#put in his timelines order his eyes are slowly closing to represent how lets himself be led by SAYER. blind faith and all that

[osteochondraldefect]

Disco Elysium inspired portraits of the Hales

[chosonore]

part two | yearning

yearning [noun. a strong feeling of wishing for something, especially something that you cannot have or get easily]

pairing: kamo noritoshi/f!reader

summary: your relationship with noritoshi was like a game of cat and mouse; no matter how hard you tried to escape from him, he would always find his way back to you.

wordcount: 8.2k

content/warnings: friends to enemies to lovers, language, somewhat suggestive, noritoshi is kind of a dick but i promise it gets better so please don’t lose faith in him, we’re somewhat following the timeline of the anime/manga so spoilers ahead!! but what follows afterwards is purely pulled out of my ass lol, lowercase intended [UNEDITED]

a/n: hello, here i am again with a super long chapter ( ˙꒳​˙ ) it is so incredibly messy and i’m so sorry if it gets confusing for you; this just really shows how sporadic my writing process is, i have some guidelines that i follow but sometimes venture off my path when i suddenly get a new idea. nevertheless, i hope you can somewhat enjoy this chapter. feedback or just your thoughts are much appreciated! for those that are waiting for the ~steamy~ content, it is coming next chapter hehe. as always, stay safe everyone (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

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"noritoshi, could you just stay quiet today? i'm really not in the mood," you sighed as you entered the training grounds. the exhaustion from the mission the day before was clinging onto your bones, heavy and admonishingly. the normally exciting sparring lessons seemed dreadful, knowing that all students were to practice today. to practice the balance within the team, utahime had claimed the week prior as she was reprimanding your lack of discipline when it came to noritoshi. stubbornness ran in the family; you refused to back down when someone was hurting your pride. said stubbornness came back to bite you - instead of taking a break to fully recover, you claimed that you would be fine with the help of your reverse curse techniques.

as the days came and went, the yearly tournament slowly approached. after the devastating defeat last year, everyone was on edge and determined to beat tokyo tech. well, that excluded todo, he was just looking for stronger opponents it seemed. noritoshi, on other hand, appeared to be more agitated than usual - if he wasn't barking orders at the other students, he would criticize their fighting styles. you knew he wanted to win the tournament at all costs, to prove himself worthy of the position as the kamo clan head. but he was too rigid about it, rarely accepting help and haughty when questioned. you've been avoiding him as best as you could and of all days, today had to be one where you could not. opponents would be swapped every ten minutes so everyone could practice with another student - facing noritoshi for ten minutes was easy. so you thought. 

"can't promise anything, princess," noritoshi retorted smugly and pat your head like he usually did when he was trying to get a reaction out of you. life always found a way to prove you wrong. for some reason, noritoshi had made it his goal to get under your skin as much as possible on this particular day and it worked. it was childish to engage in this banter but you couldn’t help it. the feeling of not being taken serious by noritoshi had always bothered you. it almost seemed like he wasn’t considering you equal to him, always looking down on you. being stressed wasn’t good, your mother had always reminded you, so it was best to remain calm and collected.

stay calm and collected, calm and collected, you repeated in your head. gritting your teeth, you slapped his hand away and jogged away from him towards todo. at least he'd leave you alone while you were near todo - probably to avoid todo getting mad at him and not wanting to hear about takada-chan again. he was the ultimate and fool-proof shield. the taller male was walking at a leisurely pace in front of you, leading the group as per usual. you caught up to him, slowing down so it didn't look like you just jogged all the way here. away from the menace that was noritoshi. todo glanced at you suspiciously before subtly turning around. a guilty groan left your lips. of course he knew, he always knew. as the unlikely friendship was blossoming between the two of you, you rapidly realized that todo was far more perceptive than he would ever let on. even though he took lighthearted jabs at you, he didn't care enough to intervene; it was a mutual understanding. in a way, you appreciated that he treated you like everyone else, not once had he tried to approach you about your deteriorating relationship with noritoshi.

upon seeing the unlikely pair, miwa speed up as well to join them. even though todo scared her to no end, your presence eased her nerves a little. after all, you weren’t scared to put him back in his place when he was being dramatic. she nudged you gently in greeting, nervously clasping her sword in front of her. "do you think we'll win this year's competition? we've been training a lot, so i hope i can show off some of my skills."

"never say never? even if we lose, it's a good experience to learn from," you replied wryly. while the students of the kyoto tech were strong and coordinated well with each other, noritoshi and you could easily destroy the balance. he didn't know when to stop, persistently pushing your boundaries and you fell for his tricks every time. as long as you could work out a strategy that involved working alone or with a partner that was not him, you'd be fine. your safest bet was to work with miwa since you were both sword users and have practiced together extensively. if noritoshi and you exhibited enough chaos to tear the world apart, miwa and you represented the perfect balance when fighting.

"you're our secret weapon though!" miwa exclaimed excitedly, elbowing you gently. "no one knows you can heal, so we'll use that to our advantage."

"uh…"

"what? don't tell me you-"

"i've asked yuta about advice before," you interrupted her, scratching your head sheepishly. "he's one of the very few people who can use reverse cursed techniques, so i asked him to give me some pointers and how to use it more to my advantage."

when yuta participated in the competition the year before, you were absolutely mesmerized by his level of skills and how he had supposedly mastered them in such a short amount of time. of course you hadn't told anyone that you were talking to him - everyone was still salty about the defeat and would, undoubtedly, have crucified you on sight. truthfully, you didn't understand why everyone was so hellbent about hating the students of your sister school. weren't you all colleagues in a sense? yuta was nice and respectful towards you, always trying his best to explain you how to implement his tips. along the way, you might have developed a tiny, fleeting crush on him but never acted on it. it was only a crush after all and you didn’t feel certain about it not being a mere distraction from your feelings for noritoshi. perhaps it was the way he made you feel, the way he treated you like noritoshi used to before. you couldn't even deny it, you missed your old 'toshi. when you looked at him now, it hurt you, seeing all the traces of gentleness having left him.

"really? you never told me! what is he like? he looked like he was really nice but there were moments where i was really scared of him. well maybe not him but rather… that curse."

"uh, yuta is actually not that scary. he's really helpful and always there for you when you need advice. i think i've improved a lot since we've started talking." you made a mental note to thank yuta again if you got to see each other anytime soon. apparently, gojo had sent him on a mission overseas a few months back and ever since, your exchanged messages grew to be rather sporadic. still, you appreciated that he made an effort to text you every now and then to let you know how he was doing and in turn, also asked about your wellbeing.

"fraternizing with the enemy, i see," noritoshi's voice rang out beside you, dangerously close to your ear. it made you jump in surprise, not having sensed him earlier - your hand automatically shot out to hit him, only for him to catch it in time. you shot him an annoyed glare. beside you, miwa and todo glanced at each other, silently agreeing to ignore the squarreling pair.

"i don't see how that's any of your business."

"it is if it jeopardizes our chance at winning," noritoshi narrowed eyes at you in suspicion. of course he didn't trust you, you were nothing but a mild inconvenience to him. you didn't owe him an explanation, not today and not in the future. any friendship or friendliness between you was long gone. refusing to look into his eyes, you attempted to tug your hand away from him but instead accomplished the exact opposite as noritosh tightened his grip. "what did you tell him?"

"he only helped me with training, that's all! it doesn't concern you anyways so-"

noritoshi was irritated, you could tell. the anger was rolling off him in waves, intimidating even you. why was he so annoyed by the fact that you asked yuta for advice? it wasn't even farfetched - the only other alternatives were gojo and ieiri, both of which you hadn't mustered up the courage to ask yet. wasn't it in everyone's best interest for you to become a great healer? noritoshi would know best - he was the driving force behind your ambition, the sole reason why you worked to the brink of exhaustion just to show him that you didn’t need his help, that you were worthy of a higher rank.

"i don't want you to hang out with the tokyo tech kids, especially not with him."

"wait, what?" you gaped at him in disbelief. "is this just because you have personal beef with some of them? leave me out of this, i just want to improve and you don't get to tell me what to do." with that you shoved the taller male, stomping past the other students towards utahime who was looking at you in disapproval. you missed the upset frown on noritoshi's face as he followed you, wanting to reach out but stopping midway. it wasn't the right time or place to let you know why he didn't want you around them, not yet. seeing you hang out and being relaxed with everyone else but him hurt him, oh how it hurt him. he wanted you close to him, only see him, talk about him excitedly and with stars in your eyes like you did when you talked about yuta. and yet, he couldn't let you know. the only way to keep you orbiting around him was to play these silly games, rile you up and drawing a reaction out of you. it was the only way to make you pay attention to him. and so he did.

calm and collected, my ass, you thought two hours later. of course todo and noritoshi had completely eviscerated the rest of the students with no mercy, leaving everyone in a sour mood. whatever strategy your team would have for the tournament was probably thrown out the window, the two of them would take care of it anyways. not that they would stand a chance against yuta.

“yuta isn’t here?” the disappointment in your voice was palpable. you did look forward to meeting yuta again, thinking that he might have come home from his overseas trip for the tournament. but you supposed getting to know the other students wasn’t too bad, you were interested in the first years and their skills. they certainly looked more approachable than your classmates. miwa told you how todo and mai had met two of them a few weeks prior and promptly started a senseless fight that was then stopped by the second years. it landed them in the water as utahime gave them a lecture - while she didn't tolerate the childish behaviour, everyone else seemed to turn a blind eye to it. noritoshi had scoffed in disapproval upon hearing the news, uttering something about not wanting to associate with dimwits like them. 

"nope, he's still overseas. it doesn't matter anyways, we'll still beat you without him," maki replied with a confident grin, arms crossed as she took in the kyoto tech group of students. regardless, you broke out in a sprint and jumped, engulfing her in a warm hug. while you two didn't talk as much as yuta and you did, you were still friends. she was a source of inspiration to you, a master of all kinds of weapons whom you deeply admired. maki gave you some awkward pats before pulling away to introduce you to the first years - megumi, yuji and nobara. the younger students were wary of you, most likely because of their encounter with todo and mai. you couldn't hold it against them, their intensity and stubbornness was something you had to deal with daily after all. you silently cursed the two brash students before taking a deep breath and extending your hand to the ones in front of you.

“hi, i’m y/n, nice to meet you,” you introduced yourself with a friendly smile, visibly relieved when they shook your hand and introduced themselves. especially nobara seemed to be eager to get to know you, fussing over your uniform and inquiring about your skills. you were glad they welcomed you, not wanting to cause any more trouble than would undoubtedly arise for the duration of the tournament. while megumi seemed to be cautious and more reserved around you, yuuji and nobara already treated you like their friend. subconsciously, you envied them for the wholesome friendship dynamic as it reminded you of what you used to have with noritoshi. the fleeting thoughts left as soon as they made an appearance in your head, disappearing when nobara grasped your hand and pulled you towards the buildings to show you around. unbothered by the reactions of your fellow kyoto tech classmates, you followed her - their energy was stifling and the tournament didn't start until later in the day anyways. it was useless to stay with your group and practice, you'd only overexert yourself.

“y/n.” noritoshi called after you sternly, glaring at you when you turned to look at him - ever since stepping foot into the estate, he was moody and more serious than usual.  it was probably him being tense about the tournament, the spirit to win deeply ingrained in his bones. none of the other students seemed to be bothered by the presence of the tokyo tech students, so why should he? ignoring him, you continued your journey until you felt a force harshly pulling you back by the fabric of your hoodie. intuitively, you could tell it was noritoshi. 

"noritoshi, let me go," you snapped at him irritated, struggling to free yourself from his grasp.

"we have things to discuss, did you forget that?"

"i don't want to," like a petulant child, you gave him an angry look as you stood your ground. tension filled the space between you, tethering on the edge of anger. why was a normal conversation never possible with him? and why did he treat you like a child? you let up when megumi appeared to your side, shooting noritoshi a warning glance as he attempted to remove his hand from yours. even though he didn't know what your relationship was like, he stepped in regardless - you were impressed by him. even if noritoshi remained calm, he was a menace to deal with afterwards.

"she said no, didn't you hear-"

"get your hands off of her." noritoshi growled at megumi, the sudden influx of cursed energy that was surrounding him made all students in close proximity freeze. you couldn't hide you shock either, he had never been this threatening towards someone else. he might push boundaries to the extreme, knowing that he could away with it due to his bloodline and family name but he had never outright threatened anyone that didn't do his bidding. with those words he pulled you towards him, wrapping his arm around your waist protectively. paralyzed, you blankly stared at him. his cursed energy was suffocating you, never had you experienced this amount of pressure. not only that, the unusual closeness set your heart ablaze, burning down the walls that you'd carefully constructed around it.

"you're being ridiculous," megumi challenged the older male, unbothered by the strong pressure. he didn't understand why noritoshi was making a big deal out of this. surely he didn't consider megumi a threat? noritoshi's hold on you strengthened and with panic you realized the blood-red markings appearing on his face, he was being serious, oh god he was going to rip megumi apart-

"hey hey, stop it you two," panda's voice snapped you out of your trance and seemingly noritoshi's as well as he wacked his arm. "you just got here and you're already stirring up trouble, are you not ashamed?"

noritoshi simply scoffed and let you go, his cursed energy dissipating with the movement. the rest of the students were as stunned as you were, no one daring to make another move until the tension evaporated. todo was the only one who looked rather annoyed, smacking the back of noritoshi’s head as he started to tell him off - noritoshi, however, kept walking past him towards the dorms that they were staying at for the week. it was almost like there was steam coming off his head as a result of holding his anger in. nobara gaped at you in surprise, pointing at you accusingly. “i didn’t know that was your boyfriend!”

you spluttered in horror, quickly reaching out to her to try and cover her mouth so she wouldn’t say anything incriminating. “n- no you got it wrong! we’re not together, not at all! i hate noritoshi,” you floundered, hastily trying to set the record straight. nobara didn’t look like she believed you, pushing your hands away while giggling. she wiggled her eyebrows at you, whispering at you about how lucky you were to snag such a handsome guy although she thought that he really didn’t have to overreact like that because megumi was harmless. covering your face in embarrassment, you turned away from her and caught a glimpse of an amused todo winking at you.

“i’m serious, nobara!" whatever whining you did, the two of them didn’t let up, making you wonder what you ever did wrong to deserve this scrutiny. as your last resort you grabbed nobara's hand, dragging her along towards a secluded area in the estate. being the subject of the earlier conflict was already troubling enough, you didn't want the other students to get the wrong idea by her wild speculations. nobara was still giggling when you arrived, pinching your arm playfully.

“c’mon, it’s impossible that there is not something between you! did you see the look on his face? i don’t think he would have cared had it been any other person,” she gushed excitedly, her face lighting up in glee. with no doubt, nobara enjoyed poking her nose in other people's business, seemingly having a knack for sniffing out the hidden. a dejected sigh left your lip. a younger you would have jumped in happiness after finally receiving noritoshi's attention but the present you knew better. there wasn't more to it, you told yourself and yet, a tiny sliver of doubt made its way into your mind. could he really have been so bothered by another male being so close to you? todo didn't count, obviously.

"no, there's nothing to it, i promise. we don't have the best relationship anymore and mostly fight. i mean yeah his reaction was really uncharacteristic but…"

"anymore?"

"noritoshi and me grew up together and were childhood friends. i- i didn't agree with his antics as we grew up and we drifted apart after that and now… hate each other? he’s just unbearable and we don’t get along. everyone at kyoto tech knows that so they’re mostly ignoring our fights. and it’s childish, i know, i know..." 

“are you sure? like super duper sure? because it didn’t look like it to me,” nobara contemplatively rubbed her chin. the wheels were turning in her head, something didn’t quite add up. even at first glance, whatever you said made her feel doubtful.

“trust me, i wish it was different too. i mean i used to like him a lot and it makes me sad and i wish we could at least be civil around each other. but he just makes me so angry,” your ramblings stopped nobara’s thinking - so that’s what it was. normally, nobara really didn’t care about other people’s business but this was too juicy to pass up. how far could she push it to make you realize?

why was the layout of all these buildings so confusing? and why were there so many buildings to begin with? you’ve been wandering around for at least five minutes now and you still couldn’t figure out where the hell yuji’s and megumi’s rooms were supposed to be. they didn’t even have any signs around. at this point, it didn’t matter if it took longer than anticipated - the others could wait. nobara had insisted on having a small get together the night before, to get to know each other and play some card games. you couldn’t refuse, it’s been a while since you just hung out with friends without any quarreling. there was no harm in getting to know you future colleagues, even though your classmates were treating them like criminals. so instead of going herself and much to your dismay, nobara had sent you to fetch the other two students, claiming that you would be fine if you just stuck to the measly sketch she’d made for you. most of the rooms you’ve already knocked at remained empty so you couldn’t be far from their rooms, you concluded.

stopping in front of the last remaining door of the corridor, you took a deep breath. this had to be one of their rooms. slowly, you raised your hand to knock at the door when it was suddenly yanked open, startling you in the process and making you drop the piece of paper you were holding. what you weren’t expecting was coming face to face with noritoshi who looked at you as equally confused. he was the last person you wanted to see today, not wanting to confront him about his actions earlier. you couldn’t wrap your head around it; why had he overreacted in such a way? it wasn’t like you were in danger or in need of protection. for a brief moment, you thought that there was a sliver of strange possessiveness. you couldn’t quite place the emotions in his eyes, it made you shudder.

“oh uh, sorry. i was looking for yuji and megumi and this is very obviously not one of their rooms. sorry again. i’ll take my leave,” you awkwardly stammered, taking a step back. noritoshi’s figure was towering over you and in a rare moment, you felt intimidated by him. perhaps it was the dark look in his eyes that told you that he was not thrilled by what you just told him. before you could react, he swiftly grabbed your arm and pulled you inside his room, trapping you against the door.

“w- wait!” you protested weakly, pushing at his chest until his face slowly came into your vision. you couldn’t help but stare at his lips, watching them move as he was talking to you. your ears were ringing, you couldn’t tell what he was saying. the close proximity was suffocating and yet you craved more, not wanting to let him go.

“y/n? did you hear me?” 

“huh?” snapping out of your trance, you looked at him dumbfounded. noritoshi was frowning at you, slightly concerned about your state as you didn’t answer him. just then you finally got a proper look at him. it was a rare sight; noritoshi wearing casual clothes, a simple oversized shirt and shorts, and his hair down without the bindings. feeling nostalgic, your heart clenched. he looked like his old self, the ‘toshi that you loved dearly.

“i said, i don’t want you around them. i don’t- i don’t like seeing you with them,” noritoshi repeated with a strained voice. he placed his hands beside your head, inching closer to you.

“what- noritoshi, you don’t get to tell me who i can hang out with! last time i checked, we’re not even friends anymore so where do you get the idea that you can do this? what’s the big deal ab-” you didn’t get to finish your sentence when he pressed his lips against yours clumsily. you seized up in shock, not returning the kiss as a whirlwind of thoughts entered your mind. holy shit, he was really kissing you. but you hated each other, so why? why, why, why. when you didn’t respond, noritoshi pulled away in panic, spluttering apologies as he moved away from you. your emotional world was in chaos, all the buried and forgotten feelings for him breaking the dams and flooding your senses until the yearning became too much. you were reminded of the conversation you had with your mother years ago - you still wanted him, missed him. you wanted him by your side. desperately, you reached out, fisting the fabric of his shirt as you leaned up to kiss him. noritoshi caught you in his arms, wrapping them around you as he fervently returned the kiss. he was holding you like he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air, frantically pulling you in. his hands were roaming, discovering the expanse of your body.

his touches left you feeling delirious, high on pleasure. a mewl left your lips, pleading him for something, for more. your hands moved higher, feeling his chest and broad shoulders before you wrapped your arms around his neck. his name left your lips in breathy sighs as he peppered kisses down your jaw, pulling the collar of your shirt to the side to gain more access to the expanse of your neck. suddenly, you were hoisted up and pressed against the door as noritoshi held you by your thighs. you struggled to wrap your legs around his waist, to distracted by his relentless ministrations. by the time he's left multiple hickeys on your neck, you were whimpering mess. noritoshi's breath was taken away at the sight of you in his arms, lips swollen from the kisses, the glossy eyes, dishevelled hair and the hickeys that were slowly becoming more visible. he couldn't understand how carelessly you were letting him proceed when you supposedly harboured a strong dislike for him. nevertheless, he enjoyed it and wanted to savour the moment, ingrain it into his memory so he'd never forget why he was treating you like a nuisance.

a loud knock resounded from the door, followed by someone shouting: "noritoshi? has y/n been here?"

out of sheer shock, you shoved noritoshi away from you and nearly fell as you attempted to detangle yourself from him. he caught you in time, signalling you to stay quiet as the person outside was still shuffling around nervously. you slumped against him limply, letting your head rest against his chest. his heart was beating erratically. it made yours fill with pride as you could tell that you had the same effect on him as he did on you. still, the precarious situation suddenly dawned on you - you'd just made out with your sworn enemy and, yes you used to have a crush on him, enjoyed it very much. and by the looks of it, he would have continued if you hadn't pushed him away. the entire ordeal greatly confused you; was noritoshi just playing around with you? it couldn't be, he had initiated it after all. the cold treatment he usually gave you didn't match with his actions just now. you couldn't get close to him, not when he gave you mixed signals. you wanted someone who cherished you and was always sincere so you wouldn't have to second guess their actions.

"huh, i guess noritoshi's already sleeping. we'll have to check somewhere else, i hope she didn't get lost," the person outside mumbled as you stayed silent. the sound of shuffling was heard, then steps away from the room. you stayed put until you were sure they were gone and gently removed yourself from noritoshi's grip, not looking him in the eyes. he didn’t move, letting you go willingly.

“i’m sorry, i don’t know what came over me,” you apologized with a pained voice. “please forget that it ever happened and uhm, please don’t tell anyone.”

noritoshi’s eyes widened at your pleas, moving to stop you from leaving so he could explain himself to you. “y/n, wait, i can ex-”

hastily, you stumbled to open the door, dashing away from him until the building was out of your sight. you poorly hid behind a tree, sinking to your knees as you buried your face in your hands. what the hell. you just made out with your childhood friend turned enemy. your buried feelings were all over the place and your mind just couldn’t stay still. it messed with your outlook as well as your image of noritoshi, distorting and twisting it until you had to rethink your relationship. maybe all this time, you subconsciously hoped that he would return back to his old self and somehow give you an explanation. never having received closure on the end of your friendship, you would even forgive him for the sake of your relationship. were you this shallow? no, you simply harboured a lot of feelings for him. you weren’t able to tell what his thought process was - was he even interested in you? did he see you like that?

“there you are,” you lifted your head to see gojo walking towards you with his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his pants. you almost didn’t recognize him as he simply wore a pair of sunglasses and let his hair down. “the others are looking for you. what are you doing out here? trouble in paradise?”

“n-no! i just needed some time away from everyone to- to catch my breath,” you exclaimed indignantly and perhaps too hastily you realized when gojo smirked at you knowingly. why did everyone assume that there was anything between noritoshi and you? was it that obvious?

“uh huh. that’s not what your neck says,” gojo pointed out while wiggling his eyebrows and offered you a hand to stand up. “he really doesn’t like any competition.”

“fuck,” you cursed quietly, covering the hickeys with one hand while taking gojo’s with your other and pulling yourself up. it was embarrassing enough to meet one of the teachers like this but it was even more embarrassing to know that your teacher had seen the aftermath of your makeout session. 

“i’m not gonna tell anyone, if that’s what you’re concerned about. although it would certainly be funny to tease little noritoshi,” gojo was giggling and you knew he was greatly amused by the entire situation. it almost reminded you of nobara. you groaned in frustration as you trailed behind him towards the girls’ dorms. you needed to hide your neck so no one would question it or grill you until you confessed; the potential embarrassment was mortifying.

your group strategy was already falling apart when todo suddenly disappeared in the depths of the forest, not caring about your teamwork in the slightest. normally, it would frustrate you a lot more if you weren’t already preoccupied with your own troubles. todo would be fine anyways, the remaining group members could work on a strategy on their own. as mechamaru and mai were discussing, you shot a glance at noritoshi. he looked as deadpan as usual, probably not listening to the discussion as he worked better on his own and it was more or less decided that mechamaru and him would be moving on their own while the others would team up. otherwise, you couldn’t tell whether he was bothered by what had transpired between you the night before. on the contrary, he looked calm and composed, probably more focused on his goal than anything else. and for some reason it bothered you.

when you’d returned to nobara’s room last night, gojo had helped you make up an excuse. while dramatically gesturing around, he’d told them that he intercepted her journey towards the boys’ dorms to recruit you for training, claiming that he wanted to teach you more about reverse cursed techniques. although he saved you from scrutiny and embarrassment, you couldn’t help but feel like he might use it as leverage in the future. it was gojo after all, he was unpredictable. absentmindedly, you agreed to whatever plan the others had schemed and grabbed your sword, getting ready to move to your assigned position with miwa. while you had heard of the other students’ skills, you weren’t sure where to place their levels as there was always room for surprises. underestimating opponents was a beginner's mistake. the bell rang out, signaling the start of the tournament; with swift movements, the group members dispersed and slowly moved towards the "enemy".

in the distance, you could already hear loud explosions - it was probably mechamaru happily blasting away his opponents. you gritted your teeth in annoyance, the blasts were too loud for you to make out anyone approaching you. and as you predicted, someone was taking advantage of the noise to stalk up on you. barely being able to block the blow with your sword, you found yourself opposite of maki who was grinning at you. the challenging glint in her eyes told you that she wasn't going to go easy on you but you welcomed it. it was a good opportunity for you to grow and hone your sword wielding skills.

however, it proved to be more difficult to defeat maki than you'd originally anticipated. in mere minutes, maki had already disarmed miwa, leaving her defenseless and you were hanging on a bare thread. your grip on the sword was weakening, laboured breath making your ears ring. it was frustrating, knowing that after all those months of rigorous practice, you still couldn't win a fight. giving up wasn't an option, at the very least you had to give it your all.

"c'mon, you can do better than this!" maki teased you as you ducked away from the swipe of her spear. it missed you by a hair's width and left you scrambling to create more distance between you so you could heal yourself. maki's relentless hits didn't give you any rooms for it - you really had to learn how to constantly apply it to yourself without losing time. from the corner of your eyes, you could see that miwa had picked up the phone. she was probably calling for help, you thought and dished out another hit towards maki which she skillfully dodged. instead, she delivered another blow to your legs, making your knees buckle from the force. you used your sword to support you and took another breath before you tried to lunge at her. in the distance, miwa suddenly collapsed, making you stop mid-move and took another hit from maki that took all the air in your lungs.

"eyes on your opponent, y/n. you know better than to get distracted in a fight, you could've been killed in a real fight," maki reprimanded you as you coughed heavily, gasping for air as you slowly got back up. you were unsteady on your feet, not having enough energy to even heal yourself. conflicted by whether you should face maki again or help miwa, your eyes were flitting between them. maki took advantage of your uncertainty, dealing another blow to you that knocked the sword out of your hand. as your last resort, you kicked at her feet, trying to get her to fall, only to have her pin you to the ground.

"you're going to have to practice a lot more to beat me in the future," she sighed, picking up your sword. panic welled up in your chest - the sword was the only way you could possibly somewhat win this fight but even subconsciously you knew that it was over. reaching out for the sword in desperation, your vision was clouded with tears. it was frustrating, so so frustrating. why couldn't you be as talented as her? or have fast reflexes like noritoshi? why were you ordinary, not being able to make any progress no matter how hard you try?

"i know but i can't give up now!" you defiantly retorted, pushing at her with all might. "i have to win, i just have to show my skills for once and prove myself, i- i-"

even maki softened up at your heart wrenching sobs, easing up on her grip. you both knew it was over. you were probably already eliminated from the tournament, with no other possibility to redeem yourself. she knew that you tried your best and never once underestimated her but something irked her. it was your motivation, your driving force.

"y/n, there's no shame in losing. that's how you grow, make mistakes and learn from them. you tried your best, it's not easy to stand against me for so long."

"i know but there's- i'm still not where i need to be! look at how much progress the others are making in comparison to me! i've been practicing day and night and still, no one is noticing me. i'm just a measly healer and i-"

"y/n." maki cut you off sternly. "is this your motivation? proving yourself to others? you'll not be able to improve if you keep fighting for others. you need to start working on yourself, for yourself. you don't owe anyone anything. but you have to realize that trying to satisfy other people's needs will only make you unhappy and hinder your growth."

"i'm unhappy with my skills! i keep telling myself that it's okay, that i have a rare cursed technique but sometimes i just wish i had a flashy technique or be as strong as you. i don't want to be looked at as if i need protection, i don't want it! i just-" you hiccuped, sniffling again as you wiped your tears with the sleeves of your uniform. "i just want someone to acknowledge me, want him to accept me as an equal…"

"who?" maki's cold look made you freeze in your movements. you didn't mean to let that slip. no one needed to know that the entire time, you were vying for noritoshi's attention. but she was right; there was no point in giving it your all if it wasn't for yourself. it was a silly, childish dream of yours to be equal with him again. he was far out of reach and you couldn't catch up to him.

"n- noritoshi," you admitted in defeat. maki saw right through you, there was no point in lying. she raised her eyebrows at you but didn't question it further. after all, you hadn't told her about the background story. unless nobara had done so, you wouldn't doubt it.

"i'm not gonna ask you why. but this is my advice, do not fight for somebody else. if you relentlessly work on yourself for your own benefit, you'll see progress a lot faster. your technique might not be flashy but it is powerful, remember that. you're a valuable asset to every team," she concluded and pulled you up, awkwardly patting your back as you still sniffled. maki opened her mouth to tell you some comforting words but froze when another extremely loud boom resounded near the entrance of the estate. your eyes widened at the sudden influx of cursed energy - there was no doubt that a high-level curse had just entered the school grounds. you turned to maki to tell her the news but she'd already moved, pointing to miwa.

"take her to a safe place, you can't stay here! in your state, you wouldn't last against such a strong curse," maki yelled at you as she disappeared in the woods. you scrambled frantically, not wanting to be left behind. while you were useless for the tournament, you could at least still be of assistance against a curse. miwa was still laying on the ground, unmoving. you shook her gently, scared that she was seriously hurt. it seemed like she was just sleeping instead; you were relieved. throwing her across your shoulder, you winced in pain but persisted nonetheless. you had to get her away from here, who knows what curses were roaming around. your senses were flooded with the stench of blood and debris, the pressure of cursed energy, the loud rumbles. you couldn't tell where the others were but you hoped they were safe.

a loud thud startled you and you stopped, ready to draw your sword until realization hit you that it was utahime that was inspecting you. determined, you thrusted miwa's limp body towards utahime. 

"miwa will be okay, she's just sleeping! i'm okay too, don't worry, please just take care of her and i'll check on the others!"

"y/n, don't be stupid! you're injured and in no state to help others." utahime attempted to convince you; you shook her off stubbornly, insisting that you were fine.

"what if the others get hurt? i have to help them or at least warn them!" your resolve was firm and unwavering that even utahime couldn't convince you otherwise. slipping out of her grasp, you sprinted towards the source of the cursed energy. from far away you could already see the damage that the curse had caused. multiple buildings were torn apart, trees dislodged and- were those branches rapidly growing out of the ground? you watched in horror as the branches whipped around, following running figures on the rooftop of one of the buildings. upping your speed, you jumped towards the group to aid them. as you neared them, you could make out inumaki, noritoshi, and megumi fighting against the curse, maki trailing close behind. 

they barely stood a chance against the curse, every hit that they dealt, the curse would come out unscathed. "what's the deal with that curse?" you asked, panting as you joined them, coming to a halt behind inumaki. megumi was yelling something but you couldn't hear him as noritoshi turned to you and shoved you out of the way.

"y/n, what are you doing here?" 

"helping you guys? what the fuck does it look like?" you yelled back exasperated. why was he mad at you in such a situation? they needed any helping hand they could get to defeat the curse. while you weren't useful in fights, you could at least provide continuous healing. noritoshi didn't have any time to reply as the curse lashed out again, dodging it by jumping to the side. you stayed close to inumaki, swiftly healing him when he collapsed from the rebound of his cursed speech. you clenched your jaw, not wanting the others to see that you were slowly running out of energy and strength. next thing you know, a body was hurled through the air, landing near you with a thud. your heart filled with dread when your eyes fell onto the figure, recognizing noritoshi.

"y/n, heal them as best as you can and get out of here! take them to the teachers!" maki yelled out and this time you obeyed, too panicked about noritoshi's state. you were thankful that inumaki had enough energy to run after you'd healed him - hauling noritoshi's tall frame around was already difficult enough but even more so when you were exhausted. as you neared the gates, utahime was already running towards you with a concerned look on her face. you were glad that she was nearby, it meant that gojo and the other teachers were close and could defend you.

"what happened?" utahime worried but you couldn't reply. falling to your knees, you gently laid noritoshi on the ground. the injuries looked bad, there was blood everywhere. you had to stop the wound on his head from bleeding but your trembling hands were preventing you from doing so.

"i- i don't know, i just- i think the curse hit him and now he's unconscious and he's losing so much blood and-"

utahime pinched you firmly, snapping you out of your panic. she was already holding a cloth to noritoshi's temple to stop the bleeding. patting your hand, she told you in a gentle voice: "heal him if you still have enough strength but don't overexert yourself. ieiri will be here soon." 

nodding frantically, you placed your trembling hands on his abdomen and let your cursed energy flow. the strength was slowly leaving your body but you had to save him. you had to make sure he was okay, he couldn't die, not like this. regret was bubbling up inside you; what if this was the last time you would ever get to see him?just as you felt his energy responding to yours and saw his hand moving slightly, you couldn't hold yourself upright anymore. the last thing you saw was utahime reaching out to catch you as you collapsed.

you woke up with a startle, gasping for air as you sat up abruptly. sunlight was flooding the room and it felt uncomfortably hot on your skin. you pushed the blanket back but stopped halfway in your movement. your entire body hurt, muscles burning and screaming for more rest. and yet you couldn’t stay still as you remembered the previous events. how long were you out for? was everyone okay? gritting your teeth, you slowly moved out of the room. again, you were faced with the endless maze that was the tokyo tech buildings and stopped in your tracks, not sure which direction to go. you let out a sigh of relief when you spotted yuji in the distance, waving at him to get his attention.

“y/n!” yuji ran towards you, frantically gesturing towards your room. “you’re supposed to be resting! what are you doing here?”

“is everyone okay?” you croaked, now realizing how dry your throat was.

“yeah, ieiri did a good job of healing everyone! some of us are still resting though and so should you.”

“no, i… is noritoshi okay?”

“noritoshi? oh, you mean the guy with the long hair?” yuji nodded, curiously eyeing you as your shoulders dropped, the stress rolling of them. “yeah, he’s still recovering though. ieiri said that his injuries were probably the worst so he’s not allowed to leave the bed.”

“can you take me to him?” you asked with a small voice, doing your best to muster up a puppy face. yuji sighed, scratching his head sheepishly. you could see the conflict in his eyes, that he was thinking about rejecting your request. in the end, he shook his head in defeat and motioned for you to follow him. a small grin found its way onto your lips - yuji was just too nice, he couldn’t say no when people ask him for favours. the walk to noritoshi’s room was silent, neither of you knowing what to say. you knew it was selfish of you not to ask him about his wellbeing more or visit the others but you just had to see for yourself that noritoshi was okay. yuji stopped in front of a door, pointing at it.

“this is his room. he might be sleeping though… my room is down the hall so if you need me to accompany you back to your room, just call me.”

you thanked him quietly and watched as he retreated. taking a deep breath, you knocked at the door and waited for a reply. a few moments passed before noritoshi’s voice rang out, giving you the okay to enter. gingerly, you opened the door and entered the room. noritoshi was sitting on his bed, reading a book as if nothing had happened. you looked at him bewildered. he didn’t look like his injuries fazed him at all. despite the bandages around his head and arms, he remained calm as if nothing hurt. 

“noritoshi,” you breathed out, taking a seat on the chair near the bed. he didn’t spare you a look, keeping his eyes on the book. “i uhm. i’m glad you’re okay! when i saw you in that state, i was so so scared that i could lose you… i did my best to heal you, i know i didn’t do much but-”

“i didn’t need your help,” noritoshi snapped at you, placing the book on his lap. “i would’ve been fine without it.”

you were stunned. why was he so agitated? after you initial shock, you huffed in frustration. “what the hell, you could’ve died! i was trying so hard to keep you alive and you react like this? i know you don’t like me but even this is a low blow for you!”

“it wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t inserted yourself into everything! you’re not helping anyone, just dragging us down; everything could’ve gone well if it wasn’t for you standing in the way,” noritoshi countered as frustrated, this time actually looking at you. you stared back at him in disbelief. you saved his life and he had the nerve to shot you down like this.

“does it really hurt your ego to admit that i was actually helpful? we were friends at some point so why do you insist on being such a dick? and here i was, finally thinking that we were getting somewhere- for fuck’s sake, we kissed and-”

“leave.”

you stopped rambling. the tired tone in his voice, the deadpan look on his face; he was serious. you couldn’t believe him. tears welled up in your eyes as you leaped from the chair and hastily exited the room, slamming the door in anger. 

you never wanted to see him again.

p.s: yes nobara gave you a wrong sketch of the buildings what about it hehe

taglist: @milkteeboba​

[coruscantguard]

@loving-fox-hours - Fox Week - Day 2 - Animal Transformation

Commander Fox, Commander Stone, Sergeant Hound

(Ao3 Link)

timeline note! this is set when they have their phase 1 armor for visual purposes. also, whaaaaaat nooooooo this isn’t five days late whaaaaaaaaat absolutely not. anyway, enjoy.

There is a white fox on top of Grizzar.

"What the kark," Stone says, because kark it, it’s the crack of dawn and he's exhausted. This feels like a what the kark situation. Hound, on the other hand, shrugs, because Hound is the worst, and also probably got six hours of sleep last night, so he’s physically capable of being in a good mood.

The fox has red markings. The fox is asleep. The fox should not be here.

"No idea, sir, sorry," Hound says, and he runs a hand through his too-long curls as he looks over to meet Stone's eyes. "Found 'em here this morning when I went to go feed Grizzar."

Stone sighs. "Has Commander Thorn been around yet?" he asks, because Thorn actually likes animals, and is good with them in a way that few brothers are. Stone supposes that lack of skill most brothers have is a product of their childhood, since it's not like they had pets on Kamino. After all, killing machines don’t need to know how to befriend wild animals.

Which, of course, means that even though Stone has seen it happen a million times during the last few months, it’s still damn weird to see Thorn charming every animal in sight. Brothers and things with fur or scales or claws do not go together in his mind.

Still, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter. Personal opinions aside, he knows that Grizzar and the other massifs are useful in searches, and since Hound is one his Thorn's men, he usually doesn’t have to deal with them. As long as they all stay out of his goddamn office, he couldn’t care less about members of the Guard having odd friendships with non-sentient beings.

(And yes, Captain Thire, that does include the tooka you're sharing with Senator Chuchi. Go dump it on the Commander if you really must. No, he won't kill you, he's invested too much time into you for that to be a good idea. He’s fine with the tooka, trust me, Captain.)

(Anyway, Stone has seen that goddamn tooka napping in Fox's bunk, and he knows the only way it could've possibly gotten into his private quarters is if Fox let it. So, Fox might complain about it, but Stone is pretty sure he actually likes the furry menace, deep down.)

"No, sir. He’s on a last minute mission for the Chancellor, I believe."

Stone grimaces, and chooses to push that tidbit of information to the back of his mind until later, when he can deal with it. Preferably that later will be after they've managed to get the fox out of the barracks. And hopefully they’ll manage that without bloodshed. "And Commander Fox?"

"I... figured I should just get you, Commander," Hound says, and it’s in a tone of voice that he immediately recognizes as being the tone of voice troopers use when they are purposefully not saying something that’s probably important. 

Stone turns from the fox to stare Hound down, because he's not going to let whatever he wants to hide bite them in the shebs. To his credit, Hound puts up an impressive fight against the stare, not even twitching until Stone ups the ante. And that is impressive, really— both Fox and Thorn would have already caved and admitted what they were hiding. But in their defense, that's absolutely because they don't have the time to waste it standing there as Stone glares. Still, caving is caving, and for a relatively new officer, out performing Commander Stubborn Shabuir and Commander Stubborn Di'kut in anything is a feat. 

"Commander Fox came in here last night, sir," Hound finally says, and his calm expression is completely undermined by the rush of his words. "I had Balac check the security footage— he went into the barracks, but he never came out, and unless he's hiding somewhere around here..." Hound trails off.

"Sergeant Hound, are you implying something?" Stone demands, because kriff no, he refuses to come to this goddamn conclusion on his own. If Hound has a thought he's gonna have to share it.

"Well, this is a Vulptex, sir, and they’re native to the Outer Rim world Crait. Which is, um, not Coruscant. Or even close to Coruscant.” Stone blinks, slowly, deliberately. Hound continues. “They’re nicknamed the crystal fox due to their crystalline bristles, which help them blend in and survive on Crait. But this one wouldn’t survive very long, because it has red markings, which would catch the eye of any predator. I’ve never heard of one having two-toned bristles, I suppose it’s possible, but it’s never been recorded. And...”

“And?”

“It’s red markings that are in the same places that Commander Fox has red on his armor, sir."

"So, Sergeant, what you’re saying is...?"

“I-think-this-could-maybe-be-the-Commander-if-some-weird-Jedi-osik-happened?”

It takes a moment for Stone to decipher what Hound says, but he groans when he does. "Kark," he says, because that’s... not outside the realm of possibility. He leans in closer, and yep, that is Guardsmen red he's seeing on the fox's chest and shoulders— there are just hints of it, but it's definitely there. "Kark. Any chance it’s blood?"

"I haven't gotten close enough to check, sir," Hound admits. "It doesn't look like blood, but I figured I shouldn't risk waking it up until I notified you."

Stone grunts. Smart move. Still, they need their barracks back. "Close the door. I'm gonna check."

"Your funeral sir," Hound says, because again, he's a bastard who works for Thorn, but regardless of his words, he moves to shut it. Stone leans down close enough to the fox to verify that, no, it’s not actually bleeding, dammit, there might be some truth to Hound’s theory after all, and his face is inches away from the fox’s when the fox opens its eyes. 

Stone freezes as the fox makes eye contact with him— it’s eyes are a familiar brown, but he doesn't know what color crystal foxes eyes usually are, so maybe it’s a coincidence— and suddenly, the fox makes a noise that can only be described as a whine, before sitting up quicker than Stone can process and headbutting him.

Oh, kark you, Stone doesn’t say, and Hound chokes on a laugh. Stone sighs. The fox glares at him. Finally, he makes himself ask: "Commander Fox?"

In response, the fox tries to headbutt him again. Stone quickly backs out of its line of fire. The disappointed noise the fox makes sounds uncannily human, and Hound makes a noise that sounds a lot like he's trying and failing to strangle his laughter.

Stone sighs again, and takes a quick second to mourn the loss of his dignity, although he hasn't really had any since that mission with Representative Binks. Then, he obligingly sits down on the floor, just out of the Fox’s headbutting range. "Hound, go contact General Vos and tell him we have a situation," he orders, and Fox the fox stretches on Grizzar's back, slow and languid in a way that Fox only is when he’s on a high dosage of painkillers.

“Get Cyclone too,” he amends, because out of all the medics in the Guard, Cyclone undoubtedly is the best to get when dealing with this kind of nonsense. The worst thing they’ll do is delay getting this mess fixed because they keep breaking out into laughter. And dealing with a slight delay is infinitely preferable to dealing with Naia passive aggressively lording this over both Fox’s head and his own until one of them approve whatever vacation she requests, or dealing with Quill ‘accidentally’ letting the story slip to someone in the 212th.

“Yessir,” Hound says, and Stone watches Fox in silence until the moment the door closes again. Then, he sighs. Really, it’s a miracle the massiff hasn't woken up yet, but considering how loud Galactic City is, Grizzar has probably learned to sleep through almost everything. Including, apparently, Clone Commanders getting turned into foxes and deciding to nap on his back instead of actually trying to fix the situation.

“Sir, with all due respect— ” He starts, and Fox the fox whips his head around, glaring at him through small, beady eyes. Stone shuts up, and Fox the fox nods in what is probably approval.

They sit there in silence for a few seconds before Fox the fox slowly, carefully, leaps off of Grizzar’s back, and lands on the floor by Stone’s leg. Fox the fox immediately turns back to look at the massif, most likely out of worry that the jump woke him up, but Grizzar slumbers on.

Despite the fact that he’s watching Fox the fox, it still comes as a surprise when he walks forward, and nudges him with his nose.

“Commander Fox?”

The fox glares at him, then does it again. Stone stares at him, uncomprehending, and Fox the fox makes a noise that sounds a lot like an exasperated sigh, before jumping up into his lap, and curling up into a small ball.

Stone stares. Fox the fox hits him in the chest with his tail. Stone stares some more.

Kark. Fox better not court-martial him for this.

Reluctantly, he lowers a hand to the fox’s back, and pets it lightly. Fox the fox purrs, and it’s only years of command training that doesn’t have him stopping out of pure shock. Because since when could foxes purr? Since when would Commander Fox be so undignified as to purr?

(Since he was turned into a fox while probably being on heavy painkillers, apparently.)

Stone sighs again, careful not to stop the petting, and Grizzar grunts in his sleep. Kark. Kark. Today is going to be a long karking day.

[memescomicswriting]

In the Pursuit of Happiness Ch. 7

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Reader x Bucky, Reader x Steve

Warnings/genre: Very Angsty Chapter, a few bad words

Summary: Singer!Avenger. Raised by Sheild since the age of ten, Y/N grew up without everyday examples. She only saw how to be an agent. Though as a grown woman she has surpassed that mindset, she still faces challenges from her upbringing- like how to handle feelings, unrequited love, and interpersonal challenges. Set after similar plot points in Civil War, Y/N must face returning home after leaving during an uncomfortable time in her life and facing the consequences

A/N: This is my first series in the Marvel fandom. I hope you enjoy it. I always welcome feedback. It is appreciated. This story does not follow the traditional Marvel timeline. I mess with it to make the story work, so roll with me.

This may be my favorite chapter so far. It certainly was the easiest to write. 

Story Masterlist

A month passed since Steve left. Things continued as they always had. You and the team trained and acted when needed. Peter was heading back to school soon and you were trying to enjoy as much leisurely time with him as you could. You'd have some weekends with him and you would go to visit, but you couldn't take him on trips with his friends to water parks or the beach, trips to Quebec, and long movie marathons with the team. Somehow, wherever you took Peter beyond the compound, Bucky decided he needed to get out as well. You appreciated it. Though you loved Peter and his friends, being all alone with a gang of teenagers could grow draining. Wanda would join you on occasion, but she was indifferent to outings with large crowds of people. Despite Bucky's unease with crowds and a large amount of time in society, he took to the teens, the city, and other places you traveled well. He was fun in the purest sense. He'd make jokes with you while Peter and his friends were distracted. He'd intercede when someone recognized you and refused to leave. He thought ahead and brought you coffee when you seemed tired or a snack you eyed. It reminded you of the old days with Steve; long before you believed he developed feelings for you. You enjoyed having an adult compatriot again.

While Peter shopped for school supplies with Tony, on Tony's insistence, you were left on your own in the compound. There was a nook on the terrace, around a corner no one thought to look past. There, you kept many plants- flowers, herbs, vegetables, and some fruit bushes. It was peaceful and shaded enough to lounge during the summer months. There you often read books- F. Scott Fitzgerald, Orwell, Agatha Christe, and more. Today, you were engrossed with a modern commentary on "A Midsummer's Night Dream." Bucky cleared his throat off to the side of you, making himself known. Slowly, you closed your book after marking your page. "I was wondering where you got off to. Now I know." He eased his way off where he lounged against the concrete wall. There were three other seats open at the patio table, and he sat in chair nearest to you. He brought a journal and glass of iced tea with him. "And what got you wondering?" You inquired. Your book pushed further across the table and you crossed your legs over each other as you leaned back. "Some of the others are going to the tower for a press statement. Do you think you'll go?" He took a sip of his drink and offered you some. You took the drink and plucked some mint from beside you and put it in the drink. Bucky gave you a look, but you continued. "I have a short tour in a week. I'll save the public appearances for those not always in the public eye." You easily shrugged. "I may be able to change my appearance while facing the world as an avenger, but it's draining all the same." Bucky nodded in agreement. You returned his improved drink and settled into some silence for a moment. "Of course you're welcome to accompany me on any tour stop you like. Peter, Tony, Wanda. Vision, Sam, and sometimes the others join in." Steve's name was unmentioned. He often joined you in the past, but now he was a sore spot for Bucky and yourself. If Steve was here now, you're sure you'd still be friends with Bucky but not on the level you were now. You'd both lost your person in Steve's leaving. "Maybe I will in Florida. After years of the cold, I enjoy my tropical missions. I think Miami'd be fun. Maybe your Puerto Rico benefit." He ran a hand through his hair. You could see the wheels behind his eyes turning in thought. Could he handle himself that far away? You reached your hand out and took his. You smiled as warm as the sun when you gave him a gentle squeeze. "Only if you feel comfortable enough to go. I'll always be there to help but I'd never push you beyond what I knew you could handle." His smile grew nearly as bright as yours. The appreciation obvious, with no need for a declaration. "It sounds nice." --- Another month came and went. You thought it would grow easier with time, but this month started darker than the first. Bucky never made it to Miami or Puerto Rico. The night before his flight out he had a relapse. Sam informed you about the incident over the phone. "He just woke up one night with no memories. He wasn't the soldier, but he was confused and cornered like a wild animal. It took two hours and all of Wanda's mental determination to put him down. We aren't sure what triggered the lapse, but the doctors are saying it was his PTSD acting as a protection mechanism. He's traveling to Wakanda for a week and then he'll undergo recoupment here." You felt guilt. Perhaps if you had been there you could have reversed it sooner, without the fight. Maybe it wouldn't have happened at all. "Steve," It was another message to his answering machine. Then tenth so far. You sent one every week. "I don't know if you listen to these, let alone receive them but it helps me to send them all the same." You paused, trying not to lose the composure in your voice. "It's Bucky. He had another lapse. A bad one. Maybe the others informed you, gotten to you. Maybe not. But I think it would help if you returned, for him." You tossed your phone on the overly plush hotel bed. You were defeated. You canceled the rest of your tour following Puerto Rico. On the island, you represented yourself as a celebrity and your views as a hero. You used the Stark relief fund to rebuild the countless homes, businesses, and structures that hadn't received aid. You tossed tour money at any genuine organization, political or otherwise, determined to help the island. You sponsored lawyers. You used your powers to protect protestors from the poorly ordered police. They didn't want to hurt their countrymen, but they had orders to follow so they kept their jobs. When the chaos subsided, and you accomplished what the federal and island government failed at, you returned home. --- "Woah," Clint called out, reeling you back. You were still in your uniform and decked out in the face you presented as an avenger. You were near Thor's build, but slimmer and more feminine. "Hold it there Florence Nightengale. Don't rush him. He needs his sleep. You can see him in the morning. You could easily startle him if you burst in." "Clint," You pulled away and continued down the hall. "I'm not going to startle him. I'm just going to check up on him. See if he needs anything." "You have a tendency," Clint was hesitant to finish. "To overstep respectable bounds Y/N. He's not Steve and you don't have the control like Wanda. Leave him be." You froze in your tracks. Tears were threatening to pool down your face. No, we were here because you caused Steve to leave. Bucky was doing just fine while Steve was around. He relapsed because his person left. This was your fault. Bucky wasn't Steve. Steve who you pushed and pushed until he finally gave in to your demands and explored modern society. Steve, who's demons were further embedded but easier to ward away. You weren't Wanda. She possessed a level of control you dreamed of. She knew her powers and their bounds. Once you thought you had your gifts all figured out, they surprised you again. Ashamed, you focused your blurry vision on your shoes. "I know I'm not Wanda and I'll never be as amazing as her, but I have different talents than her. Some of them may help him heal faster. He's not Steve, but he needs my help." You pushed yourself forward. Clint didn't follow. You were sure he'd return to the common area and have FRIDAY monitor you for him. You slid into the darkened room with ease. It was pitch black in the common area. You slipped with no noise. However, opening Bucky's bedroom door frightened you more than the time you snuck into Sheild headquarters at sixteen after a date. Hopefully, you wouldn't be horrifically caught like that time. The moonlight shown through open blinds so the room was littered with shadows. In the middle of the bed, Bucky slept in a dysfunctional spread but calm. He looked at peace so you wouldn't disturb him. There was a loveseat close to the door. You took up residence there. Figuring you'd make sure he got a peaceful nights sleep, you'd safeguard him until he naturally awoke. However, you were tired from your hasty journey to the compound. You brought yourself home without a plane. Jet lag took a whole new meaning when you were the jet. Your eyes slipped shut even though you tried your best to keep them open. Waking up startled you. It was still night, but a different hour. It was closer to morning. The faintest murmur stirred your intense hearing and you shot up alarmed. "Steve?" The voice was gravelly and distant. It was Bucky from his bed. You looked over your shadow and then yourself. Still in uniform and morphed into a giant, it was easy to confuse you in the dark. "No," Your voice took a hushed approach. Thinking on the spot, you grabbed one of Bucky's clean and folded t-shirts from the laundry basket. Throwing it on, it became as large as a dress as you shrank back to your standard size. You slipped your uniform off from underneath his shirt. "It's me Y/N." Once recognition shown through his moonlit eyes you approached the foot of the bed. "Oh, Y/N." Sleep was retreating form his voice, but you didn't want to stir him so soon. "Go back to sleep. I'll just sit on the loveseat and read or something. I just wanted to make sure you were okay tonight." You ran a hand through your hair and it fell out of your tight bun. Fidgeting with it, you twisted it into a low and loose ponytail. "Y/N come here. You can't stay on that small couch the entire night." He declared and you were inclined to do whatever he said tonight. His body shifted to your left and the right-hand side of the bed remained. "Just come here and talk me back to sleep. You're good at talking." You resisted the urge to smack his chest as you took your place. Even half-asleep Bucky could be the wittiest man you ever met. Settling into the bed should have felt strange, but instead, it was natural. You frequently climbed into the beds of your teammates to talk. Steve's the most often. Maybe it was the familiarity. Peace incircled the bed. "You missed the tour." You faced the ceiling as he did, but the comment was directed at him and not the walls of the room. "Sorry." He muttered with his lips sticking together from the sleep he was just in. "I encountered some complications getting there." You quickly replied. "You should have called me. I would have made certain you got there and enjoyed yourself." "I-I didn't, didn't wanna be a bother." The tiredness in his voice was overpowered by nervousness and shame. Sometimes, Steve felt as though he was a burden to you, especially in the beginning. You spent so much of your time helping him he became conflicted about your motives. Did you do it out of kindness, assumed responsibility, or pity? It was never any of those. Kindness was the closest thing to it. You helped him because you wanted to. Now, you'd do the same for Bucky. You turned to face the man sprawled out next to you. He wouldn't look at you so you leaned up on your elbows and blocked his view of the ceiling with your frame. "James, listen to me." Your voice filled with stern compassion. "You are not, nor ever will be a burden to me or anyone else on this team. Got it?" He quickly nodded in understanding; perhaps afraid of what would happen if he didn't. You settled back down next to him, closure this time. "Contrary to what your doubts tell you, we like having you around. You're the most loyal and dependable person I've met besides Steve. You're funny and so smart that it nearly kills me sometimes. You could give Bruce and Tony a run for their money if you took up their studies. You're a great role model for Peter. And best of all, you're the most amazing friend. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have made it these past two months. I owe my strength now, to you." Bucky never replied to you after your impromptu speech. If you scared him with your thoughts, so be it. He needed to hear it. Your fears of that drained however when his fingers intertwined with yours. The intimacies in it spoke profound volumes. He couldn't bring to words how much he needed someone to say all those things. In appreciation, he brought your intertwined hands to his lips and kissed your smooth skin available to him. Things stilled in the universe surrounding you two. The crickets faded into nothing. Owls grew silent. Even your breathing drew elongated into silent sweeps of breath. Both of you fell asleep like that- in mutually appreciated silence and touch. You slept in that morning due to the lump of super-soldier weighing you down as his personal pillow. --- After that night, Bucky became far more comfortable with touching you. He hadn't shown any problem with it before, but he was far more generous with personal contact now. Everything was platonic. At least that's how it felt. Whether or not the others saw it that way was a different story. Before, his contact with others was limited to pats on the back from Sam or Steve, check-ups from Bruce, and the occasional shoulder squeeze from Nat. His fingers brushed yours on occasion, but it was always in passing. That night released a floodgate of touch starved longing. Bucky began by sitting with his body pressed to yours on the couch. Quickly, he moved on to taking your hand when it was free; even when it was inconvenient. He'd rest his arm on your shoulder and then his head. After exhausting missions, he asked for shoulder rubs on the jet ride back. If you were tired, you'd still agree to it. If he worked up the courage to ask, then he needed it. Slowly, he built his way up to embrace you. One morning, you woke up exceptionally early. When your body refused to let you go back to sleep, you just got up and started your day. The smell of fresh coffee drew you to the kitchen. There, Bucky sat with his head supported by his elbows propped up on the table. His normally silky hair was caught in knots that blanketed his face. Shards of a coffee mug decorated the floor around him. Temporarily ignoring the mess, you took the free seat next to him. Unlike the others, you didn't approach him like a wounded animal. He was just another person at the counter. When he didn't respond, you gently squeezed his bicep. Stormy eyes flashed in front of you. He'd cried his eyes puffy and nearly red. Defeat radiated off of him. "I can't do anything right Y/N." The nightmares were taking their toll. It was clear in his sunken demeanor. Your heart broke for him because he thought he had to keep it all in. He wouldn't ask for help. "No one is asking you to, Bucky." With your free hand, you began detangling the knots from his hair. "Just be and take your time. I'll be right here when you're ready to face the world again." Shock overtook you when he collided with you far faster and harder than you ever anticipated. His arms almost doubled around your waist due to his broad structure. Heat startled the nerves of your shoulders when his cheek rested in the crook of your neck. His body was pressed into yours and you were squished, but you didn't mind. You draped your arms across his frame and dug your fingers into his hair so you could trace small, soothing patterns into his scalp. "Thank you." He breathed into your neck. You stayed like that until he decided to part from you. You refused to let him apologize as you cleaned up the mug he shattered and made him breakfast. Bucky hugged you in the most random moments. You could leave the gym, sweaty and he would be freshly showered, but he'd still pull you against him. If you leaned over him while he sat, he'd pull your arms around his shoulders and lock them there. Walking into a room he occupied, getting excited, frustrated, or any time you lingered next to him you were engulfed by him. Soon, you realized it was his way of communicating with you when he felt too uncomfortable to speak. That realization came when he tapped the words "are you okay" into your arm with morse code. He hugged you when he needed touch, in congratulations, thanks, and concern. It didn't matter where or when, which got you into trouble. If someone walked in without context, they confused the meaning of the embrace. It didn't help that Bucky directed most of his affection to you. He was healing. You'd talk about boundaries when he was strong enough. --- The third month dragged out into eternity. The sooner you neared that benchmark, the more frustrated you grew with everyone. That included yourself. You grew moody, argumentative, and distance. You'd lock yourself away during the day and roam by night. You couldn't handle everyone failing to hold back pity as their eyes met yours because they knew Steve wasn't coming back. It was October now, and even the prospects of the Halloween season and the begging of fall did nothing to lift your spirits. It did get you out of your room more, but only to your spot on the terrace. You curled up in your usual chair, but now you had a portable firepit to enjoy. Autumn winds rippled through the air and chilled your bones. Then the fires' heat rocked against you, warming you back up. Some nights you slept out there, alone, and numb. "If you burn down the compound," A deep voice startled you out of your distant state. "Stark's gonna kill 'ya." You huffed. Bucky. He lounged in the shadows of the corner, barely visible by the light that reflected from his eyes. You rolled your eyes at the slight smugness he'd gained. "Trust me, if I'm burning down the compound there are a lot more violent and plausible causes than my fire pit." You poked and prodded at your insulted method of comfort until Bucky snatched the iron rod away from you. "So what's got 'ya acting like a caged wild animal?" He plopped down into the chair beside you. The patio table and chairs were replaced with lawn chairs once fall appeared. You gave him your most obvious really look. "What do you think?" "I don't get it." He stated bluntly. "Why now? You think this would be how you acted right after he left, not month three going on four." He turned and faced you. He didn't know. For a super-assassin and soldier, he was pretty clueless. "Because." You met his gaze. "If he doesn't return by month three, he isn't returning at all. Not for a very long time." "You left for three months." He nodded, beginning to understand. "We have an agreement: neither of us can leave for more than three months at a time. Missions never ran past three months without rotating teammates. I never went on a tour longer than three months without a massive break in between. He even refused to search for you more than three months without a visit. If it passes three months, we really are broken beyond repair." Bucky reached for you and when he got ahold of you, he lifted you up and onto his lawn chair. "Hey, look at me, doll." His fingers traced the outlines of your face and gently nudged your vision back to him. "No one is broken here. Whatever wounds are hurting you today, will heal in time. You'll see." Your voice croaked as you allowed the pain to take over you. "Bucky, I can't do this without him. I'm holding onto something that's drowning me and I can't." "Then let him go." He crooned. "And be your lifevest. A person isn't worth sinking over." He kissed your forehead and held you tight in his arms. That night, he did the reassuring. In the morning, you woke up to a peeking sun and smoldering embers. Bucky's chest was your pillow and a small fleece blanket was enough for you both when you comfortably intertwined. You left Bucky with the blanket, figuring he'd sleep another hour. You needed to make a call. "Voicemail ten-thousand, and it'll be the last one you'll have to endure from me." You sniffled as you rubbed your chilled face warm again. "I thought you were the one Steve. Finally, I found a man I could give my heart to and love. But you took that chance away from me when you left. Do you understand that? You made my decision for me and that is wrong. For the past three months, I've done nothing but think of you. I wondered what it would be like if you were here. How happy would I be? Now I'm miserable. When Bucky lapsed I blamed myself because maybe he wouldn't have if you were here, and I drove you away. I beat myself up for your decision, something I had no control over. Enough is enough. From now on, I'm going to work on forgetting you instead of mourning someone who ran from me. I don't hold any ill will against you. In fact, I hope you thrive on this mission. I hope it brings you to everything you needed and more because no matter how much you hurt me, I could never hate you. So this is the last time I'll attempt to contact you. You need to get over me and I need to get over you. So this is goodbye. Stay safe Steve." Misty eyed, you hung up the phone. With the click of that button, you allowed all the emotions you'd bottled up over the past three months to spring free. You felt nostalgia, regret, bitterness, dread, insecurity, and finally release. Hope. You felt hope. You met Steve at such a young age, and for years he was a crutch for the pitfalls and joys of your youth. Now that he was gone, it was time for you to embark on your journey. As a woman, it was time for you to grow up and create an identity outside of those around you. It was time to settle your uncharted territory. Silently, you slipped back under the blanket with Bucky. When you returned from your phone call, he was still asleep. He looked so peaceful this morning. He hadn't shown this much tranquility in months. You were careful not to bother him as you gently sunk into the spot you left. In no time his arms were back around you, but now you were his pillow. A delicate sigh escaped his sleeping lips when he nustled into your chest. Your light chuckles only lulled him further back into his present state. It felt right and you felt content. Now, you were exactly where you needed to be.

---

A/N: What did you think of chapter 7? Reblog if you liked it! Comment what you enjoyed the most?

Do you think it was wise for Y/N to take over Steve’s supportive roll in Bucky’s life? Was it fair for her to place so much blame on herself? With Steve’s door closing, what doors should open to Y/N?

My messages, asks, and requests are all open. Let me know if you have any thoughts, comments, or suggestions!

[sleepyfan-blog]

*Screams* Hewwos, um maybe, a bit out there but a version of sci from dreamswap that has helped the meme squad a fair amount of times- the last bad things happens bingo card

prompt : Bounty On Their Head

Fandom: Dreamswap by @onebizarrekai

Characters and pairing: DS Science!Sans, DS Nightmare, DS Cross, DS Error

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 1,962

Summary: Sci’s been here for just over a month and commits treason. Still, it’s for a good cause?

Sci had been working working as an intern for one of Justice Reign’s main laboratories for a little over a month, having just finished the rather extensive orientation and training program, though he was incredibly honored to have won a spot in such a well-respected organization. It was even a paid internship. He had room and board for free for himself and for his younger brother, Papyrus who was able to play with the children who were taken care of at the orphanage, and learned from the teachers that came to instruct the children. While Sci was a little… Unsure as to how he felt about the no-mercy policy when it came to dealing with criminals, he knew better than to speak up.

His supervisor shoved a pair of bulky and terrifying power-restraining cuffs and ordered him to “Take these down to the dungeon - someone dangerous has just shown up and they need these. Now. Here’s a note to give the guards so they know that you’ve got clearance to be where you’re going to deliver the cuffs. Make it fast.”

“Y-Yes sir!” Sci responded, nodding and walking as quickly as he could after he teleported to the uppermost level of the dungeon - showing the note to the guards when prompted to do so, not wanting to get into trouble.

It took a surprisingly short amount of time, and he was pushed unceremoniously into the cell, where there was a heap of purple and black clothing. Sci blinked and made his way cautiously further into the cell, poking the being with one of his feet and jumping back a little when it groaned and shifted. He took in a deep, steadying breath before carefully lifting the other up with his magic - the skeleton in his grasp having the strangest soul that he’d ever scene - it was the shape and size of an apple - and was a violet hue. Sci also read the other’s Stats - not that he meant to.

{Nightmare - Guardian of Negativity: 430/50000 HP, 500 ATK, 700 DEF. LV 3. Tired and determined. Your friend and former neighbor.} Sci sets the other down on the cot and moves over to the still unconscious skeleton, his hands shaking a little at the implications that information had just given him, pausing for a moment as he realizes that this is the latest version of the power-restricting cuffs that he helped to work on. He closes them with a click, deliberately ignoring the fact that one of the runes that would keep the other’s magic from being used is carved too deeply to be effective - and another is carved just incorrectly enough to mask the other’s magical presence instead of suppress it.

“Uhm…” He calls out uncertainly as he sees a hint of violet in the other’s eye sockets “Guard person? This prisoner is injured. Shouldn’t… Shouldn’t they be tended to?”

“… What did they pull you out a blind AU last week? You really have no idea who that is, do you?” The guard called out derisively, rolling their eyes - all ten of them. It was really impressive and a little intimidating “Nah, we won’t bother the medics for the likes of him. But if you have a bit of healing magic, then heal him if you like.”

Sci nodded, his hands lighting up green, and he knew that the other was awake as Nightmare as the check had told him the other’s name was, jolted softly as his magic soothed the other’s injuries. He didn’t have enough magic to bring the other back up to full HP, but it was well over half. He did recognize the other as Shade - one of his neighbors. The other tended to be reclusive and disliked going outside without his datemates with him. Sci had helped them out as best as they could - and he’d noticed that all three of them had been wary of Justice Reigns.

At the time he’d thought nothing of it. He had his reservations about such a powerful organization interfering with his timeline - despite the fact that their aid had helped everyone quite a bit. Lord Dream himself had broken the barrier that had sealed them all underground and had led the peace talks with the humans above. But Sci had been… Worried about what the cost of all of that would be… And he’d figured he didn’t have much of a choice when a JR representative had shown up at his door, asking if he would be interested in working in their science division.

He’d been having a bit of a get-together with Shade, Criss and Merrow, and as soon as he’d seen who was at the door, he’d sent Paps to tell them before going upstairs to be quiet, wandering slowly to the front door in order to give them time to hide. He’d also figured out when the JR patrols would go through Snowdin and shared the information with the three of them.

Now though… There was a choice before him. Should he help Shade - or rather Nightmare - who had been a good if awkward friend… Or should he stay quiet and live in comfort and security with his baby brother (while hating himself for condemning a friend to a not so pleasant fate)? He glanced around and shifted ever so slightly to the right so that the camera wouldn’t see his hands moving {Third rune on the inside of the right cuff will give if you push it, then they will come off completely. These cuffs are mostly defective. Stay safe, Shade.} He also pulled out the half-dozen spider-donuts that he’d been planning to surprise Paps with and quickly shoved them into Night-Shade’s mouth, boosting the other’s HP even further.

Night’s eye lights widen in shock and gratitude and he nods, signing a silent {Thank you. Stay safe.}

Sci nodded imperceptibly, smiling a little at the other before turning to the front of the cell and calling out “Okay, I’m ready to come out of the cell now.”

The guard person nodded, unlocking the cell and opening just wide enough for Sci to get out before slamming it shut and locking it securely “You newbies are always so soft on the criminal scum. You’ll soon learn that they deserve nothing more than what Lord Von Licht and the courts decide they get.”

“I… Uh-uhm, okay…” Sci responded, uncomfortable and worried.

They managed to make it about half-way through the dungeon when Criss and Merrow showed up in a flash of destructive magic, the distinctive staticky sound of Merrow’s portals warning Sci several seconds before they actually arrived, subtle though it was. He stared at the both of them before he decided that there was no job cushy and secure enough to make him abandon his friends.

Sci swiftly turned around and murmured “I’m sorry, you seemed… Like a decent person.” To the guard who’d been escorting him, summoning a bone attack and smacking the other hard enough on the head with it to knock the other out cold for several seconds. Sci quickly tied the other up using the cuffs that they had on their waist and threw the key ring at Criss, who stared at him in confusion, just barely able to catch it out of reflex “Hey guys… So it turns out I’m not JR material after all. Shade is three levels straight below us, that is if he hasn’t-”

Shade came barrelling towards them, sprinting at full speed, a dozen guards cursing and charing right behind him, the broken cuffs dangling from his wrists - precisely where Sci had told him to snap them. Sci yelped and called out loudly “N-No!” raising a thick wall of blue bones that was several feet thick and misjudging the distance so that they sprung up between Shade and the guards - giving them plenty of time to escape. He winked at a still stunned and confused Criss and Merrow before calling out “P-please l-let me go!” Making it sound as if they’d forced him to do that “Please… M-my little b-brother is e-elsewhere in the ca-castle… P-Please let me go…”

“I… What? I-I’m not-” Criss started, the confusion audible in his voice.

Shade interrupted him with a smack to the head, signing faster than Sci could read. He said “You should be useful enough as a hostage if my companion can’t get us a portal out of here before reinforcements arrive.” Shade grabbed him and held him close, muttering under his breath “Teleport to your brother and run out to the forest. We’ll meet you there and get you both out of here.” Sci nodded minutely in response.

Criss went “Oooh.” Softly and nodded before scowling at him “Yeah… You… Hostage-y person.”

Shade sighed and face palmed “Shut up, Cross…”

Merrow reopened the portal and Shade shoved him aside roughly, smirking “Thanks for the help. See you later, maybe.”

Sci was already teleporting over to where his brother was - taking a mid-afternoon nap in their small apartment in the living quarters section of JR’s castle. He shoved Papyrus’ most beloved treasures into his inventory as fast as he could. While he could hope that no one thought that he’d deliberately helped - he could sense guards running to his location - and he wasn’t going to put his brother in further danger, wrapping his baby brother up in his favorite blanket and teleporting away just as Von Licht himself burst into the room, claymore in hand, frowning dangerously.

Sci stumbled a little as he nearly ran into a tree, the teleportation much rougher than he was expecting it to be - but Criss grabbed him by a shoulder and flung the both of them through a portal, rushing after him a second later, the portal snapping shut as he found himself in a very strange place. “Where… Where are we?”

‘Welcome to the omega timeline. Home to the lost, outcast and innocent who are hunted.” Shade responded with a wry sigh “Since you helped to save my ass… I suppose I should properly introduce myself - good work fucking up those cuffs, by the way that was brilliant. I’m Nightmare - number one on JR’s hitlist for the crime of existing. Number two - Error and Number three Cross. They’re high up on the list too because they’re my friends and they can’t catch us if we’re together.”

“Come on, let’s watch some TV and eat. I’ve got some brownies on the counter.” Cross responded “We’ve got a spare room you can put the squirt.”

“I… Thank you for not leaving me behind.” Sci responded gratefully “Even though it put you in danger.”

“Of course we’d come after you too. You helped us dodge JR’s patrols at least a dozen times. Nightmare actually got captured on purpose because we were worried that Lord Von Fuu…” Cross’s eye lights flickered to the sleeping child “Fuuunky face might have grabbed you ‘cause he realized you were helping us.”

Unfortunately their episode of Undernovella was interrupted by a breaking bulletin - there was a new wanted criminal… His face was up. His crimes were aiding and abetting the escape of other prisoners… And kidnapping a child.

“Woo! Look at you, that’s an impressive amount of G for just that. You must have quite a noodle in your head if he wants you back. Were you working on anything sensitive?” Cross grinned, even as Error and Nightmare rolled their eye lights.

“I… J-Just the newest magical restraining cuffs and something about a kind of car?” Sci shrugged, frowning a little.

“Huh. Welp, welcome to being a villain. We’ll give you a jacket and lessons in Evil Laughter after this.” Nightmare responded with a small grin, patting one of the other’s shoulders. They returned to watching Undernovella, Papyrus safely asleep upstairs.

[bulletproofteacup]

Star-Crossed // Part Two

[summary]: For decades, the Fire Nation has been inching closer and closer to total victory. But the rebellion, spear-headed by the White Lotus has a secret weapon: the Oracle in the North. Prince Zuko, having failed to find the Avatar, is given a final chance to regain his honor: capture the Oracle and bring her to the Fire Nation. Zutara. M.

[Part one]: First Kiss – Realizations – Superstition // ao3

[Part Two]: Letters – Beauty –Tea Leaves // ao3

Acrid smoke, dark and black—she gags and coughs. Waving a hand, Katara emerges from the smoke onto what must be a battlefield. Death and destruction stretch as far as the eye can see. She has lived in the relative safety of the North for as long as she can remember; the destruction of the Southern Water Tribe is only a vague memory now. But this battle is not the first she has visited in a vision, it is not the first to be burned into her memory. 

At any rate, there is a point to this vision. She begins to walk. 

There is, for the most part, little activity. The dead are dead and the dying, well, they’re quiet about dying at least. 

The battle must be over. 

She focuses on the uniforms. Fire Nation, of course, and Earth Kingdom. They’re not current uniforms, for sure. Or future uniforms. She examines a dead man—he’s been evenly decapitated, but his armor is intact. Over time, she’s studied the historical evolution of uniforms; it sometimes helps her place the approximate timeline of her visions. This particular uniform is unfamiliar, but the armor carries a distinct sunrise emblem on one shoulder. Azulon’s crest, to represent the stretching empire he protected and maintained after Sozin. She checks the man’s opposite shoulder—a rampant dragon. 

This is how she knows that this is a vision of the past—of a battle that occurred sometime during Fire Lord Azulon’s reign, when his eldest son, the Dragon of the West, was his supreme general overseeing the war in the Earth Kingdom. Judging from the opposing forces, she’s seeing the battle for Ba Sing Se. It happened long after her family had made it to the North, when she was about nine or ten. So nearly a decade past, then.

Katara is surprised to see the general himself. He is younger than the scrolls that Sokka has shown her, but of course, she knows what’s about to happen.

From behind, she watches as General Iroh discovers his son’s body.

The man cries out — Katara opens her eyes.

Instead of the General, she wakes to the face of her kidnapper. The man in red -- the Prince, she remembers. He’s holding her in his arms and they’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean and she is suddenly confused and afraid and— “Calm down,” Zuko says, “You were dreaming.”

Then she remembers who and where she is. The sky is still dark, but dawn is close. The air is crisp and cold, but she is deep in Zuko’s jacket—it feels like she’s sitting next to a warm fire. This is the beginning of the prophecy, she realizes again, when the Oracle is taken by the Banished Prince and the Boy in Iceberg finally appears. For a second, she can’t seem to draw in a breath—but then Zuko takes her hand. “You’re safe,” he says with quiet certainty, “No one will hurt you.”

His voice eases something in her chest. Katara pulls in a deep, shuddering breath. She spends a long time focusing on breathing, fighting the lingering panic and chest pain.  

“I had a vision dream,” she explains, finally, “Sometimes, it takes me a while to…wake up.”

“I see.” Zuko says.

They lapse into uncomfortable silence—mostly because he’s holding her like a lover, staring down at her as if he’s going to kiss her and she suddenly remembers a dozen dreams in which he was doing—they were doing—far less innocent things. But she can’t make herself move away and he’s certainly not offering to put her on the bench beside him.

“Will you tell me what happened in your vision?” he asks. 

She ponders this for a moment. Some of her visions are meant to be shared--some are meant for her alone. When nothing happens, when no certain feeling comes to her, she shrugs. 

“I saw a battle that occurred many years ago.” Katara says eventually. 

The prince doesn’t respond, because one of his men leans over. 

“Sir,” he says, very quietly, “We’re not going to make it before the sun breaks the horizon. We’re still too close to the sentry towers to start the engines.”

In the distance, a small boat has appeared. Katara cranes her neck and behind them, the North Pole has shrunk to the size of a thumbnail. They must have dropped their anchor very far away in order to avoid detection. 

Zuko’s lips flatten. “If we’re spotted, we’re as good as dead. They’ll be upon us before we reach the ship.”

Then he sets her aside. For a moment, the warmth is gone and she is wearing little more than her nightgown in the middle of an arctic ocean. Then the prince wraps his coat around her.

“Give me an oar,” he tells his man, “Everyone must row if we’re to survive until dawn.”

“I’m a waterbender,” she says, “I can get us there.”

Every soldier on the little boat turns to stare at her. Even Zuko seems taken aback.

“We’re kidnapping you,” He says, carefully expressionless, “Why would you help us succeed?”

She sighs, then pulls his coat off. She sets it on the bench beside her. “This is meant to happen,” she explains, “The spirits show me visions because events are meant to progress this way. For whatever reason, it is imperative that I leave the Northern Water Tribe tonight. The reason will become clear eventually, but for now, I will fulfill my part.”

Before anyone has a chance to react, she lifts her arms and sends the boat racing forward.

Iroh knew what to expect, but somehow, he’s still surprised when his nephew returns just before dawn, a Water Tribe girl in tow. “Are you sure she is the Oracle?” he asks.

“Yes,” Zuko nods stiffly, “Tell the captain to sail for the Fire Nation immediately.”

Iroh relays his orders and follows them into the bowels of the ship. That she came of her own free is no surprise—the spirits have always had a strange sense of humor. That Zuko succeeded, against all odds—is, well, not surprising either. His nephew is strong-willed young man, with the determination and ability to see his actions through. But it means that the spirits intended this mission to succeed, which is both a relief and fresh nightmare.

Iroh has known for some time that his nephew would play an important role in ending the war, but some small part of him hoped that perhaps he had been wrong. Even now, he wanted to bundle up his second son and spirit him away from this never-ending conflict.

Impossible now, of course. Zuko is far too tall.

“Uncle,” Zuko orders, “Take the girl to her chambers. I’ll see to it that food is sent—make sure she eats.”

Then he strides away, confident and tall and completely self-assured. Sometimes, Iroh almost envies the young. Then he turns to the girl, who is watching Zuko leave with luminous blue eyes. 

“Your highness?” he says.

She turns. “I am no Princess, General Iroh.” she says, despite the fact that they’ve never met, “Master Katara will do.”

“My apologies,” he says, “We’ve never had the pleasure of meeting, Master Katara.”

He bows deeply and she blushes. She bows in return. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, General Iroh. Your nephew was very courteous to me.”

“Thank you,” he says, wryly, “He can be a very headstrong young man.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “But he saw to it that we arrived safely. You both have my thanks.”

He nods, “Please allow me to see you to your room, Master Katara.”

With the formalities seen to, he turns and leads her down the walkway. She follows quietly. The Oracle looks like a girl, but she walks like a warrior. She is all at once, many contradictions. And, he realizes, dressed in little more than a nightgown and flimsy robe. At least his nephew had seen fit to give her his heavy coat. They were prepared with clothes, of course, but she needed to be given a good pair of boots before her toes froze off. 

Iroh sighs. 

Only the young forget such essential things, like boots and rational thought.

He ushers her into the little bedroom that is to be the Oracle’s prison. “You will stay here, Master Katara. Please let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” She says and steps inside.

“Would you be interested a game of Pai Sho?” he asks, “I have recently acquired the perfect lotus tile.”

She pauses, then turns slowly. “I’ve never played before,” she replies, “But perhaps it is time to learn. My grandfather, Master Pakku, favors the lotus.”

They step inside the windowless room and Iroh closes the door behind him. “This room is safe,” he says, “I am the Grandmaster. How can the White Lotus help you, Master Katara?”

He motions for her to sit before a low table in the middle of the room. She arranges her gown primly, like a queen dressed in rags.  “Word must be sent to my grandfather,” she says, “I am not to be pursued by my brother or anyone else. Our paths must diverge.”

Iroh busies himself with preparing tea. Chamomile, he decides, to aid digestion and promote sleep. “I will send the appropriate letters, of course,” he replies, “Are you sure this course is wise, Master Katara? My nephew is a good man, but his father is not. He will not be kind to you.”

For a moment, her serene, impenetrable strength flags and she appears exactly as is she—a girl plagued by visions and frightened by the future before her. Then she straightens. “Yes,” she replies firmly, “This is where I’m meant to be. I must see this through.”

“Of course,” He says, acceptance bitter on his tongue, “I will help you however I can.”

She inclines her head. “Thank you, General Iroh.”

He set a cup of tea before her. “A meal will arrive soon,” he tells her, “But anytime is an appropriate time for tea.”

The girl smiles wryly and agrees.

~

It is not that the contents of the letter are difficult. Father, it reads, I have captured the Oracle. She is beautiful— he crosses the last part out. It’s that there are too many thoughts and emotions fighting for his attention—he can’t concentrate. He fights frustration and drops his quill—ink splatters over the parchment. 

Zuko curses, but steps away from the desk. He can’t afford to break another writing implement—Uncle Iroh complains every time need to be restocked and frankly, he can’t handle going through another kind lecture about controlling the black cloud that is his temper. But then he is frozen by the realization that they will never need to restock quills again—he is returning home. 

Home.

It’s all most too much to comprehend.

He hasn’t been home in eight years—in the time he’s been gone, his sister has become a woman and he’s…not the boy he once was. Everything will be different. Without really meaning to, his thoughts return back to the Oracle.

When he touched her…it was almost as if he’d known her all his life. There was a connection. A familiarity. It unsettled him deeply. It’s been three days since they’ve captured her, three days since they escaped from the North without pursuit—three days and he still can’t forget the way her hand fit in his, the way her lips parted beneath his. He’s avoided her—easy enough with his Uncle seeing to her needs—but he can feel her presence on his ship.

He picks the quill up and tries again.

Father,

I have captured the Oracle and at present, sail for the homeland.

Your faithful son,

Zuko.

It is pitifully short. He sighs but rolls the letter up and turns to the hawk waiting patiently in the cage beside his writing desk. “Koei,” he says, “Are you ready to fly back home?”

The bird chirps and Zuko smiles. He’d raised the messenger hawk as a boy and when he’d been banished, it had come with him. Koei was getting on in her years, but she was more than able to make the journey back home. He can’t wait to meet her there.  

Zuko moves to the window and opens it. His room is in the command tower—narrow, but the windows up here are wider and actually open—unlike the portholes below deck. He sends Koei off and just as he closes the window, there are urgent footsteps in the hall.

He hears the screaming and opens the door before the soldier has a chance to knock. “The Oracle--” the man gasps, breathlessly, “She’s--

Zuko races into the hallway.

Katara wakes with wet cheeks and puffy eyes and not for the first time, with a throat that aches from screaming.

She curses hoarsely and climbs—falls, really—out of her bed. The second her feet touch the cold iron floor, she remembers that she isn’t home. Sokka isn’t a few doors down, forever ready with parchment and ink to record the vision.

But the spirits don’t care—urgency burns in her limps, panic constricts her chest—she sucks in desperate breaths and tries to focus beyond the overwhelming need to crawl into Sokka’s arms and scream. Instinctively, she knows that this is part of her “gift,” the urge to—the need—to share the vision. Some visions—the big ones—must be spoken. This is one of them.

But she can’t share it. Katara knows that any word she breathes will make it into the hands of the Fire Lord and just because her place is on this boat doesn’t mean she has to help the Fire Nation beyond that.

The urge turns into pain clawing at her heart—she bites her lip until it bleeds to hold in all the sounds. She doesn’t quite hear the banging at the door until it opens and there are hands on her upper arms, tugging her up onto the bed.

Between the tears and pain, she faintly recognizes the prince. He’s holding her in his arms again—like a child or a lover or something she doesn’t, she can’t think about now. He’s here and the vision is on the tip of her tongue—as if he’s supposed to hear this.

“No!” she cries, but some part of her knows this is true.

He’s saying something—he’s demanding to know what’s hurting her, she thinks—but then his Uncle is there. General Iroh kneels beside her. “She’s had a vision,” he says, “Something terrible must have happened.”

Something terrible was about to happen, she knew. The strangled noise that escapes her mouth is somewhere between a moan and a cry—she can feel the spirits pressing down on her, telling her to do her part and send their words into the world.

“Oracle,” the old man says, “Speak your truths and we shall listen.”

She fights it with everything she has, but it has been a long time since Katara’s strength has been enough to resist a vision--the spirits win and the words come tumbling out of her mouth and into the world. 

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[kristallioness]

Coming back to earth

Summary: Aang and Katara have to deal with citizens who aren't too happy with their new plan.

Word count: 1,548

Author's note: I felt really conflicted while trying to figure out what to write for this. From what we know so far, Katara was never officially a councilwoman, so it's hard to grasp something. I didn't wanna write an AU, so I only had one option that would fit: the timeline between the end of the war and before the founding of Republic City. Since this is the only time when Katara has been shown to participate in council meetings in the comics. I imagined that the story takes place at the same time as, or after "Imbalance", but since we don't know what's gonna go down there, I'm gonna make some wild guesses.

----------x----------

"Do you really think this is going to work?" Katara wondered as she and Aang exited the temporary building of city hall. Being back in the industrial city wasn't as pleasant as either of them had expected. The airbender entwined their hands and gave it a squeeze.

"I hope so. This is the most reasonable solution we've come up with so far."

There'd been countless conflicts between benders and nonbenders, some of which had turned rather violent. Hence a similar council meeting that was held in Yu Dao, where representatives from each nation were present, had just ended. Almost the entire Team Avatar had attended, except for Fire Lord Zuko, because a Fire Nation representative was already in town.

During the meeting, Aang had proposed a crazy idea, which no longer seemed as crazy once everybody had given it some thought. His plan was to unite all of the villages running along the west coast, where both Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation citizens had already mixed during the past hundred years, and create a fifth nation, where benders and nonbenders from all over the world could live together in peace. Nobody would be looked down on for their ethnicity, their bending abilities or lack of for that matter. Most importantly, if Aang wanted to be able to stay together with Katara, it'd be a perfect place to live in for the two of them. It almost sounded like a dream.

Of course, not everybody saw it as a good thing. Rumours spread around town about the so-called "fifth nation" being formed. Two Earth Kingdom noblemen were sitting on a bench on the main street outside of city hall. From what other pedestrians heard from their loud conversation while passing them, they weren't pleased.

"Can you believe that? This is outrageous! They're just going to rob us of our land!" the bigger guy exclaimed, waving his hands in the air. His plump figure donned upper class Earth Kingdom attire. He'd been living near the booming town decades before the sacred land of the air nomads was overtaken by the refinery. Now his own land was about to be divided into half - one half remaining under Earth Kingdom territory, the other falling under this new nation.

"Those youngsters know nothing about politics. Who even put them in charge of such important roles in the first place?" the second nobleman asked whilst stroking his long grey beard. He was slightly taller and older than his companion. He considered himself an expert in politics due to having good relationships with other noblemen from Ba Sing Se, who kept him informed about the progress of events during the war.

The two noticed how the Avatar and his friend came out of the building where the council meeting was held. The noblemen slowly stood up from the bench, with the older one grabbing his cane so he could walk. The fat one adjusted his belt higher and blew on his shiny golden rings, wiping them clean against his robes before turning to his companion.

"Shall we?"

Receiving a confirming nod, they began heading towards the couple, to show them exactly what they thought of their new plan. Aang and Katara didn't suspect a thing while they continued their walk down the street. As Sokka would say, they were too busy 'oogying' around. As they walked past each other, the shorter nobleman earthbended a small rock right in front of Katara's foot, which forced her to trip.

"Ow!" she yelped and fell on her knees, but luckily managed to put her hands on the ground so she wouldn't fall flat on her face. Aang immediately knelt down beside her.

"Katara! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay.. I don't know what happened there," she said as she sat down and began dusting her tunic. Little did she know that, despite not being able to react fast enough to prevent her from hurting herself, Aang had sensed where the earthbending had come from.

He looked around and noticed the two men responsible walking the other way. They stared back and laughed at them, until they understood that the airbender had spotted them, after which they looked away and pretended like they hadn't seen anything.

"Hey! You two! Who do you think you are? You don't treat girls like that!" Aang shouted to them. He also earned the attention of other passers-by, who first looked at him, then at each other in confusion. The noblemen turned around and slowly approached Aang and Katara. The shorter one pointed a finger at himself.

"Who do we think we are? Shouldn't we be asking you that question? You and your little friends can't just come waltzing in here and divide up our land!"

"We aren't dividing up your land. We're trying to come up with a solution that'd make everybody happy," Aang said as he grabbed Katara's hands and helped her stand up.

"There is only one solution, Avatar. Send those ash-makers back to their homeland. These occupied lands that you're trying to form into this so-called 'fifth nation' are Earth Kingdom territory!" the taller nobleman added, tapping his cane on the ground.

"No, you're wrong. Now they're both Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation territory. This is a whole new world we're looking at. Do you really expect us to order people to leave their homes behind? After they've lived here for the past hundred years?" Katara chimed in.

"Shut your mouth, little girl! I was talking to the Avatar."

"Excuse me!?" Katara exclaimed as Aang took a step forward.

"Hey! That's my girlfriend you're talking to."

"I don't care if she's your girlfriend. She's a simple rube from the south who shouldn't put her nose where it doesn't belong. This is our land and she shouldn't have a say in who gets to live here or not."

"She-"

"Oh, really? And who should have a say, then?" Katara interrupted before Aang could start defending her again, holding him back by laying her hand on his chest. She stepped right in front of the taller nobleman, crossed her arms and glared up at him.

"Only the honest Earth Kingdom citizens, such as ourselves, who've suffered the most because of this war. You southerners had it easy, living on your small iceberg in peace, cut off from the rest of the world. It's not like the Fire Nation came and conquered your land and claimed it as their own. We've had hundreds and thousands of families torn apart, troops killed on the front line. What's your small village done compared to that?"

Katara felt how every inch of her body became filled with rage after every selfish statement. She was so close to snapping because of his ignorance. She took a deep breath and spoke in a low, furious tone.

"You have no idea what my tribe went through during the war. All of our waterbenders were imprisoned. My mother died trying to protect me. Our men journeyed to the Earth Kingdom to help you fight against the Fire Nation. Women and children were left to fend for themselves. My friends had to leave their home behind and come here to make a living. My boyfriend's entire culture was destroyed, every one of his people were killed."

At this point, she raised a finger under his nose.

"Don't you dare compare your kingdom's suffering to ours. Even though my tribe is much smaller, that doesn't mean our suffering was, too."

Katara glanced at Aang, then took a step back and laid a supportive hand on his shoulder. Her gaze remained fixed on his grey eyes, her face softened and she smiled a little.

"We're all in the same boat here."

"I highly doubt it. It's not enough that those ash-makers have stolen our land, our homes and our jobs, now you want to allow your snow savages to come here, too? I suggest you go to the nearest harbour, find yourself a boat and go straight back home to that icy inferno where you belong. You foreigners aren't welcome here," the short nobleman warned her. He spat in front of Katara's shoes before they both turned around to walk away.

She growled, her hand clenched into a fist and ready to bend the water out of her pouch, but Aang put a hand on her shoulder to return the favour. He held her back.

"C'mon, sweetie. Let's go.. those two aren't worth it."

He felt how her stiff body relaxed, her shoulders slumped. She let out a heavy sigh and nodded, allowing Aang to guide her the other way.

"Filthy peasant," the shorter nobleman muttered to his mate. Katara heard it and in a split second she summoned the water from her pouch into a whip and whacked it against the backs of their heads. The men cowered and rubbed at the painful spot, turning around in shock.

"That's for calling me a peasant, insulting my people, and my tribe," Katara said before she spun around and walked away.

"Don't ever talk to my girlfriend like that again!" Aang threatened them one more time, then followed Katara. The noblemen felt disgusted when they saw him give her a soft kiss on her cheek, their hands entwined as they headed their way.

[purple-spring]

the vocabulary of us

Summary: Sometimes, words won't suffice to describe a love like theirs. Unless, of course, they're in alphabetical order. (Part 1 of 2)

Author’s Note: This is my tribute to the amazing David Leviathan, and his incredible book The Lovers’ Dictionary. The dictionary format that this fic has taken is not mine, and I use it here in homage to Leviathan.

Furthermore, this is a work of fiction. While it is based on a number of real-life events (filming of Riverdale 1.06, the Antelope Valley shoot, Comic-Con, the SH Hawaii trip, among many others), it is purely speculative, and was not intended to upset or offend.

Thank you to @jandjsalmon and @theatreofexpression for your incredible beta work, and to @stark, @gingerheel, @a92vm and @amab1060 for reading over this at different points and your valuable input.

Read under the cut, or on Ao3. 

aperture (noun)

I wanted to capture you on film the moment I first met you.

The lighting, at least from a photographer’s perspective, wasn’t ideal; you were lit by nothing more than the fluorescent gleam of the lights overhead. There was no natural sunlight in that audition room - just an artificial pallor that made all of us look greyish and pale.

Not you, though.

That day, you were radiance and lustre and fire. Beyond the sudden certainty in my gut that I wanted to look at you for an unusually long period of time, there was something about you that day that drew me in. I averted my gaze - I didn’t want to come off as a creep - but every nerve in my body insisted on the contrary. I ignored them. Reluctantly.

What was it, though, that pulled me under? Perhaps it was your steely conviction, or your absolute, unflinching belief in yourself, both so evident in the way that you kept your head down, your eyes fixed on your script. Whatever it was, it was palpable - glaringly apparent to anyone who saw you (ask Cami. She was there. She knew it, too).

I didn’t photograph you that day. But maybe it’s for the best.

There are some things that are better captured by the unfiltered, evanescent lens of memory.

…

banter (noun)

Should I have been surprised at the rapid accumulation of teasing remarks between us? My underlying, deliberate flirtation and your coy return?

One time, I threw out a joke - a half-insult, really - that would’ve thwarted a lesser being. To see if you would take it. To see how far I could push you.

I wasn’t prepared. You smiled, drew yourself up like a pistol, then roasted me so magnificently that my friends gasped, and couldn’t stop laughing for ages.

I fell so fucking hard for you that night.

…

confirm (verb)

When I sensed the turning of the tide, I FaceTimed Dylan. He was puttering around his apartment, occasionally turning towards his phone, which was propped up on the kitchen benchtop. I asked him when he’d be back in LA.

“Two weeks, if the meeting with the William Vale contractors goes well, otherwise I’ll have to stick around here and push the trip back,” he said. “Why?”

“I want you to meet her.” I cleared my throat. “Lili, I mean.”

At the mention of your name - a name he had heard many a time over the last few months - he turned right around. I stared back at him, hoping that the implication was obvious enough that I didn’t need to elucidate why I wanted him to meet you . My once-mirror image, his hair golden as mine used to be, fixed his eyes on me and nodded sagely.

“Alright.”

That day on the beach, you couldn’t have been more perfect if you tried. You cooed over photos of Magnus. You asked him about the brewery. Your interest didn’t even waver as he segued into an impromptu lecture on how to use squash blossoms to infuse mead. You both discovered an affinity for laughing at my expense, which I didn’t mind (at least not from you; he just likes being a dick).

When you left, he and I hung back at the beach in companionable silence, staring at the horizon while finishing off our beers. He spoke up first.

“So… did you need, I don’t know, my blessing or something?”

I shrugged. “I just wanted to know what you thought of her.”

“You want my honest opinion?”

I sat up. “Yeah. I do.”

He polished off the rest of his drink, then looked at me, his face absolutely deadpan. “Cole, I’m sorry. She’s way too good for you.”

I laughed my head off. “Fuck off, dude.”

“Love you, too, baby bro.”

...

draft (noun)

In my mind, I wrote and rewrote what I was going to say to you. It needed to be heartfelt, but not too sentimental. Articulate, but not overly verbose (as I often tend to be).

It haunted me, the thought of this hypothetical speech.

...

envelope (verb)

It would all prove futile.

I wanted to enrapture you with my words.

Instead, I wrapped you up in my arms.

…

found (verb)

Had I been lost before that moment? Because as I slipped in behind your sleeping form and you tensed for a brief, fearful moment before melting achingly into mine, I felt as though I existed only in the places where our bodies touched, and all the rest of me was smoke.

We fell asleep together on the couch. Actually, that’s a lie - you fell asleep while I grinned stupidly at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. I felt like I was discovering someone new that night. Not you: I was already learning you like most things I’ve learned in my life - passionately, persistently, obsessively.

I was discovering myself. Like a man seeing his reflection in the mirror after months in the wilderness, I was startled by the person I’d become.

He was happy. At peace. And he was falling in love.

...

green (noun)

When I was in college, I took a class on art theory and criticism at Gallatin, where we did a whole two weeks on colour symbolism. Red is passion, anger, lust, love. White is purity, innocence, perfection. Etc, etc. You get the point.

Now, as for green.

“The etymology of green is simple,” my professor - the artist Meleto Mokosi - said as he paced around the lecture room stage. “It comes from the Old English word grene, which has the same root as the words grass, and more significantly, grow. This explains many of our symbolic associations with the colour: nature, energy, freshness and growth.”

He clicked on his laptop and an image of an Egyptian painting filled the large screen behind him. “The Ancient Egyptians, however, were onto this long before Old English even existed as a language. To them, green symbolised more than growth. Its hues painted the face of one of their chief gods, Osiris, the god of the underworld. It represented vigour and health, but more importantly, it represented regeneration. Rebirth.”

How apt. That the fervent green of your eyes was all I saw before I leaned in to close the distance between our lips for the very first time.

I was reborn in that kiss.

…

historical (adjective)

It didn’t occur to either of us to mark the date. We only realised this months later. You were frantic. We need a date, Cole. And I understood that - the need to commemorate, to pay tribute.

But history is more than a timeline, is it not? And it’s more than just facts and people and places. It’s about feel. It’s about zeitgeist. It’s about what the senses recall.

I don’t need a date to remind me of the scent of your skin, the soft pillow of your mouth, the gentle pull of your teeth on my bottom lip, your hands on my chest, your wrists still caught in my grip.

The memory of you transcends chronology.

…

inarticulate (adjective)

Sometimes it’s a look - an upward, innocent glance or a slight, playful glint in your eyes. Other times, it’s the maddening curve of your waist, or the shape you take as you turn off the light and move slowly towards the edge of my bed, your smile palpable even in the hushed darkness.

It’s in those times when you render me - yes, even me - speechless.

...

juxtaposed (verb)

We were driving somewhere. I had one hand on the steering wheel, another on your knee.

“So you went to school to escape acting, and I escaped from school into acting.” Your eyes sparkled as you drew that contrast between us.

I turned to smile at that. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“We were going in two completely opposite directions, essentially.”

“Yep.”

Silence. Then: “Huh.” You let out a rush of breath. “That’s crazy.”

I stole a quick glance at you. “What is?

“Just… that somehow, in the briefest window of time, we met in the middle.”

...

keepsake (noun)

You thought you’d lost it - your white shirt, from the first night you stayed over.

I kept it for a while. I wanted to preserve the memory of its removal.

…

ladder (noun)

A kiss triggered it - the deluge of questions that we had managed to ward off in the haze of each other.

Our first onscreen kiss as Betty and Jughead was supposed to be simple and straightforward. We’d both made light of it in the lead-up to filming. After all, we’d kissed plenty by that point. What’s another one, right?

But on the day, I stood at the bottom of that ladder while Steven, our director, talked me through what he wanted. Slowly, it was becoming anything but straightforward.

“Jughead’s putting himself in a vulnerable place,” he said. “Yes, he summons up the courage to kiss this girl he’s been rapidly developing feelings for, but down here, your character’s still in a place of nervousness and anxiety because he has no idea how the hell this is gonna turn out. It’s a big move for him. The ladder has nine steps on it, but really, the emotional equivalent of what he’s going through spans the distance of a thousand miles.”

I nodded in agreement. The wheels in my head were already turning, anticipating his direction.

“It’s a pivotal scene, and Jughead is driving it. He’s acting out of his own agency, exercising initiative over one of the only areas in his life in which he can have power - his feelings. So I guess what I need from you as an actor is to access that same vulnerability. To tap into your own emotional memory. Is there a place in your life where that vulnerability exists? I want you to go there. Safely, of course.”

So I did. There were plenty of moments in my life in which I’d felt vulnerable, but none of them felt particularly safe to delve into unless I had some sort of epic therapeutic debrief afterwards.

Then I thought of you, and how you made me feel reckless and exposed and exuberant all at the same time. And then it hit me.

I was about to kiss this girl that I was falling in love with in front of a crew of twenty people.

My head started reeling.

Does this scare her as much as it scares me - all the noise that surrounds us?

What if the noise overtakes us?

What if it becomes too much?

What if we crumble under the pressure?

If I wasn’t feeling exposed before, I sure as fuck was feeling it now.

Suddenly the nine rungs leading up to Betty’s room stretched out to infinity, and the journey there felt like a quantum leap.

...

metaphor (noun)

I kind of botched the kiss. You thought I’d forgotten my cue, saying your line (“What?”) twice - the second time, more forcefully - because I probably looked as lost and worried as I felt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Britta flipping through the script, unsure of what to do or whether it was supposed to play out the way that it did.

But your lips were my ballast in the storm, and as I went in for that kiss, I felt the chaos in my mind subsiding, my vision narrowing to only you. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that we were surrounded by twenty people, with three cameras pointed in our direction, because the only thing that carried weight in that moment was me and you.

I always think of our process for filming that scene as a metaphor for us. Or at least for how I feel about you. We’re constantly surrounded by so much noise, but you are my touchstone for clarity.

In the contented silences of our drives home, I remember this: that you are the quiet in the clamour, the stillness that steadies me.

…

north (noun)

“If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?”

You gave me a lazy smile from where you were lying down, near the foot of your bed. “I’d be right here. With you.”

I rolled my eyes and chortled at that. “Obviously. Besides here.”

You sat up, the sheets bunched around your body. With your hair all messed up and the sunlight hitting you just right, you looked ethereal. “Wait, don’t answer just yet,” I said, grabbing my camera off the nightstand. “Hold that pose for me.”

You kept your eyes forward, away from the lens, already accustomed to the way I worked. “Honestly, how many photos have you taken of me, Cole?”

I snapped a couple. “Not enough.” I put the camera down and crawled over to you. “Okay. Back to the question.”

You chewed thoughtfully on your lower lip. “I’d have to say… Antelope Valley. I’ve never been.”

I scoffed. “Really? That’s like an hour from here, Lils. You could’ve picked, I don’t know, Hawaii or something.”

“Well, Hawaii is such a dream. That’s on my ‘someday’ list.” (I took note of that.) But I like my fantasies accessible.” I smiled and opened my mouth to make a crack about accessible fantasies, but you clamped it shut with your hand. “And please, have a little self-respect, Cole: the joke’s too easy. Don’t even bother going there.”

(Have I ever told you that I love it when you call me out on my shit?)

“Alright then,” I said, taking your hand and kissing your open palm. “Why Antelope Valley? Why would you want to go there?”

“You’ll laugh.”

I shrugged. “Try me.”

“Alright. It’s a little self-indulgent, but… you know the poppy fields up there?” I nodded. “I want to go there, dress up like a fairy princess, and walk amongst the flowers and have my photo taken.”

I smiled. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Your face scrunched up in embarrassment. “Is that... lame? That’s lame, right? Like, total Manic Pixie Dream Girl bullshit.”

“No, it’s actually…” The first word that came to mind was ‘adorable’. Which was woefully inadequate. I felt as though I had to resort to some insanely specific German word, one that meant “an overwhelming desire to fulfill the dreams of a lover, fuelled by intense feelings of warmth and affection.”

Because even then, mere months into our story, I knew that I wanted to indulge every whim and wish of yours. That I would do anything in my power to make you happy.

“You there?” You waved your hand in front of my face.

I turned to you. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“What?”

“It’s about an hour’s drive up north from here, and you’ll probably have to change there, but I guess you can always—”

You launched into me so quickly that our teeth knocked together, and I’m pretty sure I bit you by accident.

We laughed about it afterwards. Right before you went on to research every fast food outlet and candy store on the route to the valley. Right before I promised myself that I would do this more often - take adventures with you.

…

obsess (verb)

I traced the soft muscles on your back with my hand, the black dress you wore on the day accentuating it perfectly. Unfairly.

“Get in the car,” I whispered.

In the backseat, I followed that same path with my lips - the one my fingers had made - inhaling the scent of the valley and of your skin.

Creating an addiction from which I could never recover.

…

proprietorial (adjective)  

There are unspoken protocols in archaeology about what to do once you’ve found something incredibly valuable. The first priority is obviously protection, and archaeologists take this seriously; some use code words when talking about the found artifact (like “buttons” for gold, or “lemons” for silver) to avoid the constant threat of public theft, while others employ guards around the clock to preserve the excavation site. The more valuable the artifact, the more serious and intensive the protection.

It might be the archaeologist lying dormant in me, but I guarded the secret of us with a fierce protectiveness. Like a treasure goblin clutching its horde, I held on to the intimate knowledge of our relationship, reluctant to impart it to anyone else beyond my family and closest friends.

Because unlike so much of my life that is co-owned by my brother, or has been co-opted by the public, this thing that we had was wholly and completely mine. Or rather, ours. And I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

There’s something sexy in that. In the secrecy. In what is hidden.

In looking at you from across the room, and knowing that no matter how beautiful you looked in that moment, you were still more transcendent in my arms that morning.

…

quell (verb)

“Tsk, tsk. Be careful, dude.” Mad appeared at my side, a cocktail in her hand. The Comic-Con shindig was our last media obligation for the weekend, and it was pleasing to see her there - one of mine and Debby’s friends from LA, and now one of yours, too.

I gave her a look. “‘Careful’? Of what?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Seriously? You have no idea what you look like right now?”

“Well, I am wearing a nifty red suit--”

“I think technically, that colour’s called oxblood.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick to red.” Mad rolled her eyes at me. “Besides my nifty RED suit, I haven’t the faintest idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

She leaned in. “Look I’ve known about it for ages now, so I’m not particularly surprised, but when you’re making those desperate bedroom eyes at Lili...” I scoffed dismissively. She ignored me and went on. “When you’re doing that, you’re pretty much broadcasting your relationship to the whole room. Actually, scratch that - to this whole fucking town. ”

I wanted to brush that off, but she may have had a point.

Comic-Con had been fun, but difficult. Both of us knew that we were under scrutiny, and had zero interest in responding to any rumour or speculation that had nothing to do with the show itself.

Even then, with that in the back of our minds, we just barely managed to suppress ourselves from enacting the normalcy of our relationship. Every time I was in your vicinity, I had to pull myself together, because after months of retaining the memory of your skin, I could barely trust myself not to touch you.

So instead, I sought you out in every interview, every crowded room. It didn’t matter where you stood or sat, whether you were close by or seated far away from me: I always found you, and somehow willed you to look my way. I didn’t really need much more than that - just the assurance that you were there was enough.

The party, however, felt different. As my eyes settled on you - as they were now trained to do - my gaze was drawn to others that had you in their sights. Particularly one - a brash industry type who none too subtly shifted course and crossed over to you and Cami.

Usually, I’m a fairly chilled out boyfriend, but it was the end of an insanely busy week, and I was exhausted and in no mood to look at other guys gawking at you. Or, in this case, brazenly chatting you up.

I put my beer down on a table next to me, my body steely with resolve.

Mad read my mind and nudged me sharply with her elbow. “Hey. Friendly reminder that it’s an Entertainment Weekly party.” The implication was clear: the place was swarming with reporters. Technically off-duty, but obviously still tuned in to any whiff of gossip. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Sure,” I said, shrugging off my blazer. “Fuck it. Tell them we were canoodling.”

I could still hear Mad’s bark of laughter as I walked through the crowd, blazer in hand, driven by purpose. Your back was turned; Camila had to tap your arm to get your attention.

You raised an eyebrow at me as you turned around. “Cole?”

I needed an excuse. Anything. “Are you cold?”

“Cold? Um, I guess...?”

I stepped forward and reached around to drape my jacket over your shoulders - a signal, clear as day, for anyone who cared enough to read into it, including this poor, irrelevant fuckboi who had stupidly attempted to launch a flirtatious offensive your way. As he slunk away, I stayed where I stood, inches away from you, uncaring as to who saw us standing that way, that close.

In your eyes mingled incredulity, confusion and delight. What are you doing? Do you know where we are? “Um. Are you okay?”

Was I? All I knew was that I was with you. And I’d been wanting to do just this one thing all night. Because I was tired of the pretence, and I needed my girl.

I leaned in and kissed you, right there in the middle of that crowded room. You went rigid with panic before melting against me, your lips soft and trusting and pliant in mine.

“I’m fine,” I whispered against your mouth. “Never better.”

…

recurring (verb)

Yours or mine?

At the beginning of every weekend, you asked that on the drive home, your overnight bag sitting in the back of my car.

Yours or mine?

I didn’t mind either. My PS4 was at my place, but at least your washing machine actually worked.

(Okay, so mine just hadn’t been used.)

Yours or mine?

From a Friday ritual, it became a nightly one. Until nights turned into consecutive mornings. You’d go home to get more clothes. Eventually, you bought a toothbrush and left it on my bathroom sink.

One day, you leaned over and whispered at the end of a long day at work, I’m tired.

Let’s go home.

...

surprise (noun)

I gave you a sleepy, lingering kiss goodbye before I left for my weekend shoot in LA. Making sure you were still asleep, I adjusted the folded printout of our Hawaii flight itinerary, propping it up on the nightstand, with a Post-it note stuck on top.

“You and me. New Year’s.”

I wish I was there. I wish I’d recorded it somehow, heard the screams that triggered the complaints to building management. As it turns out, all I received was this, a text message in all caps:

“YOU SNEAKY FUCKER I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH.”

...

trick or treat (noun)

“So this washes off, right?”

“For the fiftieth time, Cole, yes.”

You were carefully drawing my skull teeth lines over the thick white base you’d applied to my face. I poked at your stomach. You looked up, close to the edge of your patience. I’d been doing that to you the entire time.

“Yes?”

“Nothing, I just…” I tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re really good at this, you know? I love that.”

I watched as your hard, focused expression softened into appreciation. “Thank you, babe.”

“Also, we can still kiss with this on, right?”

You frowned. “It’ll smudge.”

“But how much are we talking, though? Like full-on smearing, or just a small streak here and there? Because if it’s just a streak, do you think—”

“Cole!”

“No kissing. Got it.”

I shut my mouth, clasped my hands neatly on my lap, the very picture of perfect behaviour. You giggled at the sight.

“Alright, you big baby. Just one more before I have to shade the black in.”

Like a kid being told that he could finally eat all his Halloween candy, I didn’t need to be told twice.

...

uneventful (adjective)

But, in all honesty, so much of who we are dwells in the mundane.

In passing out together on the couch after a long day at work. In the gaps of silence as we trawl through Instagram before settling in for the night. In the text messages compiling the grocery shopping list for the week. In the exasperation as I trip over one of your heels in the dark. In seeing your face dotted with pimple cream. In the arguments over whose turn it was to pick the driving playlist.

Between monotony with you and thrills with anyone else, I’d pick being boring with you. Every single time.  

…

validate (verb)

I rubbed my eyes in frustration and looked at the kitchen clock. 2 am. Fuck. I had an early call time, too.

“Cole?” You came out of the room, bleary-eyed and wrapped in the duvet that you’d dragged off the bed. “You’re still awake.”

“I am.” I swivelled around in my chair to face you. “Everything I’ve taken sucks. It sucks, Lili. I’m sitting here trying to edit my photos, and I’m dying of cringe.”

“Oh, come on. You’re only saying that because it’s two in the morning and you’re your own worst critic. Here, move over.” I shifted a little in my seat as you sat on my lap, duvet and all.

You scrolled through the photos on my laptop. “Okay. Look at this one. See the way you’ve framed Sam here? In the rips of the white plastic?”

“It’s super pretentious, right?”

“No! God, what is wrong with you? It’s stunning. And see how he stands in the landscape, beyond the confines of the plastic? That’s like, a gorgeous metaphor for his process as an artist, how he’s broken free from the mold, how he’s his own man now.”

I sat there silently.

“Oh, and this one? The way you’ve tilted the horizon, and captured the sweep of his trenchcoat, the top hat in his hand? The lines in this are so bold and--”

“Brash?” I grinned at you.

You rolled your eyes. “I was gonna say ‘striking’, but sure, you can go with that.” I hugged you close to me. “Your work is amazing, Cole. Don’t you ever doubt yourself.”

“Thank you.” I kissed your shoulder. “How do you know so much about photography, anyway?”

You gave me a cute little shrug. “I learned from the best.”

…

whipped (adjective)

See: COLE SPROUSE.

...

xenophile (noun)

I thought I was the nerd. But I wasn’t the one who loaned James Michener’s Hawaii from the library and took it out to read on the plane.

It was adorable. But also, it made me want to take you everywhere. To spark your curiosity, to ignite your discoveries, to stoke the wonder.

If there was anyone who could be by your side as you found that the world was your oyster, please, let it always be me.

...

yes (unclassified)

We’re light years away from the fact, but in my idle moments, I imagine it. I imagine how I’d do it - where, and when, and even who might be there.

Maybe our friends. My brother. Your family. Definitely a photographer. In my more delirious flights of fancy, a specially trained pug.

And you. Obviously you. Your hair caught up in the breeze, your eyes widening in surprise before crumpling in the weight of the moment.

Saying yes.

…

zenith (noun)

We stood at the summit, the warm air punctuated by pockets of sea breeze. So many people think of the beach when they think of Hawaii, but - as we found out ourselves - its lush, verdant mountains are just as amazing and sublime.

I held your hand in mine as we looked out over the gorge and at the sea beyond it, the vivid cerulean of the deep bleeding into the viridity of the shallows. There was no-one else around, just us. I pulled you in, holding you in my embrace, relishing being alone with you.

I thought of the year that had passed, and my mind wandered to where I was when midnight struck over to 2017 - running down to the lobby of the William Vale while my brother and our friends waited outside the room we had locked ourselves out of, eating the remains of a pizza off the floor. You and I had tried to call each other to wish each other a happy new year, but in the tangle of signals and the confusion of the room situation, we didn’t make it, settling for a text message instead.

Thinking of the marked contrasts between then and now, a thought began to formulate in my mind - that this was it. That I had hit the proverbial jackpot of fate. Standing there, on the peak of a mountain in Hawaii, holding you in my arms, I had the very best that life had to offer.

But then you tugged at my sleeve and excitedly pointed out a pod of dolphins swimming in the waves, and there and then, I realised that my earlier assumption was wrong. Or at least it wasn’t entirely right. There were surprises around every corner. New heights to be scaled, new adventures to pursue. All of them with you.

“Oh my god, did you see that?” you asked.

I did, Lili. And I saw you. And realised the truth.

Our best still lies ahead of us.

[agent-kentauris]

im really happy with how this WIP is going right now. it needs work especially with timeline-ing, but i’ll be offline for awhile and it will be a few weeks until i can come back to it, so im gonna put it here on tumblr for now, then probably ao3 once the whole thing is done.

[[WC 5000]]

This is how it feels to watch your best friend fall.

--

It starts simply.

One day you get a call.

It’s a professional interest.

Your IGNR talk - you were working on neural progenitors. I’ve found a way to control for the effect you mentioned. It goes like this. Can any of your people confirm?

Who is this?

David Sarif. We met at a conference last year.

You don’t remember.

You’ll always regret that.

--

It’s an academia thing. It isn’t obsession.

It’s late nights, because there is so much to do. He in America, you in England. Skype is a long way away, but Picus has experimental ways to talk, he in the air around you like the ideas, alive. Nano-scale artificial epidermis. Direct epiretinal enhancement. The implication of replication of optical illusions in eye prosthetics. There are things beyond the imagined.

It’s an academic thing. It’s early mornings, because the time difference exists. Though time, you say the first time an early morning effortlessly becomes a late night, time too is purely academic. An exercise in human imagination. Overclocking, he says. Hm? says you.

Overclocking biomechatronics for heat preservation in low temp environments. Read a study about it.

You look up, though he’s thousands of miles away, and smile, because you remember writing that one.

It’s an academic thing, though.

It’s an exchange of ideas.

The mutual pact of similarly minded people walking in the same academic field.

--

He admits that he was nervous. To call. The first time.

It’s astonishing. You can’t imagine him any less than he is – absolute.

Nervous? Him?

You’re the damn head of the field, he says.

It’s personal.

The academia is slipping.

Let’s not talk about this again, you say.

Alright.

Trick yourself into believing he sounds relieved.

--

It goes like this.

It’s academic.

It’s academic.

His struggling company goes public and you, with a handwave, get him a pass to Tai Yong’s first industry showcase. You owe Ru a favor. It’s a bad position to be in. You present your joint paper on nerve interfaces. He’s alive on stage in a way that captivates even the jaded. Nerve interfaces become unquantifiably fascinating, become the future, become something…with more potential than they possibly have. He paces and points and invites conversation and we are all, for the moment, involved. Way up there, are you beside him, or is he beside you? It doesn’t matter. You owe Ru a favor but you and he are side by side. These places your are at, they equalize.

The paper, you tell yourself, is academic.

The pride when Ru, without prompting, invites him back next year is...

Personal.

It’s a tradition. The start of a tradition. Every year. You and he, at the top of the new world order.

You’ll miss it when it’s gone.

--

It’s personal.

The integrated workspaces are a given, by now. There was a time when you could work alone, and there was a time when you wanted to, and there was a time when you didn’t. They’re all past. He is a given, outside any conscious choice. Sometimes, it is hours of silence and one typed out what do you think of this, and sometimes, it is a day and a half of discussion you don’t understand when you look back over your notes except one or two sparks of engineered brilliance. Sometimes you don’t take notes. Debate for the joy of it. Scholastic. There is something you missed about the theoretical. And so, the integrated workspaces become a given. The audiolinks. The shared screens. The general document access. A bloody security nightmare, says your IT team. A fucking security nightmare, says his.

But.

It’s acknowledged that you both work better together.

It’s acknowledged that it’s simple synergy.

It’s personal.

In those quiet moments when there is no work to talk about he mentions his family. His company is small enough that it is still a family. You don’t tell him that will change. It might not. Given the way he speaks of them…

You learn their names, slowly. Athene, Josie, Vasili.

You learn to know them as well as anything else you know.

They are an extension of his life, and so you extend a degree of interest towards them.

It’s a personal thing, nothing more.

--

Lies.

--

Lies.

It’s familial.

--

It’s familial.

He’s supposed to be there.

It’s a Nobel prize, for god’s sake.

Is the concern misplaced?

Likely.

Unlikely.

Likely.

I’d like to begin, you start.

Your aide enters the back of the room, panicked eyes. She waves.

Excuse me, you say, immediately, to the titans of the industry.

There’s been an incident, she says.

You are on the next flight.

Your titles and persuasions mean nothing to the doctor standing resilient in front of you. An obstacle unpersuaded by a final desperate do you know who I am?

He’s family, Athene says, squeezing past the doctor and through the door, gesturing, grabbing your arm.

You’ve never seen her in person, but you’d recognize her anywhere.

David’s done a good job bringing things to life, as always.

An assembly line accident, Athene says as you walk.

Will he survive? you ask.

There are several more of them sitting in the waiting room, heads in hands, half-asleep.

One looks up.

Maybe, he says, with a light Russian accent, and shrugs. Maybe not.

Your aide reminds you that the Nobel committee called while you were somewhere over the Atlantic.

They aren’t family.

They don’t matter anymore.

--

It’s industrial. David’s new arm. The first model. Nothing like the best available at the time, the most realistic, the most integrated, and yet…

You look at the schematics, and the plans, and the design philosophy and it is breathtakingly industrial. Conceptual. Its potential for adaptation far exceeds everything else. It isn’t designed to perform, it’s designed to change. Constantly. It is replicate of a living thing so closely that but for the presence of alloys and angles, you’d forget what you are looking at. It will be an industrial standard, if not today, then tomorrow.

He doesn’t look happy with it.

“I…” he says, trailing off. Two months of rehabilitation therapy and he still has difficulty lifting it. It is industrial, not intuitive. He’ll adapt. He’ll make it better.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he says. This was supposed to be yours first.

What? you say.

The schematics were for you.

He shows you. Months of work, kept off your shared workspaces. Biomechatronic prosthetics designed for you, designed for your leg, your knee.

The arm he created will become an industry standard. This, though…

This is science fiction.

He flexes his prosthetic fingers with difficulty. This is just an adaptation, he says. Not a good one, either. But that one…that’ll work.

--

It doesn’t.

--

They call it DDS.

--

He has several folders full of the research on your shared servers. Studies based on your DNA.

If you were more astute perhaps you would have noticed, then.

If you were less lost you might have noticed it then.

You could have saved him.

Stopped him.

One or the other.

--

It’s academic.

It has to be.

It’s all you can handle, at the moment.

The first year of recovering is hell. The migraines. The dizziness. The flashback imprinted memories of those first few days of seizures, the first sign that anything was truly wrong. You should be glad, people say without thinking, that it was only the control chip they implanted. The chip is one centimeter by one centimeter. You had it for twelve days. You can’t see straight for a month. You can’t leave the house without sunglasses for four months. Walking was never easy for you. You don’t recover enough of your balance to stand for half a year.

You miss the Tai Yong conference.

He presents a paper on rejection syndrome.

You can’t even listen to the audio recordings without the migraines getting bad enough to black your vision out.

You don’t hear from him for a year, because, you can’t.

The flashbacks lurk so quietly.

--

The things you ignore for the sake of your survival.

He’s shaking during a presentation in New York ten pm local, and another one in Berlin one am local. At home, in the dark, you leverage your connections to discover he took a Concord between both places.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

Did you sleep? you wonder.

We’re getting there, he says in a BBC interview at seven am local. It’s all theoretical, but we’re doing genometric sequences. If we can find the right code, we can reverse DDS. Universal augmentations.

They’re taking questions from twitter.

You make a fake account.

Augmentations? you ask.

PR says it’ll be beyond prosthetics, he says, looking at the camera. There are lines under his eyes and he can’t hold steady but his voice is unwavering. I agree.

The things you ignore for your survival.

The new American Recession rippling out across all the Illuminati’s plans. One emergency council meeting after another. They call you to several. Why don’t you go?

Picus reports financial news. One day, SI is down fifty points. The next day it is not. The things you ignore. The council in intrigued. Ru is annoyed.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

Find out what is going on, they instruct.

He calls you. You don’t pick up.

It’s DARPA contracts, the council’s military insiders eventually discover. DARPA contracts and military money. They’ll be keeping an eye on him.

The things you ignore for your survival.

The Tai Yong conference gets moved from Shanghai to Hengsha. DI sends representatives. So does SI. Sarif himself is busy, it seems, working on personal projects.

Vasily comes to England for an official Darrow-Sarif Industries collaboration. No one tells you. You learn about it when the paper is published.

--

It’s a wake up call.

It goes like this.

Dowd says, in New York, then?

Morgan says, the new kids don’t take too well to old money.

Ru says, the new kids?

Lucius voice breaks in, commanding. Hengsha is the seat of our power in this regards, and you, Ru, our primary control mechanism on that sector. It will take place at TYM’s headquarters.

Rand says under his breath, if Hugh will leave London, that is.

The things you’ve ignored for your survival. None of them admonish Rand for his remark.

“Forgive me,” you say. The voice-scrambler controls for the way you struggle with the efforts of still being awake right now. “We’re discussing…?”

There is a moment of silence on the line.

Perhaps it’s disbelief.

Perhaps you don’t care.

David Sarif’s recruitment? Dowd says, a question in his tone.

Ru is far more blunt.

Are you with us? she asks.

“No,” you say. “When?”

There is another moment of silence on the line.

There is no room for sympathy at the top of the world.

Next week, Ru finally says. No one else says anything.

Ah, you say. Next week, then.

It’s a wake-up call.

It’s four a.m. in David’s part of America.

s’David, he answers, slurred in the middle of a yawn.

“Tai Yong is going to ask you to meet with them in one week. Don’t say yes, David.” Urgency infects the speed at which you speak, making it less likely that he will understand. You can’t slow yourself.

Hugh? he says, sleepy, surprised, in shock. Is that you?

“David, listen to me-”

Now he’s awake. It’s instant. He’s furious. You can’t get a word in edgewise. Where have you been? Where have you goddamn been?! It’s fury covering up for something sadder, though, something that tinges his voice with a nervous tremor you haven’t heard since- since- since I’ve found a way to control the effect. It goes like this.

“DON’T,” you insist, your voice harder than it’s ever been with him, “tell them yes.”

It stops him in his verbal tracks.

If it injures him, you’ll forgive yourself.

And yet, the quiet you suffer far worse than the preceding tirade.

“Why?” he asks.

You don’t have an answer. Only urgency.

“Please, David,” you say instead.

He’s fast on the uptake. Maybe too fast.

“Is someone threatening you?” he asks. It’s an academic interest, you tell yourself.

You open your mouth to say something, then close it.

Is someone threatening you?

Are they?

Who are they threatening, exactly?

What’s wrong? What’s so wrong?

What is so wrong with you?

“I’m asking you this as a friend,” you say. “I won’t ask again.”

A bit of a laugh from David. This time the disbelief is present.

“Are you threatening me?” he asks.

“The only threat,” you say, “is Tai Yong Medical. You will not go.”

“Fine,” he says coolly. It’s another thing you’ve never heard from him.

Nonetheless, it is perhaps the most relaxing thing he could have said.

“David-” you start, not knowing how to explain.

Except.

He’s hung up.

On you.

Two weeks later the council convenes and invites you so they can berate you for your absence at TYM’s headquarters, and then they proceed to talk about integration steps for their latest member, and where he will fit in, and what rank Sarif will be given, and you are certain that the DDS should no longer be causing extreme dizziness, yet. You can barely keep your world still.

It’s a wake-up call.

--

It’s the first time you’ve stepped foot inside his Detroit headquarters. It’s the first time you’ve come into contact with it. Sarif hasn’t connected it to your shared workspaces. Why would he? You’re never online. It’s cold, and gold, and alight in an inorganic way. The lights are replicas of something that used to come naturally, to him. The angles celebratory in their unfamiliarity with nature. We are something more than real, the construction says.

Much of this was paid for by DARPA contracts, you think.

There are several lightboard pillars displaying the history of biomechatronics – no, augmentations. You’re on one of them.

Hugh Darrow’s groundbreaking work with human enhancement has altered the very fabric of society.

It would not be a mistake to say that he changed the world as we know it.

Past tense.

You’ve got time.

You’ve got time to stop this.

You don’t recognize him. His new augment is solid black, with silver in the joints.  The lines of it are sharp, and unapologetic. Artistic. Aesthetic.

The industrial is a memory.

Athene sees you before he does. She’s past shock, going straight to anger.

“You,” she hisses, eyes flaring, cutting David off mid-sentence. “Absolutely not.”

David leans off her desk as she snaps around it, a security officer in her wake.

“Hugh?” he says, tone empty. “What are you doing here?”

Athene holds up a hand. “You don’t have to talk to him, David.”

The security officer at her side crosses his arms. Your own security bristles in response.

“If you don’t mind,” you say.

“Oh, but I do,” she says. “I very much do.”

You look past her, towards David. He meets you with a tired stare.

His eyes are silver, too.

It’s a shock.

What happened?

When did it happen?

Why weren’t you watching?

“David,” you say.

He says nothing.

“If you want to speak to Mr. Sarif,” Athene says, “you’ll need an appointment.”

“That’s beneath you, Athene,” you inform her.

“I don’t think you have a right to say that,” she says.

The jab lashes at some vulnerable part of you, stings, because, there is no defense. Perhaps it’s beneath her. Perhaps it was beneath you, to wait so long, to stay away so long. To live as if underwater for so long.

Perhaps it wasn’t.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

This is more important.

“It’s about Them,” you say over her shoulder.

“Who?” she says.

You watch him. You still know him. Under the framework of these past few years, under the new things and the learned things, it’s still him. Considering, calculating, weighing, even though he’d already decided the moment he heard you. He taps his hand against the side of his desk as he thinks, but his subconscious has already decided.

The only thing you don’t know is what conclusion he’s reached.

You would have assumed…

But he went to meet them.

And you don’t know anymore.

You can’t guess anymore.

His eyes should be bright under the lights in the office, but instead they are muted and dull.

He nods his head towards his office.

“Come on,” he says. “Athene, let him through.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she gives a half-laugh.

“Athene,” he repeats. “It’s about Hengsha.”

She locks into neutral with alarming speed. Every tell concealed. How bad was it? What happened? What was he told, and why did he buy it, if Athene is…? The piece don’t add up. The concern is growing. Spiraling. Now is not the time to lose control.

Control it.

She steps back wordlessly.

Your security looks at you.

“Wait here,” you tell her.

Back then, there was no danger.

--

It should be a relief.

“They’re called the Illuminati,” you begin.

Everett. Lucius. Ru, Rand, Dowd. The Council of Five, Versalife, Picus. Everything David knows, everywhere he comes from, everywhere anyone who is anyone comes from these days is under their influence. All under their purview. All under their control. Their goal? The new world order. You tell him everything.

He laughs at first, then he grows quiet, then he grows somber. He stops pacing around the office and sits across the desk from you, and watches you, and fidgets with a pen in his hands.

When you finish, he stops twirling the pen through his fingers.

“You’re telling me this why?” he asks.

It’s the only thing he says.

You don’t have an answer.

“You aren’t curious as to how I’ve come to know about their plans?” you ask, deflecting.

“Easy,” he says, with a shrug. “You’re one of ‘em.”

“I could be a rebel, fighting against a corrupt system,” you say, in jest.

In jest.

“Corrupt?” he asks, and he’s dead serious. “From what they said, sounds like they’ve got the right idea.”

You can’t speak for a moment. You never expected he’d agree with them.

“I know you don’t believe that,” you say, when you can.

“Why not?” he says, shrugging again. “Tai Yong’s on the forefront of innovation. So are you. They’ve got the money and the power to make it work. To do what we have to so we can get it done.”

“They-” you say, slowly, struggling to work past the flat astonishment at hearing him say anything in line with Illuminati beliefs. “They believe in... they believe in control, and stagnation, and they will never let humanity achieve our potential, never let you achieve your potential, David, surely you must understand-”

“What makes you think they won’t?” he challenges, leaning back into chair. “What makes you so sure about that?”

“You can’t be so naïve,” you say. “Look at the larger picture, David. Your work with human enhancement has the potential to alter the very fabric of-”

“-society,” he finishes, rueful smile. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Hugh, I wrote that damn paragraph.”

“It applies,” you say. “Doesn’t it?”

He pushes himself up.

“You’re wasting your time.” he says, with an air of finality. “I told them yes. I meant it.”

He walks around you, towards the door.

“David, you can’t trust them-”

“Then I can’t trust you,” he points out. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

A sudden, sore pain encircles your throat.

“David,” you protest. “I’m not here as an Illuminatus. I’ve never been here as an Illuminatus.”

“Haven’t you, though?” he says, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” you say firmly. “I haven’t. And I’m hurt you would think that of me.”

“Think what?” he says. “I’m not the one accusing them of being all that bad. Athene?” he adds, pushing the door open. “We’re done here.”

It’s not fear. Why would it be? The Illuminati are…are not that bad? Correct? They are a part of you and they have never been the threat to humanity. Chaos has. And yet…it’s something.

Imagine him, with cold eyes, and control. Looking down at the world from someplace disconnected. Imagine him, unchanging. Unevolving.

Static.

Cessation.

You’ll lose him.

It’s not fear making breathing a conscious act, it’s not fear making you feel the impact of your heart rate. It isn’t fear making your voice rise. It isn’t, you tell yourself. It’s not. It’s not fear, because it’s not possible he’ll go through with this. They are antithetical to him. The two cannot coexist. They’ll destroy him. Everything that is him. The telos inherent.

“David, it’s critical that you listen to me,” you insist.

“I did,” he says. “Next time you want to stop by too late you feel free to.”

He gestures towards the waiting area, a please leave sweep of his augmented arm.

“Me, I’ve got work to do,” he says.

It doesn’t make sense.

It doesn’t.

This hurt encircling you doesn’t. His decisions don’t.

“This can’t be what you want,” you say.

“Would you know, Hugh?” he asks. “It’s been three years. Would you really know?”

You haven’t heard it counted out loud.

“Three years?” you repeat.

It’s a sarcastic snort. “Almost. You weren’t counting the days? I was.”

“Don’t make this about you,” you say. “I was injured.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, Athene appearing briskly beside him with a scowl on her face. “You really thought the best way for me to figure that out was from your press secretary? It was my design, Hugh. You were my friend.”

Past tense.

“Don’t pretend as if you don’t still care,” you say, feeling like you’ve lost a battle that was suddenly more important than you realized. “This issue doesn’t go away because you feel slighted.”

“Slighted?” he says, looking away, nodding. “That what you think? Is that what you think?” He bites on his lip. “Huh,” he says. “Slighted. Who’d have thought.”

“You need to leave,” Athene says, her voice a hard line, the security behind her an ultimatum.

Walking in a straight line is difficult. Walking in a straight line and making it look as if it takes no effort is not possible.

He moves aside, and does not look at you.

“David,” you say, not knowing what to follow it up with, not knowing what to say. You have to say something. You have to stop this.

He gives you a tight, professional Picus-polished smile, and clips back into his office. Athene shuts the door behind him, keeping her eyes fixed on you the whole time.

“Why is he doing this?” you say, half to yourself, half in the hopes that Athene will answer.

“You should already know that,” she says, walking back over to her desk. “I’m not inclined to help you figure it out, Mr. Darrow.”

It’s not encouraging. But she is answering. And David is not.

“Please,” you say. “They’ll be the end of him. I know they will.”

Her steps falter, for a beat.

And it is opportunity.

A chance.

It might be a chance.

“What has he told you?” you ask.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that,” she says, but she turns around to face you. “What do you know?”

Oh god, it is a chance.

“Much,” you say, talking fast, because if you miss this chance, and if this is the last one, you will never forgive yourself. “I know that they and he are not alike. Their natures are dissimilar. I know that the he and they can’t coexist, that they have ulterior motives far beyond anything he can understand. No. Beyond anything he will allow himself to understand. I know this can’t be what he wants.”

Her eyes soften, a bit.

“I was worried it might be so,” she says. “Tell me everything.”

“No,” you say, an instant reaction. David is a different matter from all the other people you know. He’s different.

“It isn’t safe for you,” you add, in response to her newly crossed arms.

“Then I suppose,” she says, “you’ve done all you can. Thank you for your concern, Mr. Darrow.”

It’s slipping away. It’s getting away from you.

“I…” you say.

“Yes?” she says.

“I…no.”

“Hm,” she says, and crosses the rest of the way to her desk.

The sound of her typing accompanies you to the lift.

You reach it. You press the call button. You imagine David in ten years, twenty. With every passing minute the outcome seems worse. The two cannot coexist. And the Illuminati is too powerful to be brought down by one man.

They’ll kill him.

Will they kill him?

It’s not like them to waste an asset.

It’s not like him to be controlled.

What can’t be controlled can’t be called an asset.

The chaotic can only be a threat.

Who is being threatened, here?

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the man sitting twenty feet away alone in his office, and all that matters is that if you leave, you’ll never be this close to him again. The personal stake is academic. The academic stake is irrelevant. The thing invoking fear and causing your chest to tighten and calling forth the seizure-fringed flashbacks is something far deeper. Something essential. Something deep-rooted and complex and related, perhaps, to love. No. It’s something simple.

You can’t lose him.

Not to them.

The lift arrives with a ping, and it becomes a conscious thought.

I can’t lose him. Not to them.

You don’t realize it then, but it is perhaps the first time you’re aware that you can lose to them. That you and they are distinct. That your losses are not their losses.

That your gains will not be their gains.

The doors have opened. And now, they are closing.

Your security says, Mr. Darrow?

You turn around. Athene is looking up.

“Well?” she says.

--

It’s money.

That’s all it is.

That’s all it comes down to.

You’ve underestimated the depth of his research into DDS.

The media has grossly underestimated the depth of his research into DDS.

He’s been killing himself over this, she says, hardly pulling her punches. She takes some pity on you, though. When she says this, you know she means you.

Half the company is devoted to it. He’s determined to beat it. He blames himself, she says. For what happened to you.

He couldn’t have known.

Don’t play that game with me.

He couldn’t have.

It comes down to money, though. He’s burned through his resources, his connections, reached the end of every route he knows and he still hasn’t solved it.

It’s a last resort. They must have known. The Council has offered him the power to reach a higher level of enlightenment.

He’s taken it.

All you have to do, she says, is offer him an alternative. Any alternative. Coming from you, he’ll take it.

Athene accompanies you back to SI, back to the lift.

She holds to door to his office open for you.

The frown flashes fast across David’s face. “Don’t-”

“Neuropozyne,” you say. You’ve invented the word right then and there. Even the merest idea of the drug is still only a concept. You say it with confidence, as if it is a certainty.

“What about it?” he asks, with a suspicious that is only tempered by Athene’s presence.

“You don’t know it,” you tell him. “We haven’t released any information about it. But it’s designed to treat DDS – minor cases, at least. We could work with it, though.”

“Yeah?” he says, still leaned over his keyboard, still unwilling to engage.

“We could have it commercially viable as soon as the end of the year,” you say, the promises coming wild off the top of your head now. Why not?

“I would have heard about it,” he says.

“You wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah?” he says again, this time pushing his chair back, and resting his arms on the sides. A false air of open congeniality.

“Yes,” you affirm. “Because I only invented it a moment ago.”

It is the highlight of your arrogance. The breadth of your assumptions. A desperate hope that you can take this leap and some god-forsaken-how, your intelligence will catch you.

He regards you for a second, then two, then more. You catch yourself breathing too quickly.

The wearied lines in the corner of his eyes disappear as he breaks out into a smile.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he says. “Where the hell have you been, Hugh? You got a lot to catch up on.”

He’s out of his chair and across the room in an instant, grabbing your free forearm and pulling you into a hug, always the one for the importance of tactility, and he says come on, I’ll take you on a tour of the place, and Athene’s dangerous edge dissipates, a bit.

It should be a relief. It should all be a relief.

Instead, it is the first time you’ve felt fear. True fear.

Your goals and their goals are no longer the same.

And you are well aware what happens to their enemies.

You are well aware of what happens to their traitors.

--

The council is lousy with misunderstanding.

Dis-understanding?

Un-understanding?

They’ve only heard yes for far too long.

You watch it defy their framework of understanding so uniquely.

Lucius and Rand are ready to write David off. Morgan and Ru are taking a long game stance on the issue. Dowd seems caught somewhere between American patriotic pride in Sarif and aristocratic perturbation.

“I can convince him,” you tell them. You are lightheaded with the defiance. It is a risk beyond any other. Beyond anything you’ve taken since…

Since your skiing incident, you think.

Oh, how have you missed that adrenaline.

You tell them that you can convince David, and they trust you.

The risk is heady, but you don’t think about what happens if-

When that trust becomes eroded.

When that trust becomes eroded…

Well. We can’t all live forever, can we?

Best not to let them catch on, then.

[xaligos]

World of Warcraft: Legion (The Azurian Chronicles) - The Tale of Xaligos [The Help of a Deathlord]

Timeline: Patch 7.0

The hour was nearing night, and the sun had nearly set. Sounds of battle traveled in the air above the Broken Isles. Very few places in the area had managed to remain untouched by the ongoing conflict. Xaligos had assumed yet another guise, one that allowed him to carry out his agendas for the Blueflight openly while in mortal form.

A particular Death Knight had caught his interest - "The Hunter" he was called. A Kaldorei that he had tracked for sometime; that was until the re-opening of the Dark Portal. He had gone missing shortly after, only resurfacing when the Lich King assaulted the Silver Enclave with the Ebon Knights of Acherus, and appearing sporadically afterward.

He had been raised into Undeath and made a servant of the Lich King, Azariah Oakenforest was his name. An ancestor of one of Xaligos' most loyal living Dragonsworn. Though the bond he once held with the undead king was long since broken and the Kaldorei was free to follow his own will. A will that Xaligos' had every intention to direct toward the service of the Blueflight. He had found him traveling with a camp of Ebon Knights in Azsuna. They had showed up to fight against the Legion from what his Dragonspawn had been able to gather. His group had taken residence near some elven ruins near the coast, Xaligos saw his prize, he had great plans for him and destiny would deny him this fierce champion no longer.... 

Feint streams of blue light began to materialize in the air just a few paces in front of the log that the Death Knight had been sitting at. The light flickered in and out like the flashing of fireflies, each time reappearing with clearer image of a humanoid like figure.  Although this process took but a moment, a hooded ‘man‘ now stood silently between the kaldorei and the sea. His posture was relaxed; casual even, as if he had been there the whole the time.... Had he?

  Xaligos did not speak; not at first, choosing merely to wait until he took notice. Azariah's gaze had been situated far out to the sea; to the stillness and silence that the world deceivingly seemed to be standing in. The far off noise of the camp was nothing but a mere chirp. He was all that was there, or so he thought. Magic began to tighten in the air, and Azariah's unmoving azure eyes started to flicker. Undeath had altered his senses but he could never mistake when energies were at work; as the magic at play sept through his necrotic skin, its feeling akin to syrup on the tongue. The hilt of his sword was resting in the palm of his hand, the tip of the blade only just piercing the sand. Xaligos had come into view, he rose to his feet with sword in hand, with his grip only just enough so that it remained as much.

  Tilting his head at Xaligos, the anticipation of what was to come - did not. Instead the silence he had been met with slowly started to drive him to annoyance. As the minute passed, neither one breaking words, Azariah shifted his head back and forth along the coast, his sword arm rising and falling as he spoke.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

His voice was dry and toneless. 

The feint sound of the distant camp might have been the reason Xaligos turned his attention to the general direction of the sound. Whatever the reason, it did not keep his attention for to long before he set it upon the Death Knight once more.

"Azariah Oakenforest.... 'The Hunter', that is what they call you is it not? You've been something of a prize to me, I was vowing to keep my distance from you.... Out of respect for an old friend, but in light of.... " 

Xaligos looked to the sky, various winged creatures could be seen off in the distance. No doubt demons and other monstrosities of the Legion.

  " Well, I'm sure you can see why I would have reason to seek you out now. I've come because I have something to offer you. Whether you wish to take it or not, that is up to you. Though, I will ask for something in return. I am confident however, that you will come to see that what you give will be proportional to what you have to gain....."

His words trailed off slowly, although he had spoke only just loud enough for him to be heard. 

Azariah listened, the flickering lich fire in his eyes suffixed to the cowled stranger. He eyed him slowly at the sound of his name being spoken; shifting when the term 'old friend' was remarked. His head turned away as the man continued to speak, and as the strangers words trailed off, the death knight drank in the silence. The blue flames in his eyes dissipated, and the fallen elven warrior stood poised, yet calm, as the sea drifted in the smells of salt and blood. 

"What is it that you have brought for me?"

  The blue flames in his eyes sparking back to life, refocusing on the 'paladin'. This hooded figure carried a strong presence in both the arcane and the light, surrounding him with a seemingly artificial order. It was a powerful ward, one meant to conceal as well as protect, but conceal what?

"Man that hides himself...."

"You're cautious, I can understand that. A stranger approaches you offering things in the middle of an invasion, surrounded by Demon-"

Suddenly an Alliance carrier flew overhead trailing smoke and fire! Parts scattered across the beach head, most missed Xaligos and the few that came close seemed to dissolve before they could reach him. A near by tree caught fire as the carrier flew out of view behind the mountains, but the dragon merely watched as the random spectacle occurred, with a calmness not all to different from the one displayed by the Death Knight. They were at a Warzone afterall, such things were bound to happen. 

".... I've brought you an invitation to make something more out of your Undead life. For now, if you need a name simply call me 'Herald'. I come representing the Blue Dragonflight. We have need of your strength."

The carrier drew the death knights attentions upward. As the carrier came crashing down throwing chunks about, he tensed his sword arm and waited; but nothing had come near, and so his attention drew back to 'The Herald' as he spoke. 

Azariah huffed. 

"What is your invitation? Speak. " 

His voice starting to draw in a harder tone.

A very pleased smile appeared on Xaligos' face at the moment Azariah reached for his sword.

"My invitation is an invitation into the Blue Dragonflight. A life of service to those chosen by the Titans to protect this world. A life helping us to keep the horrors of the afterlife realms in control. Realms that your; state, have given you influential insight on..."

A feint chuckle escaped the Dragon Lord. 

"All in all, the well being and survival of our family will become of prime importance. Though I promise you, those that serve the Blueflight are well rewarded."

The Elf ticked his head to the side somewhat dramatically, just before raising his sword arm up as if gesturing towards him with the blade pointed out his side.

"Let me get this straight, you want me to join the Deler," 

he said fluidly in elvish, 

"In order to protect your Dieb?"

Xaligos gave a single confirming nod 

"Yes. Serve our Brood well and you will find your existence better off for it. You could say no, return to what you were doing, but understand that this -is - an offer. I present to you a gift, the chance to forever connect yourself to line of beings birthed from the heart of Azeroth. We were casting spells before your kind crawled out of caves. Yet, we were made guardians of this world not to gloat or horde our power, but to share it.... Power that could be yours, all that it requires is loyalty. "

Azariah lowered his sword arm, and took one step closer. He stopped, eyes shifting along the man's form once more. 

"The hidden one wishes my loyalty in exchange for giving me powers?"

 A mock question filled with amusement. 

“If what you say is true, I would be a thero’shan.” 

He dipped his head, setting his left arm to chest; holding it there for a mere second before lifting his eyes back up. 

“But if what you say is false, Ana’duna thera.”

"You will find no lies here Azariah. In time you will come to see how this was all meant to be. That destiny has been putting this off for just the right time, and that time is now. I must depart however, but before I go I will leave you with something to help secure your trust. Come closer.."

Azariah shook his head. 

"You know where to find me, come back, Mush'a. " 

As he spoke, Azariah took a step back and lowered himself so that he might rest upon the log once more, eyes still glued upon the man who called himself 'The Herald'. The Dragon let out a sigh. He couldn't blame him for his defensiveness, still he needed the Death Knight to trust him

"May you keep such caution when dealing with matters for the Blueflight. Still, I would not have come here and told you of whom I serve just to harm you here and now. Do I appear as one to waste my time dealing with but a single death knight? However important that individual may or may not be...."

'The Herald' paused for a moment.

"It's better if I don't say it out-loud, you'll understand once I give it to you. Give a little trust here and it will be returned in-kind."

Xaligos reached out his hand.

"Come."

The Kaldorei sat there, for sometime - a long time. Much longer than he should have for such an easy and simple command. At last he let his voice carry in a way that seemed unnatural for the elf. And truly, he seemed to spat the words out, demonstrating modest difficulty speaking them. Draconic was the language and he casually asked,

"Speak and i will come."

Reaching out toward the sky with one of his palms the Brood Lord began to channel magics. Drawing on the energies from the unseen amounts permeating all around them, he proceeded to bend these ethereal forces to his will. Now channeling these powers inside of him he expelled them forth. Spherical waves pulsated from his body in methodical intervals toward every direction; holy and arcane magic was being dispersed into their surrounding area.

  "You cannot muster enough trust to come closer, and I can't trust that we are safe enough to disclose this out loud. If there is anyone watching, we will soon find out...." 

The spell had been intended to reveal that which was hidden. The Dragon's of the blue flight had become very proficient at ensuring their positions were secure, Xaligos perhaps more so than most of his kin. Azariah fell silently still as he watched the magic being channeled. Though detecting no one, the blue dragon slowly lowered his hand.

"It would seem we are safe... This is still a security risk, but very well. Come here, I intend to teach you the spell needed to teleport to our Brood’s last standing Sanctum."

A long gaze fell to the horizon and the sea front, and Azariah soon found himself perching his blade along the back side of his spine; sheathing it. He strode gracefully across the sand to stand just a mere foot away from the man, gazing down at him, saying nothing - merely awaiting this 'Herald' to act. As the Death Knight drew near and came to a halt, Xaligos slowly raised his hand with an open palm pointed toward him. The foot or so of distance between them was perfect, he was close enough now....

"Hold still, it'll make sense in a moment. 'Drakavos kun’zanith Azu'rein!"

The magical words of power were but the catalyst for the rush of information and energy that worked to enter Azariah's mind. A blue rune appearing just in front of the Elf's forehead. The Death Knight's gaze narrowed slightly just before the words were spoken, and then he stepped back. His head shook, a hand rising to his helmet as he stood there, dazed. A long few second passed before those blue flames flickered back to life and focused on the man.

"Thor falah nor dora,"

He bowed his head and held it there for a moment.

Xaligos was pleased with his apparent change in demeanor. It appeared as though his assumption that the Death Knight would see that he was sincere once the spell was cast proved true. Though, time would tell.

"Guard this knowledge with your life. You hold a vital secret, and this is the first measure of my trust. People will have reason to target you now. My home has been well hidden for a long time, and I wish it to remain that way."

"Alah Anu'dora,"

Xaligos had felt it appropriate to respond with a slow but confirming nod.

"Then we have an understanding. I must take my leave, but I depart entrusting you with a task. There is a particular mortal I want apprehended. A human by the name of Rosemary Fox. She is an outlaw, someone you should be able to take care of with relative ease. Find her, secure her, and once you have - bring her to the Azurelight Sanctum."

"As you wish,"

The Death Knight took a step back and after a moments glance, he turned and began to make his way up the beachhead and toward the camp. Xaligos watched as his new champion in the making departed until he was out of view before taking leave himself.

"The stones are being laid..."

A blue light began to radiate from Xaligos, dim at first but growing in luminescence before peaking out as he dissolved into broken fragments of what might be described as crystallized light. Why did he want this outlaw? What use did a Dragon of the Blueflight have for such an individual, and why send someone as lethal as a Death Knight? Questions that would no doubt have their answers revealed in due time.... 

@alastar-wyatt

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