plausibly deny Tomura’s presence in your apartment. Both Suzuki and the apartment manager had seen him.

“We have reason to believe that he might have-” Detective Ito is cut off by Detective Yamashita’s throat clearing, a rasping sound that reverberates in your small apartment. You gulp, pulling yourself from your musing, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Ito, please. I’m sorry ma’am, we aren’t able to give that information out at this time. At present, we have no further questions for you Miss (L/N), but, before we go, do you mind if we take a quick look around?”

“Um, of course,” you smile weakly. What else could you do? The more you resisted, the more suspicious you looked. Your stomach drops as they stand and you feel like you are going to be sick.

These detectives knew about Tomura, there’s no way they didn’t. They might be checking now, but they’ll be back. And the next time they might not…

No, you can’t think about that right now. Just go along with what they want and get them out of here. You can figure out a plan of action when they’re gone.

The detectives are already pacing around the rest of the living room when you finally stand from your seat. Thankfully, this part of their investigation should be easy.

The most Tomura ever kept at your place was the two pairs of sweatpants that you’d bought him and those you can easily explain away. You’d also kept your food purchases to a minimum. Lately, he hadn’t been eating much of anything, so you’d saved on the grocery bill. Thank God for that.

Overall, your apartment looks like it just housed you.

The two detectives putter around for a few minutes, opening drawers, examining shelves and closets. They even peek in your bedroom, but Detective Ito had practically closed the door on Detective Yamashita’s nose when he poked into the dark room. The smaller detective shook his head, aghast at the very thought of entering something so feminine and private. And odd reluctance, for a man who called himself a detective.

Concluding their search, they head back to your front door and you trudge after them, feeling numb.

“Well, Miss (L/N), thank you for your time,” Detective Yamashita bows, followed closely by his compatriot. “If you hear or see anything out of the ordinary, please, don’t hesitate to give us a call. We’d also like to hear from your…friend if he drops by again.”

“Of course,” you demure, bowing back, praying that this is about to end.

“Have a pleasant day, we’ll be in touch.” Detective Ito grins and the two men make their way to the next apartment floor, their feet heavy against the carpet. Once your door is shut you fall down into the floor of your genkan, your heart pounding and hands shaking. Oh God, you have to…Wait, should you text him? You’re not using his name on your phone, but what if they’re already tracing it? Can they do that?

You pull yourself to your feet, your legs wobbly, and drag yourself back to your drafting desk, snatching up your phone. Your fingers tremble as you type in your message. You don’t know if you should put it in some kinda vague, coded wording, or if you should just toss the damn phone out the window and resort to smoke signals. Damn it.

[You: 1:13 pm]

Hey, some men came over. They were asking questions.

Well, it certainly doesn’t seem like a vague text, you think, looking over the message and hitting send. No, it looks like it’s screaming that you’re harboring Tomura Shigaraki. You move to your floor, back braced against the wall, waiting. It might be hours before he texts back. But, you didn’t want him coming over and then finding himself immediately captured by the police.

You bury your face in your hands, a low groan wracking out of your lips. Worst case, he won’t answer at all and all you’d have left of him are memories, not even realizing that they were the last interactions that the two of you would share.

The sudden vibration of your phone snaps you out of your head, and your hands shake so badly they send the device skittering across your mats. You tumble after it, lifting the screen and breathing a sigh of relief. He answered.

[Tenko: 1:23 pm]

5-2 Kusunokicho 7-chome

It’s an address. You highlight the text, hit copy, and paste it into the mapping app on your phone. It looks like it’s a tea shop. You stand, legs still trembling, and grab your purse and jacket, heading for your door. You poke your head out, into the hallway, and gather your strength. If you are going to do this, you need to look natural. Besides, if they are following you, hopefully Tomura would know what to do.

You gulp as you lock your door behind you, a morbid thought jumping into your mind. Well, here’s hoping that knowing what to do didn’t mean killing anyone.

******

The tea shop is busy. It’s raining, so that might have contributed to the bustle inside the shop. You pull the hood of your jacket higher, trying to shield your face from the freezing droplets. Tomura hadn’t texted again and you didn’t feel like it would be a good idea to ping your location on your phone.

In fact, you think belatedly, you might as well switch it off. As you power the device down, you hear a low whistle from the alleyway across the narrow street.

You turn your head slowly, the rain pattering against your face. There is a figure loitering toward the back. It isn’t distinguishable as anything other than dark. Well, fingers crossed you aren’t about to be murdered.

Splashing across the street you duck down the alleyway, thankful you’d thrown on some heavy boots for this excursion. The figure is stationary and you pause a few feet back, waiting. He lowers his hood, red eyes still focused on the street behind you. You almost run to him. You have to tense your legs to resist the temptation, your nails digging into your palms.

“Were you followed?” he rasps, watchful, his eyes flashing at you, the street, and finally, back to you. You shake your head.

You’d taken a route similar to the one you’d transversed when you came to the clinic to drop off the diagram for that prosthetic. Each time you’d switched trains or busses you had discretely studied the faces around you, looking for any repeats, anyone who might be tracking you. You’d even drifted into a few other shops before reaching this street, often ducking out a back door and taking the alleys to the next street over.

You’d been careful, you just hoped it was enough.

“This way, stay alert,” Tomura murmurs, his hands still firmly in his pockets. He leads you down another street and into a smaller back alley. He’s doing his own weaving now, taking you over some of the pathways twice, his eyes always peering over his shoulder, observant and sharp. Finally, he pauses in front of a dilapidated door and shoves his way inside.

“Come on,” he calls back to you, holding the door open, allowing some space for you to slink past him. He follows, yanking the metal closed, sealing you both inside.

You shrink back against the darkness, your eyes struggling to adjust. You can hear Tomura moving toward you, his breathing a low scratch against the silence. He stops at your side, the warmth of his body close.

Neither of you move for a time. You’re both listening. The only sounds you can make out is the rain and your own heartbeat. You close your eyes, your head thumping against the door. “God,” you whisper, your voice thick with disuse.

The sound makes Tomura shift closer, his arms pulling you to him, away from the cold metal. He presses a quick kiss against your temple and tugs you further into the room.

It looks abjectly barren.

There’s an old mattress in one corner and a smattering of trash, mostly cans and takeout containers, strewn over the greasy floorboards. It looks like it’s operating as his bedroom and the thought makes your heart squeeze. It’s fucking disgusting. No wonder he used you as a place to crash in the beginning. No human should live like this.

He flops down to sit on the mattress and pulls you after him. The two of you perch on the uneven surface and you let out a long sigh, overwhelmed. Tomura senses this and doesn’t press you. He lets you catch your breath, welcoming your leaning touch. Once you’ve shaken off your jitters, you begin.

“They were detectives. They said they saw you at a Tokyo station, so they checked CCTV and traced you to the stop by my apartment.” Tomura is silent and you gather your breath to continue.

“They talked with the landlady and they talked with that idiot coworker of mine, you know, the one who tried to come in the apartment that one night. It was vague shit, I tried my best to ask more than I talked.

One detective kept trying to get the other to stop telling me details. He finally shut down the whole thing, saying they’d be in touch and for me to give them a call if I saw anything. I…I just hope this doesn’t fuck things up for you, for-for us…I don’t...goddamn it…” You bury your face in your arms, a sob stuttering from you.

Tomura is quiet, but he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around your quaking shoulders.

******

He isn’t sure what he wants.

It’s not a sensation he experiences often and he’s finding it hard to grapple with. If he’s thinking selfishly, he would keep you with him. He’d drag you to hell and back if he could. He doesn’t want to give you up and he isn’t even sure if he can. A deep welling of possessiveness had overtaken him. You were his, just as he was yours.

It was strange to admit that.

He wanted to break everything to pieces, to decay it into nothingness, but, over the last few months, he’d come to adjust those goals. Not just with you, no, the same leniency applied to this league of his. They should have what they wanted, too.

So, he let you cry against him.

He wants to know what giving is like. To tell you that he could give you something of his. After all, he’d stripped you down to nothingness, taking and taking until you had finally lain bare and open in front of him. You’d started the process naturally, giving coming as easily to you as breathing.

He knew he didn’t want you around the league.

You were too different, too removed from that sense of desperation and fanatical idealism. And you didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t like seeing you in a place like this, dilapidated and crushed, sobbing against his chest, your warm tears soaking into his skin.

No, you deserved to be comfortable. You weren’t a fighter. You would try if he asked, he knew you would. But it wasn’t you. Besides, what did you want?

He would have to let you go. He’d known it from the first moment he’d felt your lips running across his. Still, it had come too soon. Perhaps that could be his gift to you? Letting you settle back into normality.

******

“What should I do?” You ask him, lifting your head from his chest, eyes puffy and tired. His gaze is clouded, the red murky, unfocused.

“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice hollow.

“Tomura,” you admonish, “I...I just don’t want you falling into some trap. Not because of this stupid…I don’t even know what to call it. I thought we were careful...I-I don’t know. I’m just so fucking mad.”

He smiles at your outburst, his scar lilting up. “What do you want to do?” He presses his forehead against yours, exhaling heavily, waiting for your answer.

“Move,” you reply, tipping your fingers up to trace along his jaw.

“Then move, it should be easy for you to get back to the U.S.”

You sigh, pulling your head back. “No, I don’t want to do that. I just mean, move somewhere that’s safe for-”

“The league is regrouping soon. We’ve caught wind of some…information. It’s going to take us farther out of the city. I was going to tell you tonight. I don’t know how long it will be. Could be months…” He speaks slowly, his voice lulling, soothing you, even as you take in what he’s actually saying. I’m leaving, get out while you can.

There is a long silence following his announcement, and you lean against him, burying your face against the rough fabric of his trench coat. So, just go home? Go back to the states? There has to be something that you’re not thinking of…

Tomura tilts your face up, craving contact. He runs his rough lips over yours, carefully letting his hands tap over your neck.

His kiss is light. The fleeting caress makes you press against him, your fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer. You moan when he tilts his head, sliding wetly across your lips. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth and you open, tangling with him. Tomura grunts at your eagerness and his nose bumps yours, his exhaled breath shaky, wanting.

You sigh. How were you supposed to just say ok? How could you be ok without having him like this? What if you wanted to try and remain at his side...could you ask that of him? What if…wait…wait…that’s it!

You pull back from him, gasping and he gives you a disgruntled look, a frown creasing his features. “Oh...that’s it! I know what to do!”

“Keep your voice down,” he reprimands, as you lean back to reach for your purse. You dig in the scattered contents and emerge with a small business card, a beaming smile across your face.

“Nico! He said to call him if I wanted to take him up on that job offer. He said I could draft for him. He’s at that clinic, and he said they work in a grey area, but they have some serious connections. It’s perfect. It lets me slip away, I’ve just got to be careful how I do it.”

Tomura snorts at your enthusiasm. “So, you just get a new job and all your troubles go away?”

“No, I tell my job I’m transferring back to the states and I pack up my apartment. It won’t be the cheapest thing I’ve ever done, but if I can pull it off, then it’s the perfect solution. I can find some place else to live, and slip into a new life, one where you can still come and go.”

He stares, his eyes wide in that childlike manner, the pupils blown. You smile and fling your arms around him, kissing along his neck. He grunts and presses you back, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Stop squirming,” he growls and you still obediently, not wanting to agitate him.

“Come on, don’t be like that, Tomura. It could work. At least let me try.” You plead, watching his face, trying to see if you could get a read on him.

“You actually are insane,” he sighs, rolling his eyes and turning his head to look away from your stare.

“No, I love you.”

It just tumbles out, but it’s too late to unring the bell. Besides, you stand by it.

He freezes underneath you, his head whipping back to yours. His eyes are sharp and his lips are lifted in a deep scowl. It’s an intense look he’s giving you, almost raw, dangerous. It makes your stomach flip, uncertainty pooling in your gut. You find yourself looking away and biting your lip, “I mean it, I-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else.

He’s pulling you against him with bruising force, his hands trembling as they press into your skin. He can’t even seem to focus enough to land his lips on yours. He tries again, then stops himself, his face lifting away, but he won’t let you go.

His arms are wrapped around you, his grip tightening and relaxing. He tries to look at you, but ends up ducking his head once your eyes catch his, burying his face in your neck, panting against your skin. He can’t stay still. No, he’s groaning, so brokenly against you that you’re worried he’s going to shake himself to bits.

You lift your arms, belatedly, to wrap around his neck. You try to hold him to you, desperate to seep a little reassurance, fuck, a little sanity into his trembling body. Tomura shakes his head at the confinement and shoves you down, against the mattress.

You squeak as your back hits the musty sheets, but he’s pinning you under him before you can protest.

“What did you say to me?” he finally snarls, his lips curled over his teeth. “No. I know you didn’t just fucking tell me that. How could you even- How? I’m a monst- I-I...” He can’t string his words together. His head dips to your neck, his lips rough against your skin. He can’t catch his breath and he won’t keep still.

You’re gasping under him, trying to hold him. But, it’s impossible to control him. You just shut your eyes against the emotions that he’s pulling from you and let him seethe above you.

“Look at me,” he growls, his voice hoarse and ragged. You try to wince your eyes open, but you’re too overwhelmed, you just can’t, you can’t look.

Why, you think distantly, why can’t you look?

You tell him you love him and now you can’t look at him? Are you afraid of what you’ll see? Afraid of the rejection that you know is coming? It doesn’t change anything, you tell yourself, even if he tells you to get out, it doesn’t change what’s happened between the two of you. No. If this is what you want, then tell him that. He has to...he has to hear it.

“Fucking look at me, (Y/N).”

“T-Tomura,” you try, a tear of frustration, of fear, slipping down your face. “Tomura, I mean it. I lov-”

“Stop it,” he moans, his breath hot against your cheek, his lips following the path of your tear, pressing the salty wetness away. He’s straddling your hips and his hands are curled, pressing into the bed.

“Don’t you fucking dare. You don’t mean it. You can’t-”

“Stop it, Tomura. Just, stop. You think I don’t mean it? How can you say that? After everything we, no, God, how can you fucking say that I don’t love you? When I’m right here, telling you that I do? You don’t get to dictate how I feel. What gives you the right to say that I don’t?” you ask, your voice an angry whisper. You can feel him shaking, his body wracked with his shivers and the realization gives you the courage to open your eyes. Your anger melts away at the sight that greets you.

He’s hunched over, his hair draped across his face and his eyes are clenched shut. He looks like he’s ready to fall apart. One of his hands lifts to scratch at his neck, dragging red lines down the scarred skin.

As if they have a mind all their own, your own hands lift, tugging free of his weight to cup around his face. He tries to yank his way out of your grasp but you just tighten your hold. He’s not getting away that easily.

“Tomura,” you call, keeping his face captive in your hands, forcing him back to you. “Tomura, I love you.”

He sags.

His whole body seems to shrink and his eyes finally meet your steely gaze. The red is bright, wild, gleaming in the darkness. You gulp and furrow your brow, a trembling exhale falling from your lips. You have to say it now. There’s no going back. The world is shattering, splintering to pieces above you, but he has to know. Before you lose him, he’s gotta at least know that one thing in this world that he hates so much, cares about him. Fuck, loves him.

“Sure,” you begin, still gripping your fingertips into the side of his head, slowly slipping up to tug at his hair. “I’m insane. I’ve fallen in love with someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with what I can offer.

It’s not going to work Tomura, I know it’s not. But, goddamn it, at least let me try. I know I don’t get to keep you, I don’t even know what you’re fucking planning to do. You could want to burn down the world for all I care. I just...I just want to hold on a little longer.”

He’s slack jawed and his eyes are wide and unfocused. He’s still panting but he’s not fighting against your hold anymore. Finally, he closes his eyes and lowers his head, his forehead coming to rest against yours.

“Say it again,” he requests, his voice muted, thick with longing.

“What? The whole thing?”

He lets out a wheezing laugh and you slowly start to breathe again.

“You know what I want,” he murmurs. You lift his head from you, tilting until you catch his eyes.

“I love you, Tomura.” A low shudder echoes up his spine and his eyes drift closed again.

“Fuck,” he rumbles, tugging his head from your hands. He doesn’t go far. Instead, he flops to his side and drags you over, draping you across him, his arms latching around you, keeping you in place.

You sigh, relieved, dipping your head against him, feeling for his heartbeat. You’re both quiet and the room stills around you. Your fingers are tracing lazy circles over his crossed arms, careful to avoid his clenched fists. He presses his nose against your hair, inhaling deeply.

“Stay,” he says above you, his breath stirring across the top of your head.

You smile against his chest and duck into his warmth. His grip on you tightens, lean muscles coiling, holding you to him. You can feel his lips as they run along the top of your head, tapping soft kisses into your hair.

Ok, so it’s not the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard, but you wouldn’t have wanted him any other way.

******

Your new apartment is nothing to sneeze at. Nico hadn’t been joking about that pay raise. He also was so much more than you were expecting. Not in a bad way, just in a, hey, I know some shit just went down, are you ok, kinda way. He didn’t pry, but he’d gone out of his way all the same.

The rest of the team at the clinic has also been absolutely stellar at helping you to get set up. Need something moved? On it! It’s like a big family and you can’t wipe the smile off your face most days.

As for your old job, they had been disappointed, but they understood why you wanted to get back to America. However, the American side of that job hadn't been so thrilled at your resignation, but you had received a glowing review from your old boss stateside. You liked to pull it up on your new laptop, reading over the words of encouragement and shaking your head at just how seriously you’d taken her advice.

Your Japanese work buddies were heartbroken, Hanabi most of all. But, you promised to keep in touch. You hadn’t quite figured out how you were going to do that, but that was a problem for another day.

All in all, things were going to plan. You had asked Nico for a little bit of extra help with the paperwork, explaining some of the details to him, and he had been quick to get you set up with a new passport, visa and residency card. It was like the old you was just a blip. You’d just need to keep your head down for a while, check the news, and see where all the extra precautions took you. It wouldn’t be easy, but what part of life was?

Tomura had stopped by after you finished setting up your new tv and console. Appropriately, he’d said he wanted to try it out and had then proceeded to ignore you while you set up the rest of the room. You didn’t mind.

The two of you were trying to make the most of the next couple of days. That lead he’d mentioned was somewhere on the outskirts of Tokyo and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be gone. He’d reminded you of that fact, over and over, until you’d finally told him to shut up and let you enjoy the time that you did have with him.

“Hey,” you call, unboxing the last of your new dishes, “got you something.” He tilts his head toward you, eyes still glued to his game. Rolling your eyes at his inattention, you wander over, leaning over your new couch to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Pause it,” you demand, dropping a kiss against his temple. He grumbles, but you persist, nibbling on the shell of his ear when he tries to prolong his session.

“What?” He lifts his head up to look at you, his hair falling back against your arms.

“I want to give you something,” you reply, pressing your lips to his forehead before unwinding your arms and stepping around the couch. He eyes you suspiciously as you perch on your coffee table. You lift a key up, wagging it beside your face.

“It’s a key,” you taunt. He smirks and snatches it from you, pocketing it and tugging you forward.

His kiss is soft, so achingly soft that you melt into his arms immediately, flopping against his lean chest.

“Stop being so dramatic,” he grumbles, shifting you to a more comfortable position across his lap. Your legs straddle his hips and he holds you against him, his fingers warm against your hips.

“Can’t say I never got you anything,” you tease, leaning back and grinning down at him.

“Same,” he huffs, reaching into his pocket again and tossing a small phone at you. You fumble to catch it. He snorts at your scrambling and you pout.

“It’s not like you’re throwing it at a normal angle or anything.”

It’s small in your hands, almost obsolete in this modern age. You flip it open and already see a contact programmed in: Tenko Shimura.

“So you don’t bring any more cops around. It also can’t be traced.” His voice is hushed, almost embarrassed. It makes your heart flutter.

“Awe, a burner phone. I’ll cherish it always,” you jab and tilt his chin up, so you can keep kissing him.

******

A low vibrating wakes you. Blearily, you check your phone, only to be greeted with a normal screen, no missed messages or emails. Huh? The vibrating continues and you suddenly realize what it is. Flinging your feet out of bed, you rush to your charger, unhooking the old phone Tomura gave you.

[Tenko: 2:23 am]

Out of the city. Found a new friend.

There’s a picture underneath the words and you click the buttons until it lets you highlight and bring up the image.

It looks like he’s in a forest and you’re shocked he has a signal. But…what the hell is that?

There’s something nestled between all the greenery and it looks ominously like a man. If it’s real, it’s practically a giant, no, actually hulking would be a better word…

It’s practically a living, hulking mountain. Unsure if your sleepy brain is playing tricks on you, you exit the image, deciding that 2 am is not the time to unpack this particular phenomenon.

[You: 2:35 am]

Looks, uh, interesting? Be safe & Love you.

- Fin

Author’s Note:

Ugh, this was such a bittersweet chapter for me. I wrote this fic in its entirety back in the last few weeks of August. I had time before my classes started again and I leapt at the opportunity. In many ways, I identified more and more with the reader insert as I tried to pour out my ideas. I wanted to hold onto this tiny story that I’d outlined, to see if I could make something like this work after such a long break from writing on this scale.

So, out came Look Upon the Light.

It was like a fever dream. I couldn’t stop now that I’d started. After I reached the 8th, and final, chapter, I spent the next two months pouring over what I’d written, editing endlessly. I wanted to make things feel just right.

I went from this bombastic climax to something more subdued. Why not let it be an anticlimactic ending? Life often works that way and sometimes things just, well, end.

Tomura, in particular, has changed so much over the course of this journey.

There were days when I felt like he sounded terrible, nothing like the complex character that I loved so much. But, with my sister's wonderful edits and suggestions, main ideas & patience and countless read-reads of the manga, I got a handle on him and I am so proud of how he’s come out.

Canonically, I feel like this gap in the main story is the only time something like this romance could happen to him. Tomura is in a fragile place. For the first time in his life there’s no one looking over his shoulder and he’s become a character who is worlds away from where he started.

His goals are finally solidifying and he acknowledges that the members of his league deserve to have what they want too. Inside, no matter what has been stripped from him, he’s always been Tenko Shimura: that little boy who wanted to play with the outliers, to make sure that he was letting them feel included too. I indulgently like to think that if someone like the reader existed, their relationship might help him to come to terms with this part of himself.

Finally, this wouldn’t have been possible without you, dear readers. I have cherished each and every kudo, comment, subscription, like, and reblog. I was so scared to put this out. There are so, so many talented writers for this fandom and I was nervous. It had been so long since I’d written anything on this scale, would it sound ok? You all have been so supportive and welcoming and I love you so much. The response I received from posting this let me feel confident enough to explore some of my other favorite characters.

So, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I mean it when I say that you all are amazing and I wish each of you so much joy.

While this won’t be the last time I write for Tomura, there are other facets of his personality that I want to explore, I will wait a bit to do any updates to this story. I want things to catch up and settle within the manga itself before I toss the reader back into Tomura’s life. I do hope that they can come together again, as I have become their biggest fan.

In the meantime, The Gap in the Door will explore some of their other interactions. Some take place around the time of the chapter Polaroid, but some will look into other parts of the story. If you have a prompt, or want to see another glimpse into anything that happened, let me know. These two are so much fun to write and I enjoy head cannoning how they could fit together.

In short, thank you again for all you’ve done for me and take care of yourselves.

Tags: @inumorph, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @possum-person, @akutaguagua

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hjbender · 4 years ago

Note

Hi it's that Donald Blake au anon, and I agree I don't like Donald in general it's weird and sometimes in the comics he has a stick that he's always holding onto then he bangs it and somehow becomes Thor, idk. But the au is something that really interested me cuz it has so much potential, like is Thor an Avenger in this au, does he have to wait til Loki is not looking to go and save the world? Or is he not worthy yet and somehow choosing to reveal himself to Loki the real way to be worthy?

OH HAI AGAIN, ANON. THANK YOU FOR RETURNING

Yeah, I’m kind of glad the writers and directors decided to leave out the whole “mild-mannered human alias” from the Thor franchise. Really, so many superheroes already have alter egos—Peter Parker is Spider-Man, Ryan Reynolds is Deadpool, literally every single one of the OG Avengers except Thor has another name—that for once it’s nice to just have Thor be Thor.

But as far as that brilliant idea you pitched, in the first couple drafts of my answer, I actually started to rewrite Thor (2011) to make your idea fit with canon. However, after getting stuck a couple times, I started thinking it might work better away from canon (specifically Earth 616), more like a true alternate universe, no Avengers or Thanos or anything. Or, to make things simpler, it could just be a Porn With Feelings deal where the story is driven by characters and drama (and, of course, porn).

For the PWP approach, Thor masquerades as an MD on Earth because he genuinely likes to help people and having a human form helps him escape detection, or possibly keep his powerful electromagnetic radiation field from harming humans. In any case, Loki is unaware of his brothers super-secret human identity.

Somehow Loki bites off more than he can chew or pisses off the wrong supervillain—it’s practically his hobby, isn’t it?—and ends up getting his ass beaten and thrown to Earth. Miraculously, Thor (as Don Blake) is there to help him, and Thor can’t risk getting his cover blown, so he just plays along while Loki regains use of his limbs and/or powers (a perfect opportunity for some hurt/comfort whump sickfic type tags). Thor brings Loki to his apartment until he can fully recover, and in that time, Loki finds himself bonding with this disabled and good-natured human man who reminds him so much of his brother… and thus begins the forbidden romance and angst-ridden relationship drama.

...okay, so the PWP setup actually has a lot more plot than your average smutfic. (But just think of all the opportunities for medical kink in this one. Like Loki pretending he feels hot and achy and insisting that Blake give him a thorough, private exam… on the kitchen table… with stethoscopes and tongue depressors and lots of poking and prodding and pelvic exams. Anyone? No? Just me?)

The actual canon setup is the one I tried (unsuccessfully) to write out, but here’s a bullet list of the basic plot (get comfortable, this gets kind of long):

After defeating the frost giants in Norway in 900-something, Odin secretly makes a deal with Laufey to raise Loki as his own son, then marry him off to Thor so they can establish everlasting peace with Jötunheim (just like Odin and Frigga did to stop the Æsir-Vanir war). Thor and Loki’s children will be heirs to both royal houses. Upon Thor’s ascension to the throne, Odin will then return the Casket of Ancient Winters to its rightful place, and Jötunheim will flourish again with Asgard as its protector/ally

Loki is a lot more autonomous and independent than his original cinematic depiction, traveling the realms to learn seiðr and be an ambassador (and cause mischief, naturally, but nothing that can’t be fixed or used to his advantage). He’s always held a secret torch for his brother but knows there’s little/no hope of it ever being reciprocated, thus he stays away from Asgard as much as possible

Thor loves and misses his brother (perhaps too much). Their parents would surely disapprove of their relationship, gods or not, and besides, Loki is too much of a free spirit, a wanderer, content with his own company. Asking anything more of him (like a grounded, committed relationship) is something Thor could never do

Loki returns to Asgard on the eve of Thor’s coronation with gifts and smiles, and Thor embraces him with deep affection. They almost confess their feelings to one another, but shy away at the last moment (damn!)

Meanwhile, Malekith the Accursed (comics version Malekith, who is a lot sexier and generally more interesting/diabolical than his MCU counterpart) doesn’t like that Laufey is planning to make peace with Asgard and sever his alliance with Svartalfheim, and somehow breaks into the Vault on Thor’s coronation day just so he can frame Laufey and sour the arrangement with Odin

Odin decides not to act, sure that something else must be going on. Loki decides to take the intellectual route and do some investigating while Thor and his warrior companions sneak into Jötunheim to kick some ass

Thor accuses Laufey of wrongdoing, just as Malekith wanted, and almost incites a war with the frost giants. Odin banishes him to earth to live as a disabled human man until he can learn some humility

After much screaming at the sky and manly weeping, Thor finally accepts his fate and his new human identity

Enough time passes (months? A year?) that Thor eventually learns to be humble and considerate, helping other humans physically and emotionally in the medical field (I imagine him becoming an orderly at a local hospital since being a doctor requires years of education and money. Also, being thrown to Earth without a penny to his name will help Thor work through some of his entitlement and privilege issues. I headcanon he was aided by some good-hearted humans who were able to find employment for him and a place to stay, help him get on his feet, basically)

With Thor out of the way and the royal family torn apart, Malekith begins preparing for his attack on Asgard

Loki doesn’t know that Thor is trapped in a human form, only that he was banished and all contact forbidden. Loki is suspicious of the frost giants and goes to Jötunheim alone, where Laufey reveals everything to him—including Loki’s betrothal to Thor

Loki is stunned at first, unable to believe that the thing he’s wanted most was always meant to be his, and he hurriedly leaves Jötunheim

He tries to sneak to Midgard without using the Bifrost, but Malekith catches him en route and they fight. He throws a binding spell on Loki to render him powerless and then beats the living daylights out of him

Loki crash lands on Earth not far from where his brother was banished (he had been following the last known path from Asgard to Midgard), and is rendered temporarily powerless and amnesiac, not remembering anything about his fight with Malekith, Thor’s banishment, or why he was on his way to Midgard

Loki wakes up in a hospital bed with a kind human man looking after him. After an unsuccessful escape attempt, he settles in and finds himself comforted by Donald Blake’s presence. It’s… soothing, somehow familiar…(maybe it’s the drugs talking)

Thor instantly recognizes his brother but he cannot reveal himself, either because he’ll look insane/lose his job or maybe Odin made it so he’s unable to even speak the name “Thor” until he’s worthy again. In any case, Thor decides it won’t hurt to beat Loki at his own game just this once (Loki has played this prank on him more times than Thor can count). He ends up taking Loki back home with him once he’s discharged from the hospital

As his memories and powers slowly return, Loki is surprised that Blake listens to and believes everything he claims to be, and soon grows to trust and even like the man. He’s never really had a true friend before… except for his brother, Thor, of course. Blake reminds him so much of Thor…

While things gradually heat up between Loki and Blake-Thor, Malekith disguises himself as Loki (just as he did in the War of the Realms comic arc) and returns to Asgard. Odin and Frigga learn that Loki had indeed traveled to Jötunheim and confront their “son” about what he might have learned there

Not knowing it’s actually Malekith they are speaking to, they reveal the truth about Loki’s parentage and upbringing, and the reasons for his betrothal. Malekith is shocked, then amused at his good fortune. He decides to use this information to his own advantage

Malekith plots to bring Thor back to Asgard and insist that they be married at once. Thor will be crowned king, and when Thor finishes swearing his oaths, Malekith will steal Gungnir and kill Thor with it (and the entire royal family of Asgard). He will then steal the Casket of Ancient Winters, return to Jötunheim, kill Laufey and all the rest of his clan, and then head to Midgard to finish off the last of that bloodline: Loki. Then, with the power of Gungnir, Mjölnir, and the Casket of Ancient Winters, nothing will be able to stop him from bringing war and chaos to the Nine Realms

My brain is smoking and on its last cylinder right now, and I know this post is already decades long, so I’m gonna cheat and skip the whole part where Thor and Loki somehow learn about Malekith’s plot (maybe the Warriors Four come to Earth to warn them), and Thor becomes worthy again, revealing himself to a stunned Loki, and they all go flying back to Asgard, beat Malekith in an epic battle, and save the day

Once the dust has cleared, Thor is crowned king to an audience of Æsir and Jötnar, followed immediately by his and Loki’s wedding. Everyone cheers, Volstagg weeps and uses Fandral as a handkerchief, and Malekith gets a tiny slice of the wedding cake down in the dungeons

The end 🍰

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juniperwindsong · 5 years ago

Text

In Love & War (3/3)

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been so kind as to comment on this story and even kinder in their patience for how long it took to complete. I’ve never struggled so much to write anything, and I might still be staring at an unfinished draft if it weren’t for the help of the most incredible, @navirosera, who listened patiently to my ranting, raving, and complaining and provided the spark to help me finish. I really can’t thank you enough.

I have posted the remaining part of the chapter at the bottom so it’s in its proper place. If you’ve already read the first part of this, just keep scrolling till it looks new.

Part 3: Quatervois

You hold your left hand up against the glass of the window. The setting sun catches the diamond of your ring, creating lines of rainbow light. It gives the impression your whole hand is sparkling. You smile. It's only a modest sized diamond set against a pale gold band. But it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"Something out there I should be jealous of?"

Arms encircle your waist. A warm body presses against you from behind.

"'Out there'"?" you echo playfully. "Oh, I suppose there is a lovely ocean view. I hadn't noticed."

Felix rests his chin on your shoulder to see what's caught your attention.

"You know, I really ought to get you another one. Something better. With a diamond you can actually see."

You spin around in Felix's arms.

"Don't you dare. I love it. It's perfect."

Felix glances at your hand now resting against his chest. He frowns at the ring slightly.

"Hardly perfect. It's ridiculously small. It barely counts as an engagement ring."

You wrinkle your nose at him. "Then why did you pick it in the first place?"

A hot blush creeps up Felix's cheeks, a sight you find intensely amusing.

"There's a face I don't see often,” you laugh softly.

A change comes over Felix. His eyes widen, and he leans away from you, dropping his arms. He peers into your face intently as if he's seen something he doesn't like. You’re worried you must have offended him.

"I wasn't poking fun," you assure him soothingly. You close the distance he’s created between you, reaching up to take his still heated cheek in your palm. "I like it. Makes you look younger."

Felix's eyes soften. "Do I look old then?"

"Far too old for me." You shake your head in mock concern. "What my friends will say when they discover I've eloped with my prefect, I can't imagine." Your face suddenly clouds. "Why did we elope? Was there a reason? I mean, it was lovely little chapel, but it would have been nice to have my friends there. And Mrs Weasley will be so disappointed when she finds out.”

Felix swallows. “The war, remember?” He hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Everyone choosing sides. We didn't want them to be uncomfortable."

"Oh. Right."

On some level you're aware this doesn't make sense. But the vibrations against your throat send lightning through your body. The answer no longer seems important. You run your hands through Felix's hair as he places hot, slow kisses up your neck, under your chin. When he reaches your lips he murmurs against them: "Let me buy you a new ring. Please."

You shake your head. Your nose nuzzles his with each small movement. "No. This is the one I want."

You’re at a loss for how this sweet statement could cause your new husband to look so unhappy.

"Not again! That's the second time this week!"

The sudden exclamation startles you from your reverie. You lift your head from its resting place against your hand. You’re in the Burrow's kitchen with an irate Mrs Weasley, not a villa in Nice with Felix. The sun setting outside the window had brought the memory back.

Mrs Weasley wads the offensive letter up and throws it into the fire.

"I mean really, and at the last minute, too. So inconsiderate. I suppose that sort of thing is acceptable in France, but you'd think manners would be the same everywhere, wouldn't you? Pass me that cutting board, dear."

You rise from your chair and reach up to pull the cutting board from a high shelf. You could easily retrieve it with magic, but you need the distraction. It's precisely the reason you've moved to the Burrow. Mrs Weasley's strict regimen of conversation and domestic work keeps your mind from wandering. Most of the time.

You offer Mrs Weasley the cutting board, then lean against the counter. You force yourself to pay attention to her diatribe.

“I'm sure it's a phase, but I do hope it will pass soon. Once he grows out of that hair and that earring," Mrs Weasley shudders. "And that's really the most telling, isn't it? Any woman who likes that sort of thing can’t possibly be any good. You don't approve of it, surely?"

You look up from where your gaze has fallen to your hand and shake your head vigorously.

Her opinions safely confirmed, Mrs Weasley returns to the cutting board. She directs her wand to a veritable army of knives that begin dicing vegetables with gusto. "Like I say, very telling. Bill never used to be like this. He would never have dreamed of sending an owl last minute saying he wouldn't be at dinner. I mean really! What if we'd had something important to discuss? What if-"

You stare at the ring on your finger. It's the same one from your memory: a single, small diamond, a band of pale gold. Humble, but an auror's salary isn’t high. And this is definitely the ring Talbott had given you.

You relish the ability to call this memory to mind. You, dusting the curtains in your cheery flat when Talbott suddenly appears behind you. He presses a small blue box wordlessly into your hands. Your heart stops when you open it.

Talbott isn't one for material gifts. You never ask them of him. You had intended, once you were married, to find a simple wedding band to indicate your new status. For Talbott to think of it himself means more than you can say in words. Instead, you spend a long, fervid night showing him.

You close your eyes, savouring the echoes of bliss reverberating through your body. Until a question wheedles its way in like a leech.

Why would Felix have pretended the ring was his? Even for a second? It didn't fit Felix's extravagant style at all. He hadn't been happy with it, that much is clear from your newly remembered honeymoon scene. So why didn't he remove it after obliviating you? Replace it with another?

The inconsistency bothers you. Against your better judgment, you tentatively prod your brain for an explanation. But while your memories from before the fateful spell all seem to be intact, the days immediately after remain fuzzy.

"...talking about visiting her family, and it's much too soon for that. Imagine going all the way to France for a girl he's really only known a short time. I didn't meet Arthur's family until..."

You shake your head firmly, clearing it of unwanted thoughts. You'll never understand what Felix did. You're not supposed to be thinking about him, anyway. You straighten, and interrupt Mrs Weasley mid-sentence.

"Can I do something to help, Mrs Weasley?"

"Oh," Mrs Weasley stops abruptly. "Well, I really only have the potatoes left to mash, and that’s just -"

"I'll do it.”

You walk to the sink before Mrs Weasley can argue. A pot of peeled and boiled potatoes waits expectantly. You tap the masher with your wand and set it to work with vigour. You can feel Mrs Weasley's eyes on you, but you keeps yours fixed to the sink.

After a moment, Mrs Weasley returns to her knives, now scraping the diced vegetables into a bowl. "You know, I was thinking," she says in an airy, would-be-casual voice that instantly puts you on your guard. "I'd planned for four, and it would be a shame to let all this extra food go to waste. Why not invite your young man to dinner?"

The masher spins wildly in the pot, spilling potatoes over the side before you can correct it. Mrs Weasley continues as though she hasn’t noticed.

"It's been some time since you last saw him. And goodness knows, he looks like he could use a solid meal. What he must be eating without anyone to take care of him..."

You remember the assorted debris of take-away strewn about your old flat's kitchen table. A short stab of pain punctures your lungs. Imagining Talbott alone in the ruins of the home you once shared robs you of air.

"Y/N, the masher!"

"What?"

You look up to find the masher dancing across the counter, trailing potato in its wake. You break the enchantment and return it to the pot, then reach for a dish towel. You try to mop up the soggy potato droppings, but your vision is blurred by tears.

The dish towel is plucked gently from your fingers. You look up through wet eyes to find Mrs Weasley peering at you in concern.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to press. I understand if you need more time to-"

"It's not that, Mrs Weasley," you say, through sniffs. "I just...I... I miss him. I miss everything."

"You know, dear," Mrs Weasley says delicately, "Arthur and I have had our fair share of rows. Why, I remember one in our seventh year, nearly ended us. I couldn't eat a bite for weeks. But, there's never a problem two people can't solve if they're just willing to talk through it."

You sigh heavily, wiping your hand across your eyes. You let yourself sink into a kitchen chair.

"Talbott doesn't talk, Mrs Weasley. I'm the one who always solves these sorts of problems. I've never minded, but this time...this time I just don't know how."

Mrs Weasley flicks her wand at the masher. It resumes its duties at a more stately pace, and she draws the chair next to yours.

"Talbott is a good man, dear. A bit strange, and - well, I do admit, I'd rather hoped you and Charlie would...well...that doesn't matter now - what I mean to say is Talbott loves you. I'm sure he doesn't expect everything to be just the way it was all at once. But you have to start somewhere or it'll never come right."

You worry your lip between your teeth. You don’t know what Talbott thinks of you right now, and you’re afraid to find out. But Mrs Weasley's arguments chip away at your fear. You do want to see him again. And Talbott is unlikely to come find you himself.

"I suppose I might...send him an owl."

Mrs Weasley's smile is so bright it hurts to look at it.

"Really? Oh, that's wonderful! I'm so thrilled. Here, let me do it. You go get dressed!"

"What?"

"Well, you can't let him see you in that!"

You look down at your clothes: an old house dress of Mrs Weasley's and a jumper of Charlie's, both extremely baggy.

"Mrs Weasley, Talbott's seen me in just about everything."

"Yes, well, a little bit of effort never hurt. In fact, why don't I pop down to Diagon Alley before the shops close and pick up some of those delightful little cakes he liked so much last Christmas. I'll send the owl on the way. Now go!"

It's useless to argue with Mrs Weasley when she's in this state. You climb the stairs, listening to her chatter to herself as she pulls on a travelling shawl. For the first time in days, you manage a weak smile.

You spend a few minutes prodding your wand across an old summer dress from Mrs Weasley's school days. You've never excelled at the sort of charms Andre used to transform clothes into something magical, but you do your best. The end result, if not exactly fashionable, doesn't look as though two of you might fit in it. You run a brush through the tangled knots in your hair, and, after a minute's debate, decide in favour of lipstick.

You feel distinctly foolish.

It makes no sense to be dressing yourself up to meet the man you've lived with since you left school. Even less so to be this self-conscious about it. But Mrs Weasley's excitement has apparently infected you. Your stomach is full of swarming butterflies. It reminds you of your very first date with Talbott.

You cross to the looking-glass and inspect yourself critically. While you may feel like a teenager again, your reflection shows quite a bit more wear. Your face is pinched and wan, like someone recovering from a long illness. You lean in closer, practicing a smile. Something moves in the corner of the glass.

You whirl around, fumbling for your wand. The room is empty. It must have a been a trick of the light. Instinct puts you on your guard, however, and you inspect the room again, more slowly. As your eyes pass the window, you catch a glimpse of something moving in the yard. You blink, and look again, unwilling to believe your eyes.

Felix is picking his way across the long grass, surveying the Burrow with a mixture of distaste and apprehension.

Your brain stalls. Thoughts peter out as soon as they begin. You don't know what to do, what to think, what to feel.

Felix glances up. You know he can see your silhouette in the window. It's in the way his rich brown eyes suddenly catch fire.

"Y/N, I know you're there," Felix calls softly. "I just want to talk to you. Please."

A battle begins inside you. Part of you wants to hurl a curse out the window at Felix. Part of you wants to hide under the bed. But neither of these are in charge of your feet. You're walking out of the room and down the stairs before your brain catches up to what you're doing. It stops you just before you reach the kitchen door. You can't really be considering this. Felix has proven exactly what he's capable of. Walking out there to him is like walking into a snake pit.

Only this time, you know. You're prepared. You're not the girl of a year ago, naively believing she could be just friends with a Rosier. Nor are you his thrall. Your head is as clear as it's ever been. And you have things you want to say. You clench your hand firmly around your wand, and step outside.

You keep your eyes on your feet as you walk. Just taking even steps requires considerable effort. You stop when you see Felix's shoes. It's several seconds before you're able to raise your gaze to his, and then it takes all your self-control to keep your jaw from dropping.

You've never seen Felix this worse for wear. His robes are so rumpled he might have slept in them. His hair is untidy, his nails unclean. There are circles under his eyes as dark as bruises.

Pity, and something else you refuse to name, well up inside your throat. The desire to put your arms around him, to stroke his cheek or straighten his hair, anything to fix his face into something less pained, is overwhelming. You hate yourself for it. You quickly recite every terrible thing Felix has done in your head. But you've never been able to stay angry with Felix when he looks at you like that.

"Y/N." Felix says your name like a prayer. You will your heart not to break. You keep your voice as expressionless as possible.

"What do you want?"

"I - I just want to talk," Felix repeats. "To ex-explain." His impassive mask slips as he stutters. For some reason, this display of nerves inspires you with confidence.

"I already heard your explanations. What else could you possibly have to say?"

Felix rubs his palms against his trousers.

'That wasn't - I mean - I didn't get to...to say everything I needed to. It was all so..." You don't think you've ever seen Felix so lost for words. You grip your wand tighter to stop your hand reaching for him. "I didn't get to explain myself clearly. Explain what happened. Why I...I did what I did."

At these words, your desire erupts into rage. It's almost a relief to finally feel it. You let it boil your blood, vibrate in your limbs. You clench your fist around your wand so tight your knuckles turn white. As if the immensity of Felix's crimes could be summed up in a few simple words.

"You mean, why you obliviated me? Why you erased Talbott from my memories and ruined both our lives?" The bitterness that's festered inside you for weeks spews forth like lava. "You lied to me, Felix! You let me feel like I was going mad! You forced me to marry you, and then kept me locked in your house like a-"

"But I didn't!" Felix's cry is anguished. It only fuels your fury.

"How...dare you! How can you really think I'm that stupid? That I would fall for that? I remember everything Felix! I heard you admit it, and I know I'm not insane. Denying what you've done won't change anything, it just makes you look pathetic.”

Felix flinches as if your word were a curse.

"I'm not denying what I did. I did...obliviate you. And I did lie. But...I didn't force you to marry me."

"Just because you didn't hold a wand to my head doesn't mean I wasn't forced. You can't get out of this on semantics."

"I'm not trying to get out of anything," Felix says quickly. He looks up, staring at a point just near your ear. "Look, I made you forget him...Talbott. I thought...without him to worry about or pressuring you to stay...I could convince you to run. Go visit your relatives in America. But I-I don't know...maybe the spell went wrong. I've never used a memory charm before. But you seemed to forget everything. You weren't sure who you were, or where you were. I was terrified."

Felix takes a step closer. You know you should stop him, but you're hooked to his words. Your anger flounders as you struggle to find this memory, to prove Felix is lying yet again. But all you remember is Felix's wand pointed at you...then nothing.

"I didn't know what to do," Felix continues. "I couldn't just leave you there, or - or send you to another country while you didn't even know your own name. So I...I took you home. With me. I thought...maybe I could figure out a way to undo it. Or something. I don't know, I never had to find out. When you woke the next morning, you were better. Or at least, you knew who you were and who I was. But...I suppose the spell had worked because you didn't remember...Talbott." Felix's fingers twist at his sides. "But then you - you saw the ring and you asked if... we were...engaged."

You look down at the diamond ring on your hand. Something in the way it catches the light reminds you of a moment in the Rosier kitchen: leaning against the butcher's table, your head pounding, a fog across your senses; Felix standing in front of you, as nervous as he is now. You hear your voice ask a question, and you hear Felix's response...

"I didn't know what to say! I didn't know how to explain the ring without mentioning Talbott, and I didn't know what else you remembered or-or how you felt about me. I just...I wanted you. I've always wanted you, so I...I said-"

" 'Only if you want to be'."

Felix's eyes meet yours. There's a soft, eager light in them, as if the memory is something he cherishes.

"You...remember that?"

'I didn't until just now."

You stare at the Felix in front of you, but your mind is faraway. Back in the kitchen, watching Felix wait for your answer. You stood there, your aching mind picking through its tangled memories, sorting through all your moments with Felix. The way he'd always been there for you at school. The way his seriousness made you laugh, and his little touches made you shiver. The decision was as easy as breathing.

"I said, yes," you whisper into the air.

Felix says nothing. He only nods.

The emotions writhing within you evaporate. Anger, desire, everything you've felt toward Felix is suddenly missing. Wind blows, and it sounds like a foreign language. The world around you is as unfamiliar and threatening as a different planet. You don't know how to exist in it. You can only stand, frozen and unsure.

After a minute of silence, Felix continues.

"I know I shouldn't have let you believe it, or - or let it go as far as I did. I should have sent you to America, like I meant to. But... I couldn't help it. I love you. I always have." Felix's hand jerks oddly, as if he meant to take yours before thinking better of it."I told myself it was better this way. That you were safer with me. But...you were right. I did it for myself, and I - I'm sorry. I know it doesn't fix anything, but I am. And, I want...to make it up to you."

This time, Felix lets his hand reach for yours. You make no move to stop him. He strokes your limp fingers delicately, as if they were made of glass.

"I made a mistake, and I - I hate what it's done to you. But I love you, Y/N. You can't pretend I don't. And if you'll let me, I'll spend my life making it up to you."

You can only stare. Your brain has forgotten how to form words. Felix is just beginning to look concerned, when the door to the Burrow's kitchen opens with a bang. The sound breaks your spell, and you rip your hand away.

"Get - off - my - land!"

Mr Weasley marches across the grass toward you, Mrs Weasley and Talbott in his wake. Mr Weasley's wand is stretched out in front of him, but Talbott gets there first. He sends a quick, silent hex flying across the yard. Felix has no time to block it. He throws himself to the ground to avoid the red light, then rolls into a crouch, wand at the ready.

"Come inside, Y/N, quickly!" Mrs Weasley grabs your arm and yanks you away. You let her drag you back toward the Burrow. Your legs are too weak to walk on their own. You watch Talbott hurl spell after spell at Felix, who blocks them as he beats a hasty retreat. He reaches the edge of the Weasley property, and with a last glance in your direction, disapparates.

"Sit here, dear. Let me make a cup of tea." Mrs Weasley pushes you into a chair. "I should never have left you alone, I can't believe I-"

Her prattle is interrupted by the slam of the kitchen door. Talbott tumbles inside, breathing heavily, still clutching his wand. His head swivels until he finds you.

"Why was he here?"

It's the first time in weeks you've stared into Talbott's yellow-gold eyes. They're flashing like you've never seen. You search for your voice. Your brain is still racing.

"What was he doing here, Y/N?"

Talbott stalks closer, his movements rigid. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. You have no frame of reference for Talbott angry with you.

Mrs Weasley clears her throat. "Now really, Talbott, I don't think that's-"

"He just...came to talk." Your voice is a low rasp, but it cuts cleanly through Mrs Weasley's protests.

"To talk?"

"Yes."

A feral sort of growl escapes Talbott's throat. He turns, kneading the back of his neck viciously. He paces to the kitchen door, then back again, like a caged animal. It's almost frightening. But you're sick of feeling confusion and fear, and you're sick of feeling sorry. You'd rather be angry some more. You stand, letting the rage you couldn't finish venting on Felix flow through you again.

"So you talked?” Talbott spits the words, each syllable tight and clipped. "You talked to him after everything he's done? After you know what he is? He's a Death Eater, Y/N, and a liar. That's who you want to talk to?”

"At least he cared enough to come find me - unlike you." Your words shock Talbott into stillness. “I just disappear, you get some letter that doesn't even sound like me, and you just write me off as lost?"

Talbott is rooted to the floor. He can't move, even as you advance on him.

"What Felix did was terrible, Talbott. But he did it because he loves me."

"You want me to do something terrible to prove I love you?"

"I just want you to do something!"

Talbott's nostrils flare. His upper lip twitches like he's holding back a sneer.

"So, you'd like me better if I were more like Felix Rosier? If I kidnapped you? Cast spells on you to make you do what I want, like a puppet?"

"I wasn't a puppet!" Your vision blurs red, and you lose all control of your tongue. “Felix didn't force me to marry him, Talbott, I wanted to! When I didn't remember you anymore, I realised I was in love with him and I wanted to be with him. That's what he came for. To remind me of that."

The ghost of your words lingers in the kitchen for several minutes, each as long as years. Talbott's face is entirely blank. Mrs Weasley's hands are clapped over her mouth in horror. You don't care. Saying it out loud releases a weight from your shoulders. It leaves you light-headed and exhausted.

"So...you do love him."

It isn't a question. Talbott's voice is resigned. Guilt tugs at your heart, but you can't really feel it. You're too tired to feel much of anything.

"I don't know. I don't know...anything anymore." You fall into the nearest chair. You drop your head into your hands, your eyelids heavy. "I feel like I'm two different people. Like I've lived two different lives. I was happy in both of them, but... I don't know which one I am now. Maybe neither. I don't know how to choose."

Talbott blinks. It draws curtains over his molten eyes.

"You don't have to choose."

He turns and walks away from you, without a backward glance.

There's no reunion dinner that night. Mrs Weasley sends you straight up to bed. You hear her and Mr Weasley conversing in low tones into the wee hours of the morning. You pull the pillow over your head. You don't want to hear what they're saying about you.

It's two days before you're ready to rejoin the rest of the world. Another before you can eat and drink again properly. One more day, and you're participating in conversation, if only to nod or say, "Of course, Mrs Weasley." By the end of the week, you're as close to normal as you were before Felix's unexpected visit.

The days don't bring you any closer to an answer, but they do bring you further from heartache. You find it's easier to turn your mind from memories of Felix now you've confessed your love out loud. It's as if the feeling has lost power over you. Each day, the loss of him hurts slightly less.

The hardest part of your life now is how little you can do for the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore's task for you reminds you unpleasantly of your school days: to lay low and let others handle it. You would happily ignore this if you thought you might be useful, but the truth is, you don't know how to help. There's no mystery to solve, no secrets to uncover. Just ones to protect.

Still, you attend each meeting, week after week. You help Mrs Weasley with the dinner beforehand and the cleaning afterward. You pay attention to the news that's shared. You contribute what insight your experiences offer.

But mostly you watch Talbott.

Talbott attends almost every meeting, but you never speak and he never approaches. He sits as close to the door as he can manage, and bolts the moment the meeting ends. He's careful never to turn his eyes on you. You watch him just the same. It’s so long since you’ve been in his presence without something horrible happening. Every movement he makes is mesmerizing, the way it always was at school. His sharp nods, his slow blinks, the tapping of his finger against the table you're sure he's unaware of.

You miss Talbott, you realise. Or maybe you just miss the part of your life he represents; the life you built together. The damage done to it seems irreparable. Though you spend many nights wracking your brain, you can think of no way to fix it.

Talbott may choose to ignore your eyes on him, but Mrs Weasley does not. She, at least, is not content to watch and wonder. She renews her encouragements that the two of you talk. She attempts to seat you together at meetings. You deflect her machinations as best you can, but Mrs Weasley won't be thwarted forever.

One evening she insists on arriving at Grimmauld Place earlier than usual. "It's a large meeting tonight, dear," she explains, a little too airily, "so we'll need to start dinner early. And I promised Sirius I would take a look at the drawing room curtains, he thinks the doxies are moving back in."

Sirius is sitting at the end of the kitchen table when the two of you enter. You call a soft greeting, but he merely lifts a hand and grunts. He's staring at a notebook on the table in front of him, as if waiting for words to appear in it. You light a fire with your wand and set water to boil, then begin chopping onions.

As you work, you notice Mrs Weasley shoot furtive glances at the clock. Her attitude is strangely expectant. Something about her nervous energy raises your hackles. When the doorbell clangs, you have a sneaking suspicion who it might be.

"I'll get it!" she says with entirely too much enthusiasm. You narrow your eyes at her as she leaves.

"Bit early, isn't it?" grumbles Sirius. You don't reply. You're listening hard to catch the sounds from the floor above. You hear the front door open, and the murmur of low voices. Your heart stutters as you recognise them both. Mrs Weasley returns to the kitchen with a stiff Talbott in tow. Her face is practically glowing.

"I'm so sorry, dear, Arthur must have got the times mixed up! The meeting's not for another half hour. We're just getting dinner ready, but there's a good bit to do. Perhaps you might be willing to pitch in?"

Talbott stops moving when he notices you. His head darts about the room, searching for an escape. There's a twinge of heartache at seeing him so desperate to get away from you. You turn back to the onions, face burning.

You hear Talbott mumble something about not being much good in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley ignores this entirely.

"Oh, just a bit of slicing. Nothing too difficult! A simple severing charm will work if you're uncomfortable with a knife."

Mrs Weasley drops a cutting board and several loaves of bread on the table. Even with your eyes down, you can see Talbott's hands in your peripheral vision. You wield your knife with extra care, worried you might sever one of your own jittery fingers.

The only sound in the room is the dull thud of blades on wood. After a minute, Mrs Weasley speaks into the awkward silence.

"Well, while I have you two here, I think I'll just pop upstairs and take a look at those curtains. Sirius," she calls, and you hear Sirius stir. "Why don't you show me which room they're in?"

"It's the curtains in the drawing room, Molly."

"Why don't you show me," Mrs Weasley says slowly behind a clenched smile. You can't see her face, but you're sure her eyes are boring into Sirius. He must have taken the hint. You hear his chair being pushed back hastily.

"Oh! Right, of course. I'll show you."

You close your eyes in a plea for patience. You're not sure whether you want to laugh or cry or throw an onion at Mrs Weasley's retreating back. When you open them again, Talbott is watching you. He looks away as soon as your eyes meet.

How long has it been since you were this close to Talbott? Close enough that you could reach across and touch his cheek, if you wanted. If you were still allowed.

Something changes in the room. It takes you a minute to realise what. The sporadic sound of Talbott's knife has stopped. You glance up and find him staring at your hand. You see thoughts race behind his molten eyes.

"What's wrong?" you ask softly, and feel instantly foolish. What isn't wrong in Talbott's life at the moment? You don't expect him to answer, but after a quick gulp he says, "Your ring." He nods at the naked skin of your fourth finger.

Your blush is almost painful. It's been so long since you wore your engagement ring, you've actually forgotten to miss it.

"I...took it off. It didn't feel right...under the circumstances."

Talbott doesn't reply. His head moves in something that might be a nod or a twitch. His eyes return to his cutting board.

You work in silence. A silence you grow quickly to hate. It feels ridiculous to be this uncomfortable around the man you've known for years, a man you know better than anyone else. You used to be able to read his silences so well, interpret meaning from his every change in posture. But you suppose you're both different people now. Each unsure what the other is thinking.

The tension reminds you of something. When you remember what it is, you can't stop a small chuckle. Talbott's head jerks up, eyes registering alarm.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

Talbott only blinks.

"At the start of third year?" you remind him. "When I decided I wanted to become an animagus, and Tulip said I ought to talk to you?"

"I remember," Talbott says. After a beat he adds, "Why?"

"I was just thinking...I think that's the last time I was this nervous to talk to you."

Talbott's eyes shed some of their armor. You catch a glimpse of the man you remember underneath.

"Why were you nervous to talk to me?"

"You were so...intimidating." You smile. It's a rusty, disused expression on your face now. "And you looked like the last thing in the world you wanted to do was talk to me. I was sure you must not like me for some reason."

It had taken so much courage to seat yourself at the Ravenclaw table that day. You'd defeated a cursed vault, battled yetis and werewolves, and Talbott's piercing gaze had made you more nervous than any of them.

You return to chopping, but Talbott remains still.

"I did like you. I'd fancied you since first year."

The knife slices cleanly through the pad of your finger. Drops of blood sprinkle the onions, but you barely notice. You're looking at Talbott in wonder.

"You never told me that."

"Your finger." Talbott nods at your bleeding hand.

"Why did you never tell me that?"

Talbott doesn't answer. He walks around the table toward you. Your heart beats louder with each step. He pries the knife from your suddenly clenched fist, and takes your bleeding hand in his. He taps his wand to your wound and murmurs a spell. The skin seals back up flawlessly. Talbott returns his wand to his pocket, but he doesn't release your hand.

Your gaze is drawn to his face by an impulse you can't control. Talbott's molten eyes are on your mouth. You watch his lips part, his tongue wet them nervously. But he doesn't speak. He doesn't move. You recognise the symptoms. You know he's trapped in his head. There's no parchment or quill to hand, but that tradition really belongs to two different people.

You lean in to Talbott's face until your lips are a breath apart. You pause, waiting for permission. Talbott hesitates, and your heart stops. Then he closes the narrow space between you. Your lips meet, then meet again. You had forgotten what it feels like to kiss Talbott, or maybe it was never like this before. Your lips tingle, and your skin crawls with desire to be touched. Talbott's mouth is careful, almost reluctant, as if he's sure you'll be gone in a moment. You want to promise him you won't be, but neither of you could believe that now.

When Talbott doesn't draw you to him the way you're used to, you pull away. You search his face for answers. Yellow-gold eyes meet yours, begging for something you don't understand. You've always been the one to figure out the next move, but this time you need his help.

"Talbott." Your voice is a whisper. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know," Talbott murmurs. He closes his eyes so you can't see him think.

"I don't know how to fix this," you admit softly.

You lower your gaze to your hands. Your fingers are still twined together.

"Maybe you can't."

You look up, your heart horribly still. "Is that...what you want?"

Talbott untangles his fingers from yours.

"I want you to be happy. Even...if that's not with me."

You don't know what to say. You open your mouth hoping the right words will appear on their own, when he kitchen door bangs open.

Talbott jumps away from you as if hexed. You look up, expecting to see Mrs Weasley.

It's Professor Snape. By itself, this isn't unusual. Snape is a member of the Order, and he attends every meeting he cannot avoid. It isn't his presence that's cause for concern, it's his unfamiliar expression: one of pale fear. A look you've never seen on the forbidding Professor. The implication leaves you cold. If something has happened to worry Snape...

"What's wrong, Professor?" you ask.

"Potter," and even Snape's voice is missing its usual sneer. "Where is Black?"

You must look ridiculous, you think to yourself, sprinting through the Ministry for Magic alongside Talbott and Sirius in a sundress of all things. At school, there was always time to dress carefully before running into danger. But Harry Potter and his friends are trapped in the Department of Mysteries, and you're determined to help, no matter what you're wearing.

"What are they doing here?" Mad-Eye Moody addresses Talbott as the three of you reach the lifts. "They can't be here. They're not aurors."

Both you and Sirius begin to argue at once. Your recitation of all the dark wizards and dangerous creatures you've defeated is drowned by Sirius' roars of, "I'm his godfather!" Your words reverberate through the huge, empty chamber until Moody slams his staff against the ground for silence.

"There's no time. Just get in!"

The four of you squeeze into the lift where Kingsley Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, and Tonks are already waiting. The small space throbs with tension as the lift makes its impassively slow descent.

"Isn't there another way?" Sirius barks, slapping his wand against his leg.

"No," says Kingsley shortly.

Moody shuffles about to fix his normal, beady eye on you.

"Seeing as neither of you are aurors, and you ought not to be here in the first-"

"I am Harry's godfather!"

"Then make him your responsibility!" Moody snaps at Sirius. "You, Remus, and Y/N: find the students and get them out. Leave the Death Eaters to us."

You give a sharp nod. Talbott shifts uncomfortably next to you.

The lift finally settles. Your party is out and running before the doors click shut behind you. Moody leads the way through the Department of Mysteries labyrinth, a strange instrument in the hand not holding his wand apparently providing him directions.

"This way!" he calls, leading the group through another door.

Adrenaline courses through you as you run. It's a feeling as familiar as your old school robes. This is your element. For the first time in so long, you’re unburdened by confusion or indecision. When you burst through a door to find black-robed figures surrounding two students, you know exactly what to do.

In front of you, the aurors advance on the Death Eaters. Their spells fill the room with light and sound. You wait until the Death Eaters have turned to face this new threat, then descend toward the dark-haired boys, yanking them into a crouch behind a stone step.

"Where are the others?"

You have to shout to be heard over the noise of the duelling around you. The boy with glasses - Harry Potter, you realise by the scar - rips his eyes away from the fight.

"Up there! They're still in that other room." He gestures at a different door than the one you entered through. "The girls are all unconscious, I think. And Ron - one of those brain things got him. You have to help them!"

You twist around, searching for Sirius or Lupin. Sirius is a few rows down, a wide grin on his face as he duels. Lupin, you don't see at all. You cast about for threats, but the boys don't appear to be in immediate danger.

"Stay here," you order them, feeling a bit of a hypocrite. "Wands out, heads down."

Keeping your body low to minimise your target, you sprint up the stairs. None of the Death Eaters have a glance to spare for you, and you make it to the door unmolested. Before you push through it, you can't help but look back, scanning the fight for yellow-gold eyes.

Talbott is dueling a Death Eater nearly twice his girth. You watch, transfixed. You've never seen Talbott move like this. He's usually twitchy, better in the air than on his feet. Now, as he duels, his movements are smooth and precise. He twists to avoid a purple spell, then spins back, sending a stunner of his own. It catches the Death Eater in the chest, and he drops instantly. In spite of everything, you grin.

As if able to feel your gaze, Talbott's eyes find yours across the room. You nod your head at the door to indicate your direction. Then, with a last look at Talbott, you hurtle through.

Desks and shelves and heavy tables indicate the room is some sort of office. Only every single piece of furniture is now overturned or collapsed. You step with caution, but still manage to slip. The floor is slick with liquid. You notice strange, jelly-like objects floating in the shallow pools - the brains Harry Potter had mentioned? You take care to avoid them as you search for signs of the students.

"Hello?" you call softly. There's no answer.

You reach the middle of the room and survey your surroundings. There's a door just ahead; another to the side. You're considering which is more likely when you hear shallow breathing nearby. You ready your wand, then hesitate. It could be one of the students, hiding from you. Ron or Ginny would know you right away, but not the others.

"It's alright," you call again. "I'm here to get you out. I'm a friend. I'm with the Order."

"Well, hello, Friend with the Order."

You whirl around. A tall figure in a black hood emerges from behind a fallen cabinet. Without pause for thought you yell, "Stupefy!" but he easily sidesteps the spell. You cast a quick shield charm, blocking his return attack, then steady yourself for another. But the Death Eater hesitates. His hood flicks to a space over your left shoulder. On instinct, you dive to the side. Red sparks explode through the air where your body had been, thrown by a second Death Eater behind you. His spell hits the other masked figure in the arm and he howls in rage and pain.

"Watch where you're aiming!" he snarls, clutching his injury.

You use the second's distraction to throw yourself behind a desk. You lean back against it, breathing through your nose and thinking past your racing heartbeat. The wreckage of furniture forms an almost unbroken wall for several metres. If you can just make it around without them noticing...

One of the Death Eaters shouts a curse. Red light slams your hiding spot into the wall with a crash. But you're already two desks away, flat against the floor and crawling carefully. Your dress snags as you press close to the wall of splintered wood.

"Just kill her!"

"Rosier said not to kill until we're sure Malfoy has the prophecy. You want to go back to the Dark Lord empty-handed?"

"That's the students, not the Order members.'

These words make your heart stutter horribly. Your hand slips on the wet floor.

"Over there!"

Heavy footfalls sound nearby. You straighten, but only make it to your knees before two hooded figures loom over the desk. There's time to aim a stunning spell at only one. The Death Eater you hit drops instantly, but your stomach still clenches in dread. The other's wand is pointed at your face and his spell is already half voiced.

"Avada-"

You throw yourself flat, your only hope that the spell might miss. You hold your breath, waiting for bright green light.

But the rest of the curse never comes. There’s the thud of a body hitting the floor. Then rapid footsteps. You roll over quickly, wand at the ready.

"Y/N?"

Felix's black hood is thrown back. His rich brown eyes gaze down at you, swimming in fear and relief. You squeeze your own shut to stop yourself staring. It's been so long since you've seen that expression, you'd forgotten how much you missed it. Or maybe you've never been so glad to see it. You take in large gulps of air, trying to catch your breath.

"Are you alright? What are you doing here?“

Felix's panicked words remind your of your mission. You push yourself up with a groan, skin smarting where it's smacked the hard floor. Felix bends hastily, holding out a hand. You hesitate for only a second before letting him pull you to your feet.

It's a moment before either of you can speak. Felix inspects you from head to toe, presumably searching for injuries. You straighten your dress, trying to hide your blush. You wish you were wearing something more substantial.

"I...thank you...I guess," you say at last, to your shoes. You're not quite ready to look Felix in the face.

Felix doesn't answer. You lift your gaze, head buzzing with nerves, and catch him staring at your hand.

"You're...not wearing your ring," Felix says haltingly. An eager light flickers briefly in his eyes. "Are you and Talbott...not-"

Your face contorts in annoyance. You cross your arms to hide your hand.

"Is this really the time?"

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Felix answers, "No. No it's not." Hints of concern reform on his features. "Y/N, you have to go. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere,” you insist hotly. “Not until I find the other students."

"They're safe. Relatively. As safe as I could manage. If the aurors hurry, they can get them out in time.”

"What do you mean, as safe as you can manage?"

"We have them rounded up in another room," Felix explains rapidly, eyes darting nervously to the doors. "I convinced the others we could use them as leverage, so they're not about to be killed. I'll make sure the aurors finds them, I promise. Just trust me."

At the word We, you can't suppress a shiver. It isn't the pleasant sort of shiver Felix usually inspires.

"Trust you?" you repeat, adjusting your grip on your wand. "You're a Death Eater, Felix."

Felix makes a noise of exasperation. He shuffles in place, as if desperate to be gone.

"That doesn't mean I want students to be killed. I'm not a murderer."

"How could I know? You've already proven you're more than willing to lie to me when it suits you."

"That was to keep you safe! " Felix almost shouts in frustration. "Exactly what I'm trying to do now!"

He makes a sudden movement as if to grab your shoulders. You jump back, wand lifting on instinct. Felix freezes. He eyes your wand, and perhaps you're only imagining hurt in the lines of his face. When he speaks again, his words are fast and strained.

"Y/N, I made a mistake. An awful mistake, and I'm paying for it every day I'm not with you. Every day I wake up and realise I have - have nothing." Felix's voice cracks briefly. "I know I deserve that. I deserve for you not to trust me. But you have to believe that all I want in the world is get you out of here alive."

You wish you didn't believe him. It would make everything so much easier. But in spite of his crimes, your instinct about Felix hasn't changed. You can't imagine him ever doing anything to hurt you. On purpose, anyway.

"If that's true," you say softly, "Then help me get the students out. Because I'm not going anywhere until I do."

It's clear from Felix's grimace how much he dislikes this plan. He runs desperate fingers through his hair, searching for cracks in your resolute expression. But your face remains firm. Felix is finally forced to sigh.

"Alright. Follow me."

Felix leads you through the twisting labyrinth of rooms and corridors, most showing evidence of a fight. Doors are splintered or hang off hinges, and you have to watch your feet to avoid scattered piles of broken glass. You're just beginning to be concerned about how far in you are when Felix stops outside a heavy, un-battered door. A low mutter of voices carries from inside.

"Stay here," Felix whispers. Catching sight of your raised eyebrows, he adds, "Please. There are guards. I'll need to get rid of them."

"I can help," you whisper back, but Felix shakes his head. Only your desire to find the students quickly keeps you from further protests. Reluctantly, you lean against the wall out of sight of the door. Felix readjusts his black hood before sweeping into the room.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, you press your ear to the jam. You can hear Felix's footsteps walking away, his voice mingling with the others. You lean in closer, trying to make out the words, until a deafening bang from inside makes you flinch. You hear footsteps again, this time coming closer, running fast across hard floor. You grip the doorknob but hesitate, unsure whether to intervene.

Someone shouts an incantation. There's a heavy thud, and a voice cries out in pain. Felix's voice. Without thinking, you grab the handle and fling the door wide.

It takes you only a second to locate Felix, hood askew and blood dripping from his face, on the floor in the middle of the dimly lit room. Another hooded figure looms over him, wand out and aimed.

"Stupefy!"

Your jet of light hits the Death Eater square in the chest. Without waiting to watch him fall, you swing your wand from side to side, searching for enemies. But the only other robed figure you see lies prone beside a door set into the opposite wall.

Felix groans. You step forward quickly, holding out your hand and helping him struggle to his feet. There's a long, clean gash down the side of his face. You're surprised at how sick the sight of the wound makes you.

"Are you alright?"

"I - yes, of course. That was..." Felix rubs the back of his neck, not quite able to meet your eye. "Thank you."

You're saved from thinking up a reply by a muffled cry from behind. Three girls and a boy, all dressed in Hogwarts robes, are huddled against the wall as if thrown there, each trussed up in snaking, black cords. Only one is awake and struggling.

"Ginny!"

You skirt the fallen Death Eater and drop to the ground, using your wand to sever Ginny's bonds. As soon as you tug the cord out of her mouth, Ginny croaks, "Y/N, he's one of them! He's a Death Eater, too!"

You follow her frantic gaze to Felix, standing awkwardly in the background.

"It's alright, Ginny. He's a friend."

Felix blinks, and for a moment his face is filled with the soft joy you love so much to see. Then a door slams.

Felix whirls around, wand raised, and you're on your feet only a second later. But no attack comes; no spells fly. You glance between the doors on either end of the room, but no new hooded figures appear. Instinct suddenly chills your blood and you scan the floor instead.

"Where's...the other one?" you ask haltingly.

Felix's eyes widen as he understands. He shoots a panicked look at the place where the Death Eater had fallen, but his body is nowhere to be seen. Felix sprints to the far door, pressing his ear against it.

"He...must have gone to get the others."

Felix runs his wand across the door frame, sealing it with a squelch. You turn back to Ginny, struggling to stand on what looks like a broken ankle. You mutter, "Episkey" and watch the swelling in the ankle subside, then inspect the other three students. It isn't immediately clear what's wrong with them, but none react when you attempt to use magic to wake them.

"We'll have to carry them," you tell Felix, at your side once more. "You take Ron and I'll get the taller girl. Ginny, do you think you could carry the blonde one? She looks the lightest."

"This isn't going to work." Something in Felix's voice makes your skin crawl.

"Why not?”

"It’s too late. The rest of the Death Eaters will be here in minutes. Even if we use magic to carry them, we'll never make it to the lifts in time."

A leaden weight sinks in your stomach. There's too much truth in Felix's words for you to deny. You cast about for counterpoints, solutions, some sort of foolproof plan, but your brain comes up short.

"Well," you say, forcing yourself to breathe through your panic, "We'll just have to try. Maybe there's somewhere we can hide, or-"

A second slam in as many minutes almost shatters your brittle nerves. You fumble with your wand, aiming it at the door nearest you this time, and almost drop it when you recognise the intruders.

"Talbott," you breathe in relief. "Tonks, Lupin, thank Merlin! The students are here and we've got to get them out. Now. Death Eaters are on the way..."

But Talbott's face steals the words from your lips. He's staring at Felix with eyes so molten they might be made of fire. When he speaks, his voice thrums with suppressed hatred.

"Drop it." Talbott gives a curt nod at Felix's half-raised wand.

Felix's gaze flicks warily from Talbott to Tonks, her wand also lifted, to Lupin, ignoring the stand-off and kneeling to inspect the unconscious students. You notice all three are pale and grim-faced, and you wonder what else has happened. But there isn't time for questions now.

"I said, drop it!"

"Talbott, wait!" You step quickly in between the two men. "Felix led me here. He was keeping the students safe."

Talbott doesn't even blink. If it weren't for his reply, you'd wonder if he heard you at all.

"One half-decent act doesn't make him any less of a Death Eater."

"But he isn't helping the Death Eaters, he's helping us! Helping me. He saved my life from a Death Eater that-"

"This isn't about you!" Flame flickers in Talbott's eyes. "This isn't about us. This is my job. We're rounding up all the Death Eaters. You'll have to plead his case to Mad-Eye, if that's what you want."

The thought of trying to convince Mad-Eye Moody to give Felix a second chance makes you blanch. You open your mouth to argue, but this time it's Felix who cuts you off.

"You won't have to worry about in any of that in a minute. A dozen powerful wizards are on their way through that door." Felix jerks his head toward the other end of the room. "I highly doubt you'll be able to round them all up just the three of you."

Talbott spares a wary glance at the far door.

"He's right," Tonks chimes in, her voice uncharacteristically serious. "Let's get the students out first, then come back with Mad-Eye and the others."

Tonks lowers her wand, and moves to help Lupin with the unconscious teenagers. Lupin has already lifted the taller, bushy-haired girl over his shoulder, and uses his wand to levitate the unconscious Ron. Tonks mirrors his spell on the small, blonde girl. She wraps her free arm around Ginny to help keep weight of her still-tender ankle.

"We'll never make it at that pace," Felix says darkly, eyeing the careful way Lupin manoeuvres Ron toward the door. "They'll catch us up before we're halfway to the lifts."

"You're not going anywhere until you drop your wand!" Talbott tries to point his wand around you at Felix, but you move with him, blocking his view. Behind you, Felix snorts.

"And leave myself unarmed when they all surge in at any second? I've betrayed them! They'll spare me about as much mercy as they will you."

A soft sound from the far end of the room suddenly stops your heart. All three of you fall silent as you watch the doorknob turn slowly. It rotates each way once, then stills. You hold your breath, braced for another loud slam, but the door remains closed.

"Tonks," you say into the trembling silence, "You and Lupin, take the students and go."

Lupin is two steps ahead of you. He has Ron through the door already, and waits impatiently for Tonks. But Tonks looks from you to Talbott uncertainly.

"I think...we ought to stick together."

"We'll be right behind you," you say. "We'll give you time to get to the lifts." You try to smile reassuringly, but your mouth doesn't remember how. You can only hope you sound more confident than you look.

Tonks continues to hesitate, until a hard thud on the opposite door makes her and Ginny both jump.

"Come on!" Lupin calls from the other room. Tonks shoots a final, unsure look at Talbott before forcing the eerily floating blonde student ahead of her through the door.

Another thud, then the sound of voices echoes from the other side of the room. The doorknob rattles again, violently this time. The noise seems to shake Talbott from his unswervable anger. His wand wavers before finally abandoning Felix for the far door, his eyes reflecting frantic thought.

"What spell did you use on the door?" you ask Felix, your voice betraying your nerves. Felix's answer is equally unsteady.

"It's a variation on an imperturbable charm. But it's not impenetrable. With enough of them, they can break the spell." Felix's head snaps toward you, mouth set in a thin, grim line. "Y/N, you need to leave. Now. Go with the others."

"That's ridiculous, we stand a better chance with three of us.“

"He's right." Both you and Felix look at Talbott in shock. For the first time since entering the room, Talbott meets your gaze. "You need to go."

"I'm not leaving you," you argue, holding Talbott's eyes. You're close enough that you can watch the fire in them melt into liquid, like a churning yellow-gold ocean.

"Please, Y/N, go." And there's a pain in Talbott's voice like you've never heard. "I can't lose you. Not again."

Your heart breaks gently at Talbott's confession. Exactly as it had when he first managed to pen those words. You wish you could promise him something, anything to assuage his fear. But the far door is shaking now. You've run out of time. You take a breath, steeling yourself for a last stand, the way you have so many times before. Facing death is nothing new for you, but you don't want anything to be left unsaid if it comes.

"Talbott." You close the distance between you in short, measured steps, as though worried he might fly away. "I did get lost...but I found my way back. You led me back. And I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again. I - I promise." Your fingers brush Talbott's softly, asking permission. "Whatever happens, happens to both of us."

Talbott's fingers close around yours on instinct. He grips your hand tightly, all his attention on you as if there were nothing else in the room.

"Do you mean that?"

You can only nod, your words exhausted. But he sees the answer in the spark of your eye.

"Y/N." Talbott releases your hand to reach for your face. He strokes your cheek in careful wonder like he's forgotten how. You close your eyes, reveling in his touch.

"Go."

The word startles both of you. Talbott let his hand fall abruptly. You turn to face Felix, unable to hide a slight blush. Talbott's mere touch has made you so dizzy you can't comprehend Felix's meaning right away.

"What?"

"Go. Both of you, go." Something has changed in Felix’s voice. It's no longer nervous. It's no longer anything. It's empty and lifeless, like the voice of a corpse. "I'll distract them. Tell them some story. Buy you enough time to get to the lifts."

You shake your head slowly. "No...Felix, that's...there must be some other-"

Felix takes your chin delicately in his hand, and your voice trails away. You feel Talbott shift beside you, but Felix moves no closer. His empty eyes merely wander your face, as if trying to memorise each part of it.

"Y/N. Let me do this. For you. I-" His voice cracks like dead leaves. "I never meant to hurt you."

The pounding on the far door intensifies. The heavy wood splinters, and light pokes through from the other side. If anything else can be seen, your vision is too blurry to catch it. You close your hand around Felix's, trying to blink back the tears. There's so much you want to say to him. To this man who handles you so delicately, looks at you like treasure, loves you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. But you aren't sure there are words to explain how you feel. You can only nod, and say inadequately, "I know."

Felix releases your face, then locks eyes with Talbott.

"Keep her safe."

Talbott's jaw tenses once before he manages a short nod. He grasps your hand again and tugs you gently toward the door.

You take a last look at Felix Rosier, watching you walk away from him.

"Go," he says once more.

Felix turns to face the oncoming noise. And you turn and run the other way, Talbott at your side.

You don't stop running until you reach the lifts. Talbott guides you back through the labyrinth of rooms, never loosing his grip on your fingers. There's no sign of Tonks, Lupin, and the students, and you can only hope distantly that they've made it out alright. Once inside the lift, you throw yourself against the wall. Your breathing comes in short, painful gasps and hot tears still threaten the corners of your eyes.

"Are you alright?" Talbott's voice is so quiet you almost miss it under the sound of blood pounding in yours ears.

You glance up at Talbott, blinking through your tears. He stands stock still, eyes alert and tense. You choke back a mad laugh. It reminds you forcibly of teenaged Talbott: the awkward, anxious boy you fell in love with almost instantly, whose stillness hid such depths and inspired the best in you.

"Yes," you answer honestly, wiping your eyes. "I'm - I'm alright." You take a shuddering breath, trying to settle your swirling thoughts. "Talbott... I-"

There's no time to worry about finding the right words. Talbott takes your face in his hands and stops you with a kiss like wildfire. He clutches you to him, dragging his hands across you artlessly, trying to pull you into him until you occupy the same space. It's a closeness you've craved for so long, and your hands are no less wild. You can never have enough of this. Enough of him.

You tear your lips away, gasping for breath, but Talbott won’t release you. You're forced to speak against his neck as he clings to you for life.

"Talbott, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You repeat the words over and over. You can't think of anything else to say. Talbott's head shakes where its pressed against yours.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"What?"

You struggle to ease Talbott’s hold on you just enough so you can meet his molten eyes.

"You've always come after me. All the time I've known you, our whole lives - I run and you come find me. And the one time you needed me to come find you, I didn't. I was...too afraid." Talbott tangles his fingers in your hair, closing the fraction of space between you again, until his forehead rests against yours. "But this time, I promise...I won't let you go. Not ever again."

For once, it's you that can’t give your thoughts voice. When the lift doors open, you and Talbott are still clasped together, speaking softly in a language that communicates feeling better than words ever could.

Epilogue

"Good morning," you whisper huskily in your husband's ear.

He groans without opening his eyes. You giggle softly, trailing breathy, teasing kisses up his neck, under his chin. His lips part, inviting yours into a lazy, lingering kiss. When you pull away, his eyes remain firmly shut.

"You're sleepy this morning," you murmur.

Talbott cracks an eye. "You know, some people sleep in on their honeymoon."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. Some people even enjoy it."

You trace his collarbone with a finger. You can hear Talbott's breath catch.

"Strange. I enjoy my waking life a lot more than dreams."

Talbott stirs, at your touch or your words. He rolls you over in his arms until you're pinned beneath him. You revel in the sensation of being very slightly crushed by the body you adore.

"What's so great about it, then?" Talbott asks in dry amusement. "The smell of the sea, or the sound of the waves, or the room service that means we never actually have to get out of bed?"

You grin, and shake your head against the pillow. "None of the above."

"Really?"

"Really." You trail your fingernails lightly up and down Talbott's back, savouring the feel of his warm skin. Talbott shudders under your hands. He locks eyes with you, his molten, yellow-gold stare saying everything you love to hear. He leans down to murmur against your lips:

"What then?"

You smile. Your mouth meets Talbott's and you say in between tantalising kisses:

"I'm Mrs Talbott Winger. I'm your wife. I'm on my honeymoon - in the middle of a war, where we're being constantly hunted - but...I'm with you. So I'm better than safe."

Talbott's only response is another kiss, but you know exactly what he means.

#felix rosier #talbott winger #felix rosier x mc #felix rosier reader insert #Talbott winger reader insert #Talbott winger x mc #felix rosier fanfiction #talbott winger fanfiction #hphm fanfiction #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery fanfic #juniper windsong #reader insert #love triangle #dark!

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smarchit · 4 years ago

Text

Do No Harm, Pt 5

Hey y’all, it’s been exactly.... /checks watch/ well over a month since I last posted a chapter of this. Oops. Oh well. Found this while digging through my drafts while procrastinating working on Poetry.

"No, spread your legs a little further," Mando instructed. He used the tip of his boot to nudge Wynn's own foot back a few more inches in the dirt. "You want to have a wider stance. It makes it harder for someone to knock you down. You take up more ground space this way."

Wynn adjusted her stance and took a deep breath as Mando circled her, taking note of the position of her arms and legs. She didn't even realize she had a white knuckle grip on the spear until Mando tapped on her fingers.

"Too tight. You want it to be firm, but loose. Steady. Good."

Wynn loosened her fingers and watched Mando take his own stance across from her, his back to the early morning sun. She tried her best to mirror his form; he made it look effortless.

"Arms in," he corrected, reaching over to lightly touch her elbow. "Keep everything as close to you as you can."

She nodded and did as he instructed.

"Hit me," he ordered.

Wynn brought her spear up and tried to smack it off his arm. Her attack was easily blocked by a parry from him.

"You didn't say you were going to block me!" she cried.

He chuckled and shook his head. "No, I didn't. But neither will your enemy. Again."

Wynn gave a cry and tried to strike him again. This time, her attack was countered by Mando's own spear knocking against her exposed torso. Lucky for her, both of their vibroblade tips had been removed for the sake of practice, but she didn't doubt that Mando would still be able to cause harm with just the metal pole. Already, she could feel a bruise forming on her ribs.

Wynn quickly ducked under the second of his rapid attacks. The pole barely missed the top of her head when she tried to go around him and catch him from behind.

Mando grabbed the end of Wynn's pole and jerked it to the ground within the blink of an eye. It was quick enough that Wynn couldn't change her trajectory and she ended up tripping over the spear.

She landed on her side and quickly turned onto her back to face Mando. Wynn tried to roll out of the way of his next spear attack - a rough jab with the end of the weapon - before it could catch her in the throat.

Mando lifted her chin with the end of his spear so she would have to look up at him. "Do you yield?" he asked as he stood over her.

"Yes!" Wynn gasped. "I yield!"

Mando kicked her spear over to her. "Get up. We'll try again."

It went on for hours. By the time the moons rose over the horizon, Wynn's body was covered in bruises. She was doubled over, shaking and out of breath as she gripped her spear.

"Again," Mando growled, his helmet inches from her ear. When she shook her head, he got closer to her. "Go. Again."

Wynn let out a scream and cracked her spear across Mando's chest. "No!" Her shout, accompanied by the metallic thunk of the spear against beskar echoed off the nearby hills and sent a flock of birds squawking and flying away.

Mando barked out a rough laugh when the top half of the spear went flying off into the dirt.

Wynn was staring at the broken edge of the spear handle, her eyes wide with fear. She had done that. She had broken one of his weapons.

He turned to face her quickly, his helmet tilted to the side to look at her. He reached out to take her wrist in his hand, the metal spear handle falling from her grip.

"You've got some nice blisters forming," he said, turning her hands over in his. "These will hurt. They will break and bleed. But you'll get stronger."

Wynn nodded, already feeling the ache in her muscles from the rough day of training. They'd only stopped briefly for dinner, though Mando insisted she practice on a tree stump while he fed the Child.

"Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow," he said, letting her hand fall from his grasp.

Two weeks passed quickly on the tiny planet while they looked for any sign of the Child's people. They never stopped Wynn's training though, going at it in the early hours of the morning and resuming after their search late into the night. Wynn had never been more exhausted in her life. She would collapse into her cot for a few hours at a time, only to be awoken by the Child's loud cries for food. Mando would help with that more often than not, but it still roused her from sleep.

She was definitely getting the hang of fighting with the spear. That had been made evident earlier that evening when she had landed on her back in the dust, her own spear the only thing keeping Mando's from puncturing her throat, when she twisted the staff in her hands, effectively disarming her sparring partner. She thrust her spear up, the metal tip pinging off of his beskar chest plate.

He raised his hands in defeat and reached down to help her up off the ground. Mando had to admit to himself that she was an incredibly fast learner. She insisted they put the spear tips back on after only a few days.

I need to feel the danger, she insisted.

Mando only wished that she could see the pride that was constantly painted on his face at her success.

"Wynn," he called up the ramp after her. "Tomorrow, we should do some fist fighting. You won't always have access to a weapon."

She turned to him and nodded before she headed off to the fresher to clean up.

Mando sighed and leaned against a crate to relax. He looked over at the sleeping Child and smiled. The little guy didn't know it, but he was about to have two protectors instead of just his adopted father. Mando checked some coordinates on his wrist comm and swore softly before he picked up the Child and went back into the Crest.

They couldn't stay on this planet much longer without getting a surprise visit from their friends.

The very next morning, Mando was surprised to find Wynn not on board the ship. The manual locks had been disconnected from the inside, but she was nowhere to be seen. He could feel anxiety creeping its way up his stomach to wrap icy fingers around his heart. He ran to check on the Child and found him still sound asleep in his pod. But where was the young doctor?

She'd left her comm unit along with her blaster on the table in the hold, though her bag was missing. Odd, he noted, if someone took her, why let her take the bag?

Mando shut the Child's pod and locked the door to his quarters. He would be safe there for a few minutes. He grabbed a blaster and rushed down the ramp. He had to find her. Who knows how long they had before the Imps showed up? If there was any time left at all...

The thought of Wynn being taken by Gideon sent a shiver up his back. He didn't want to think about what they might do to her because of her association with him.

He followed her footprints through the dirt to the nearby forest. Mando knew he could track her without a problem. She didn't appear to be leaving with anyone, but he knew better than to take a chance with that.

It only took him a few minutes to find her. She was in the middle of a clearing a hundred yards or so into the forest, leaning up against a tree. A book was resting on her crossed legs and her shoes were kicked off several feet away from her. A few blossoms from the tree above her had fallen into her unruly hair.

Mando watched her for a few minutes. For how long they'd been travelling, he never saw her this relaxed or this calm. He thought back to the morning after he'd first met her when she was singing to the Child. She looked so unaware that he was standing so close to her.

Wynn immediately looked up when he approached her and she gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh, Maker! You scared me!"

"Why are you out here alone?" he asked, "It isn't safe."

"We've been out here for weeks," she said, raising an eyebrow. "We haven't seen anyone or anything. I think I'm fine." She stood up and stuffed her book back into her bag.

"There could be an animal," he continued as she crawled past him on her knees to get her shoes.

She kneeled in front of him and scoffed. "You mean that cute little thing we saw the other day? Yeah, real threatening."

Mando ignored the way his pants felt just a little tighter when she looked up at him from her knees.

"The Child was worried," he countered.

"Ah, right," she hummed as she stood. "He was very worried."

Mando flushed under his helmet.

"Come on, we have to get going anyway," Wynn said with a sigh. She stood up and grabbed her book. "We wouldn't want the baby to worry."

Mando sighed and followed her out of the clearing and back into the woods. He admired her genuine sarcasm, but as always, he worried for her safety. What would have happened if an Imp found her? Or Gideon?

What if he had to leave without her? He quickly came to the conclusion that he would never be able to leave her somewhere alone. Even if she had the proper training.

"We need to keep working at your training," he said, quickening his pace to join up with her. "How's your aim with a blaster?"

Wynn shrugged. "I don't know. My dad had an old model. He showed me how to turn it on and aim it, but I never actually fired it or anything."

Mando sighed and nodded. "Okay, we'll work on that next."

When Wynn and Mando reached the ship, she turned to him and grabbed his arm for attention. He stiffened and slowly looked at her.

"I am sorry, by the way," she said. When he didn't respond, she shook her head. "For running off this morning. Sometimes it's too quiet on the ship and I just like to breathe air that isn't recycled, you know?"

He looked at her briefly before turning to the door control. "I know," he said as the door slowly opened. "Just let me know next time, okay? I don't-- I wouldn't want anything to happen to you."

She smiled and then nodded. "Okay. I can do that."

Mando nodded once and turned to go back into the ship. He could already hear babbles and coos coming from his quarters. The baby was already awake and would soon be demanding attention.

Wynn chuckled and bounded up the stairs after him, but not before sparing one last glance at the planet they'd spent the last several weeks on. It had almost started to feel like home.

TAGLIST: (I really hope you guys don’t mind me tagging you in this) - @the-feckless-wonder @gallowsjoker @phoenixhalliwell @waatermelon-sugaar @huliabitch @miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703

#do no harm fic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x ofc #my writing #din djarin x oc

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artemis-entreri · 6 years ago

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"Violets are not blue."

Entreri was frowning, but Jarlaxle knew from his friend's raised eyebrow that the human's ill humor was feigned.

The drow shrugged. "A flawed axiom perhaps, but nonetheless I find it rather endearing."

"You find false equivalencies and failed analogies endearing?" The assassin's thin lips were drawn in a tight line, but amusement danced in his dark eyes. "Has the sharp blade that is Jarlaxle been dulled so much by the passage of time that he finds incompetence amusing?"

The mercenary simply chuckled, the lyrical sound softening the tight line on the assassin's face. It relaxed into a puzzled frown. "Is the butchering of language where this 'hella' comes from too?"

"Hardly 'butchering', my abbil! To my understanding, it is the slang of the parts whence I learned the word."

"Slang, or, in other words, butchering of proper language."

Jarlaxle folded his arms. It was his turn to frown. "Must you always be so contentious?"

Fully into their role reversal, Entreri laughed. "No, but that would take the fun out things for you, would it not?"

The drow conceded with a nod, the frown lasting as long as it ever did on his handsome features.

"I'm impressed that you're capable of drafting," came the assassin's voice from behind the card. "A crude imitation, but sufficiently possessing of your characteristic shamelessness. But why did you go through the trouble of all of this--"

Entreri looked up to find the drow tipping a small ornate box at his face.

"Now what?" the assassin asked as he pushed the box down.

Jarlaxle lifted it again. "It's also for you."

Entreri frowned at the item. "Why? What is it?"

Jarlaxle insistently albeit gently shook it in his friend's face. "Open it and see for yourself."

Entreri backed up a step. "And if I do, will I be sprayed by one of your perfumes?"

The mercenary donned a hurt look. "No, of course not."

"A barrage of flower petals it is then, and judging by the card, roses and violets?"

Jarlaxle turned the box towards himself and pushed open the lid, letting out a small and measured sigh. "Truly, you are always so contentiously cautious."

The assassin chuckled at the ire in his companion's tone. His returning quip, however, was replaced by wonder as his companion turned the box back towards him to present a silk-wrapped object nestled amidst a cushioned interior.

"A magical trinket?" Entreri quirked an eyebrow. "I have no need for such things."

The facade of hurt was back on the mercenary's face. "My abbil, you do wound me so, to believe that after all of our time together, that I'd not know your dislike of magical trinkets!"

Entreri snorted. "Yet you still press them unto me at every opportunity."

"Not so!" Jarlaxle exclaimed. "Why, I assure you right now that this is quite mundane."

The assassin folded his arms. "Quite mundane, yet wrapped in fine silk and resting in an ornate box."

"Mundane as I would allow from a gift from me to be," the drow returned with a wink. "Please, my dear Artemis, some trust in me?"

Entreri looked suspiciously at the box, then at the card in his hand, and sighed with resignation. The use of only one dexterous hand was sufficient to extract the object from its silken shroud, and the assassin procured a curious tubular object. It was almost as dark as his companion's skin, its shape calling to his mind images of the vases that lined Pasha Pook's shelves. Except this "vase" was sealed and rounded on both ends and lacked the fine brushwork that embellished the late Pasha's collections.

The assassin turned the odd object about in his hands. A muffled rattling met his ears.

"An instrument of some sort?" Entreri's gray eyes were stormy with confusion.

Jarlaxle shook his head. "Chocolate!" he proclaimed proudly.

"Chocolate?" the assassin echoed dubiously. The color of the object was darker than even the purest cocoa-based confection that he'd seen. He lifted it to his nose for a whiff, and found that the scent more closely resembled cocoa... if it had been left burning in the fire for many bells.

"A ridiculous card, and now a poor facsimile of chocolate... what's this about, Jarlaxle?"

The drow grandly swept both arms out, the elaborate gesture causing Entreri to groan to himself. He knew immediately that his companion had been waiting for this exact moment to tell his tale. Briefly, the assassin considered dragging a hand down his visage, turning and walking away, even clamping a hand over the mercenary's mouth. In the end however, he simply dropped into a crossed-leg sitting position.

Jarlaxle blinked at the expectant gray gaze staring up at him. The lack of the expected resistance put him at an uncharacteristic loss of words, but only momentarily. Grinning wide, he touched one hand to his chest, the other one performing a flurry to the east, as though it were a bird taking flight.

"I happened upon an exotic traveler--"

The word "exotic" drew an audible groan from Entreri, which only widened Jarlaxle's grin.

"He wore a most magnificent long coat, red as a cardinal's breast, and the thick furs lining his hat and boots suggested that he'd traveled from cold lands afar. I'd never seen any fashions quite like what he donned in the Frozenfar, so I surmised he must've come from elsewhere perhaps even beyond Vaasa!"

The mention of the Cold Lands sharpened the glare fixated on the demonstrative drow dangerously.

However, Jarlaxle, long used to his friend's steel and flint, was hardly affected.

"I do believe he was a priest of some sort--" He thought he felt a blade's edge tickle his skin. "--but the poor fellow was most out of sorts! He continually spoke of a lost signal, and asked me to lend him my fane so that he could contact his fellows."

"You should've taken him to Menzoberranzan," Entreri remarked dryly.

Jarlaxle chuckled. "Nay, it was all I could do to convince him that I had no such thing, he must've been a very devout follower of the gods, for truly it seemed incomprehensible to him that persons without a place of worship might exist He all but insisted that I must have a 'cell fane', which does suggest a rather ascetic devotion to worship!"

"Truly a shame that you didn't introduce him to the Priestesses of Lolth."

"The poor fellow looked as though he was about to break down and cry!"

"And Jarlaxle's heart is so big that he most certainly could not endure the sight of a strange man crying."

"Exactly!" Jarlaxle nodded heartily. "Truly, it would not befit my conscience to leave him so! I gathered that he came from a very idyllic place, fields of green moss upon which plump cows grazed, in a faraway land untainted by greedy nobles and demon lords. I think I would very much like to see such a place one day."

Entreri emphatically cleared his throat. He guided the drow's gaze with his own down at his index finger tapping against his leg.

Jarlaxle took the cue, but his talking speed did not increase.. "I guided him to the nearest town, whereupon I personally secured him a hot meal and a bed for the night. He was loathe to let me go, but I insisted that I must, for I was meeting one whom I so greatly cherished--"

"Which is why you're a day late."

"Desperate to keep me by his side, he regaled me with riveting tales," the mercenary spoke over the assassin as if the human hadn't vocalized at all. "Apparently, he was a scholar, one with a great deal of interest and knowledge of various societies and cultures. He told me about a custom from his land, a major holiday that occurs around this time every year by the name of 'Valiant Time', which apparently entails poetry containing what you described as 'false equivalencies and failed analogies', and the gifting of chocolate."

"I can see why you became so enamored of it." The assassin's finger stopped tapping, his hand lifting to rub his forehead. It fell away after failing to ease the skepticism written in the lines of his angular features. "Let me guess, he then instructed you in making this card, and gave you this chocolate to give to me."

"Exactly so!" Jarlaxle's exclamation caused Entreri's eyes to boggle.

"Why would a man that you'd just met expend so much effort?"

"Why would a man that he'd just met personally escort him to safety, then buy him dinner and a room?"

"Perhaps so that the opportunistic drow would have a bed to share."

Jarlaxle looked hurt again.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was he not attractive enough for you?"

Actual pain crept into the ruby eyes, stabbing the assassin's heart with a pang of guilt. It deepened when he happened to catch sight of the card out of the corners of his eyes.

"My thanks," Entreri gruffly mumbled and bit into the tubular object. The mouthful fell to pieces easily enough between his teeth, and although he waited, rolling each bit around his tongue, he found no trace of sweetness or even bitterness. Rather, the whole thing tasted quite bland whilst filling his nostrils with the scent of burning. Unwittingly, a memory came to him, of sitting by a campfire in the Shadowfell. The rations he had tasted of char and dust, a flavor not unlike what was currently in his mouth.

Overall, it was an unpleasant sensation that elicited unpleasant memories. The one positive that came from it, the assassin noted, was that his companion's expression lighted up again.

Entreri turned the "chocolate" about in his hands. He ran his sensitive fingertips along its surface, trying to find some semblance of a familiar silky texture or equally familiar but different coarse texture. The item's surface was more akin to the latter, but rather than the roughness of a cocoa mixture, it felt more like grains of sand. He sniffed it again. It didn't smell bad, but it didn't carry the indulgent richness or sweetness that he'd come to enjoy. Rather, it smelled like charcoal.

"Is it not good?" The drow's cheery expression began falling into dejected concern. Entreri forced himself to swallow and tried to smile, but instead all he could do was grimace. "It isn't the best I've had," he admitted.

Jarlaxle plopped down before him and tilted his head. Entreri lowered his head to wipe his tongue on his sleeve, but in doing so, caught sight of the card again. Jaw setting with resolution, he bit off another piece of the terrible confection.

"Is it any better?" The drow's posture was a feline ready to pounce. Entreri forced himself to chew, grinding the pieces between his tongue and the roof of his mouth in an attempt to dissolve them. All that he'd succeeded in doing was coating his teeth in particles, a sensation not unlike having sand in his mouth.

"I feel like I'm eating something from a potter's kiln," Entreri finally relented. Nonetheless, he stubbornly swallowed his mouthful.

The mercenary held out a hand, into which the assassin placed the hollow cylindrical object. It was missing most of a formerly sealed end, which the assassin had eaten. Both white eyebrows knitted together as Jarlaxle squinted into the darkness of the tube.

"Wait, there's something inside..."

Entreri remembered the rattling he'd heard as two lithe fingers reached into the tube extracted flat object. Both companions leaned in close to see.

"A horse?" The two voices pronounced in unison.

Jarlaxle didn't resist as Entreri took the small image from him. "Is this another custom of this 'Valiant Times' holiday?" the assassin asked quizzically.

The drow's gaze was distant. The perplexed human waved a hand before the ruby eyes.

"I don't recall anything about a horse..." Jarlaxle's voice was uncertain.

"Why would he give it to you without telling you about what was inside?"

The drow didn't immediately answer. In that short pause, Entreri imagined that he could hear the gears spinning in his companion's head. Before any formulations had a chance to solidify, a swarthy hand shot out and held fast to one slender ebony wrist. Jarlaxle's smile faltered.

Entreri brandished the "chocolate" at Jarlaxle in the same manner that he'd brandish his jeweled dagger. "What did he say about this?" each of the assassin's words were punctuated with threat.

"Ah..." Jarlaxle stammered. Entreri's frigid gaze chilled him.

"He... didn't"

"He didn't?!"

Jarlaxle patted the air with his one free hand. "Peace, my abbil, I beg--"

"What do you mean, he didn't? You said that he gave you this to give to me, was that false?"

Jarlaxle didn't respond. Entreri's face darkened, and he pulled away from his companion. Understanding immediately, Jarlaxle exclaimed, "NO! No, worry not dear Artemis, I would never allow any harm to come to you. I've expended three charges of my Wand of Purify Food and Drink upon this, when one charge would've been sufficient. I can assure you with full confidence that it won't hurt you."

The assassin continued to glare at the mercenary.

"Fine, if you won't believe me--" Jarlaxle reached for the tube. Entreri pulled it out of his reach. The drow blinked with surprise and looked up at the human, relieved to find that his companion’s dark eyes were clearer despite the severe expression that still lingered on his face.

"I would not just feed you anything, my abbil," the mercenary dared.

"Yet, you'd still lie to me about the nature of that which you fed me."

Jarlaxle sighed and nodded.

"So he did not wish to give this to me?"

The drow shook his head. "He did not wish it to give it at all, or rather, he isn't aware that he'd given it."

Comprehension dawned on the assassin. "You took the opportunity to relieve the man of his possessions."

"Artemis Entreri disapproves of opportunistic acquisitions?" "Artemis Entreri disapproves of feeding opportunistic acquisitions that have not been properly identified to him," the chagrined human snapped back.

Jarlaxle's shoulders fell. "I believed I knew what it was. We spoke of Valiant Times until long past the sun dipped beneath the horizon. His accent was quite difficult to follow, why, at times I doubted he was even speaking Common--"

"You have a trinket that allows you to understand any language."

"And I was using it! But he must've possessed magic of his own, countering magic, perhaps a reward from his god to a loyal servant!" Jarlaxle sighed again. "Alas, that divine magic did not protect his sobriety."

"And no deity can protect Jarlaxle's sanity when he becomes too enamored with an idea."

Jarlaxle conceded with a sad nod.

Entreri's attention returned to the object in his palms. "Have you tried using identification magic on it?"

The drow held up both hands helplessly. "Such magic only serves to unravel the mystery of an unknown enchantment, or reveal the nature of the enchantment upon an item. All that my investigations told me was that this item is very much not enchanted."

The assassin looked up with a quirked eyebrow. "So you did investigate it?"

Jarlaxle's arms folded again. "Of course."

Entreri chuckled at the crossness in his companion's tone. "What led you to believe that it's chocolate? he asked, much of the steel gone from his tone.

Jarlaxle shrugged. "It was the only logical conclusion."

Entreri waved for the drow to continue.

"As I've told you, my abbil, we spoke at great length about the nature of the holiday. It is customary during this holiday to bear gifts of the finest chocolates, enclosed within elaborate containers. When I saw this box, I knew it immediately to be one such container, and my suspicion was confirmed when I glanced inside--"

"Glanced inside?" Entreri stopped Jarlaxle.

Jarlaxle nodded.

"It could've just as easily been a blade, a gem, or a piece of jewelry, wrapped within the silk. Why would you believe that it was chocolate?"

Jarlaxle brought one hand to rub the back of his neck.

Entreri let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head. "Are you always in the habit of opening the gifts that you intend for others?"

Jarlaxle began to respond, but a sudden noise froze both companions. Another noise spurred them to their feet, one blade in each of the assassin's hands and a throwing dagger poised to fly between the mercenary's fingertips. The two waited in total silence for countless heartbeats when, finally, they were rewarded with a sight that hardly justified their preparedness. Out from the nearby brush stumbled a disoriented human, messy light brown hair matching rumpled and mud-splattered clothing. His eyes brightened upon seeing the two figures, but then immediately, they widened, and so, too, did his mouth.

"YOU!!!" the disheveled man pointed at Jarlaxle as he howled and charged.

Entreri began to move forward, but the bedraggled man didn't take half a score of steps before falling flat onto his face.

The assassin and the mercenary stood still for many more breaths, waiting for the strange man to right himself. Instead of moving however, muffled sobs rang out from his still form. Entreri looked quizzically at Jarlaxle, and saw embarrassment in the deep red eyes that gazed back at him.

"He seems to have business with you," Entreri stated.

"Perhaps." Jarlaxle made no move to approach the prone man.

The assassin studied the mercenary quietly, all the while Jarlaxle was staring at the sobbing form, discomfort in his expression. The faintest twitch caught Entreri's keen gaze, and he looked down to see the drow surreptitiously move the image of the horse behind his back.

"Let us be away then," Entreri casually suggested.

Jarlaxle roused immediately and beamed. "A splendid idea!" he declared, wheeling on one heel while throwing the other leg out before him, his arms beginning to swing in pace--

But the assassin wasn't beside him. Gone, too was the small horse image in his fingers.

"Artemis?" Jarlaxle managed, his heart sinking as low as it could go when he saw that the assassin was already at the sobbing man's side. He watched, dumbfounded, as Entreri knelt and with uncharacteristic gentleness, then coaxed the distraught man up to his knees.

Even his keen elven ears couldn't discern the words that they exchanged, and he knew that such was the assassin's intention. No small measure of him willed him to turn and bolt away, especially when he saw the barely perceptible tensing of Entreri's shoulders, and knew immediately that the assassin had found the truth. However the dread that fixed him to the spot increased evermore in weight as he watched his friend hand the dirt-covered man the small portrait, then even pat the stranger on the shoulder.

"What is your business with him?" Entreri asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder back at Jarlaxle.

"Mishka! He stole my Mishka!" wailed the stranger, in an accent quite unlike any that Entreri had heard before. However, "Mishka", which he assumed was a name, did remind him of some of what he'd heard people call one another during his time in Damara.

"What is a Mishka?" Entreri asked, his forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"Mishka is my horse!" the stranger's words were barely comprehensible, especially delivered in between gasps and sobs as they were.

"Not likely. He possesses a steed unlike any, he would have no reason to steal a mundane horse."

"Mishka was my horse," the oddly-dressed man managed to choke out. "I grew up with her, but she died recently."

"He stole your dead horse?" The wrinkles in the assassin's forehead deepened.

The disheveled man began nodding furiously, then shook his head, then nodded again. "After Mishka died, I had her cremated, and her ashes were made into a small memento, so that I could always keep her close by my side."

Entreri had been planning to ask the stranger how he could be certain that Jarlaxle was the thief, but the dawning of a realization, a slow and inexorable one that he wished that he could deny, asserted itself in his mind at the expense of all other thoughts.

"Wait here," the assassin quietly instructed, and the stranger obediently nodded, having mistaken the quiet for gentleness.

Jarlaxle watched with admiration as Entreri smoothly rose, none of his rage evident in his flowing movements. The drow knew that he was smiling, but he also knew how empty his smile was. He imagined that he could see a dense aura of heat around Entreri, as though he still had his infravision before the transformation of magic over time had changed it. Like an unstoppable, slow-motion fireball, Entreri bore towards him, and Jarlaxle could only stand stock-still, stunned by the overbearing pressure.

"Horse ashes," Entreri pronounced in a barely audible whisper.

Jarlaxle could only nod, blank smile still affixed on his face.

"Not chocolate. Horse ashes."

Jarlaxle nodded again.

Entreri procured the "chocolate" that he'd hidden in the folds of his cloak and held it before the mercenary's eyes.

Jarlaxle nodded a third time.

The assassin's arm dropped to his side as his chin dropped against his chest. Jarlaxle stared wordlessly, his face beginning to hurt from his facetious smile. For countless heartbeats, all that passed between them were mild breezes, their gentleness tempered by the bite of winter that yet lingered upon them. Then, Entreri's shoulders began to shake, followed by his arms, then chest.

Jarlaxle brightened. "Truly, it gladdens me that you're able to find the humor--" he began.

The assassin's glare snapped up. Jarlaxle's smile faded completely. The hand that grabbed him by his collar did so so fast that he wasn't even aware of it having moved by the time that he felt his feet kicking in the air.

"Artemis, please--" the mercenary begged, his hands clasping the grip at his throat. "It was an honest mistake!"

Entreri said nothing, instead slamming Jarlaxle against a nearby tree. It wasn't hard enough to knock the breath out of him, but still Jarlaxle gasped, for the assassin came on so quickly that the next thing he knew, his legs were pinned by the human's knee, his torso by his companion's arm. Entreri's breath was hot against his face, the scent of coal only amplifying the sensation of being scalded by fire.

"Artemis? What are you going to do with me?"

"Didn't you say that it's a holiday for sharing?"

Jarlaxle started to answer, but Entreri's glare silenced him.

"In the spirit of Valiant Times, I am doing my part in sharing a new experience with my 'cherished one'." The assassin's tone was like ice.

The black tube drew closer to Jarlaxle's mouth.

The mercenary craned his neck as far as it would go. "Please, Artemis, peace, I beg!"

The tube did not halt its advance.

"Surely you wouldn't make a heartbroken man watch you feed his childhood friend to the bastard whom robbed him!" Jarlaxle managed to croak around the corner of the black substance that'd already wedged itself between his lips.

Thankfully, the item didn't penetrate his mouth any further. Although his vision was entirely occluded by his companion's form, Jarlaxle could hear that the stranger's sobs had become more subdued.

The assassin pulled away from the mercenary. "Come with me," Entreri said, more an order than a request as he headed towards the bedraggled stranger once more. It was the last thing that Jarlaxle wanted to do, but nonetheless, he followed dutifully.

"Good sir, is this what you seek?" Entreri held out the broken tube and the small portrait.

The stranger cried out with a mix of glee and dismay. He snatched the items from the assassin's hands. "What have you done with Mishka?!"

A heavy hand fell on Jarlaxle's shoulder. "Please forgive my clumsy friend, good sir. He can be very single-minded when met with curious items. Not unlike a child in a confectionery shoppe, he simply cannot resist the urge to grab the sweetest treat."

The hand on Jarlaxle's shoulder gave it a firm squeeze. A firm, painful squeeze. The mercenary winced, but took the cue and nodded earnestly. He started to speak, but an icy glare from the assassin froze the words in his throat.

"Fortunately, he is a simpleton with means. He has learned the error of his ways and will expend some of those means now to recompense you for the injury that he has done onto you." Entreri's gaze hardened as he turned it back to Jarlaxle. "Isn't that right, my abbil?"

Jarlaxle kept his wince inwards, instead nodding enthusiastically. "Quite so!" he exclaimed as he drew a wand from one of his many pockets. Perceiving the hesitation in the drow's ruby eyes, Entreri coaxed the broken tube and the small portrait from the unkempt man's hands, placed the portrait within the tube, then held it out beneath Jarlaxle's raised wand.

The mercenary didn't speak the command word. Instead, he whispered in his native tongue words that might've been birdsong to the stranger's ears, "Truly, my trusted friend, you wound me so, to ask that I expend this much."

"Further, as a gesture of goodwill," Entreri continued as though nothing had sounded but actual birdsong, "My generous friend will provide you with sufficient coin to see that you lack for nothing in your journey home." The assassin glared at the mercenary. "Is that not so?"

Jarlaxle's reply was a single word. The item in the assassin's hands was whole again. Entreri noted with displeasure that the charcoal taste in his mouth yet lingered.

"Your Mishka," Entreri stated as he handed the stranger the restored tubular object.

"And your travel expenses," the assassin added, one palm extended at the mercenary. Jarlaxle frowned but obediently placed a bulging coinpurse in Entreri's outstretched hand. The assassin bounced the coinpurse before handing it to the disheveled stranger, then returned his empty palm to Jarlaxle. The drow's frown deepened into a scowl, but again, he wordlessly placed another bulging coinpurse in Entreri's expectant palm. Entreri repeated the assessing motion, handed the purse to the stranger, and just as Jarlaxle readied a rejoinder, Entreri's hand didn't reach for him again.

Instead, thoroughly ignoring the drow, the two humans walked away, Entreri talking to the stranger with a false familiarity that nonetheless made Jarlaxle uncomfortable. He knew better than to try to follow though, the hard set of Entreri's shoulders warned him against it, so it was all he could do to watch the assassin point the strange man towards the nearest town.

When Entreri returned, outstretched in his hand was what appeared to be a small piece of metal.

"What's this?" Jarlaxle couldn't help his curiosity.

"Chocolate."

The drow quirked an eyebrow. "Encased in silver?"

The assassin answered him by peeling away metallic skin that was thinner than parchment to reveal a rich brown bar within.

"For you," Entreri deadpanned.

Jarlaxle's ears drooped. "Please, my abbil, haven't you punished me enough?"

"I am not like you," the assassin retorted. "I know exactly the nature of what it is that I'm offering to you. It is chocolate."

Jarlaxle looked sadly from the offered bar to the assassin's face, then back again.

"If you truly care about me as much as you claim to care, and value my trust as much as you claim that you do, you would at the very least try this." Entreri's voice lacked inflection, as though he were stating an objective fact.

Jarlaxle sighed and begrudgingly accepted the offered item. He squeezed his eyes shut as he bit off a small corner, fully expecting to taste char, soot, and perhaps a hint of meat, but instead..."

The drow's eyes popped open. It was sweet, rich, and creamy. It was actually chocolate! A wide smile broke over his handsome features. "Ah, my abbil, truly you are more noble than I! It was wrong of me to have doubted you. Please, accept my most humble apologies."

The mercenary struck a deep bow, then earnestly ate the rest of the confection. It wasn't a difficult task at all, for it was truly delicious.

The assassin's expression was stern even after the drow had finished the last bite.

"I planned to insist upon your company at a revel I'm to attend tonight," Jarlaxle began hastily, thinking that he had Entreri's dishumor figured out. "However, given what has transpired... I shall spare you what you no doubt consider a nuisance."

A smile broke over the assassin's grimness. Jarlaxle breathed an internal sigh of relief.

"I must be on my way then, my abbil," the mercenary proclaimed as he threw down his Nightmare figurine. "Have a joyous Valiant Times!"

As Entreri watched the drow fade into the distance, he drew out a small blue and white box, which still contained several bars of the "chocolate" that he'd given Jarlaxle to eat.

"Indeed," the assassin whispered with a thin smile to the exquisitely written lettering on the box, pleased that the stranger had told him of both its “explosive” results and its charming name of "Ex Lax".

#Jarlaxle #Jarlaxle Baenre #Artemis Entreri #Entreri #Forgotten Realms #legend of drizzt #fanfiction #Valentine's Day #Valentine's Card #Valentine's Day 2019 #my art

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n1ghtcrwler · 6 years ago

Text

May 4 Writing Prompt

@writeblrs May 4, 2019: Pixie Dust

Each of the posts I make for Tall Tales as prompt responses go into the drafts to be used within the actual story on my website, so you guys are getting what amounts to sneak peeks. This one, however, is a full story that I’ve been planning for a while, called “Trespasser,” instead of a story snippet.

Robert Partridge never seemed to get the impressive bucks. Sure, he’d get a deer each year, but it was rarely anything worth mounting. The meat was good, but this year he desperately wanted to get something he could show off to his friends without fear they’d have bagged a better one.

He lived on a state road outside of town and knew about a large wooded tract of land that rarely anyone drove by. He’d spent the summer and fall poking around, and was now very certain there were deer worth his attention hiding behind those trees. He also knew no one else was hunting there; the No Trespassing signs and rumors in town about an overly protective owner, as well as state game lands nearby, kept most hunters occupied enough. But when he looked into the owner to try and get permission to hunt there, he found it apparently unclaimed, the signs having been posted without the proper legal process to make them binding. It seemed he was probably in the clear to go there, but he knew it would be worth his time to check with the guys who seemed to know everything about the lands surrounding the town center.

So he spent part of last evening in the Four Winds Bar, waiting for Thompson. They weren’t close, but he knew Thompson well enough from nights at this bar to know he’d be by, and he’d have answers. It was three beers and two lost games of pool before Thompson arrived, and Robert was getting antsy.

“What is it, Bob?” Thompson asked, having barely taken a seat before the younger man was sidling up to him.

“I was wondering about that stretch off 949,” Robert said, taking a seat and waving for another Yuengling.

“Which one?”

“You know, the one no one hunts.”

“For good reason, kid. What’re you thinkin?”

“I looked it up, and it ain’t owned. The signs ain’t legal or nothin.”

“It’s owned.”

“By who? No one ever goes there, there’s no house nearby, everyone talks about some owner but no one seems to know who they are!” The bartender delivered their drinks and gave Thompson a look that asked about Robert. Thompson waved him off and finally looked at Robert.

“Look kid. Not everything is on some book somewhere, not everyone who got a claim likes to come into town. I’m tellin you, leave it be.” The two went back and forth for another twenty minutes, Robert wanting answers and Thompson having nothing more solid than what he’d already offered. Annoyed, Robert left to get some rest and prepare for the season to start the next morning. Thompson, the bartender, and three others watched him go, the streetlights catching in their eyes like a flashlight in the eyes of a cat.

Now Robert was in a tree, looking out over a rocky brook and a small clearing that looked like it hadn’t been touched since the Earth was new. It was surprisingly warm, as the brook lacked any ice and there were still some flowers in bloom. The dawn was just starting to threaten the horizon when he finally spotted a deer approaching the water. He pulled his gun up to line up the shot and confirm it had a suitable rack. With his attention focused on the deer, he had no chance to see the arrow coming that buried itself in his shoulder.

He screamed, dropped his gun, and fell out of the stand. He heard a loud crack and, checking, he was convinced his leg was broken. He took short, sharp breaths, trying to avoid making too much noise or passing out from the pain, as he tried to drag himself toward the water. Hooves came into his field of vision, and his gaze followed them up to see what owned them.

The body was certainly that of an elk, large and muscular, with patches of moss and mushrooms apparently growing in its fur. Where the neck should have been was a lean humanoid torso, dark like the forest. Its head, for Robert couldn’t tell a gender from anything he saw, had pointed ears, long hair woven with flowers and leaves, and massive antlers with spider webs and vines hanging between their points. It was holding a crude bow and glaring down at him.

“You come to kill,” it said, clearly but sounding more like a branch breaking than a voice.

“I-I’m sorry, please, I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean to get caught. You have broken the ancient pact.”

“I didn’t know! What pact?! What-please, let me go, I’ll do anything, I swear, just-” he paused, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes. I believe you will.” The fae raised its hand, and shimmering light began to gather like sand in its palm from the nearby flowers.

“Is-is that...pixie dust?”

“You humans insist on naming everything, as if you have the right to define it.” The fae blew at the substance, which flew over and landed all over Robert’s body. He took a deep breath, waiting for it to heal him, but instead he began to feel pressure building around his legs. When he looked back at them, there were roots emerging from the ground and wrapping around him.

“What-no! What is this?!” The roots lifted him upright, causing him to scream as they applied pressure to his broken leg. The fae seemed to be looking beyond him, and as he regained focus with shallow breaths he managed to turn his head enough to see vines and sticks coming together into a tight bundle that started to move on its own and stand upright. He could feel the tightness moving up his body and, looking down, saw that everything from his waist down was buried in the bottom of a tree. He looked frantically between the fae and the slowly animating bundle of material as it gained moss and grass, giving it a more defined form.

He begged, as the wood covered more of his body and pinned his arms. The fae ignored him, walking over and touching the bundle. It was a changeling, he began to remember from old stories, as it took its first breath and molded into a clearly human shape. He tried to scream but no one was listening. The last thing he saw before the wood closed over his eyes was the changeling, shifted to look exactly like him, turn and walk out of the forest, the morning sun flashing in its eyes like a cat’s.

#tall tales #peterpanprompts2019 #peterpanprompts #writeblr #original writing #writing prompt

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a-40k-dad · 7 years ago

Text

Hive7 : Malevolent

The constantly updated post that might become a draft.

The story of Evjen Praxi, moneyed socialite and influent businessman of Hive7 The story of his army of underhiver agents and spies. And of course, the story of the eponymous Malevolent, his Guncutter shuttle custom built around the remains of a derelict Inquisition attack-ship.

From orbit, Azoria shines in a blend of grey continents, small patches of dark and fouled toxic seas and a gargantuous, ever-shifting green mist, through which the spires of its hive cities and forges are clearly visible.

Elevated from Knight World to Forge World, Azoria is now one of the many industrious jewels within the great Imperium of Man. It is indeed a jewel, but one made of rust, dust, and toxic wastes.

A world with a slowly decaying magnetic field that jas allowed small amounts of its sun's deadly radiation to seep into the atmosphere. To remain anywhere outside of the shielded Hive Cities or industrial areas would be ill advised to say the least.

Although the radioactivity doesn’t render life impossible — yet — visitors and other guests are still advised to apply for medical treatments that will bolster their rad-resistance. Whether the purpose of those goes beyond bringing peace of mind to the outworld-travelers, remains unknown.

Most of the inhabitants of this world have developed over the millennia an uncanny resistance to their sun’s adverse effects but still, mutations, sickness and untimely deaths are all but too common for the indigent underhivers or wasterlanders.

Unlike those poor souls, Evjen Praxi did not lack the means to survive, for he has had the privilege of being born in a family of absurd wealth, leading a life of opulence and display thereof.

One's natural defenses could be engineered and bought with credits and Evjen always had more credits than he could care to count. The middle-aged man has been at the head of his parent’s legacy : Praxcorp, the single most powerful privately owned industrial group in the system with many ventures in the sub-sector’s commerce.

Evjen had seen his parents act unreservedly around nobles and have had government officials act obsequiously around them. During his youth, Evjen did not know of the misery reigning down below. Although he’s been born in a social sphere far removed from the suffering of the common people, when Evjen Praxi came of age, he made the choice to open his eyes wide and look upon the truth in humility.

A dour intention locked on his face, the green fires of the faraway furnaces reflecting in his deep grey and yellow iris, Evjen awaits a friend in the night. Seen from one of the gloomy private docking area of Hive7′s upper section, Azorian nights remain the same : made of dark above and of its terrible radioactive green mist down below, where the lights of the innumerable spires dim and vanish.

The air is as cold as it is rare outside above the clouds. Yet Evjen has made the choice of waiting there, in the relative seclusion of the anchoring platform. Only the revving engines of passing-by ships and the distant hum of power generators can be heard through the sharp wind that blows during the hours of darkness.

Leaning against the railing, Evjen is focusing on his senses, when he begins to hear a faint metallic tapping coming from behind, slowly gaining in intensity. Without moving he raises his voice : “Aerin“ he says, “I’m glad you could make the time”.

As he turns, he discovers the young woman, clad from head to toe in thermoregulative gear. “Why do we always have to meet up here?” she says, abrasively. “Why don’t you come down to me for a change? It would be just as safe for you as any of your beloved freezing perch”.

-“You know I can’t be seen in the lower levels, Aerin” Evjen scoffs. “Besides” he lightly punctuates while checking her out, “you don’t look like you need to be any warmer right now”.

Aerin instinctively looks down at her feet, trying to understand what could be wrong with her current attire. “Well, Evjen” she utters, insisting on his name to let him know that she had been slightly offended, “I am not one of you nobs or other well-offs.” as she positions herself to lean against the nearby structural pillar, she continues “I’m used to the warmth of the underbelly of this gigantic beast” she says, while tapping her hand on the pillar, referring to Hive7.

Evjen starts laughing.

Aerin laughs too, but only to get it over with.

The cold chills her down to her bones despite the thermosuit. She feels it all through her face which is left unprotected. Most underhivers like their climate hot and preferably a little humid too. She had been trembling since the moment she had stepped onto the platform.

“Aerin,” the middle-aged man says, “I need you.” the young woman forgets the cold for a moment, as the tone of Evjen piques her interest. “Not your reaction cell, just you” he added.

–“What’s the catch Ev?” she asks.

Evjen takes a breath and gulps “I need someone I can trust” he almost whispered. “and I need the best copilot in the system”.

Aerin isn’t immune to flattery, but even she knows that his assessment of her skills is not at all misguided. She tries to deflect the gravity of the request :

“Taking Mally out for a spin boss?” she asks.

–”Don’t call me that.” he replies, without animosity.

Aerin takes a few steps and switches from leaning against the pillar to joining Evjen at the railing. She considers the height of the potential fall while she produces a soft and indistinct utterance marking her considering his request. She had never been one to ask for much but in this case, she needs details.

“I’m not saying yes just yet, Ev. But why just me?” she asks. – “I would go on my own if I didn’t have the option to ask you, Aerin,” Evjen confesses. “and before anything else, let me make this one thing clear ; feel free to say no.” he delivers, caught in a moment of self-confidence. “but, hear me out first”.

—”Alright.” she answers, with a hint of curiosity showing through.

–“You and I, Aerin, we are freedom fighters at heart. You understand the game we are playing here, you get the sort of position I’m in” he mumbles, with a defeated look.

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve always stuck with my little operation out of conviction”. Evjen stands straight and looks over Aerin’s shoulder towards the airlock. He turns his gaze towards the other pier, on the other side of the gap of the empty anchorage area of the docking tower.

“I don’t trust anyone on my payroll”. he continues, in a serious tone. “There is no amount of credits or valuables that could keep the many dishonorable types from stabbing me in the back.” he hypothesises.

Aerin stands a moment in silence before responding : –”Why not trust my cell?” she asked. “They are every bit as loyal to our cause as I am.”

“They’re loyal to you, Aerin” Evjen replies. “It wouldn’t be fair to implicate them into this.”

Aerin reflects on Evjen’s opinion and as he was about to give some of the information she requested, she interrupted him :

“You know what, Ev? I don't want to know. I’ve got your back, like always.” she says. Evjen lets a sign of relief escape from the back of his eyes. “Whatever it is you need help with, I'll do it for the usual fee” she adds.

“Deal!” he says, while they shake hands on it. “Two levels up, opposite bay, you’ll find Mally. She’s ready. I’ll be right there”.

”You got it” she cheers, while walking away.

The fact is that the underhiver had already been picturing herself piloting Evjen’s Guncutter, which entailed the promise of thrilling sensations and possible mayhem on some unworthy, profiteering souls of this Imperial System. Aerin smiles in disbelief at her own excitement taking the decisions for her.

The airlock’s door at the end of the platform can be heard very faintly over the ever stronger winds of the night. The business man turns and stares into the dark corners of the docking bay.

He feels observed.

In the elevator, Aerin reflects on her impulsive consent. “Oh, shit!” she utters in resignation. She doesn’t even know the basic information of when, where, and why, let alone the details she had been meaning to ask.

“Fucking Mally” she mumbles. “You manipulative old bitch”.

The docking bay indicated by Evjen is plunged into darkness, Aerin heads for the control booth near the entrance, activates a console, which sparks life into the hangar. A low hum fills the room, its pitch slowly shifting towards a higher tone. The generators are warming up. Suddenly a loud noise can be heard as power gets redirected to the bright docking bay spotlights, revealing the Malevolent, affectionately nicknamed “Mally” by its owner.

Aerin takes a moment to look at the Malevolent which looks rusty. The bulky old lady looked like nothing really, an old dropship perhaps. It is however part of its camouflage. A ship that looks in poor shape seems much less of a threat after all.

The Malevolent being in fact an inquisition ship that Evjen had found derelict a few star systems across the void also warranted for a more subdued appearance. It was therefore also heavily modified to avoid immediate visual class-recognition.

Aerin had heard Mally’s story a few times too many : Evjen had dismantled the damned thing completely before stowing the parts away in a dozen of his company’s freighters in order to discretely smuggle it back planet-side.

Reassembly, repairs and customisation had been much more of a pain, apparently. Not only the costs of custom-made or salvaged parts but most exorbitant of all was the price of secrecy ; the paying-offs, the unending amount of favours, the machinations, the oft violent silencing of loud-mouths, and their corpses to recycle, all of it probably still weighs heavily on Evjen’s conscience.

For all the disgust the man has for servitors, they at least, wouldn’t betray him. Unless someone hacked into them, that is. Aerin understands her benefactor’s words fully when he says he can’t trust anyone but kindred spirit.

Aerin sighs in satisfaction. For an underhiver, simply seeing a void-capable ship from up-close is already remarkable. Boarding one would be far-fetched to say the least, but piloting one? That is well-nigh inconceivable.

But there she is, ready to make the old lady sing her song of grace and mechanical fury, with harmonics of metal and fuel, hurled supersonic into the darkness of space.

Maybe Aerin will get to hear the loud beating of the ammo drums being emptied at some pirate or whatever type of sucker who thinks they can get away with double-crossing Evjen Praxi.

Mally, deadly old lady with tricks up her sleeve that even Astartes would envy. How could Aerin ever refuse such an opportunity?

Evjen enters the cockpit and notices Aerin already seated. “The pilot seat, uh?” he observes in feigned irritation. “That bad of an itch?” Aerin turns her seat around towards Evjen as he stows a couple of toolkits and datapads away.

The underhiver nods, breathes in deeply, holds the air in for a moment, then delivers solemnly : —“I’m in love, Ev”. The man lets his bag slide off from his shoulder and it falls heavily onto the deck. Visibly taken aback, he looks at Aerin for a moment, not understanding what she means.

—“Your ship, Ev, your ship!” she specifies, “your graceful, powerful, agile, and deadly Mally!” she adds as her hands grip the stick and the throttle.

—“Uh-huh” Evjen utters as he throws himself in the copilot’s seat.

“Very well” he sighs. “Would you kindly take your fling to the skies, then?”

—“Oh, she’s much more than a fling, Ev” Aerin corrects. “At this point she’s my significant other”.

Evjen giggles in amusement as he straps himself in :

—“Just, take her out, Aerin”.

Aerin quickly wraps up the lift-off procedure checks before powering-up the Malevolent’s plasma engines. The hull starts vibrating in a deep rumble which fills the soul of the voidcraft’s pilot with an incommensurable sensation of triumph. She reaches for the panel overhead and tunes into the local traffic control’s communications.

—“FC Eta-Seven, this is voidbound shuttle PeeCee-Alpha-Niner — Malevolent” she says, as if she had been a comms-op her entire life. “Requesting clearance for manually operated flight from Praxcorp docks to orbit, over”. The voxcasting system makes a clicking sound as she stops broadcasting. After a few seconds, another clicking occurs, covering the murmur of the idle engines —“PC-Alpha-9 please specify cargo and destination” the flight operator asks.

Evjen who had started slouching again, straightens up and reaches for one of the data pads he has brought with him.

—“Feed them that” he says, handing the pad over to Aerin.

The underhiver takes the pad and looks towards the console next to her, searching for the right connecting slot. Before inserting the metallic capsule into the slot, she dusts it off to ensure the reading heads are clean. The pad fits into the console with in a snapping mechanical noise. Aerin hits a few buttons before opening the comm’s channel once more :

—“Transmitting, flight control” she utters, in the same appropriately monotonous voice.

The tower acknowledges the reception of the data and asks for them to wait for a pending approval of their flight path. After a few moments, Aerin covers the soft roaring of the plasma drive :

—“What’s on there?” she asks, pointing at the datapad.

The casual tone of her voice can’t conceal the curiosity gnawing at her as well as she would like.

Evjen inhales loudly, as if he wanted to convey his boredom :

—“A detailed route we won’t follow” he answers. Taking another breath, Evjen continues : “along with the specs of a bogus inspection mission on some of my astral ore mining facilities”.

Aerin looks disappointed, but nods nonetheless. The business man, feeling he wasn’t precise enough to satiate his sidekick’s interest explains that the resources his corporation gathers from the void is vital to this world’s production of Imperial machines of war, and surely, they wouldn’t mess with the daily affairs of the biggest purveyor of raw materials in the system. It still isn't what she wanted to hear. She is waiting for him to tell her who has to die and why. She likes a good story and loves to get involved in them. Sensing she won't get it out of him just yet, Aerin simply goes for “makes sense”. A good follow-up-killing pair of words.

They spend a moment in silence, their senses lulled by the sound of the engines. Finally, the clicking of the final transmission is heard, along with the awaited sanction of their flight path. Aerin reaches for the docking clamps’ release and lets Mally gently drift out of the mooring bay, along the suspended observation pier. As the Guncutter clears the docks, the pilot starts allocating more power to the drive’s capacitors, which can be heard revving all the way from engineering. Soon it seems like the whole craft is pulsing with tremendous potential energy from within its core, energy ready to be unleashed into the propulsion systems. For Aerin, this moment is as overwhelming as it pleasurable.

Clinging to his seat’s armrests, Evjen comments in feigned tranquility :

—“Easy now.” he says, his entire body as stiff as a support beam.

Aerin, slowly tilting the Malevolent towards the skies, turns her head and meets the screaming apprehension in Evjen’s eyes. She lets the ship sally forth and smiles as the Malevolent’s hull quivers and resonates under the mighty roar of its engines, now hurling the two of them into the void.

“The big one, at one o’clock high. Do you see it?”

Aerin takes a quick look towards the asteroid field.

“Yes.“ “That’s where we are going”.

“Understood”.

Evjen allows his back to rest into his seat. “They are hidden on the other side, waiting for us” he utters, before exhaling sharply through the nose. “Their ship has a ventral docking bay, big enough for us to land”.

While focused on her approach, Aerin can’t help twitching her eyes to the side, in an attempt to try and gauge the situation by the look on Evjen’s face. He never was too big on dispensing the details but this time he is being particularly ungenerous.

“Dock while maintaining vox-silence. I don’t want any stray signals” he orders.

As they pass on to the other side of this huge space rock, the target ship appears on Mally’s scopes. To the naked eye, it is still but a dot easily mistaken for one of the smaller asteroids in the background.

Aerin inhales slowly as she builds up the courage to speak.

“Would you care to tell me what we are doing here? Who are these people, you — one of the most powerful man on the whole Emperor-damned planet — have to meet behind a rock the size of a hive city?”

Evjen stares into the monitors as he tries to bring the necessary order to his thoughts to formulate an answer. “They’re pirates” he mumbles after a moment of silence. “Thieves, criminals, debased scum, sure, but yet resourceful.” he adds, more clearly.

“They do have a voidship” Aerins comments.

“Yes. But they also have contacts with certain, special people outside of our system. People who, they claim, can find anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.” Evjen continued without pause : “I wanted something very special and they asked around for me. Naturally they asked those special people I mentioned. Turns out one of them quickly found what I needed and our friendly pirates arranged a meeting between me — or rather, us — and this, shall I call, artifact finder.”

“Who are these special people?”

“I have my suspicions but I don’t like it. Not one bit.” he declares. “Anyway, I have brought payment for the pirates, but I haven’t been told what this finder requires for his or her troubles. This might be tricky. This is why I needed you. Because I know I can count on your discretion and, if my dealings with this person fail miserably, I also know I can count on your sizeable set of other abilities”

Aerin knows better than to push this line of questioning any further. Evjen expects things to get messy and it is information enough for her, for now at least. Instead, she contemplates the story she’s just been told while observing the pirates’ ship which now appears much bigger through the cockpit’s window.

It was a modified freighter, similar ships can be found in countless amount in the system : bringing supplies, shipping off cargo to the sub-sector’s commercial hubs, they are so common that she can’t help but approve this choice for a ship engaging in illegal activities.

It is in a state of disrepair, but nothing out of the ordinary. Captains push their crews and their ships to the last limits and accidents are rather frequent. The modifications however, those, she feels, are too obvious. Heavy ordnance and laser turrets slapped onto a cargo ship, it isn’t very discreet nor elegant. Then again, they didn’t have the limitless budget of her passenger and benefactor. Mally here, Aerin thought, had concealed weaponry. She might look like a defenseless void shuttle but underneath the facade, she is armed to the teeth ; she could beat squadron of interceptors on her own and perhaps she could hold her own against light scout corvettes. She’d definitely chew up the piece of garbage freighter Aerin is going to make her metal steed land in, she has no doubt that.

As the Malevolent gets into its final approach, Aerin decides to steer it towards the ventral docking bay, but using a backwards manoeuvre. An uncommon procedure, especially since there is barely any room for Evjen’s prized Guncutter there, but she manages to land it smoothly. Evjen frowns at her intricate piloting.

—“Much easier to get out of here this way” she explained.

Evjen’s frown leaves the way to a conniving smile. As Aerin turns off the engines, she notices armed men running onto the docking area.

—“Don’t worry about it” reassures Evjen as he lifts one of the bags he brought with him. “They’re probably here to escort us to the bridge” he wheezes. The bag must be heavier than she thought.

They both stand in front of Mally’s rear airlock, ready to disembark. As the pressure equalises, Evjen checks his side arm, Sagitta Tenebris, a custom-made beauty of a needle-gun. Aerin looks at him, still waiting on more instructions. Having finished his weapon’s inspection, he holsters it. As the hatch starts opening, Evjen stares right into Aerin’s awaiting eyes.

—“Whatever happens” he insists, “you follow my lead out there.”

#underhive7 #malevolent #fluff #draft

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sunstriderling · 7 years ago

Note

Since we're on the topic of Hanzo and you offering to write any fic, how do you feel about a Blind!Hanzo AU? Idk i just finished Avatar the last airbender and Toph's seismic sense helping with her blindness was an insp for this idea.

[Widowmaker voice]: what’s an AU

( AO3 )

Snow flurries across the abandoned temple’s courtyard. In the moonlight, it’s barely more than a whisp like a spirit scurrying down the cliff, scattering as the ground vanishes from beneath it and the wind carries the icy particles into the valley below. Genji shudders - everything here seems so different now. Distorted, somehow, now that the Shambali no longer light the fires at night.

He slides his katana out of its saya, its edge pulsing with its low neon glow against the blue of the snow gathered over the tiled ground. He tilts his head as he walks silently forwards, listening to the idle static carrying through his communications link: this far up, no one can hear him, and he can’t hear anyone.

Good. Whatever hides here, he’d rather face on his own.

The doors are broken, and even the entrance to the shrine has over time filled with snow. It’s gathered into the corners and spread like a carpet over the floor leading forwards from the doorway. Genji’s footsteps leave marks over it as he heads left, passing down the stairs he used to know quite well but which now lead into pitch black darkness instead of the warm glow of torches and the sounds of prayer, of wind chimes and the bells carried by the monks.

He can still hear speech, however. As his visor adjusts to the low levels of light around him, easing it for his eyes to adapt as well, he searches for the source. It seems to come from the room above the pit, so he heads there, feet light and his hurried steps barely making a sound.

Talon agents. He can see them, huddled around a light source, with… pieces of an omnic in their midst. Not a monk, Genji notes at first - looks like some Bastion model. He doesn’t know why they’re here, nor does he particularly care; his instructions were clear. Seek, destroy.

Just like the good old times.

A smirk pushes its way onto his lips, a breath carrying out the vents of his mask. Damn, he thinks; it’s been too long since he had a good one-on-five. With the advantage of surprise on him, his form flashes into the room. There are yelps, and then gunfire; a bullet bounces off the armour on his shoulder, scrapes the side of his head with a sound like fabric tearing, but it barely concerns him. His visor dims the contrast and prevents the following blindness after each gunshot flashes the room with white, and effortlessly, he bouncs back into the darkness, blood dripping off his sword.

Don’t kill if you don’t have to, he reminds himself; Waste of life is beneath you.

One of the agents crouches on the floor, holding a bleeding gash on his side.

“They’ll come get you later,” Genji promises him under his breath, his form melting into a black corner of the hall as his enemy points lights around in a disorganized manner, trying to find him there. “You will have justice - as long as you stay down, of course.”

A light bounces off his form, and with his frame’s power system flaring to light, he charges out of the bullet spray that follows. He lands lightly onto the platform - the heart of the shrine - in the middle, and vanishes inside the altar room beside it. His heart beats with excitement as he hears the agents following him, shouting orders that echo from the endlessly high ceiling and drop like stones down into the pit below. When they step there, he raises his katana again, lifts it before him, and speaks a low prayer into the thick silence of the room that conceals him. Then, with the glow of his body intensifying, he charges out and strikes. One, two - three out of five down. He turns for the fourth, but then, something catches his sight on the walls separating the platform from the corridors. A dark shape that doesn’t belong there, crouching over the edge. He turns towards it, preparing a blow, but the sky blue sash dancing in the draft stills him - stuns him, just for long enough for a bullet to hit where it hurts.

A muffled sound escapes him as the impact tears apart the underside of his shoulder blade, digging into the artificial muscles of his arm and chest. He stumbles forwards, lands on one knee, and twists around to deflect a bullet; it changes course, hits the wall and scatters down a rain of dust and grit. His focus seems as splintered; his systems suppress the pain quickly enough, the information spreading at the edges of his vision a confirmation that the injury would not prevent him from carrying on the fight, and he can see his enemies taking aim again, a woman on one side and a man on the other, but -

there is one at his back, a ghost, an apparition from his past that cannot and would not be here, even if, even… if -

The woman falls first. There’s a flash of blue, like the darkness has fractured and revealed from beneath the brightest shade of sunlit clear skies, and then a splatter of blood from her neck, a spray of it, that turns to a flow like a black river down her throat and into the deepening dark of her uniform. Genji’s katana falters, falling an inch or so from the position his deflection left it at, and he turns towards the man taking aim up now, and a strange calm sense of expectation, like waiting for something quite natural to happen, settles into him.

Another blue flash punctures the man’s skull through his forehead. He collapses backwards, the light of his weapon falling like a beacon down to the floor.

A silence consumes the shrine once more. Genji, his body’s neon glow pulsing gently as his systems stabilize, stands up and turns to face the man now standing up on the wall. He looks at him properly now, the way he slides his bow back around his body and then crouches down, fingers sliding along the wall’s edge as if to mark it down. Then, his body slides smoothly down from it, and he lands like a cat on his feet, silently, with the blue sash filling up with air and then falling back to his side just barely grazing the dusty floor.

“Hanzo.”

“An unlikely place for us to meet again,” the older brother says, his voice concealing any emotion that might burn behind it.

Genji watches his fingertips move over the golden cloth covering his eyes, brushing over it as if to make sure it’s still there. Slowly, the cyborg moves closer - he lets his feet make sound this time, allows the soft pads to meet the ground carelessly enough to cause the quietest of echoes through the space.

“What have the years done to you?” he asks, lifting his hand between them; it stays there, shaking ever so slightly, until Hanzo’s meets it in the middle, his fingers sliding between the metallic joints and brushing against the touch-sensitive pads on the underside.

“Not the years,” he answers in a calm, if a little melancholic tone; “Bad choices.”

Genji lets him run his palm down his own, lets his fingertips seek out the edges of each part of his hand, then his wrist, and from there reach up to his mask. There, he moves in himself; this time, his hands are clearly shaking as he lets his visor down, breaks it off the frames, and reveals the upper half of his face from beneath.

The world is suddenly much darker, even for his enhanced eyesight, but Hanzo’s touch is light as it travels down the bridge of his nose and up the curves of his brows. Finally, the other man retreats his hand.

“Bad choices, huh?” he repeats, his tone as shaky as his hands, “I haven’t seen you since the war started. I thought you dead.”

“Returning the favour has been my pleasure.”

“So this is all just a measure of revenge?” Genji asks, grimace tinting his voice now.

Hanzo chuckles. He lowers his head, his overgrown hair falling over his features, tangling up with the cloth over his eyes.“I never did know how to give you an answer to the question you never asked me,” he says then.

Genji swallows.“So you said nothing instead.”

“Precisely.”

“You are an idiot,” Genji snarls.He brings his hand up to Hanzo’s face, presses his fingertip against the edge of the cloth, and pushes down with only implicit pressure. Hanzo cocks his head, his hair falling back off it, and slips his fingertips under the cloth; when he removes it, the scarring underneath reminds Genji of a broken cobweb.

“What happened?” he asks again.

“The war happened.”

The blindfold falls loose and silky over Hanzo’s fingertips, and his hand fists around it, tucks it underneath the sash on his waist.

“And yet you are here,” Genji points out, “Yet you saved my life.”

“Your life needed no saving before you spotted me. All I did was prevent my own carelessness from harming the enemy of my enemy.”

“So that is what I have become - the enemy of your enemy.”

The older brother smiles, his head bowing down again.

“I will not ask you how you did it. You clearly will not tell me. Good - we will both have our secrets, then,” Genji sighs.

“Then what will you ask?”

A low, breathless chuckle escapes Genji.“Still sharp, aren’t you.”

“I have to be. Now more than ever,” Hanzo says, the smile on him turning crooked as he tilts his head, “Speak it - the life you spared is bleeding out, and without him, your allies will never have the answers they sent you here to seek.”

“Very well, then. No more small talk.”

Genji watches Hanzo for a moment, his heart now beating out of nerves rather than the fading adrenaline of the fight. Regardless, it still beats - a fact ensured by the phantom before him.

“You said you never knew what answer to give me,” he begins then, and Hanzo lifts his head, a sliver of white peeking from underneath his scarred lids, “All I ask now is whether you still want an answer, and if you would let me give it to you, should you still feel that you cannot find it on your own.”

The man before him lets out a breathless, yet amused - perhaps relieved - chuckle. He turns his head towards the fall beside them, his gloved fingers sliding down the side of his hip.

“What use would a blind man be to you?” he asks.

“What use is the sky to the earth?”

“I am nothing, Genji.”

“You are still my brother.”

In the silence that falls between them, the halls echo with the wind’s howl. It sounds like an endless exhale pushing against the mouth of a bottle, and its vibrations ache inside Genji’s auditory channels. Finally, Hanzo nods.

“Tell me then, my kin - what is my fate?”

“To follow me back down, where I hope a warm breakfast will end this night for us both. You look like you could use that.”

The next smile on the older spreads warmer, wider than the one before. Sighing, he pulls out his blindfold again and slides it over his features, his fingers tugging his hair out from beneath it and then untangling his hand from amongst the uneven locks.

“You ask for very little,” he says.

“What did you expect me to ask of you? An empire, the world, your soul? All I wish for is for us to walk this path together once more, brother; whichever way you would.”

The other’s smile trembles, but he hides it behind his palm, his fingers running over the corners of his mouth and down the greying beard covering his chin. He turns towards the room where the bleeding man must still be waiting, and Genji watches him breathe as he returns his visor over his own features, bringing back the desaturated glow into the room.

“Lead me, then,” Hanzo finally says, “Perhaps I am finally ready to follow.”

#shimada brothers #hanzo #genji #overwatch #fic #mine #anon #replies

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nomibubs-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Call of the Valkyrie

Chapter 2: Climbs, Bones and Dark Places

“Over here,” said Fishlegs, beckoning Hiccup and Astrid through the cave. “I was following the air current, see it catching?” He lifted the torch to demonstrate the flames being inextricably pulled. “That’s when I found… this.”

He lifted his torch higher, the light flickering over an immense slab, the sheer impact of its fall from somewhere above them enough to have cleaved it in two. This wasn’t what Fishlegs was referring to in awe though. As he moved the torch closer, engraved runic symbols were thrown into sharp relief.

“Just look at these,” he gushed, his hand running over the surface of the runestone clearing away centuries of accumulated dust.

“Woah, Fishlegs, this… this is really something!” said Hiccup, genuinely impressed. “It looks like a form of Norse, but nothing I’m familiar with.”

“I know, right? Even the Dragon Eye didn’t date back this far. It’s ancient, perhaps one of the earliest dialects.”

“Can you read any of it?” Astrid asked, looking at it over Hiccup’s shoulder.

“I don’t know, maybe. I need time to study it.”

“That’s not really a luxury we have right now, Fishlegs,” she said, sternly, pulling away.

“But, just look at it! The detail, the craftsmanship.” Fishlegs turned to Hiccup for support. “Someone spent a long time on this!”

“I know, I know,” Hiccup agreed, placing a consoling hand on Fishlegs’ shoulder. “This is a huge find, but Astrid’s right, it can’t be a priority right now. We still need to focus on finding a way out.”

Fishlegs eyes widened. “But the tremors. What if this damage was caused by them? Another might completely bury it.”

“Or us,” insisted Astrid, sharing a concerned glance with Hiccup.

Fishlegs heaved a long sigh, resigned.

“I’m sorry, Fishlegs,” Hiccup said, firmly this time.

“No, you’re right.” Fishlegs straightened up again. “So, what now?”

“We keep following the air current,” replied Astrid, looking up to where the slab had fallen from. The flames of her torch licked higher. “With fine stone carving comes man, and man needs a way in. Up there’s our best bet.”

On seeing Fishlegs’ crest fallen expression, his eyes still rivetted to the fallen slab and the knowledge he would likely never have chance to glean, Astrid sighed, frustrated - with her own weakness as much as anything else.

“Fishlegs,” she said, drawing his attention, “you have however long it takes me to get up there,” she gestured sharply up the rock face. “So, make notes, take rubbings, whatever you need to do. Just do it now and do it fast.”

“Okay,” he nodded, unable to contain his excitement as he set to work, pulling out an assortment of loose paper and a heelball.

Hiccup gave her a grateful look, before moving to follow her. She put her hand to his chest and stopped him. “You might as well stay and help him. Get it done quicker,” she said.

“Um, what about you though?”

Astrid raised her eyebrow. “I’m not going far, Hiccup.”

“I know that, but…” he looked up at the gap she would be making for, his brows drawing together in concern.

“And besides,” she said, getting a good hold on the rock face, “if you’re following me up who’s going to catch me if I fall?” she smiled.

“Good point. Though, you know, don’t!” he urged.

“I’ll try,” she said, reaching up to place her torch on a small ridge and free up both her hands for a second. “After all, we wouldn’t want you to buckle a leg or anything,” she teased.

Hiccup smiled, playing along as he watched her go. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good given both my spares are safely tucked in my saddle bag, on a night fury, outside.”

Astrid laughed, hauling herself up a bit further, then as she stretched back to retrieve the torch and reposition it, she caught his eye. “Who said I was talking about your peg leg?” she asked, playfully.

“Now that just hurts,” he said, mock scowling.

She grinned with a shrug, concentrating back on her climb. “Well, I can’t deny having seen thicker legs hanging out the bottom of nests,” she said.

“Which nests are we talking about exactly?” Hiccup asked, before thinking better of it. “Wait, wait, yeah, I don’t want to know the answer to that do I!”

Their eyes met again, Astrid was giggling at first ready to continue the banter, but the laughter melted away the longer she held Hiccup’s gaze, softening her expression into one of genuine warmth. In the end, they simply smiled at one another.

“Now,” she said, taking a steadying breath and moving back to the task at hand. She brushed her boot over the stone, deliberately showering him with lose debris, “as much as you’re enjoying the view, stop distracting me and go help Fishlegs.”

“M'lady,” he offered up in parting, bowing with feint formality

“Smooth,” Fishlegs quipped with a grin as Hiccup knelt beside him, shaking the dust from his hair.

It took several minutes for Astrid to navigate the climb, pausing every now and then to shift the torch to a higher vantage point. Difficult as it was, she knew she’d need it on reaching the top. Finally, she lifted it on to the top ledge but the instant she let go it started to roll. Her fingers clawed after it but to no avail. It dropped over the far side of the ledge into whatever lay beyond.

Cursing venomously, she hauled herself up and stared out into nothing, willing her eyes to adjust and take in what meagre information they could from the faint light of her torch - still somehow glowing - somewhere now far below.

She could sense the space was cavernous, the weight of rock didn’t bear down on her but instead lifted to an unseen height. She raked her eyes through the gloom, following the rock face to where it met the side of the ledge where she was perched. Her fingers traced over fine, darker shadow’s marking the stone’s surface.

“More runes,” Astrid realised, muttering to herself, and with the realisation came clarity of vision. Now she knew what she was looking for she could see them, hundreds of enormous rune stones lining the walls and that was just in the limited area she could make out.

“Um, guys?” she called down to Hiccup and Fishlegs.

“Astrid? You okay?” they asked in unison.

“Something tells me you’re going to need more paper,” she replied.

“Stay close,” Hiccup said, handing Astrid back her re-wrapped torch. The freshly fed flames licked at the air as she lifted it, seeking the catch of a draft again.

The space they found themselves in was indeed vast as she’d initially suspected. It was no cave marked randomly with runestones though, but a fully structured, circular interior, temple like in appearance and doming to a great height. Roughhewn pillars and round arches lined the walls between further runic carvings, depictions of ancient scenes and corridors leading to unseen ends.

“Oh my Thor, oh my Thor, oh my Thor….” Fishlegs continued to mutter to himself as he gazed at everything all at once. It was a personal mantra he’d been stuck repeating since safely making it down from the breach.

“I think Fishlegs is broken,” Astrid remarked in an aside to Hiccup. They were stood eyeing the many corridors wondering which to try first.

“Take your pick,” Hiccup said, with a sweeping gesture.

Astrid pointed to the nearest one and marched forward, holding the torch into the shadows, watching to see the flames response – nothing.

She looked back a Hiccup and shook her head.

He moved on to check the next.

Again – nothing.

The following six showed no sign of air movement. The seventh however, the flames finally caught and were dragged.

Atsrid and Hiccup looked at one another, faint relief evident in both their faces as they came to a silent agreement - this was the way they’d try.

“Guys, you’ve got to see this!” Fishlegs declared, suddenly.

“What is it?” Hiccup asked, instantly drawn over.

Astrid rolled her eyes as she watched him go, wondering how long he’d been holding back his own insatiable curiosity? With a fond, if strained smile, she decided to scout further ahead and leave them to it again for the time being.

“Look at these,” said Fishlegs. “What does that look like to you?”

Hiccup looked over the scene Fishlegs had brought him to. It was a battle, a Viking-like people on one side and something distinctly familiar and yet not on the other. It bore no resemblance to any species they had encountered before.

“A dragon,” Hiccup answered, his fingers grazing over the image of it thoughtfully.

“Exactly,” muttered Fishlegs in awe.

The corridor stretched on and soon Hiccup’s and Fishlegs’ voices became distant and indiscernible. The torch continued to flicker fitfully till suddenly, a further tunnel opened branching off on Astrid’s right. She held the torch toward it testing the air current unsurprised when the drag still pulled her ahead, this new corridor was a dead end, she could see as much from where she stood, but just as she made to carry on the light caught against… something.

“Looks like we were at war far longer than any of us truly realised,” said Hiccup.

“These figures here almost look like Valkyries,” Fishelgs noted, following the scene along. “Are they wearing the dragon skins as armour?”

“Strange depictions, but, yeah, you’re right. Perhaps offerings of some sort? Back in a time where we were even more tasteless than normal. Still doesn’t help explain what this place is though. Whoa, whoa,” Hiccup grabbed Fishlegs arm and pulled him to a stop before he could move to stand unknowingly on a pile of bones.

Fishlegs drew back with mild horror when he realised what was at his feet. His torchlight highlighting a very human skull.

“These aren’t animal bones, Hiccup,” he said nervously.

“No, they aren’t,” Hiccup agreed, reaching down to gently sift through the dirt surrounding the remains and extract the small polished stone that had caught his eye. He turned it over in his fingers, before showing it to Fishlegs. It was a charm from a necklace long since perished, a distinctive protection rune carved delicately into the surface.

“For all the good it did,” said Fishlegs, sombrely. They both looked back down at the pile of bones.

A few seconds passed and Hiccup glanced up, “Where’s Astrid?”

Astrid approached cautiously, reaching out to brush her fingers over the strange angular protrusions jutting from the wall that had caught her attention. Slowly she uncovered the unmistakable blik of a helm. It was shaped like the skull of a dragon, though not. It wasn’t bone she was uncovering but dark scales, skin, closed eyes. Her actions became bolder as her curiosity was piqued further, this wasn’t representative of any dragon she recognised.

She gasped backing away as a great lump of dirt fell to reveal the smooth grey mouth and chin of the helm’s wearer. Having been entombed in the wall for an eternity the body appeared well preserved.

Astrid turned to call out to Hiccup and Fishlegs and in the same instant her peripheral was filled with sudden movement. She wasn’t fast enough to react as a section of the wall exploded outward and a long sinuous tail coiled tightly round her neck silencing any call she’d been about to make.

Her fingers grasped and raked against it, desperate for air, feet kicking wildly as she was lifted off the floor. Slowly she was pulled closer to the half-buried body, desperately reaching for the dagger she kept in her boot. The dragon head she had thought a helm shifted, tilting at an odd angle as if contemplating.

“Hicc -!”

The dragon’s eyes snapped open in a flash of blue and Astrid felt a sharp bite of pain in the side of neck, then nothing.

She was left alone, stood, wondering where she was and why she was there. She’d been about to call for Hiccup hadn’t she, why was that? In the end it didn’t matter, she heard him calling her.

“I’m here!” she responded, reaching down to retrieve her torch, not remembering having put it down or dropping it – or why her neck was feeling slightly sore as she did so.

She emerged into the corridor ahead of them, looking around in an attempt to get her bearings again.

“Hey?” Hiccup asked, placing a hand on her shoulder, it made her jump. “What happened to ‘stay close’?” There was a note of fear lingering behind the evident frustration he felt at her seemingly having ignored his request - again.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I… yeah, I’m fine. Just want to get out of here.” She’d wanted to say, 'I don’t know’ again, but still couldn’t understand why she was feeling so disoriented suddenly.

“This place has officially reached 'pretty creepy’ on Snotlout’s official scale of 'places that creep me out’,” agreed Fishlegs.

“And you wanted time to study runes,” Astrid jeered, smacking his arm with the back of her hand.

“That was before I nearly stepped on a pile of bones.”

“Bones?” she asked.

“Human bones to be exact!”

“Something bad happened here but whether by design or accident is a mystery best left for another day,” said Hiccup.

“At least some of that mystery might be uncovered back at the safety of the Edge,” said Fishlegs, lightly tapping his bag and it’s bulging contents.

“Speaking of which, any idea which way we should go?” Hiccup asked, turning to Astrid.

“I…” again she struggled to answer, her eyes darting from one tunnel to the other. She shrugged, “I’m not sure.”

Hiccup gave her another concerned look before testing the air current himself. “Looks like we go right,” he said, the flames of his own torch pulling harder that way.

“The tremors seem to have damaged this area too. This looks freshly fallen,” noted Fishlegs as they came upon a large pile of rubble. It looked to have near filled the corridor from floor to ceiling at one point recently.

“Thank Thor someone wasn’t stood under it all when it fell,” Hiccup shot Astrid another irritated glance.

“Yeah,” she muttered in agreement, not meeting his eyes.

None of the riders noticed a small greyed hand protruding lifeless from the freshly fallen debris as they walked by.

After a time, Astrid began to feel the weight of being watched. She couldn’t help but glance back into the shadows that fell in their wake. For an instant, she thought she saw something. A mass of black, or a shocking hint of blue hovering close to the roof of the corridor.

On blinking it was gone.

#how to train your dragon #race to the edge #hiccup #astrid #hiccstrid #fishlegs #fanfiction

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jungnoir · 8 years ago

Text

a dash of wicked;

kim seokjin | “I’m a writer and you’re my character and wtf how the heck did you just literally climb out of my first draft?” ⇢ what exactly is standard protocol when a super villain you create for a children’s book comes to life one day? well, you keep him, of course. | 2.6k words. | supernatural, fluff. requested.

a/n: I originally struggled with coming up with an idea for this request because I had already done the same prompt for another member, but I uh… listened to we are number one from lazy town and suddenly 💡. enjoy, because I secretly love writing for seokjin and rarely get the chance to.

“Are you sure you’re not free tonight? I really wanted take you out to that new Thai restaurant on 3rd, you know.”

Your eyes trail up tiredly from your hands’ ministrations, your fingers locating your belongings and putting them away into your bag like muscle memory even as you stare down the very attractive and very persistent Park Jimin, your cubicle mate for the last five years and the only guy who could ask you out more times in a week than he could say “hello” to you. You had gotten so used to the routine that you could fill a notebook with all of your collected responses… maybe make that two notebooks.

“As sure as I was when I texted you that I wasn’t two days ago, Jimin.” You say monotonously, closing the flap on your messenger bag before slinging the heavy thing over your shoulder. You did a quick scan of the expanse of your desk to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything before scooting out of your place and past Jimin to make your way home. Your tired feet ached in your heels and your ponytail was starting to hurt. All you could think about at the moment was a warm, comfortable bath with a little wine and a fluffy bed to slip into in preparation for the coma you were about to induce on yourself this weekend.

Jimin follows behind without much struggle, his legs carrying him closer and closer until he’s falling into step with you, “You used to love going out to get food with me, (Y/N). I know boss has been pressuring you nonstop about getting that first draft done for the upcoming book, but you seem more busy than usual. I’m really worried… are you alright?”

Jimin’s voice turns soft and concerned, a tone you were more used to hearing when you had been up for more than 36 hours and were so sleep-deprived that you were starting to write out three or more paragraphs to describe a patch of wallpaper because your mind couldn’t be bothered to focus on anything important to the plot. But as far as Jimin knew, you had no heavy bags under your eyes and your stomach wasn’t growling for something other than the copious amounts of caffeine you lived off of. You looked healthy, better than ever even, but yet to him, you seemed to never have time for anything besides work these days.

Honestly, you felt bad having to turn Jimin down every time he brought up going out together, because if you were being truthful, you missed him just as much as he missed you (you even missed having to redirect his flirtatious advances in favor of having normal conversations), and despite what Jimin was probably thinking, none of it had anything to do with him. It didn’t even have anything to do with you.

No, it was all thanks to the Commander of Terror. Or, better known as Kim Seokjin, the super villain you’d created for your company’s upcoming children’s superhero themed novel that had somehow, someway, come to life and weaseled his way into your home one day, straight out of your writing as if you had molded his physical being from the dust of the earth like you were a god or something. You could see why you had trouble giving Jimin much explanation for your need to ditch him all the time, right?

“I’m great! I promise. I’m just a bit… tied up at the house lately.” “It’s been a month, (Y/N). What could possibly keep you homebound like this?” Jimin sighs, and it’s only when he breaks his gaze with you that he realizes he can’t leave work just yet, and you’re steadily making your way to the exit without a care.

The dark-haired man stops in the lobby of the building, watching with disappointed eyes as you reach the front doors, steps from greeting the evening world and the sun threatening to set soon. You place a hand on the handle of the door and turn to look over your shoulder at him, your heart lurching a little at the defeated, puppy-dog look in his eyes as he watched you leave him behind once again.

But even through the regret, you knew that leaving your new friend home alone for too long would cause you more trouble than you could allow, and you had a civic duty to protect the world from evil… and bad, bad dad jokes.

“I didn’t tell you? I got a puppy.”

You wished that was the case. Severely.

The moment you entered your home, your heart began to hammer erratically at the state of your abode. No, there was no fire in the oven, your living room didn’t look like a tornado blew straight through it, and there certainly weren’t any alerts from your local news station that there was a man running through the streets causing mayhem and distress. No, god, you wished that there was any sign of the living being you’d been practically babysitting for the last month in sight. Instead, you were greeted with a scarily clean house and utter silence - never a good sign.

You were sprinting into every part of the house, starting from Seokjin’s room and making your way into yours. You checked the living room, the basement, the bathrooms, and the kitchen, but you were rapidly coming up short. It wasn’t exactly like Seokjin didn’t know how to leave the house, but you had made it excruciatingly clear that he couldn’t leave unless it was for an emergency, and if it was an emergency, he was to contact you as soon as possible. Your phone had not blown up with nonsense messages from the super villain and you were sure he could have gotten his message to you somehow if he really needed to, which only made you panic all the more.

Your panic came to a stutter however, when you entered the dining room.

Laid out on the average sized table was a long, draping red table cloth decorated in intricate designs, the cloth nearly brushing the floor with its length. Leaning forward to brush your fingers along it, you noted with an audible gasp that it felt very expensive and smelled very new. You could only wonder where he’d gotten it, because you sure as hell couldn’t afford that much.

In the middle of the table, there was a rather embarrassingly large bouquet of roses placed in a beautiful crystal vase, another item you definitely didn’t own, and on either side of the roses were long, skinny black candles with wicks still white and new, never burned. There was a set of gorgeous fine china on either side of the table, more things added to the list of possessions that hadn’t been there before. The longer you stared at the pretty setup, the longer your thoughts began to whirl out of control.

Seokjin was missing, nothing was destroyed or currently being destroyed, and your dining room table was decorated like a setting for two lovers on their anniversary. You almost asked yourself if you were even in the right house.

So caught up in your own world, you didn’t notice the sound of your front door opening and closing and loafers clacking along the wood floors, nearing closer to you with every second.

A moment passes, and then your eyesight is obstructed by delicate fingers while a minty breath ghosts your ear, “You weren’t supposed to see this until I got home. Fiddlesticks.”

You reach up with lightning speed to yank the hand away from your face and spin around just enough to see none other than Seokjin standing there, dressed in a purple striped dress shirt and black slacks, dark hair brushed back into an immaculate style that has your breath catching for just a second, just long enough for Seokjin to notice as his lip quirks up into a pleased smile, “Cat got your tongue?”

“W-Where were you? I thought you’d gone off somewhere, probably used your powers to manipulate the president into giving you power over the country or something-” “Ridiculous, why would I only want control over South Korea? I’m looking for global domination, petal. You should know, you created me.” Seokjin chuckles at you like you’ve told him a silly joke, his upper body leaning in a bit and crowding your space with his sweet scent.

Your words come out in choppy stammers in reaction to his proximity, this being the closest you two had ever been, and you still hadn’t gotten quite acquainted to living with a super villain, let alone one of your own creation for a children’s book no less. It did not help at all that he was unfairly handsome, looking like something you’d conjured up in your dreams while you watched friends go off with significant others, all happy and pretty and perfect. At one point, you had wondered if that’d ever be you and Jimin. And then Seokjin came along.

You’d never admit it aloud because god forbid Seokjin’s ego inflated anymore than it already did when he caught your doe-eyed look whenever he walked out of the shower in just a towel (”Like what you see?” “I bought you a robe to wear for a reason!”), but damn it… the dude was pretty much your ideal type. Minus the super villain part.

“Stop bringing that up, it still weirds me out… and you didn’t answer my question. Where’d you go?” You ask again, a little more stern this time, and Seokjin catches the hint that he should tread carefully.

He’d been scolded by you time and time again for things like setting your rude neighbor’s garden on fire or manipulating the customer service workers over the phone for the home shopping network to give you the diamond necklace he saw for free (”It’ll make your eyes pop, petal”), but never for something like leaving the house. He had managed to keep himself more than busy enough by himself at home all day, so him leaving suddenly hadn’t been one of your biggest concerns as of late, even if it did loom in the back of your mind often.

If there was one rule you enforced with every fiber of your being, it was to never leave without you unless it was an emergency. He had broken that rule no matter which way he told it, but in his mind, he was easily able to make up for it. “I come bearing gifts from the new Thai restaurant on 3rd.”

The smell of the food only hits your nose when he tells you, and you look down to see the brown paper bag decorated with the restaurant’s logo, looking packed full with all kinds of goodies. Your irritation at him dissipates the moment you realize he has food in hand, and your mouth begins to water involuntarily, “Oh my god, Seokjin, you’re amazing,” Seokjin visibly beams at your words, setting the bag on the dining table with pride, “Here I was, starting to regret not taking up Jimin’s offer to go to that restaurant tonight, too.”

At the mention of your coworker, Seokjin bristles, “Has he been bothering you still? I told you, I’m willing to manipulate him into giving himself a colossal super wedgie whenever you give the word.”

You let out a sound that is a cross between a laugh and a scoff, but you can’t ignore the slight surge of affection you feel toward the villain at his concern, “No thanks, Seokjin. I told you, Jimin is just a bit of a flirt sometimes. He’s still a really good friend.”

Unconvinced but compliant, Seokjin hums and raises his chin a bit, looking down at you from over the tip of his nose, “Your wish is my command, petal. I’d rather not talk about another man when I’ve done all this for you, though, if you don’t mind. It’s only courteous.”

Jealous. Cute.

You fail to hide your smile, tickled pink at the idea that he might start getting huffy if you mention your coworker once more. Instead, you reach into the bag and start setting out the food, smiling at Seokjin, “Of course, Jinnie,” Seokjin’s cheeks bloom a rosy color at the sound of the nickname you’d given him, “go get the drinks, I’ll set out the food.”

Seokjin, suddenly very motivated to be out of sight of your teasing gaze begins to slink toward the kitchen when something comes to mind and you quickly snatch his wrist into your hold, stopping the tall man from getting too far from you. Perplexed, the villain looks down at you with furrowed brows and looks you over for any sign of danger before he’s assured he senses none, “Yes, petal?”

God, you’d never get over that nickname as long as you lived. You swore Seokjin knew it too.

“Why’d you do all this for me? I mean, food is one thing but… a fancy, expensive new table cloth? Candles? More than a dozen roses? What’s all this for?”

Seokjin blinks for a moment, the two of you looking at each other in pure silence. Then, very carefully, Seokjin gives you a smile that has your chest thumping a little harder with the force of your own heartbeat, his wrist wriggling out of your hold only for his fingers to entangle with yours instead, “Think of it as a… a less troublesome ‘thank you’. I know stolen diamond necklaces and setting the gardens of your enemies on fire isn’t a very conventional way of showing one’s thanks, but let’s face it, none of my situation really makes sense in the first place. I just… wanted to find a way to say ‘thank you for not abandoning me’ in a way that doesn’t leave you feeling guilty. A nice dinner seemed like the way to go. It’s the least I could do for you, petal.”

Against your will, you find your eyes burning with the threat of tears, and you blame your influx of emotions on the stressful week you had piling up on you and not the fact that Seokjin had tugged at pretty much every heartstring you had. Instead of letting any of said tears fall, you shyly squeeze his hand in yours and give him a toothy grin, “I wouldn’t have the heart to abandon you, Jinnie. As strange as our dilemma is… I don’t think I could ever go back to whatever normal was for me before you came into my life. I like it too much, the way it is now.”

Seokjin’s mouth falls open suddenly and he looks shocked that you’ve even said such a thing to him, and then he closes it quickly, the rosy hue on his cheeks now taking on a darker color altogether. When the man realizes your hands are still intertwined, he pulls away awkwardly, trying and failing to discreetly wipe his sweaty palms on the backs of his pants. “Ah, don’t do that. With the way you’re smiling at me, I’m almost convinced you might like me.”

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you break eye contact with him to look elsewhere, subconsciously capturing your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment before replying, “You wouldn’t be terribly wrong.”

Seokjin’s eyes are burning on you suddenly, and the sheer heaviness of his gaze causes you to meet his fixed stare. He lets out an amused, breathy laugh when a question mark becomes visible in your expression. “Oh… you don’t know what you do to me, petal.”

#bts writing squad #seokjin scenarios #seokjin drabble #seokjin fluff #seokjin au #villain!seokjin #kim seokjin #bts scenarios #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts au #bts #majwrites

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wivibook · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter One-Admittedly a Rough Start

Below is the first draft of chapter one of Wild Imaginations and Vague Ideas.

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“Can you see the path from up there, Sharon?” Alan asked and shielded a thin beam of sun from his eyes as it pierced through the shaking foliage above. He could make out the outline of Sharon’s boot but the rest of his sweetheart was now lost to the glaring sun and the leaves of the tree she had climbed.

There was a moment of silence, but eventually a voice called from above, “Well there’s a beehive one tree over. Other than that, there are trees, followed by more trees, a weird red tree, a hole in the trees that may be a clearing, and some trees again.”

“Which way is the tree-hole?”

“Hole in the trees.”

“The thing that may be a clearing! Where is it?”

“Kinda north?”

“Is it north or not north?”

“It’s north-ish.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Do you?”

Alan turned his gaze down and dug his toe into the dirt. He twisted the tip of his shoe back and forth until it was submersed in a little cave of soil. The dirt was dark, damp, and dotted with little white flakes, and after a moment, he could feel the coolness sink into his toes. This small action brought him calm for a moment, but all too soon a small rustle from his left drew his attention away from his therapeutic soil cave.

Alan knew it was Sam before Alan even saw him. Sam was a bulky and clunky person, and had a certain heaviness to his step. Sam’s wide set blue eyes met Alan’s with a level of exhaustion Alan was certain only Sam could feel.

“Any luck finding the path again? Wait, where’s Sharon?” Sam’s words came out as long, heavy intakes and outtakes of breath.

“No, but apparently there is a clearing that’s kinda-north. She’s still in the tree. Did you find food?”

“Why is she the one in the tree? I found berries. They’re big and blue, well some are purple, but those may actually be different berries.” Sam pushed his glasses further up his face and looked puzzled. “What’s kinda-north?”

“The clearing. Well, it’s maybe a clearing. It’s a hole in the trees. How do we know those berries won’t make us sick or worse?”

“Oh, we don’t. I have no idea what kind of berries they are except for color. And I meant what sort of direction is kinda-north? Is it more north-east or north-west? And, again, why is Sharon in the tree?”

“Sharon is in the tree because what’s in my head is too precious to suffer a fall. Also, as it turns out, I can’t climb trees. However, despite being the most competent member of our party, Sharon has no sense of direction.”

“Well, sense of direction or no, we still need to find out which way it is.”

“Sharon, can you point toward the clearing with your right foot.”

They both turned their gazes upward, and as the outline of the foot above moved Sharon called out from the tree, “Yeah, sure. That wasn’t key to me staying balanced up here anyway. Also, these bees are making me nervous; I’m coming down. Bees are the one thing I don’t do.”

Alan shouted up, “No, stay! We might need you up there for a minute more. Anyway, so I got this idea for the berries. We’ll catch a rabbit. We’ll feed the rabbit the berries. If the rabbit refuses to eat them or dies, we know they’re poisonous. If the rabbit eats a few and is fine, then we’ll know they’re safe to eat.”

Sam was fighting the sun’s glare in his own eyes and focused on seeing the direction Sharon was trying to guide them before dealing with Alan’s new food plan. “Oh, I see her foot now. Yeah that looks pretty north-ish.”

“It is north or it isn’t north. Damn it guys,” Alan groaned.

“Why are you so upset? You are the one that got us lost because you can’t tell direction either,” Sam retorted. “Anyway, how long do you think it will take for us to know if the rabbit would die from the berries or not? I don’t wanna wait all day for a rabbit to digest the berries. I already feel like I’m going to die, so I might as well just eat them, and if I’m going to die, at least I’ll die full. Actually, I doubt anyone could feel full on berries. At least I’d die faster than I am now. Besides, if we could catch a rabbit, couldn’t we just eat the rabbit?”

“Brilliant, Sam! We’ll have Sharon catch a rabbit with her bow!”

Sam stood in silence as that statement sunk in. Finally he asked, “Why the hell have I been on food detail if Sharon had a bow? Listen, it’s starting to feel like we’re just floundering around out here without direction, without a clue—“

“Shh! What was that?” Alan hushed Sam without being particularly quiet himself. “There was thud by that tree. I know what I’m doing, by the way. I have direction; we’ve just gotten a little off track—is that buzzing?

A shout from above called down, “Hey, I shot that beehive down guys; I was starting to freak out! You may want to stand clear.”

Alan was already walking backwards at an alarming rate. “Sam, I am truly sorry that I am faster than you.”

After having handled the bees by sacrificing Sam and breaking shortly to be absolutely sure they’d be heading the right way, the group moved on through the forest in what was hopefully the correct north-ish direction. Sharon led the way for them. Alan attempted to dodge branches and leaves as she weaved through trees and brush with the kind of confidence that only comes from either muscle memory and knowledge or largely not giving a single fuck. In Sharon’s case it was the latter. Sam stumbled along not far behind Alan. The branches and leaves that missed Alan had a tendency to find their way to Sam’s face and lower limbs. It didn’t help that Sam’s attention was divided between following his friends and pulling out the stingers that the bees had left in his skin as a final measure of devotion to the protection of their hive and queen.

In this way, the heroes miserably moved through the woods for a measurable length of time that none of the three were actually able to measure. Sam, being the most sensible in matters of thinking, was a bit too preoccupied with being miserable to take note. Sharon, whose skill set revolved around taking action, was too busy taking action to care about the passage of time. Alan, who relied heavily on his quick tongue, would decide on what on how long it had been later and sell it to you with confidence without being able to tell twenty minutes from two.

After this unmeasured measure of time, Sharon stopped ripping through layers and layers of green foliage and slowed to a halt by a tall tree. Alan was so focused on just keeping up that he would have missed the stop if tree hadn’t looked so bizarre. It looked as if it had gotten lost in the seasons and found autumn in the middle of late spring. Its leaves sprawled out from its branches in shades and tints of vibrant and deep reds; however, it lacked the oranges, yellows, and browns that would have given it a warm fall feeling. Every single leaf bled red from its stem to its veins.

“This is the right weird red tree, Sharon? I certainly hope there’s only the one,” Alan puffed as he tried not to sound too tired.

“Yes the clearing should be just to the left, but the forest doesn’t give any indication of thinning out there,” Sharon said as she began to walk over to where the clearing should have been.

“Hey, maybe don’t,” Sam spoke up as he caught his breath from the back of the pack.

Sharon stopped just long enough to look back at Sam and then said as she kept doing what she was doing, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks Sharon. Anyway, think with me for a second. Do you think that maybe an out of place tree and a clearing that should be there but isn’t might be Bad? Like, Bad, with an uppercase letter, like when something is being emphasized in books about Good and Evil?”

“Yup. I could hear those capital letters,” Alan acknowledged.

“What are you getting at Sam?” Sharon asked. She was listening because she knew Sam was normally right, but she hated listening all the more for it.

“I think I’ve already gotten there. This is Bad. And not bad like our current lost and hungry situation, but it’s a worse kind of Bad like magics or something. It feels like the kind of Bad we don’t want to add to our current bad. So, maybe we should not?”

Sharon put careful emphases on the “not’s” of her following statement. “Not what Sam? Not look for a place to camp? This is all we have to go on, and it’s getting darker out. We are certainly NOT in any condition to walk through the night. We’d get even more lost if we tried that, and I don’t know about you, but I’m getting mad because I am hungry. So, what do you suggest we do, you blubbering coward, because “Not” is Not an option.”

Alan wasn’t paying attention. During the exchange between the two, Alan had begun playing with dirt again. The dirt in this area was slightly drier but basically the same as the soil back a ways in the woods, and quickly he was able to make a hole for the toe of his shoe. Not quite satisfied or relaxed, he pushed further into the dark dirt and was met with unexpected resistance. Alan didn’t particularly care and absently continued to batter the spot until he eventually realized that he was no longer hitting dirt.

The other two continued to talk about… something. They were at one of their peaks of disagreement, and he just didn’t have the energy to intervene like he normally would. He was hungry and tired too. Perhaps if his companions where less opposed it would have been easier to help form a compromise or middle ground. He’d do that next time. This time he just continued to dig.

Because of his mental disconnect with what was going on around him, Alan may not have been able to follow a conversation, but eventually it occurred to him that that was not dirt he was digging at. Whatever that was. Alan began to kick clods away from the spot. He didn’t need to dig deeply and soon found what was causing the block. There was a small, wooden, circular object buried in the soil. He knelt down and picked it up. Finding that one side was smooth as he dusted it off, he flipped it over to discover an image carved into the wood. It was divided in the center into two pictures. The left side showed an oasis with a large pool that ended abruptly and went to an image of two men in a desert looking at a map and a compass.

The argument between Sam and Sharon was still carrying on, but Alan quickly broke it up saying, “Hey Sam, I think I found your magic. Take a look at this thing. It’s… odd.”

“It sure is a thing, alright,” Sam pokeingly took it from Alan’s hand. “It’s a talisman; I think anyway. Honestly, I’m probably making that up. BUT, it has pictures, which could also be symbols, so it’s probably for something to do with those symbols. Maybe. It’s made of wood, which may or may not be significant. I really have no idea; in fact, I don’t think any of us real know what’s going on anymore, but that thing is spooky, and we’ve probably already invoked a curse or angered spirits by digging it up, so we should probably just put it back—“

Sharon grew restless waiting. She promptly cut Sam off by snatching the wooden circle up as he spoke and proceed to dash it against the red tree until it broke. Her two friends stared at her quietly.

“Sharon, why?” Alan asked. He wasn’t troubled by her actions, just confused. He didn’t fear magic to the same extent Sam did. Unlike Sam, Alan just didn’t fear what he’d never encountered. Despite knowing it could be powerful and malicious from tales he had heard as a child, Alan had a hard time grasping why he should fear magics if he had no personal experience with them. He wasn’t so bold as to be spiteful of it like Sharon, but he didn’t see the sense of being wary until he knew something could do him harm. If he stuck to what he knew was safe, then nothing new would ever happen, and life would move along in a way that might as just as well have been the same as standing still for eternity. That being said, he was still confused.

“I wanted to break the magic. I thought that might do it,” Sharon spoke with a shrug as she examined the damaged object Sam thought might be a talisman because it had pictures on it which could be symbols for something. Cracks ran through it now in multiple directions.

“Sharon…” Sam’s voice was just above a whisper. Sharon and Alan both turned to see him standing with his back to them. He was looking out into the forest where the clearing should have been. The trees there rippled like waves of heat coming off the ground on a hot day, and they no longer appeared to have the same amount of depth. Sam continued in a hush, “You could still be cursed, but I think you should do that again.”

Sharon was more than happy to oblige, vague ideas about curses disregarded. This time she let the object that was seemingly magic fall to the ground with a thud and swiftly brought her heel down on it. The cracks deepened, and the trees took on an ethereal appearance. Alan could almost see the shadows of something beyond them. The trees may as well have been a sheer curtain. With one more drop of Sharon’s foot, the object broke apart, and the ethereal trees disappeared with it.

In their place was an opening that revealed a path just a little larger than a game trail. The leaves around it were thick, making the path dark and menacing. Sharon kicked the broken pieces of wood aside, having successfully broken whatever magic was or magics were within it. Or about it. Having no knowledge of magics prior to this experience, none of them had gained any more understanding of magics from it. Sharon didn’t seem to care and walked straight onward down the newly exposed path.

Sam watched her go with horror. “Please tell me we aren’t going in there, Alan.”

“Sorry Sam, but the sun’s setting, and Sharon is already on the move like a gust of wind.”

“Much more like a tornado is you ask me.”

“Yeah, isn’t she great?” Alan responded as the two followed Sharon into the gloom.

The path wasn’t large or cheery to start with, and it did not get better as the three trudged through. The leaves were still, and the air felt stiff and cold. It reminded Alan much more of a cellar than the game trail it appeared to be at first.

“Hold on to me,” Alan commanded as he took Sam by the arm and skipped ahead to latch hands with Sharon.

“Looking out now for us now that there aren’t bees?” Sam ask skeptically.

“Bees are bees, okay?”

Alan took the lead as they continued to move. Their bodies formed a triangle as they continued to hold hands to stay together on the narrowing path. Sharon and Sam were becoming squashed together behind him, and Alan imagined they weren’t happy about that but felt it was important that they hold on.

He knew the path shouldn’t be very long; Sharon said the clearing they were searching for was just to the left of that red tree, yet it felt as if the path just kept on going for ages. The air was so stale and so cold there. With each step, Alan felt it become harder for him to breath. Behind him he heard a wheezing from Sam and knew his companions must be similarly out of breath. He tightened his grip on each of them. After another few steps he could no longer tell if night had set or if his vision was just becoming too hazy. Alan blinked. He couldn’t bring a clear picture together.

“Alan,” Sharon’s voice sounded like she was talking through a pillow, “I can’t breathe.”

“We’re almost out; I swear it,” he tried his best to sound confident, but talking caused his hearing to pop and hum. He shook his head to try to bring his senses back to him. Black clouds started to creep into the corners of his eyes, but he could just see a light ahead through all the blur. He checked his grip on his friends, and put all his effort into moving forward towards that light.

One step forward. His breathing was labored so he took as deep a breath he could and held it. Two steps forward. He felt like he was dragging Sam at this point. Three steps forward. Alan let out a slow controlled exhale and took another deep breath. Four steps forward. Sharon tried to say something, but trying to focus on the sound somehow made Alan feel queasy. Alan staggered more than stepped forward. He felt like he was pushing through water towards this light. Despite his darkening vision, he knew it was close. Alan lunged forward towards the light and fell into it.

Alan landed with a thud and started to regain his senses. The first thing he became aware of was the taste of dirt in his mouth. With a groan he turned himself over, spit out a clump of sod, and sighed. It took a moment to occur to him, but that sigh made him realize that he could breathe normally again. As he took a celebratory cleansing breath, he looked straight up and saw purple and grey clouds in a fading sky. After the extreme darkness he had experienced on the path, even the light of the low sunset was bright to his eyes. Alan took one more long breath and sat up to find himself in the clearing.

“Think I finally understand the expression ‘bites the dust’ though I’m surprised I lived through the realization.”

“You have sod in your teeth,” Sharon remarked. She was kneeling next to him and rubbing her temples. Her dark skin looked almost a full shade lighter and lacked its normal glow.

Alan turned his head to look for Sam and spotted him a few feet away with an ashen face, laying down with his hands on his head, and looking completely lost. He crawled over to Sam and got out his water skin.

“You doing okay buddy?”

“I. Hmm. What?” Sam closed his eyes tightly and slowly opened them again. His pupils dilated.

“I’m going to throw some water on your face, okay?”

Sam nodded slowly but immediately regretted consenting to this treatment. As it turned out, the measurement of “some water” equaled a cascade to Alan, and the shock of the lukewarm waterfall his friend subjugated him to had Sam sputtering and up right in a matter of seconds. He shook his head to rid his shaggy bangs of the excess water. Again, Sam found himself full of regret as this action made his head throb and eyes spin.

Sam let himself sink back to the ground gently. He looked up and this time was in a greater state of mind to appreciate the sky Alan had found too bright moments before, “That sky is beautiful. Like sweet fruits and messy paint pallets, but prettier than that sounds out loud.”

Alan looked up gingerly and was struck this time by the contrast of the purple-grey clouds against the red sky rather than just the sheer brightness of it. He found he enjoyed the view even more when Sharon suddenly stood up in it. Her blond curls could have been the sun, and her dark skin had regained its glow. When she turned her head around Alan saw her green eyes as brighter than normal, and took in the colors before him. Yellow hair and purple clouds, red sky and green eyes. He knew in a few seconds she would interrupt the view to call the two boys back to action. That made it better. He admired her sense of initiative more than her looks or the sky, and her constant state of action left the transitionary moments of peace much more enjoyable.

Sharon pouted a little and blinked at her two companions who were taking the sky in very different ways. “The sky is impressive guys, but you are missing the focal point for the backdrop.”

Alan turned his head to see the medium sized cabin in the middle of the clearing. He had been too distracted by surviving the experience of getting to the clearing and then again by the natural (or possibly unnatural considering the proceeding events) state of the sky to want to take notice of it before. Now it seemed painfully obvious and sullied the mood in a way he had not expected a cabin to after having spent a few days in the woods. The cabin seemed to suck the breath right back out of him and eat the light from the red sky. It looked like it sat in a pool of shade though there was nothing casting a shadow over it. There were two windows with the shutters closed and a door on the side of the cabin facing Alan and friends. There was something else that made the cabin feel strange that Alan couldn’t quite place yet. Despite the darkness that engulfed it, that cabin seemed to be in fine shape, and the windows and door made a sleepy looking face for the small home if anyone did indeed live there.

Around the side of the cabin was a fenced in area with a small coup that was the home of a large number of chicks and chickens. There were almost too many of the fowl for the area they occupied. The chickens danced around the chicks, and the chicks climbed over each other as they busied themselves with their small existence. Alan strode over to the fence that held them and called back, “Hey Sam, looks like we might be able to bum some supper.”

“Hey Alan, supper isn’t making any noise.”

“…Oh.” That was the other strange thing or rather the other other strange thing as there were becoming too many to count. The chickens didn’t make any sound. Not a cluck, not a coo, not even a scratch of a talon on dirt. Alan slowly and calmly turned away from the chickens. “Mistakes were made; time to go.”

“Go where? Sharon’s already inside, which she didn’t even mention she was doing, much less give me time to disapprove of it.” Sam expressed his discontent, “I told you this was Evil.”

“We don’t know it’s evil Sam –just that it’s weird.”

“Bad weird.”

“No, just weird… Weird. Not what we’re used to. Maybe what we were looking for though.”

“I’m going to die hungry; I can feel it.”

Alan crept casually past the door Sharon had left ajar. He was followed by the more cautious Sam. Alan walked softly into the main room while Sam tried to cling to the entry way with his toes through his boots. The inside of the cabin was even darker than the shadow that surrounded the outside of it, but what Alan could see of the interior it was not what he would have expected. In the dim light left from the red sunset, he could see there was a table in the center of the room with a singular chair pushed into it. On the table was a bowl, and in the bowl there seemed to be an assortment of violet and blue morning glories. He ran a hand across the table and found not a trace of dust.

“This place has to be lived in. Everything is so clean and orderly.” Sharon observed from the far side of the room where she was picking up and replacing an assortment of objects displayed on the top of a long bookshelf. “They have to be weird though. None of this practical. Tiny Statues. Shiny stones. This—whatever it is. The books might actually interest Wet Blanket over there though.”

“You know Sharon,” Sam shot back, “it would be nice if you didn’t make a dig at me while pretending to consider my interests.”

“And it would be super nice if you didn’t second guess everything I do, including trying to be nice.”

“Well, you’re doing a bad job of being nice, and as for everything else, someone has to think before you do something foolish!”

“Guys!” Alan interjected to do damage control this time, “we’re friends here. We’re all tired and hungry. Some of us are scared. Some of us are impatient. But let us not forget that we are here together and working together. We’re friends, and sometimes friends take frustration out on each other, but let’s catch ourselves doing that right now and not continue to fight needlessly.”

“That’s fair,” Sam gave in, grateful to spend his energy on other efforts, and Sharon too relented with a pleasant nod toward Alan and a huff at Sam. Sam crept carefully into the cabin, sat down in front of the bookshelf, and began skimming the titles of the texts. “Most of these are collections of poems or histories. Lots of histories actually. Some of the books look to be older than the history recorded in some of the other ones. Maybe whoever lives here likes to collect old books?”

Alan had made his way to the right side of the room and stood at a desk furnished there. He immediately opened the largest drawer and found a large stack of small books inside. He picked the one off the top of the stack and opened to find that it was a journal. Not wanting to be that much more intrusive, he instinctually began to put it back when he thought again about the entry he‘d caught a glimpse of. He tried to open back up to the page he thought he read but found that any page would do. Each paged looked full, but each line of text was its own entry. Each entry said the same thing. Today has passed much the same as the last.

Alan looked back down at the drawer filled with what he assumed were other journals from the look of them. He wondered if they all were full with the same entry with different dates. There were so many journals. How many dates could be in all of those tiny books? Years could fill one book if each entry was nine words long and many were crammed into the same page. What was the last day like and why was each day so much the same? Before Alan could reach into the drawer for the next book, Sharon called for his attention.

“Alan, the sun’s set. Do you have a match on you? That’s the one thing you still have right? There’s some stuff displayed on this wall I didn’t finish looking at.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Now hold on.” Sam got up from his place among the books that it was getting too dark to read. “Just how much longer are we staying here?”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with being here before I said something,” Sharon said coolly.

Alan had managed to light a match, and Sam and Sharon continued to bicker as the three looked at this last section of the room

“I did in fact. I had an issue all the way back at that damned tree. You just happened to call my attention back to it. We are in a stranger’s home. A stranger who very much probably exists judging by the orderly and clean state of the place, which I think you were the one who observed all that. We have broken into this home-“

“So you’re just repeating me. And we didn’t break in so much as walk in. The door was unlocked.”

Speaking of doors, there was a door along this wall that seemed to lead into another room, but what the three chose to take notice of was the display of shields, swords, spears, and knives hung on the wall with care.

“I was stating the situation out as we know it, so I may have repeated some of what you said. And fine. To keep using ‘your’ words, we WALKED into their unlocked home uninvited. We have touched and examined the belongings in this home. We walked through a magical path of death and headache to get to this home. We uncovered and broke the talisman that was hiding the magical path of death and headache that lead to this home. Am I forgetting anything?”

“The silent chickens?” Sharon offered with no enthusiasm in her voice. Once again she rubbed her temples. “My vision is getting weird again. I think I can see better this time though, despite everything being orange.”

“Ah yes, the Creepy. Silent. Chickens.” Sam had not cared for her tone and was too peeved to note her headache and the orange-ness of it.

Alan, who had been absorbed with a black and gold hilted dagger on the wall, decided it was once again time to run damage control and interjected, “You know, it seems like a weird oversight to go to all that trouble to hide this place with a talisman and whatever happened on that trail if the door is just going to be left unlocked for anyone who does get here, you know?”

“It won’t happen again.”

Sam broke into a cold sweat and added not being more curious about Sharon’s headache to his list of regrets. Alan turned around to see shadows dance on a man’s pale face in the light of his match. Sharon ripped a shield off the wall and smacked the man with it.

And that was the first chapter of Wild Imaginations and Vague Ideas! If you liked what you saw, follow wivibook to keep up to date on what’s going on with the novel (you know, like trying to make it happen) and/or (but preferably AND) visit the website to learn more now. Everything is linked on our blog. Thanks for reading!

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