#she's different in that. it took her longer and it took some oddly specific strange experiences to make her realize that

[nikatyler]

let your OCs get a little squishy, it's good for you

[babylyctor]

can John actually control time or am i making things up? trying to reach a conclusion via tumblr posting

so as a theory this is 75% vibes. however there’s some things in the books that give me pause, and i wanted to put together all those bits and see if there’s something there. i’m not totally on board with this idea because it seems too complex to leave entirely to the last book, and i don’t know how it could fit with the rest of the narrative (or do i?) but in any case i keep thinking about it so here’s this way too long post. spoliers for everything

first, this fucking suspicious sentence that’s one of the first things John tells Harrow (Chapter 2, HtN)

"I would let you come back, bit by bit, until you felt entirely ready to wake up. I can’t. I mastered Death, Harrowhark; I wish I’d done the smarter thing and mastered Time. I have to ask you to get ready soon, and so I am going to show you something I hope might … trigger your readiness.”

so this sounds like a really dull complaint on this immortal god’s part but also i don’t trust a single thing out of this man’s mouth, and this would be the exact kind of private joke he would make if he had actually mastered Time (capitalized) too. Also the context in which it’s said, talking about Harrow coming back from her coma, regaigning consciousness, awakening... you get it, oddly relevant theme wise.

then there’s the whole Soup Moment (Chapter 25, HtN), in which John seems to actually stop time maybe? i have doubts about this so lets see what our narrator tells us;

And God said, “Stop.”

The world slowed down. Augustine and Mercymorn stopped, arrested in the act of half-rising from their seats. Ianthe stopped, left arm paused, outflung, to shield her face. You stopped, sitting upright in your chair: your bones somehow rigid and still, and your flesh chilly and rigid around those bones. The shrapnel spray from the Saint of Duty did not stop, [...] But what remained of him stopped too, half man, half rupture—his prurient details hot and white, naked insides clothed with the sinus-drying burst of the power of God.

so here John freezes all the lyctors in place, they’re still conscious, or at least Harrow is, but they have their range of movement almost totally restricted. this is not like Mercy pinching Harrow’s dorsal nerve to paralyze her, this is a completely different feeling, maybe John’s thalergetic powers? it would make sense, all the lyctors are living bodies, they have thalergy and Johs is able to manipulate that, presumably. the bits of Gideon OG cascading down the table don’t stop but that might be John selectively using his powers, or it might be that that’s no longer living flesh.

so we’re saying this could just be John’s super special thalergy magic and nothing else. the first problem though is that technically he shouldn’t be able to use it against his lyctors without touching them, thanks to lyctoral invisibility. in fact when he explodes Mercy’s chest (rip in peace queen) he expressely reaches out and touches her to do so, because presumably he needs to make contact with a body in order to use magic against it, same as Mercy. so that’s a caveat, then there are these descriptions from the same Soup Moment;

You stared down the table at him: at the blank, remote faces of your two nominal teachers—at the frozen ivory stillness of Ianthe, her hair now whitish pink���at space outside the window, where the asteroids themselves seemed to hang in tranquilized arrest.

The Emperor of the Nine Houses stood. The spell, whatever it had been, dropped like a white sun setting.

These seem to imply certain ambiguity. John’s God and all that but i don’t think thalergetic magic should be able to affect asteroids, lifeless space rocks. of course it says they “seem” to hang in tranquilized arrest, not that they are really unmoving, but i think it’s a suggestive sentence all the same, and i’m suspicious of every word Muir writes. The second quote, specifically the highlighted part, is also a bit frustrating. It seems to imply that John isn’t exactly doing magic as we know it, but something else. If it was Harrow narrating we could go further with it, but since it’s Gideon we could simply attribute it to her lack of knowledge and familiarity with magic. However, two sentences after that we don’t have that problem;

The construct gamely clamberign our of the Saint of Duty dwindled to a powder of pink dust. The shard you had been driving up the cervical vertebrae to the base of the spine [...] simply disappeared: destroyed or removed, you could not tell.

This is still Gideon narrating but in this case she’s specifically telling us that Harrow doesn’t understand what John just did, it’s not magic Harrow is familiar with. There’s also the contrast between what we know is a normal process of destroying a construct - reducing it to dust -  vs this mysterious disappearance, that doesn’t really fit into what we know so far about the way thanergy/thalergy work.

so far, nothing conclusive, we know John is really powerful, but we don’t know exactly how, where his power comes from or what it can do. Then there’s the moment he unexplodes himself (Chapter 52, HtN);

White light.

It bleached the insides of your nose and the back of your throat. It hurt coming out your ears. It bled out your eyeballs. It wasn’t a flash of light, more … a suddenness; when it was gone—as though it hadn’t even existed, but had been a luminous hallucination—time stopped.

That light took colour from the room—everyone was a slow-motion cavalcade of greys, of eyes caught widening, of mouths parting in stone-shaded articulations of shock.

It happened in an instant. It happened over a myriad. A wet red construct knitted itself back together, [...]

again that white light that has been associated with thalergy magic and again all these references to time slowing down, stopping or just behaving in strange ways in general. again lots of ambiguity, this could be a thalergy based power - the ability to hold living bodies in stasis, and therefore make everyone feel like time has slowed down - or it could be that John is actually affecting time, maybe even reversing it (?) since he literally un-exploded himself, after Mercy put all her millenia of expertise into atomizing him and reducing him to almost nothing.

is that even explicable with regular thanergy/thalergy based magic? i’m not sure, a regular necro could never do that, a lyctor couldn’t do that. So if John isn’t just an overpowered lyctor what’s the difference exactly? i mean, how do his powers manifest differently from those of every other necromancer we know?

the other person we’ve seen using powerful thalergy magic is Silas. Whenever he siphoned, Gideon describes a similar vacuum sensation to the one that John’s magic also provokes, as well as white light;

As he faded, the pale Silas incandesced. He glowed with an irradiated shimmer, iridescent white, and the air began to taste of thunder. (Chapter 17, GtN)

Gideon felt an internal tug, like a blanket being pulled off in the cold. (Chapter 17, GtN)

Silas clambered to his knees, clasped his fingers together, and the feeling of suction popped the pressure in both of Gideon’s ears. (Chapter 34, GtN)

Silas is nowhere near as powerful as John but siphoning - thalergy based magic, condemned by God - still causes that suction effect and is marked by white light and lightning, just like John’s magic. However, there’s no mention of a time altering effect, no slowing down, no freezing in place, and seeing how both kinds of magic are similarly coded otherwise i find this difference suspicious.

To end this somewhere, two quotes, first, this thing Harrow tells Ortus when they both discuss what it must be like to be a lyctor (Chapter 5, HtN);

“Nigenad, what would be the tragedy in living for a myriad? Ten thousand years to learn everything there is to know [...] What is the tragedy of time?”

honestly to me that sounds like Muir making Harrow say things she will regret later. of course it could be about any of the numerous tragedies in Harrow life but still, gave me pause, specially because it kinda echoes John’s earlier sentiment, wishing he had mastered Time.

finally, a quote that might be totally meaningless and completely off base in this theory or it could round it up perfectly, i haven’t decided yet;

[...] ; yet you prayed all the while knowing Ianthe’s facility for tergiversation would have given the whole universe pause. (Chapter 36, HtN)

we know Ianthe is a girlboss and gaslighting is her thing. However, isn’t this sentence a bit too dramatic to describe Ianthe? doesn’t it sound kinda ominous to you? it definitely does to me, and although it might totally be my Ianthe bias wanting her to play an important part, who is Ianthe hanging out with lately? exactly John God “Jod” the Emperor.

in conclusion, i haven’t reached any conclusion. but i still think there’s something off with John’s powers beyond what we’ve been told, which isn’t much really, and i think there’s something going on with Time within the narrative (that’s another whole post though), and i think these two things are most probably related. but i can’t say i’m 100% sure of any of it. this was fun though. if you made it here thank you so much you’re the best <3

[angelkurenai]

Imagine Pedro being teased and questioned about how close he is with you, Gal’s adopted sister, and trying his best to hide the fact that you are actually dating.

“So, Gal, I am going to direct this question mostly at you but of course anyone can get to answer. I actually wanted to know your opinion about it.” Conan said, as Gal herself nodded her head with a smile.

“Oh, please, with pleasure.”

“There have been several photos, and I do not mean just from paps or professionals. Even you on your personal instagram posted a few. Which, to say the least, broke the internet as we all saw.”

“Yeah uh truth is my instagram wasn't working for several hours afterwards and I thought it was just me but then I kept asking others and got the same reply from everyone! Turns out, we caused a blackout of sorts.” Gal laughed, admitting to it before looking away in embarrassment while the rest of the cast nodded their heads as if almost giving her a a playful glare, even through the screen of the computer.

“And the reason behind that, who would have thought, a couple photos!” Jimmy nodded his head “Your sister, your adopted sister (Y/n), came to visit you on the set of Wonder Woman 1984. It was, for lack of better words, a historic moment not just for instagram who crashed because of the popularity of the photos but also for comic book fans worldwide. It was the closest we could get to a Marvel and DC crossover.”

“You say that because she was in her costume in some of them yeah?” Gal asked with a bright smile, always loving to talk about her little sister as Conan nodded his head “Yes, it was (Y/n)'s idea and everyone knows it, I can never say no to my little sister. Plus, she was right; we had so much fun fooling around in our costumes! I had more fun than I've ever had on a set of a movie before. And, yes, I almost always enjoy the movies I'm in, but this one- this one was truly something else! We- almost everyone, I think, played along as we acted as our characters and filmed some scenes just for laughs. I really really hope they make it into the bloopers somehow.”

“So you're planning on taking down youtube next, I see. I see.” the host nodded his head with playfully narrowed eyes, seeming all suspicious and making everyone laugh.

“No, no I swear! I don't want to!” she said in between laughter “We all had so much fun and an amazing time on set and in front of the cameras, playing superheroes that it would be incredible for the fans to see! It's- Really, it is kind of an unofficial crossover that should make it to the internet at least!”

“I'll have to-” Patty spoke up “I'll have to give it to Gal, she is right. (Y/n) had this amazing idea and creative at the same time because she had a small plot in her mind and lines and everything concerning the set. We all did a small setup and filmed it and, honestly, it came out to be real good!”

“Patty is no even exaggerating and Gal is certainly right. We had so much fun filming that small crossover, and (Y/n)'s ideas were brilliant! Fans will definitely love it!” Kristen said in addition.

“She truly is an incredibly talented, smart and creative person, besides an absolute darling. So kind to everyone and sweet, we all couldn't get enough of her. And-” Patty raised a finger “I will say it here once more because Gal has heard it before: the fastest we've filmed a scene in this movie. And it was all thanks to how professional she was, it was truly incredible!”

“Well, I can't ever deny it, my little sister is the biggest star there is! Oscars or other awards aside, she proves how great she is on every set on her own!”

“And you are definitely her biggest fan, as we all can clearly tell.” Conan pointed out with a small laugh “Speaking of, I think we do have someone who could only be described as your main rival on that sweet stop of being your sister's number one fan. Someone who hasn't been shy about expressing his admiration about (Y/n) but who has yet to utter a word.” Conan looked back up from his papers and said someone almost felt his heart jump in fear and nervousness, hoping that at least nobody noticed that he was indeed being silent for a reason “Pedro, you're being uncharacteristically quiet about this one, especially for something that caused Instagram to crash within thirty minutes of the photos being uploaded. I'm not- I'm not used to this from you. Come on, talk to me. Say what's on your mind.”

“This is oddly- I'm getting strange deja vu vibes here. Must be cause of that one time I visited a therapist. Long story short, it was only one session for me and about hm at least 25 for him. I heard he's still going to a therapist now.” he shrugged casually, earning laughter from everyone. He chuckled slightly himself, glancing over the screen of his computer while trying his best to keep anything from showing on his face even more so his smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean-” he cleared his throat “Ah man, what else can I say? The ladies have spoken, and they've said exactly what- I believe anyone that gets the opportunity to work with (Y/n) or watch her movies would agree she is one of a kind.” he shrugged softly with an adorable smile “Besides, it feels like anything I say is just going to be used against me, so I- I better keep on silently observing. That does seem like it's the safest option here.”

Pedro's laugh was more of a nervous if not awkward one, but he was pretty confident it was just no different to how he would usually laugh away questions he didn't want to answer in interviews. Most celebrities did the same, he wouldn't be the first nor the last, so he didn't expect Conan to insist any further. He didn't want to push his luck, he had been really successful (if not blessed after all these close calls) with all these online interviews to not have everything revealed by accident, so now especially with the current topic, he didn't feel like messing things up. He loved this privacy, he didn't want to lose it not yet, he wanted you and this all to himself for now. And he wanted the story of how you met, of how over that one month and a half on set he felt himself fall in love with you.

And yet... Yet, he was probably a weak man, a man who couldn't help but indulge even if he knew it could probably get him in trouble. You were worth it, though, you were worth all of it and as you were his weakest spot and so indulge he did. He slowly chewed on his lower lip and he so subtly looked over the screen of his computer.

His eyes fell on you, still splayed on his bed, book in one hand and steaming mug on the nightstand – your nightstand on your side of the bed, the thought of which made his heart flutter inside his chest – hair slightly messy, that oversized Mandalorian shirt on, which you'd gotten all excited amongst many many more fandom related toys a couple months ago and couldn't wait for him to see. A shirt which had, inevitably, ended up being taken off you barely ten minutes later starting from him stealing kisses and leading to the two of you making love till the very morning in between endless giggles. The pup you'd gotten – the both of you – not so long ago made a small noise drawing your attention for a short moment as you kept petting him, the both of you too tired to do anything else after an exhausting day of playing. Pedro couldn't complain, although he'd been a part of it he had mostly spent time filming everything even if you hadn't been the one to ask him to, he couldn't help it.

It was something that the both of you decided on and although you hadn't said it out loud, you both knew and at least Pedro hoped, that it was the next step, a very important one, in your relationship besides you moving in with him. To be responsible for another living being together was, if not a test, at least a way to see how well you could cooperate. And, if he could say so himself, you had been doing great so far.

“Good morning, darling. Here for morning kisses? Yes? Come up here.” your giggles were able to warm him more than the sunlight coming through the window “Ooooh someone really loves mommy, don't you?”

And then your words set his entire being alight. Or more specifically that one particular word.

“Well-” he stretched a bit, his arms finding your waist again to bring you closer and cuddle with you “Who doesn't love mommy in this house?” he couldn't help it as his smile turned into a lovestruck grin “Morning, mi amor.”

“Good morning, darling.” you pecked his lips “And don't worry, mommy loves daddy back, enough to make up for the rest of the world.”

As if reading his mind, you chose to look up from your book at him, smiling as you held his gaze for a good few seconds. So much love was evident, even in those few seconds, he could almost feel his own heart burst. Yet another reason for him to control his reactions from showing just how much on high on happiness and love he was. You shook your head, eyes wide as you heard Conan speak again, you playfully mouthed to him “Focus!”

As subtly as possible he tried to clear his throat and taking the mug of coffee that was beside his computer, he took a sip and decided to focus on it as much as he could. Until the subject changed, at least.

“...Wise man. I feel you, so don't worry I'll leave you to it.” if only he knew the big sigh of relief Pedro tried to hold back as Conan continued “It's the tactic I follow 99% of the time when I'm out with my wife, just smile and wave kind of thing. Alright-” he nodded his head in thought “Alright, well, let me ask you all something else. You keep saying in front of the cameras and talking about this small crossover, but I assume she must have been around for longer than that, yes?”

“Yes, yes she was there for at least a month, a month and a half I think. She was on vacation, after being done with filming, and she decided that before heading home that she'd come by and visit us. It was meant to be for a short period of time. She loved the place... the people, perhaps, how could I know for sure?” she shrugged not looking innocent in the least bit, earning a few laughs.

“Anyway-” she cleared her throat “And you see before she knew it, before we all did, one week turned into two turned into three and so on. It-” she chuckled “She was around on set and with us on all those beautiful locations we were in. And while we were all working and walking around with purpose and the need to finish this scene with so much pressure on- on our shoulders and she was just sitting around with a iced coffee or tea on her hand, sunglasses on and phone on the other hand looking she didn't have a single care in the world. It kind of made everyone a little bit jealous to be honest.”

“A little? Cause I sense that there's more than you're letting on, Gal. Come on, spill the tea.”

“Alright more than a little.” she laugh “I mean, it wasn't all the time, of course. Just the first couple days mostly but you can imagine how it was. It seemed like she did it on purpose sometimes.”

“Twistin' the knife even deeper, that's what she's best at. Oh I know!” Conan nodded his head “I'm actually afraid to invite her on the show because I fear how bad she'll roast me. Andy-” he laughed “Andy is the only one who has the most fun during those interviews.”

“I know right? Boy you tell me!” Gal exclaimed “That little shit. I adore her to no end but I really had the hardest of time when she was around. She just had to make comments on everything she could, especially when I was acting. I couldn't stop laughing sometimes, but nobody got mad at her. It was always my fault somehow!”

“I mean she's just so sweet, how could we be mad at her?” Patty added.

“She messed up so many of my scenes!” Gal pretended to be angry but her smile gave it away “But it's true, I couldn't even be mad at her. I don't get to see her that often, because of the work we both do, so I would give anything to have my sister with me like that every other chance I got. Even if I got all the blame for it, there's nothing I wouldn't do for her, you understand.”

“Aw that's- that's incredibly sweet, actually. It's- that's the exact opposite of me and my brother so no I can't really understand to be honest, but alright.” Conan laughed “Well, then, you really got your chance this time, right? You had the opportunity to spend all this time with her. When you were not working of course.”

“I...” Gal trailed off, her smile turning into a mischievous one but the rest of her expression trying to remain innocent, and failing at it because she truly wasn't even trying “Well, I would say yes. And I would agree with you. And I would even ramble about the wonderful two months I spent with my sister... If that had been the case. If I had really seen her for more than a week total, then yeah I would say that.”

“Wha- P-Pardon me?” Conan blinked in surprise “Didn't you j-just say your sister was with you on set for about two months? Or have I been in a parallel universe all this time and I just now came back to our reality?”

“Oh no it's very much our reality but I also did mean what I said. My sister was on set, and I did see her quiet often. But did I spend almost all of my free time with her? Did she spend hers with me? Nope. And that-” again with a far-from-innocent shrug “That is probably the only question I can answer. What she did? Did she have fun?... Who she was with? I wish I knew. What I know is I wasn't the one closest to her on set.”

“So you're telling me, (Y/n) was on set full of people she didn't really know, and you, her sister, barely spent any time with her? I'm gonna assume the rest of you didn't spend more time with her compared to Gal, right?” he asked and got nods from everyone, well, everyone who had their eyes on their screen and therefore looking at Conan, because there was still one that would avoid eye-contact even through the screen “Well, then, who was closest to her on set, if not you?”

“She, well-” Gal paused, smile all too sweet as she added “There could be someone...”

Said someone who couldn't even look up from his mug of coffee, as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world, and didn't dare say a word for fearing of messing things up; even if his silence spoke volumes as it was. A silence which was... even more intense than before. Even more... real. Probably because it wasn't just in his head, probably because it wasn't just from his part.

Blinking several times, he slowly raised his head to look up from his mug and at the screen of his computer. Only to be met with the eyes of the rest of the group staring at... well, they were staring at the screen of their own computers but for some reason – a reason which he knew all too well – he felt like all eyes were suddenly on him. And they probably were. Because Gal was being nice about it but almost everyone had noticed how much time you had spent with Pedro during those almost two months. You had just met back then so they didn't imply anything back then but now... now they could just as well do so.

“I-” he laughed and he hated how nervous he sounded “Is it time to talk about my character?” he asked almost shyly, nearly praying on the inside that they would say yes and let him change the subject “Well, Max Lord is a guy who-”

“Are you trying to change the subject there, Pedro? One can wonder why.” Conan narrowed his eyes “Come on, don't be shy. Share your opinion here, or maybe your personal experience. Since I am assuming you do have one?”

“Yes, Pedro, why don't you share your opinion with us?” Gal raised an eyebrow, small smirk on her lips “You've been particularly interested in that drink the past couple minutes apparently.”

“I-” Pedro paused, before shaking his head with a laugh “This is going to be a long interview. I can tell.”

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - I Tried But Not In Time

For: @ave-aria

Lancer just wanted to help, but sometimes being ‘helpful’ just gets people killed. Especially when there are already dead, or half-dead, people involved.

Lancer considered himself a decent man, a good teacher, and an overall respectable member of society. He did his part, paid his taxes, and helped the next generations thrive. In many ways he did more for society and humanity than most did, even if he hardly got the pay or recognition he likely deserved. But he didn’t really care about those things, the children were what he cared about; their future and their happiness. It saddened him when there were some kids he couldn’t help and gutted him when there were others he merely failed to help.

Daniel wasn’t one he couldn’t help and he refused to let the boy be one he failed. Not this one. Not the boy once so filled with life and a positive bright future; even if it was a bit over-ambitious. Not the brother to the most brilliant child he’s ever meet. Not the son of the people that, while strange, helped defend this town. Not someone who could do well and thrive but wasn’t, not through any fault of their own intellect or the school structure or home life, but simply a lack of effort and drive. A bit of missing commitment.

Lancer gave him a bit of a pass -maybe he shouldn’t have- after that accident of his for the first while that school year; it was perfectly reasonable to be a bit lazy while recovering from any sort of accident, good even. But the boy merely got worse, not better. At first he suspected that his parents were going easier on him due to guilt -it was their invention that hurt him after all- and were thus slacking in the discipline department. So he had tried disciplining the boy, not only had that proven entirely ineffective but somehow also practically impossible to do. No amount of locked doors kept him in detention or his office. No amount of grabbing his arm to drag him to classes would stop him from literally slipping through his fingers. Verbal scolding didn’t even seem to do more than make him embarrassed or nervous; he’d sit and take it but nothing would change.

What really caught Lancer was spotting one of the many many times -he’s sure it’s extremely often- Dashiel had pinned Daniel to a locker by the shirt, holding him above the ground by a solid foot. Lancer was going to intervene, knowing full well Dashiel would deny anything was wrong and would act ‘all buddy buddy’ with Daniel, but he’d noticed Daniel’s hand on Dashiel’s wrist, the other hand curled into a fist. Daniel actively wanted to punch the other teen. But... he didn’t. He restrained himself. Practiced good self-control. Self-discipline perhaps. So maybe discipline wasn’t the issue.

So he took a different route. He tried very literally sitting down and watching Daniel closely, giving him one on one help with his work and... it helped! The teen did fairly well immediately! Lancer thought that this little success would be enough to restart Daniel’s drive and willingness to put in the work, the effort; since that seemed to really be all he actually needed to do.

But it wasn’t to be.

That sort of success only ever repeated itself when Lancer sat Daniel down and helped him one on one. If it wasn’t for the teen lacking all other signs he would have suspected some kind of learning disability, caused by the accident perhaps, but he was otherwise normal if a bit paranoid. And Lancer certainly wasn’t revisiting that attempting to send the teen into therapy event again, that had made things actively worse and Lancer doesn’t exactly... trust therapists these days.

Then the frequent growing tardies and skipping entirely made him think that maybe Daniel really truly didn’t care unless he was very literally forced to.

And now... now there were the C.A.T’s coming up and Lancer was out of time to help the teen. This was entirely in Daniel’s hands and maybe Jasmine’s a little as well, he doesn’t doubt she’ll help him with studying. Maybe she’ll even sit him down and make him study? Sadly though, if she hasn’t done that yet he doubts she ever really will. Unfortunate, truly unfortunate.

But then... the answer sheet went missing and Lancer could think of one, and only one, student who could seemingly slip through solid objects and move as if invisible: Daniel. And Lancer is perfectly well aware that Daniel wasn’t the most... law-abiding individual and was absolutely not above cheating, theft, or trickery. Lancer usually let that slide because Dashiel truly deserved it and he’s pretty sure that one time the teen locked him in a closet was a fluke; he thinks the teen's eyes might have been red actually...

But stealing test answers was absolutely unacceptable.

“But Mr. Lancer, you still have no proof Danny took the test answers“.

Judging by the way she cringed, Lancer’s fairly certain he’s right. Regardless, he technically doesn’t have real physical on-camera proof, “fair enough. He has up until the test to return the answers. But if he cheats, I won't just fail him. I'll destroy his future”. Lancer nods to himself, that was probably overdramatic but he was a drama kid and the cheer squad was for life. Jasmine, as expected, takes him seriously and gulps before nodding curtly while walking off likely to go find her unusual brother.

Lancer is perfectly fine letting Daniel retake the test -a makeup one with different answers of course and far enough away he has time to study, without feeling the need to commit a felony just to pass; which seemed incredibly extreme to Lancer- if Daniel simply gives him back the answer sheet. Frankenstein’s Bride! The boy could give them back halfway through the test and that would be good enough; Lancer would be far less impressed with that though. Will he be proud if Daniel gives over the answers beforehand? Yes, of course. Even Lancer knows how much harder it can be to own up to our mistakes and make things right than it is to make the mistakes in the first place. He’d still be in trouble for stealing them of course, with a punishment of lots and lots of one on one intensive study sessions.

But what Lancer hadn’t expected, upon walking back into his classroom, is for there to be a well-dress but old-fashion-looking man leaning against his desk; seemingly polishing some kind of staff. Lancer quirks an eyebrow as he speaks, “hello?”.

The man doesn’t so much as look up from the staff, turning a nob at the top with some clicking noises, “William Edward Lancer, you are a man of simple paradoxes and ironies”.

Lancer stays exactly where he is, hand on the doorknob, oddly he doesn’t feel safe. In fact, he feels like he is explicitly in danger and being actively judged for his worth. “Pardon?”.

The man still doesn’t look to him, but at least he stops tinkering with the staff, placing the base on the ground and standing straight, “you seek to educate the youth, yet cripple them with stress from excessive testing. You turn a blind eye to encourage strength of self, yet that only makes the weak meeker. You try to inspire, yet are so out of touch you discourage instead. Your goal is to make for a bright thriving future for every child you can, and yet... you’ve become a gear cog in the educational machine that is the catalyst for most of their premature deaths”.

Lancer decidedly does not like where this is going and takes a step back, only for the man to seemingly disappear into thin air and for Lancer to bump up against something or someone behind him. Spinning around and staggering backwards into the classroom at seeing that the man is now behind him and staring at him with apathetic judgmental crimson eyes. This man... was a ghost. But nothing like what Lancer’s seen before, he’s sure. Gulping, Lancer grabs the first thing he can -a stapler- and holds it up like a weapon, “what do you want”. He always impressed himself with how not terrified he can make himself sound when faced with a ghostly threat.

The ghost frowns slightly, “from you? Nothing. From Daniel? Plenty. And as much as you are a cog in the educational system, you are also a cog in Daniel’s existence; and so far, not a very good one”.

Lancer’s not sure what to make of that except... “you, ghost, whatever you want with my student, you leave him alone”, swallowing, “and I help him were I can, where’s the fault in that”; he’s not sure why he feels the need to defend himself but he does.

“Explanations? Very well. The fault is in that you push him towards that which is no longer in the universes cards for him. Adding stress and crisis unnecessarily. When all is said and done, some people would be better helped left alone. Would be better to seemingly fail in the eyes of larger mortal society”.

Lancer has to cut in, “I don’t believe that. Every student and child can be great if given help, guidance, and education”; that was the philosophy of any teacher worth their salt.

The ghost actually almost seems to chuckle and smirks faintly, “make no mistake, Daniel has every possibility to be quite great. Or more so, it is something in the potential of the future; a future that, due to your intended future actions, will not come to pass”. Lancer gets that explicitly ominous ‘I’m in danger’ feeling again and tightens his grip on the stapler while the ghost continues though sounding far more malicious, “so as such, the best option is for the problem, for you, to be eliminated”, and brandishes a very large scythe.

Now Lancer knows he is absolutely in danger; he had never imagined he’d be the specific target of any ghost or ghost attack in general. But the best option currently is to RUN! Which, with his weight, is not an option he’s all to confident in. That, and the ghost’s blocking the doors. Said ghost shakes his head in mild disappointment before swinging with the scythe, Lancer barely manages to move to side and lands on the floor with a thud while the scythe slices a desk clean in half. Lancer scrambles on the floor wide-eyed, this ghost really meant to kill him!

Doing what he always does Lancer tries to think quick and grab for anything that might help him -a stapler was doing nothing against a scythe and that’s a fact- lunging for the ghosts staff thinking that maybe the ghost would value that enough to avoid damaging it. He’s not going to claim to know why the ghost left it to the side. Glancing back, Lancer has just a slight feeling that the ghost is smiling? as he grabs the staff. Lancer realises far too late, as the staff makes a clicking noise and a portal begins to swirl open around the top, that maybe this was the ghosts plan all along.

The portal swallows him whole in an instant. The ghost hums to themselves, thins their lips, and nods slightly; disappearing from sight with the swirl of clock-hands.

---

Lancer lands in the dirt practically face first, scrambling to get up and away from the staff. Craning his head around and wincing before cracking out his back, one too many hours spent bent over a desk; the things he gives for those kids. At least the ghost is nowhere in sight but something’s not right, the wall of the alleyway he’s apparently in looks far more weathered and beaten down than the city would allow; had to keep things looking good to avoid the wrath of the rich citizens. Putting his hand to the wall and bits of it crumble off, Lancer gets the distinct feeling the entire wall would crumble to dust with one solid push. He doesn’t like this, it feels too much like he’s in the middle of a serious ghost battle; the lemon/lime stench of ectoplasm in the air doesn’t help.

He’s unsure what to do at this time, stay put and wait for the first responders to start yelling that it’s safe and to come out? or risk going out himself? Both options left him at risk of a violent ghost, like the one just previously after him.

But what he doesn’t get about that is what in the name of Shakespeare did that ghost mean?!? When Lancer threatened Jasmine with ruining Daniel’s entire future that was not meant literally! So why had that ghost seemingly acted as if it was literal? And better yet, what did that ghost seem to want with Daniel?

Yes Lancer was well aware of the Fenton family business, who wasn’t?, and that his parents very likely had plans for him to take over the business one day, but as far as Lancer knew Daniel had little to no interest in that. Maybe Daniel was more involved with ghosts than he knew? Or maybe the Fenton parents' intentions to have him inherit the business was exactly why a ghost was interested in Daniel. Sabotaging or influencing a future important hunter would be something that ghosts would consider doing, even if said future hunter had zero interest in being a hunter. Shaking his head, all this think is getting him nowhere, he needs to decide his actions now.

Swallowing, well he was a man of risks, both calculated and sudden. And it has been a bit.. Gulping Lancer lifts a foot to move to step out before pausing and glancing back to the staff, it sitting innocently on the ground. What would happen if someone else stumbled upon that? Nothing good he imagines. Nodding to himself before gathering it up gingerly and returning to taking a cautious step out of the alley way; at the very least he can use the staff as a beating implement or a spear even.

But stepping out is like exiting an empty silent movie theatre into a crowded mall, like time itself had been stopped until he made up his mind to step forward. The scene that greets him is like an active war zone, people are running around without paying attention to where they’re going, there’s screaming, something is cackling with a heavy echo in the distance, an entire building starts collapsing; Lancer doesn’t know where to look or what to do so he just... stands there, frozen in spot.

At least until he sees what brought down the building, or more so who, a crumbled body flopping and skidding across the ground surrounded by rubble. At first all he can make out is the red suit, The Red Huntress, that’s enough to get him running; running off towards the downed Huntress. but when he gets close... he sees the dark skin, the shaved military hair cut, and the determined expression even with blood rapidly pooling around her head.

“Valerie!”. Lancer immediately kneels next to her, putting fingers to neck and grimaces over the lack of a pulse.

No ones ever died before. But... Lancer was trained to deal with death, in the case of a parent or Shakespeare forgive a student dying. So maybe he’s a little more calm than he should be but, no, never from a ghost attack. People might get hurt sure, but they don’t die! And this barely makes sense! Valerie looked to be in her late twenties. He scoops her up anyways, he is not just leaving her; gripping the staff tightly as he runs, panting heavily.

He sets her off near a more sturdy-looking building, there really was nothing he could do. Him slumping against the wall and crouching, “Chicken Soup For The Soul, what is going on here”, glancing at Valerie, “is this what the ghost meant by ‘cause of their death’?”, shaking his head and glancing to the staff, staring at the top, at the clock, the thing the ghost had been fiddling with. Was... was this a time-travelling device??? One way to find out... Lancer pokes at the nob on top, finding that won’t budge, then prodding the clock hands which move. Gulping, he pushes the hour hand backwards slowly and watches as the world around him reverses. Valerie seemingly glides along the ground and back through the building, the building puts itself back together, people run backwards; it’s a lot to take in.

Lancer pulls his hand away from the staff clock face, backs away from the people, slipping back into the alleyway and breathing out heavily. Glancing to the staff, “it is a time travel device”, he’s not sure whether to be in awe or completely horrified. Because that meant this was the future, he doesn’t want this to be that. Not by a mile. He flinches from the sound of a building collapsing, now knowing exactly what was happening out there.

Sliding down the wall and running a hand over his balding hair, he wants to go back, but what was the point of going back? His job was to prepare people for the future, prepare children for the future; but no one could be prepared for whatever this was. It was like something out of an apocalypse drama! The sound of another building going down sounds like definite emphasis. A sudden voice startles him, “that is indeed what it is”. Lancer snapping his head to the side and jolting upright, knees protesting; it’s the scythe-wielding ghost again... minus the scythe. And he looks like a proper ghost now, blue-skinned, cloaked, and sporting a ghostly tail.

Lancer narrows his eyes, more certain now that this ghost let him take the staff intentionally, “why?”.

The ghost almost seems to chuckle, “why not? A lesson taught in shock value sticks far better than any lesson plan, but I shouldn’t have to tell a human that. Now of course that isn’t the real question, now is it. No, the real one is why you”, the ghost floats a little closer, “why now”, and closer, “why here”, the ghost gets slightly closer and gestures with an arm, small screens appearing from thin air showing destruction taking place all around the globe, “and yet it’s not just here”; Lancer lets the ghost pretty well get up into his face, his back pressed up against the wall and shaking slightly. But where else is he going to go? Into the streets filled with suffering? He’ll take his chances here... and maybe this ghost had a point, not all ghosts were evil after all. Phantom proved that.

But as if on cue, a larger sneering ghost lands on the wall across the alleyway, cackling loudly and looking a lot like an older Phantom. But while Phantom felt safe, childish and goofy even, this ghost feels like death has arrived and is knocking down his front door with a battering ram. This ghost feels like terror and suffering without even looking at him; and looking felt like his god had come and he wanted nothing but his absolute obliteration. When Lancer jerked his head to take that unpleasant look to the side at the Phantom-like ghost, the strange ghost reaches out and taps the staff before yanking it away. Lancer snapping his head back to that ghost just as a purple portal opens up under his feet and he falls down. He’s almost glad purely because it’ll get him away from the Phantom-like ghost, away from death and torture come knocking.

If he stayed in this time, that time, nothing but brutal pain would await him.

-

Lancer staggers but manages to stay on his feet when he lands on the ground this time, putting a hand against what feels like wall to steady himself further; shivering still and glancing around cautiously. It looks as if he’s back in normal Amity but his gut’s doing flip-flops and, in the name of Dracula, he is trusting his gut. Especially after just having had run-ins with two of the only ghosts he’s ever felt truly and genuinely deeply afraid of. The only times he’s felt like something dead, something that was death itself, had set its eyes on him. His paranoia right now is cranked up to eleven.

Even so he still doesn’t expect the sudden explosion seeming to come from the building he’s directly behind that shakes the ground violently and blows out his eardrums, clapping his hands over his ears and wincing. He still walks cautiously to make his way around the building, coughing on the smoke as he goes; only to come face to face with bits and pieces of flesh and clothing.

Including clothing that looked disturbingly familiar to what was in his own closet. The breath he sucks in nearly makes him choke; from smoke and shock alike.

But looking up, there on the road, there’s Daniel kneeling on the ground with an outstretched hand looking stunned and red-eyed. And looking back down, Lancer understands, he gets it.

The bits of red hair.

The chunks of blue and orange spandex.

Half a dark-coloured beret.

The pair of almost jarringly intact faux leather combat boots.

The clothes that look so much like his own.

And the piece of the Nasty Burger sign impeded into the ground.

If Daniel never returned the test... this place, the Nasty Burger, was were he intended to take him and his parents; his sister of course would have came.... his friends too. They were there for him through thick and thin, even if that thick was cheating or expulsion or jail time or just a slap on the wrist. To Kill A Mocking Bird, they’d come faster and more determined than the boy’s own parents would.

There was something deeply wrong with that. Wasn’t there.

The sound of sirens overtaking the ringing in his ears gets him to look back up, back to Daniel who hasn’t so much as moved yet, his face is wet with tears. Lancer can’t do anything but watch the paramedics get to him, shake him and check him, try to ask him questions. He can’t do anything because... because he’s realised that this was what that ghost really meant. This was his own doing.

He brought Daniel and them all here in his vain self-indulgent desire to help the teen with what he thought were normal issues that just needed correction.

He brought them here and they all died because of it.

All of them but one.

And Lancer doesn’t have that staff to turn back the tides of time this time. He wishes he did because he doesn’t want, almost can’t bare, to watch Daniel be checked again and again. Watch the boy push them off when he remembers himself enough and refuses to let them take him away with surprising strength. Watches as Vladimir Masters, one of the richest men in the world, arrived seemingly out of nowhere and places a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The amount of pure hatred filling Daniel’s eyes makes Lancer unable to doubt for even a second that Vladimir has something to do with this. But the green that flares up in those eyes is what finally makes Lancer move, jerk a step backwards. Yet still watching as Vladimir subtly jabs Daniel with something and the teen goes limp; the man telling the paramedics that he’ll handle this, that he can look after the boy himself, that he’s family. At first they protest but, with red flashing in their eyes, they agree.

And then... everything stops as if it’s a photo rather than real life. Even the puffs of smoke and steam are still.

“For a mortal to be faced with their own death, it is a grounding thing, is it not”.

Lancer doesn’t bother turning around, watching Daniel’s limp frozen form instead, “that’s not it”.

“Ah then perhaps it is Daniel, the one left behind, the forgotten child to fall between the cracks. The one the system, your system, failed”.

Lancer swallows and shakes his head weakly, but he doesn’t deny it because it’s not a lie. Lancer knows in his gut that wherever Vladimir is taking Daniel he won’t come back from.

Daniel was going to die.

And Lancer helped ensure that.

Because he did what he was supposed to do. He tried to help and he did, in some ways. But he missed something, missed a malicious presence, so entirely, so completely, that it didn’t matter; that it did the opposite of help.

Lancer glances to the side as the ghost, now appearing to look like a small buck-toothed child, floats near his shoulder, “there are times that you, as a mortal, must realise when you are at your limit. When something is simply outside of your reach. When someone is. And you must let go. If you do not...”, they tilt the staff just slightly and Lancer is transported with them to a place that looks like a lab. Lancer’s stomach drops.

Daniel is strapped down and thrashing against the restraints on a table.

Vladimir forcing a gas mask onto his face and slowly... that struggling dies.

Clawed gauntlets are wielded and Lancer can only watch as Daniel gets impaled by them and thrashes even though he’s unconscious.

Phantom is torn from him like something out of a nightmare and he lunges at Vladimir full of rage and wrath. Lancer’s never seen anything like this from the ghost, rage and hatred. The desire to hurt. He sees now how Phantom could have grown to become the other version he saw. This was how he was tainted.

Phantom, in his rage, tears a ghost out of Vladimir and devours him piece by ectoplasm splattered piece. The teen ghost has completely lost it.

Daniel has slipped off the table and woken up, has tried crawling off to the corner. It does him no good as Phantom sets his sights on Daniel.

Lancer collapses down to his knees and nearly vomits when Phantom violently tears out Daniel’s stomach, tossing intestines and organs across the room before tearing Daniel’s throat out with his teeth. He’d never imagined even ghosts to be capable of such cruelty. A bout of insanity, surely, that the hero wouldn’t come back from.

This wasn’t just Daniel’s death, but the fall of a hero too. Where they one and the same? Lancer isn’t going to claim to know, not after today.

The strange ghost speaks up again as Lancer stares down at the blood pooling on the ground and slowly creeping towards his knees. “Someday I will teach that boy, and I will teach him well. So, I want to make a deal”, the ghost leans over his shoulder near his face, all Lancer can do is side-eye them as the ghost continues, “he will live, mostly. He will thrive, in a way. But he will amount to absolutely nothing in your mortal society. In fact, he will amount to less than that, another failed statistic. And you, you will let him. He will misbehave, and you will wave it off. He will skip and miss classes, and you will let it go. He will do everything worthy of expulsion, and you will act as if no wrong has been done. You are but a bump in the road of his existence and you will act like it, and you may become his favourite adult because of that fact alone. People often appreciate the simple things in life, do they not. So be a simple thing. Deal?”.

Lancer swallows, “and everyone will be alright”. He doesn’t really have a choice here, does he?

“But of course”. The ghost sounds sickly sweet.

Lancer doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to or what he may be condemning Daniel to, but he nods weakly anyway; anything would be better than this after all.

“Much appreciated. Truly. He’ll make for a very satisfying-”.

Lancer jerks, spinning around, suddenly back in his classroom, an open empty briefcase sitting on his desk. He does hear the end of the ghosts statement though...

“-god”.

Lancer stares forwards for a bit before shaking his head violently and slumping down into his desk chair. Eyeing the briefcase warily, moving his hand and closing the lid with a soft click. Closing the lid on this day. Closing the lid on a teenager's future. Closing the lid on Daniel.

There’s something’s he’s better off not knowing. And some people better off left unhelped. The book of Daniel Fenton’s life is staying firmly unread. ‘God’ that ghost had said...

Glancing to the wall clock, it’s about that time that he talked to Jasmine, before whatever exactly that ghost was that messed with everything. But this time... Lancer’s staying right here. He’s not moving from this chair, he’s not reopening that briefcase, and he’s not talking to anyone.

He’s... not going to ignore Daniel but he is not even going to consider interfering with him and whatever The Great Gatsby was going on with the teen. He’s also going to run away if he ever even glimpses that cloaked staff-wielding ghost again. Very far away.

Daniel looks shocky and shaky the next day, but at least he and everyone else is alive. And Lancer’s going to have to live with his decisions and actions, or lack thereof.  

End.

Prompt: Lancer + Time Travel

[thetypedwriter]

All the Young Dudes Fanfiction Review

All the Young Dudes Fanfiction Review by MsKingBean89

So. 

This is a first. 

If you’ve been following this blog for some time, then you know I generally read young adult books and write far too lengthy reviews on them with the occasional outlier of adult fiction, mystery, sci-fi, etc. 

At any given time, I usually have both a physical book that I’ve bought from somewhere that I’m working on (right now it’s Firekeeper's Daughter by Angeline Boulley) as well as a fanfiction that I reserve until before I go to bed (my treat for a day well lived). 

Fanfiction is something that I’ve mentioned copious amounts of times on this blog in varying degrees, but this is the first time I’ll be writing an actual review for one of them on this platform. 

The reason for this is myriad. 

One, this fanfiction called All the Young Dudes is a far-cry from your normal standardized fanfiction of 5-50,000 words-something I can easily consume in a few minutes to a few hours. 

Nope, this behemoth ends on a staggering 526,969 words and 188 chapters, not including bonus chapters and extra in-universe canonical content the author has also written and published. Roughly speaking, if this was actually published onto paper it would be well over 2,000 pages. 

2,000 pages. 

Yeah. And I enjoyed every single moment of it. 

Two, while I read a lot of fanfiction I generally don’t put any of it on this blog because while I’ve dedicated it to published novels, I also usually have very simple feelings about fanfiction. My thoughts run the gambit of: It was good, it was fluffy, it was a train-wreck, so on and so forth. 

Normally my reviews are so long and wordy because I have too many thoughts about the published books that I read and I need an outlet to let them loose. 

Whether because of its longevity or because of its content, All the Young Dudes is a story I find myself having a profusion of thoughts for. Hence, the birth of this review. 

If fanfiction isn’t your thing, feel free to skip this particular review of mine (although fanfiction is a gift to this world and you should really rethink your stance on it if you don’t like it, just saying). 

Third, All the Young Dudes is well written and rivals any actual published content. 

Fourth, because of how extensive this fanfiction is, it took me over a month to read it-time I generally would have been reading something else. Instead of leaving you all hanging for a few more weeks until I finish Firekeeper's Daughter (don’t hold your breath-the book is sort of a slog for me personally right now), I decided to just take the jump and write my first-ever typedwriter review for a fanfiction. 

Fanfiction has been a part of my life for the better part of almost two decades now. It was truly something I found by accident and in retrospect, it’s insane to me that it’s still something that brings me continuous joy and happiness. 

I discovered fanfiction when I was 11-years-old and deeply obsessed with the Harry Potter fandom. 

Now, as an overall disclaimer I completely disagree with J.K. Rowling’s stances of gender and biology and differ wholeheartedly with her views of trans and non-binary individuals. With that said, I still love Harry Potter as a story and while I no longer buy anything that profits J.K. Rowling directly, I still love the fandom and the people in it, including fanworks like All the Young Dudes. 

When I was 11, the seventh Harry Potter book had yet to come out and like many other people in this time period of agony while waiting for 2007 to roll around so that I could find out what happened, I discovered fanfiction as a way to fill in that ache I was so keenly feeling. 

I found myself suddenly immersed in this world of online fiction-both good and bad-but completely entrancing all the same. 

I never left. 

That is to say, I did eventually move onto other fandoms with their own fanfiction cultures, but Harry Potter was still my first in terms of fanfiction and introducing me to the concept as a whole. 

Specifically and maybe oddly, I never found myself curious for actual fanfiction about Harry or Hermione or Ron. In my mind, I already knew what had happened to them and reading about them in fanfiction was redundant. 

In addition, the first fanfiction I just happened to come across was a Lily/James marauder era fanfiction on mugglenet.com

This idea immediately intrigued me as fans as a whole knew next to nothing about the infamous Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs and while I knew everything I needed to about Harry Potter it was intoxicating to think that I could learn about a time before the series had existed and about characters who were important, but off screen. 

I was hooked and devoured as much as I could for most of middle school about the marauders and Lily and James’ romance in particular (I even wrote and published some of my own that will go unmentioned as they are truly really terrible). 

That being said, I haven’t read a Harry Potter fanfiction in years. I grew up and out of the fandom eventually thanks to Twilight and from there I’ve bounced from fandom to fandom as I’ve aged and consumed different things and fallen in love with different characters and different worlds. 

That isn’t to say I’ve forgotten though. 

I still remember my favorite marauder stories, my favorite Sirius Black/OFC (original female character), and my favorite baby Harry drabbles. They made such a huge impression on me and even though it’s been sixteen years, I still recall those stories with fond nostalgia and jubilation. 

Which is why it’s almost ironic that I would return to this particular time period of the marauders with All the Young Dudes. 

In a fashion that’s almost scarily full circle, I happened to be on Youtube one day and saw a recommendation video about this girl reviewing a fanfiction called All the Young Dudes. Now, youtube book reviews aren’t uncommon, but a thirty minute video for a fanfiction? Not your typical sighting. 

So out of pure curiosity, I searched All the Young Dudes fanfiction on Google and low and behold the overwhelming and top results were all for a marauder-era fanfiction by MsKingBean89. Piqued, I clicked on the link in ao3 and thought why not? 

While I’ve mainly been reading in other fandoms recently (BTS, some anime and manga, All for the Game) I had been in a little bit of a slump for finding a really good, really alluring story for some time and really didn’t think I had anything to lose by reading All the Young Dudes, especially as the more research I did, the more I found how popular it was-a plethora of videos on youtube, tiktok compilations, and dozens of fanart posts. 

Plus, it had been so long since I had read anything from my progenitor fandom and the thought of going back was strangely comforting.

Hence the journey of reading All the Young Dudes began and oh what a journey it was. 

Now, that this review is already five pages in, I should probably tell you what on earth All the Young Dudes is actually about. 

The whole story is a marauder-era fanfiction told from Remus Lupin’s POV from the summer of 1971 when Remus is 11-years-old to the summer of 1995 when he is 35-five-years-old. It is an in-depth portrayal of Remus’ time at Hogwarts from year one to year seven and then going all the way up to the start of the second wizarding world, ending around the time Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix begins. 

While already the scope makes this a massive undertaking, the author also includes all canonical content from the original series involving Remus, the Marauders, and the time period and incorporates it into her fanfiction-making it canon compliant from start to finish. 

While a very large portion of this story is not romantic, there is eventual WolfStar (Remus Lupin/Sirius Black) and if you have read the original Harry Potter series...well. You know things don't end up super dandy for these two characters in particular so you know how the story will end before it begins. 

This fanfiction left me speechless for so many reasons. 

The scope and length is frankly unbelievable. This fanfiction was published on March 2, 2017 and it was completed on November 12, 2018.

….how?

How did she manage that? I frankly have no idea, but I am in complete and utter awe at her ability to write content with such a magnitude and actually complete it. She gets an award just for that honestly. 

Not only that, but the fanfiction is actually superbly well-written. I won’t lie and say it’s the most poignant and beautiful piece of literature I’ve ever consumed, but it was consistent in its pacing, characterization, themes, motifs, and structure, which, for 2,000 pages, is an incredible achievement when you think about it. 

Speaking of characterization, everyone was So. Well. Done. 

Remus was such an interesting POV to read from and while he was compliant in every sense of the word-werewolf, prefect, bookish-MsKingBean89 added so much more to his character and fleshed him out so incredibly that it’s truly tragic that he’s not a real person. 

And to that extent, she does this with all of the characters. You see James’ optimism and leadership, Sirius’ arrogance and loyalty, Peter’s jealousy and chess skills. 

Every character was so well-rounded and real. She did an incredible job of taking the bits and pieces from the canon series and using that to build up her own flesh and blood people with motivations, likes, dislikes, dreams, and desires. 

That being said, she also had 2,000 pages to do it sooooooo it would be bad if the characters weren’t fleshed out by the end honestly. 

In addition, I really appreciated that she didn’t just focus on Remus, Sirius, James and Peter. Lily Evans played a critical role in Remus’ school life and after and so did the other Gryffindor girls like Marlene and Mary. 

Too often, the focus is on the boys and their close friendship and while that was a huge focus, we also get to see Remus develop friendships with the girls in his own right and other friends as well that were often OC’s of the author’s. 

Now. OC’s are generally something I dislike. I’m reading fanfiction to read about particular characters that I’ve sought after, not to read about some imaginary cast. However, just like any of the canon characters, all of the OC characters were well-developed and played crucial roles in Remus’ development-while either at Hogwarts or after-and I found myself not minding them in the least. In a few cases (Grant) I actually really loved them. 

The biggest draw for this fanfiction for me was Remus’ time at Hogwarts. It was so well-written and incredibly descriptive and I found myself thrust back into the world of magic so suddenly and seamlessly that it was like I never left. 

MsKingBean89 includes so many intricate details and builds up the world so beautifully that I’d recommend any Harry Potter fan to consume it, just to get some good Hogwarts material out of it. 

Another thing I greatly appreciate about this fanfiction was the slow burn. I’ve read slow burn before (All for the Game trilogy anybody?), but this truly took the cake. Sirius and Remus don’t properly get together until the end of year six going into year seven. That’s over 100 chapters in. 

100 chapters out of 188. 

Meaning that over half of this beast doesn’t have the main pairing even together. For some people, this could be a drawback. You might think to yourself: It takes how long for them to confess their feelings and stop being prats?

A very, very long time. 

However...it didn’t bug me. I like slow burn to begin with, but being along for the ride as Remus goes from being a child to an adolescent with unrequited feelings to being in a relationship with someone he loves is so rewarding and fulfilling that the 100 previous chapters are completely and utterly worth it. 

MsKingBean89 develops them so well and so carefully that the payoff is so sweet and satisfactory that it's enough to bring the tears right then and there. 

The last huge feat of this fanfiction for me was the author’s dedication to canon not just confined to Hogwarts and the Harry Potter books, but also to the time period. Either she lived through the 70’s and 80’s herself or she had done her due diligence when it comes to research because anything from London anti-gay laws to British slang was commonplace in her fic. 

I found it completely amazing how she was able to tie in real-time historical and cultural moments like famous singers and movies playing at the time alongside convoluted muggle politics warring with the wizarding ones. 

I was so blown away by the accuracy and genuine love behind this fic that it often brought me out of my own mind to simply ponder once again how much work this was and how well she was delivering it. 

Even unpleasant things, like homophobia and bigotry, are dealt with in a very carefully constructed way that is aligned with the time period in which the story takes place. 

Unfortunately, everything beautiful is not without flaws and All the Young Dudes is not the exception, although it’s flaws are nary compared to its achievements. 

The few complaints I have with this fic are honestly quite negligible. 

First, there are a few grammatical and punctuation errors. Very few, but I did notice some. 

Next, and again, this complaint is really just me whining, but...the end of the fic was really fucking sad. The end of this whole story took me so much time to complete simply because I didn’t want to read it. 

I know what happened during the first wizarding war and I also know what ended it (James and Lily Potter dying, Harry being shipped off to the Dursley’s, Sirius imprisoned for a murder he didn’t commit, Peter presumed dead) and in one fell swoop Remus lost everything and everyone he ever loved. 

After spending over 1,500 pages of Remus growing to love these people it is absolutely devastating and heart-breaking to see him lose it all. 

The last handful of chapters are just really, really sad and it makes me wonder why MsKingBean89 decided to write it in the first place. Frankly, I don't know why she didn't write about Remus’ time at Hogwarts and stop after graduation because we all know what happens after that and none of it is good. 

Looking back, I wish I could time travel and tell myself to stop at chapter 150. I truly didn’t need to read about the tragedies that happened after that and the hell that all of the characters go through. 

And while it does end on a….sort of kind of maybe positive (?) note with Sirius and Remus reuniting briefly once the events of Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban take place, it was really tainted and bittersweet for me knowing that in a year Sirius would die and Remus would marry his fucking cousin and have a child. 

Urgh. 

I just can’t. 

That being said, I understand it’s not the author’s fault and I’m not saying it is. She wrote a canon compliant fic to the end and it was my choice to continue reading. That being said, she said she ended it before the events of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix because Sirius and Remus are happy and back together and she didn’t want to write what was coming next if she continued. 

I truly, truly get that. 

But in the same vein, why even write the events of the first wizarding world to begin with then? I’m confused with that response as it doesn’t make much sense to me. I felt like ending it right then and there was not a happy ending. They’re together, yes, but at this point they are both shells of who they used to be. Both have severe trauma and PTSD and frankly I don’t even know if I agree with them being together just because they’ve put each other through so much. 

It’s just an interesting choice at the end of the day in terms of the author. 

Once again, however, I truly understand that she can do whatever she wants and that she doesn’t owe anyone anything, especially as she’s writing this for free and just because. So please keep in mind that although I’m complaining, I truly understand how fortunate we are to even have this fic in the first place. 

Okay. 

Secondly, my only other huge complaint is that MsKingBean89 made Remus gay. Not bi, not pan. Gay. 

You could argue that Remus just calls himself gay in the fanficiton as he didn’t know about other kinds of sexuality. You could argue that Remus’ sexuality changes and develops as he ages and experiences trials and tribulations. You could argue that it was a sign of times like so much else in this fic. 

I frankly just found it to be a frustrating choice as the fic is canon compliant and even though it ends before the events of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows we know that Remus eventually marries Tonks and has a baby son named Teddy Lupin. 

How does that make sense?

I tried very, very hard to come up with some sort of feasible explanation for how a gay man would have ended up with the love of his life’s female cousin and truly could not think of one that was not fucked up to some degree. 

Again. I know I’m being nit-picky, but it irked me that she made this choice regarding Remus’ sexuality and essentially ended her fic with Remus stuck in a corner regarding how the series actually ends. 

At the end of the day, all of the negatives are truly, truly not important. I’m just whinging to whine and to express my thoughts, but I do once again understand that MsKingBean89 isn’t profiting from this fic and that she can do what she wants as is her prerogative. 

I hope I was able to express that while I understand that, I can still be frustrated with some of the choices she made. 

To wrap this all up, All the Young Dudes is a masterpiece and is a must-read for anyone who loves Harry Potter, the Marauders, or Wolfstar. I was blown away by the sheer magnitude, the love and care she put into her craft, the slow and deliberate development of all the characters, the beautifully constructed love between Sirius and Remus, and the intricate world-both muggle and magic-that surrounded the story like a cocoon. 

I am so happy I found this fic and I truthfully am floundering at what to do with myself next. If you have any more current Marauder era fics that I’ve missed out in the past eleven years, please don’t hesitate to let me know. 

Recommendation: Go read All the Young Dudes. For weeks, you will cry, you will laugh, you will despair, and you will smile. This fanfiction will make you wish this was canon and in my mind, it now is. 

Score: 8/10

Links:

1. All the Young Dudes on ao3 

2. The Youtube Video about All the Young Dudes that made me aware of its existence 

[holycatsandrabbits]

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 1

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

NEXT

Chapter 1

1993

Professor Liam Beyer was born a decade after the deaths of the last soldiers to fight in the US Civil War. Thus, he was not expecting to meet a Union Army veteran in his 4 o’clock symposium on the Battle of Antietam.

Liam noticed the man as soon as he walked in, and not just because it was odd for a member of the public to show up for a faculty lecture at the university. No, the man caught Liam’s attention because he was distractingly handsome. Literally, Liam was distracted enough to drop his pen onto the overhead projector, causing a giant shadow to loom over the map of Maryland on the screen behind him, as if a third army had materialized there in a dense offensive line.

The man was of average height, with a slender build. He had dark hair in a short, modern cut and wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a faded label. He looked like he might be thirty, which was about the age Liam was, and so Liam did not immediately assume that the man had seen action in the Civil War. But there was something faintly strange about him, just in the way that he walked, light on his feet like a dancer, but stepping firmly, without a dancer’s well-practiced grace.

“General Lee,” Liam continued, in a slightly strangled voice, “of the Confederate Army, was, of course, outnumbered, but the battle was Union General McClellan’s to lose. Had he understood how superior his force was, had he taken more risks, he might have been able to deal a decisive blow to Lee’s army as it retreated. In fact, McClellan’s performance at Antietam was part of the reason that President Lincoln later removed him from duty.”

Liam put up a transparency of a white church with peeling paint, standing alone on a grassy rise. “On September 17, 1862, 7,650 soldiers died at Antietam, making it the bloodiest day for Americans in history. Two days later, a man named Alexander Gardner took some of the first widely-seen battlefield photographs of dead soldiers. Some were awaiting burial, and some were still lying where they fell. It was very difficult at the time to take photographs of battles themselves, as the technology involved careful treatment of glass negatives, and that was nearly impossible under battlefield conditions. But the dead do not move, and these photographs were so clear that when displayed in New York, family members recognized their fallen sons.”

Liam put up a transparency of one of Gardner’s photographs, young men lying on the ground in an oddly perfect line. The unknown man looked away.

oOo

Liam had grading to do after his symposium, but he walked to the campus union to grab a sandwich first. He was definitely not expecting Handsome Unknown Lecture Man to appear out of the crowd and drop into the seat opposite him. Liam was very proud that he did not choke on his bite of ham and swiss.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the man. “I enjoyed your lecture. My name is Kurt.”

Liam put his hand out to shake. Kurt’s touch was faintly cold. “Liam,” he said.

Kurt cocked his head slightly to the side, as if assessing him. “I know. Liam Beyer, 27, assistant professor of history, specializing in battles. Is Antietam your favorite?”

“Um— one of them. I did my dissertation on it. On McClellan, specifically.” Liam felt slightly odd about the fact that this stranger knew who he was, but of course, it was all publicly accessible information. “Are you a Civil War buff?”

“Somewhat.” Kurt leaned back in his chair. “Antietam, god. I remember Bloody Lane— that’s what they called it after. The road was sunken in because so many wagons had gone by over the years. It was like trying to fight your way out of your own grave trench.” Kurt spoke with a faint accent that Liam could not place, something that seemed to shift from one place to another.

“You talk like you were there,” Liam said, smiling. “Are you a reenactor?”

Kurt gave a sharp laugh. “No. You?”

“I’ve been a technical advisor. It’s nice to meet other people who share my strange obsession.”

“Those pictures you showed,” Kurt said. “Photography is such a bewitching art. Those boys are long gone, but remain ever present in death.”

“You know, the war helped make Spiritualism popular,” Liam said. “It was so hard on the families back home to lose contact with their soldiers, not knowing what happened to them, or when, or where. They couldn’t bear it, and turned to mediums.”

Kurt smiled, and it made his bright green eyes sparkle with amusement. “Have you ever been to a seance?” he asked. Liam shook his head. “Most I’ve been to were quite boring,” Kurt said. “But every once in awhile—”

“That sounds like a good story.”

“I’ll tell you sometime.” Liam’s brain was already far too occupied with how attractive he found this poor man, and that was probably why the sentence sounded more like a salacious promise than it really was.

“So what do you do?” Liam asked faintly, crumpling his empty sandwich wrapper. “Are you a student?”

“Not at the moment. Just a fan of history. Of battles, actually.” Kurt leaned forward a little. “Liam, would you mind if I came to your office tomorrow to talk more? I have some questions and I think you might be the one to help me answer them.”

“I— of course.” Liam told himself that he agreed solely because he liked to talk about history with people, and that it didn’t matter whether or not said people were ridiculously attractive.

Kurt smiled at him again. “Until tomorrow then.”

On his way out of the dining hall, Liam was stopped by a student with a question about an assignment on Gettysburg. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” she said.

“Oh, it would have been fine,” Liam told her. “We were talking about the Civil War ourselves.”

The student gave him a confused look. “Dr. Beyer— weren’t you eating alone?”

oOo

In the end, Liam decided that as he’d never dreamed up a handsome man in quite so much detail before, that the student had been mistaken and simply had not noticed Kurt’s presence at Liam’s table.

And yet. There really was something very strange about the man. Liam couldn’t quite pin it down, just that there was a disconnect between what Liam was seeing and what he was feeling about him. For example, Kurt appeared to be thirty, but Liam would swear he was older. Kurt had looked perfectly natural at dinner, but it had also seemed like he didn’t quite fit in with his surroundings. Like if you’d taken a photograph of him at the table, he would have been slightly too bright, out of focus, or without a shadow.

Kurt’s knock on Liam’s office door finally came around eleven, and Liam was, he realized, far too happy to see him again. At first, nothing about the visit seemed terribly odd. They discussed Antietam again, then traveled forward to the Somme, and then much farther back, Megiddo and Kadesh. Kurt seemed to know less about those battles, Liam noted, but he was quite familiar with things taking place after Thermopylae in the 5th century BC.

It was easy to talk to Kurt, especially about interests they had in common, and as the conversation went on, Kurt seemed to relax a bit, which made Liam do the same. The day before, Liam had thought Kurt moved without grace, but that wasn’t exactly right. Kurt had a different kind of grace, a fluidity of small movements instead of large ones, an artistry shown in the fluttering of fingers while the rest of the man kept entirely still. The emphasis on such small motions seemed to draw Liam in, narrowing his focus away from his surroundings and onto his visitor. But at the same time, Kurt had such an air of other about him, that it was almost like Liam was looking at him through beveled glass, never quite getting the whole image at once.

However, Liam’s sense of ease around Kurt vanished entirely when another student knocked on Liam’s door with a question about an assignment. That in itself was perfectly normal, but during the whole time that the student was in Liam’s office, she didn’t speak to Kurt or apologize for interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give a single look to the chair that Kurt occupied beside Liam’s desk.

When the student had left, Liam leaned back in his chair, trying to fake the calmness that he no longer felt. “All right,” he said, watching his visitor carefully. “You want to tell me why I’m the only person who can see you?”

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

NEXT

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

[anayaahwrites]

KOT Ficlet #5 (Momoya Natsu/ Yoshinaga Atsumu)

When the lights start flashing like a photo booth (And the stars exploding, we'll be fireproof.)

Warning: Themes of underage drinking and implied sexual content.

Natsu roughly based on this art by @sasukeslove

A small AU on MomoYoshi's first meeting:

...

Natsu is six when he learns about Angels.

He’s perched on mama’s lap, carrying a new storybook with tiny hands and slowly pronouncing all the words. Her proud smile encourages him to read the larger words too, the ones he’d avoid out of embarrassment—something about a pro-fe-cky and a pro-mice that He exists up there somewhere, over the pillowy clouds watching down on them.

Mama tucks him in that night and tells Natsu to close his eyes and pray because Angels only come to good boys.

He’s ten when it all sounds like bullshit to him.

Over the years, Mom’s rosy smile had withered into a fatigued sigh, a cry for help to the God that never answers no matter how much they pray. Dad was more a guest than a resident. He came around once in a while to eat lunch—with a taut smile plastered eerily over his smooth features—and swiftly vanish to not return in that week .

They’ve stopped waiting for him and Natsu stops asking questions.

He’s thirteen when he meets Sei, a child around his age, except so much more charming and calm and composed for someone that carried half the same set of genes Natsu had. He learns of his father’s betrayal and is honestly shocked at his own lack of surprise. Still, he questions his God and why why why would He let mom’s heart shatter like that?

Sei is quick to laugh and tell him that God doesn’t exist and mom is just a victim to their monster of a father.

So he goes home that day to his outraged mother, hair coloured like glittery Christmas tinsel and sapphire lenses replacing his usual shade of honey brown. She snaps at the sight, yelling at him till her throat closes up, till nothing but a harsh sob escapes her and he lets her. They both had to cope somehow.

By the fall of his fourteenth year, he gets pierced four times and stops talking to his mother almost completely.

To hell with dad. To hell with God.

Natsu is fifteen, and he doesn’t care about anything anymore.

He’s fifteen and quickly realising from his daily job as a guitarist in the club that girls aren't attractive no matter how much they flock around him. He still humours them sometimes, a touch here, a kiss there since the pay is good enough for him to add some extra service on his part.

Mom plies herself with work as often as possible, to douse her misery in the decayed scent of piled papers and clunking keyboards. She leaves Natsu to deal with everything else on his own like the obedient son he is, letting him go like dad left her.

Natsu is alright, though. He’s done this far longer than she knows.

He stops reaching out to her, stops talking to someone up in the skies, settling instead to live a tranquil life in the shadows, under the dependable shade of music. He hates people. He hates the world.

Natsu is basking in the warmth of another uneventful day in the club, when in walks a boy out of fucking nowhere and his entire world tips on its axis.

The boy takes shaky, wary steps as if he were balancing on a trapeze. Dark black bangs like thick black rain spill over the side of his face, half covering wide brown eyes. Splotches of pink and porcelain white stick out where his sweater ends and skin begins. He’s small and delicate and beautiful, Natsu’s heart skips a beat. Or two. Or maybe three.

And why should he lie? Natsu has seen beautiful, quite a few varieties of it too. But this…this was different. This was unreal.

The boy looks around nervously before he catches something and there’s a spark in those hazel eyes, sharp and electric, a smile tugging at his lips.

Natsu follows his gaze. On the stage lies his own guitar—a pre-performance habit for people to know he was next. He took great pride because this itself garnered more clusters than anyone in the entire house.

Natsu smiles. So he was a fan.

He downs the customary shot of vodka, waving at the people before hopping on stage and wrapping the sling around his neck. He scours the audience for a familiar face and it doesn’t take a lot, to spot a splatter of ink black in the crowd, batting eager eyelids at him. The smaller boy realises the attention on him and glances behind to confirm his suspicion.

By the time he swings around, eyes blown wide in a stare, Natsu plays the first chord.

In an instant, his expression shifts to a mix of awe and interest, a silent worship and a loud cheer compiled in one small, thin body. He claps more than anyone else in the room, beaming like a floodlight by the time Natsu finishes.

It was nothing strange. He played among cheers every day but none felt as satisfying with this voice hooting and clearly standing out from his regular gang of squealing girls. He throws his head back laughing back stage when no one is there to see.

By the time Natsu gets out on the floor again, a little more thrilled for the night and dressed in something less flashy, he’s gone. He screws his lips in displeasure and asks his friend to make him something stronger than the usual.

This happens more nights than not, and it was frustrating him.

The moment Angel boy—as he’s dubbed him, steps in through the door, Natsu traces his every move and quickly registers a pattern. He only comes around on days the club was the busiest—specifically during Natsu’s performance, talks to no one and leaves before he has the chance to even ask a name.

Not that Natsu was interested in him or anything. He was just curious, is all—why this boy looked like a starved pet every time he saw him on stage and if he really smelled like soft winter blankets and warm fireplaces, all angelic and pure.

Okay, so maybe he was a little interested.

Months pass like that.

The mid-November chill comes with its blistering snowstorms and the club is jam packed—winters were some of their busiest months—and Natsu’s up to perform. Instead of preparing, he watches the door resolutely from the bar, tapping impatiently at the table.

As routine, it barely opens a crack, and he sees a sliver of ebony snaking it’s way through the crowd. The boy stands on his tippy-toes which don’t give him much of a view, so he does these tiny jumps—that are so adorable, for a second Natsu forgets his own name—and scowls when he notices no guitar on stage.

He checks the time, the stage and then scans the crowd. The anticipation throbs through Natsu as he follows his eyes cross the room in slow motion, dragging dragging until they eventually land on him. Everything stills—the thundering music, the singing and all he can hear is the low thump of veins against his skin.

It’s over in a flash.

“That your Angel boy?” The bartender gestures at the figure turning tail and running, drying the pad on his prized work station. He skillfully pours two coloured liquids into an oddly shaped glass and passes it over the counter to him.

Natsu hums, swirling the absinthe stained drink in hand, eyeing the smaller boy gasp as a couple slams against the door, clearly piss drunk with her suspended over his thighs and gyrating her hips into the man.

“Hey, chief.”

“Hm?”

“You think I can get off early tonight?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Like now.” Natsu answers, never letting his gaze falter from the head full of black hair slowly receding through the crowd, horrified.

The man guffaws, lifting a glass of water—since he can’t drink on duty—and clinking it with Natsu’s.

“Must be fuckin’ Christmas if you’re taking interest in anyone, so I’ll let this one pass. Don’t scare him off now. He already looks like a trembling lamb.”

Natsu knocks back the contents, swallowing the liquid till it numbs his entire mouth and smirks.

“I’ll try.”

So he follows the boy. Hands are immediately all over him from faces he recognises in passing—a girl he once kissed, someone that made him cake, but he pushes them off.

His boy of interest forces the hood of his shirt up all the way, and glances behind him once before increasing his pace. Maybe the lights are really getting to him and maybe Natsu is a little tipsy when he reaches out to grab his hand.

The boy flips around to lock eyes frantically, as if a ghost had seized him.

“Hey.” Natsu musters his sweetest smile.

“Hi..” The boy replies.

And oh, his voice. It’s sugary sweet and so so soft like—like actual rolls of smooth and silky cotton had woven them. He blushes fiercely under Natsu’s relentless gaze and stares where their hands were connected in a tight grip as if it burned holes through him.

Natsu frowns. “Don’t run.”

The boy’s gaze shoots up, and he’s pulling away.

“I-I’m sorry I really h-have to go—”

“It’s my birthday.” Goddamn, he must be really wasted to admit that. Now that he thinks about it, what did he just drink?

Twentieth November, the day he was born and incidentally also the day he found his father’s tongue down another woman’s throat, holding a child over his shoulder.

“Oh,” The boy stops, pursing his lips and letting the hood go all the way down before flashing easily one of the most ethereal smiles Natsu has ever seen.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” he replies awkwardly. “It’s not going really well.”

“No?”

Natsu nods. “It’s nothing different.”

“You want it to be special?”

The buzz in his nerves practically screamed a yes to that—he wanted something to remember, to bury the horrible memories he associated with this day, for the days he wished he was never born in the first place. He wanted to fit it all in this one boy in one night, this angel he didn’t even know, to free him from himself.

Natsu tightens his grip. “Dance with me?”

Oh boy, the alcohol was talking.

Angel boy looks at Natsu with wide doe eyes, peers back at their hands and gulps. Natsu frowns and releases his hold. He was drunk, probably a little more than he’d admit to, but he didn’t want to pressurize anyone—not when this boy already looked so out of his element, a beige hoodie and skinny jeans in a club full of scantily clad folk.

But he reverses the roles, grabbing Natsu by the fingers so delicately, he releases a soft hum of satisfaction. He rubs fingers between his own, feeling the brush of calloused fingertips on them. It reminds him of mom’s soft chest rising and falling when she slept beside him because he was her ‘perfect little angel’ and made him feel safe.

He misses it. Misses being safe. Misses being loved.

“Okay,” the boy mumbles, peering from under his natural hood of hair with a light smile. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

Natsu doesn’t really know what he’s doing anymore. The lights blink and they’re suddenly in stop motion. It tricks his brain into thinking of them as pictures trapped some place in his brain forever. So he stares and stares and captures the blush spreading like wildfire across the boy’s face, a smile widening in tandem with the soft beats.

They’re two faces among a thousand on a random winter night. The music isn’t his type nor is his attire anything to be proud of. But this boy. Holy heavens, if he isn’t the prettiest thing ever then the stars should be ashamed because damn, he’d beat them even on a bad day.

His hair sways—a steady swing of left right left right and a pleasant smile sits snug on his features like that’s where they belonged, that’s where they had always belonged and Natsu closes his eyes when their hands meet again.

This is perfect.

It’s when the music stills that they transition to a slower lull of movement, and the blaze of liquor in his blood emboldens him into yanking the boy a little closer. He lets him fall with a small plop on his chest and laughs when he rubs his nose, scowling.

“Why do you never wait back?” He asks, exhaling at the warmth the boy’s presence brings. Natsu puts his hand around his waist and he swears, it was like he wasn’t human, like someone had sculpted him out of clay, moulded to near perfection. And maybe he’s treading into dangerous waters, but his mouth had a mind of its own and there’s nothing he could do to stop it.

“I always look for you after I’m done but you’re never here.”

Pair of hazelnut eyes sheepishly peer at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just.… not good at socializing.”

“So you say,” Natsu laughs, “But you’re doing better than me.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

“You have to be kidding me you’re so cool—and and so beautiful I really cannot—since the beginning I haven’t been able to take my eyes off—”

He squeaks when he's dragged closer by the small of his back. Their eyes meet. Natsu sees flashes of every happy moment of his life mirrored in them; His first recital, mom’s naturally loud laugh, the first time he played the guitar. They reach into Natsu’s soul and drag out his joy like the reel of a kite.

“I thought you were an angel,” he chuckles so close, he feels the boy shiver against his cheek. “I still do. Everyone here calls you Angel boy. Score a drink from them with that name sometime. I’m sure they’ll oblige you.”

“Angel? I—” He breathes a giggle, twisting silver strands with his fingers. “If there’s any angel here, it’s you.”

But this is fake, he wants to say. It’s fake, artificial, made of desperation because he never wants to look into the mirror and see his father’s face staring back at him. He won’t be him. He won’t.

“Atsumu,” he says. “My name is Atsumu.”

“Atsumu.” Natsu repeats in his head till it rolls naturally over his tongue. Like Atsu meaning heat and summer and everything bright and cheery.

Natsu purposefully lingers near his ear, to breathe his name in the air, smiling, content.

“ ‘Tsumu. It’s cute,” he hums. “You’re cute.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Definitely.” He chuckles.

Atsumu whispers, low and uneasy. “C-can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.” At this point, his voice gave him a greater high than the drink he had downed fifteen minutes ago. Or was it an hour? He couldn’t really tell and decided very quickly he didn’t care, anyway.

“Why don’t you.. come to school?”

Natsu’s eyes open a crack to glimpse at the boy who trembles softly under him, as if he were admitting to a crime.

“I—” he continues in alarm, “I swear I’m not a stalker I just—Oh my god please don’t misunderstand me—”

“Calm down.” Natsu shushes, smiling apologetically at the few people around him that had been torn out of their aggressive make-out session as if they weren’t the ones that needed a room. God, if he sees another dick hanging out, he’ll have to bust out the chainsaw in the basement and go wild.

“So,” he leads them to a quieter corner with very few people and lesser eyes their way. “School,” he waves a hand dismissively, “It’s boring. Lots of people. Annoying questions. You know the drill.”

“Right,” he gulps. “Right so, I’m uhh—in your class I don’t think you noticed and I’m from an instrument club and someone asked us a question. Something about erotic sounds—wait that sounds bad—not erotic erotic but.…Ah, I’m bad at explaining.”

Natsu doesn’t keep back the dreamy giggle that leaves him, swaying lightly to the music. He’s exactly as he imagined—hell, even his name was spot on—all warm and giggly and fluttery.

“I’m still listening,” Natsu smiles. “Go on.”

Atsumu scrunches his nose and continues. “So one of my club seniors—he comes of a little rough but he’s really nice—went to one of my other seniors house who I think he really likes, and her mother told him it’s—I’m sorry am I too confusing?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Okay, so basically, her mother says it’s the pause in between his words and actions. The space that is just…there. And so I was writing about it—because I write everything—and Oka-kun saw my book.”

Natsu scowls. “Oka is annoying like that.”

The boy giggles this time. “Funny. He said you’d say that.”

“It’d be nice if he attempted to change it, then.”

“And so he told me you play music, where you work and that maybe you could do something good for once—I didn’t say that he did—So…” He moves his hand vaguely around them. “Here I am.”

Natsu hums against his head, bringing him to a slower pace as the song changes.

“I’ll have to thank him for that.”

“You’re not..angry?” He says through furrowed brows. “Oka-kun said you would be if you found out.”

He’s certain if Oka showed up here uninvited, Natsu would promptly kick him out. Because Oka is annoying. Atsumu however….

“So? Did you get your answer?” He asks instead.

The smaller boy makes a face, pulling all his features in to make his button nose stand out more than it already does and pout.

Natsu laughs. He’s been doing a lot of that today. Laughing.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Don’t get me wrong! Your performances are splendid and I really can’t get enough of them but the answer…I still haven’t reached a conclusion.”

Natsu plays with the fingers in his hand, shuffling to let them sink into the gap between his. Atsumu stares and responds by shyly tucking his fingers in.

“Want me to help you?” He whispers, tapping the side of Atsumu’s waist with his other hand.

“Can you?” He whispers back.

Can he? Yes. Should he? Probably not.

But what use is logic anyway, when a boy the embodiment of a sunny summer day amid a bitter winter stood enclosed in his arms?

Yeah. To hell with logic.

Natsu sways his hips, raking his free hand through Atsumu’s hair. He releases a pleased sigh when the tiny fingers between his tighten as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality, which was good. Natsu felt the same, like his sanity was slowly slipping through open fingers.

“Spaces…exist everywhere. In words, in voices, in time…” He draws their joined hands to his mouth, dragging wet lips over porcelain skin. Atsumu shudders, breathing in sharp, shallow exhales.

“These hands..there’s a space in between them too if you look carefully. We’re so close,” fingers tighten around his shirt. “But still never close enough.

He runs a palm down the boy’s face that angles and angles till plush, red lips are within kissing distance. They part and blow warm clouds of air that taste mint and chocolate in his mouth. Natsu smiles. “Space is where there is distance. Space is where there is intimacy. Space is where there is friction. And this exciting gap that keeps us wanting to be closer till not even an atom could squeeze in—” he leans in closer, “—is erotic.”

He backs away while he has the physical capacity to do so, before the alcohol overrides every decision in his head and they end up a tangled mess of limbs in some random hotel room, but Atsumu having none of it.

He pulls Natsu to himself, clutching the pleats of his shirt and tugging him down to his lips. Teeth knock loudly against each other and Natsu hisses lightly, parting to lick the tingle in the tip of his incisor away.

“S-sorry!” Atsumu covers his embarrassment behind shaky hands. Natsu wraps thin fingers under his chin, reeling him in slow and steady and closes the distance. It’s soft, like a snowflake on a tree, virgin snow settling on frozen water and ironically, melts him. It boils and freezes, ignites his soul into a firework of bursting flames. He’s touching, feeling, pulling until every inhale feels like fire in his lungs.

“Closer,” Atsumu murmurs, throwing nimble hands over his shoulder and locking their lips together like puzzle pieces on a gameboard. “Make the space go away.”

It’s chaotic, and it’s magical. Like every star in the galaxy twinkled around them tonight, like every blossoming flower settled wherever Atsumu touched him. He’s drunk on vodka, drunk on happiness, drunk on love.

Closer. Natsu pushes a knee in between his thighs. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head.

Closer. The hands in his air pull him in for another searing kiss, pressing for entry, to delve deeper, deeper into themselves. Atsumu nibbles lightly on his lip and Natsu lets him bruise him for tonight. To wreck him, destroy him.

Closer.

They settle for a slower casual rhythm when they part to breathe. He keeps them moving on the floor, smiling against a pair of swollen lips.

“School suddenly sounds much more interesting.” He says.

Atsumu squints incredulously. “We can’t do this at school.”

“No?”

“No!”

Natsu shrugs, pecking the tip of the boy’s nose. “Shame.”

“Then you’ll come?” Atsumu bumps his forehead against Natsu’s. “I’ll really see you tomorrow?”

“If you can walk home straight after tonight, then sure.”

Atsumu gasps and slaps him across the back, blushing as they leave the club, hand in hand, away into the wintery night.

Natsu turns sixteen—a little drunk, a lot happy—but he’s sixteen and he can pinpoint this as the day he falls in love even years later.

And every other birthday is insignificant but so much better, spent at home, in the arms of the boy that saved him in just one night, all those years ago.

Mom only ever asks where he’s going and who he’s moving in with while he packs his bags to leave. She frowns when he answers with the widest smile on his face, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“An Angel.”

Ignore the sloppy writing haha. I'm writing this while travelling back home after a god awful six hour exam.

It felt too plotless to post on my ao3 kdkcd—

If you look at the colouring of Natsu I based it on (go give @sasukeslove all the real love), I imagine the art as the morning after when Oka's annoying Natsu and Atsumu walks in through the door (≧▽≦)

[mythicamagic]

wow! that's an amazing list. “i’ve been falling in love with you since the first day we met”

A continuation of other tumblr prompts I’ve made into a fic - here

Hopefully chapter four will be the end lolol this fic has been far longer than I intended it to be.

---

Kagome stared out at passing scenery beyond her window with a glazed look dulling her eyes. Heavy thoughts carried her attention far away from the mundane train ride. She hadn't visited Kyoto in years, and especially not for such a special reason before.

Shippo's voice had sounded so strange on the phone. Mature, but not overly deep, maintaining its playfulness. He'd invited her over for a visit right away.

A 'bing!' noise roused her enough to check her phone- which showed a picture of Natsuki posing with a spear and fresh kill.

Kagome snorted, resting her chin on her knuckles. There were a few things about Natsuki that she was surprised Sesshoumaru hadn't commented on.

Number one; her boyfriend was a demon.

And number two; he was, specifically, an inuyoukai. A mongrel. She imagined Sesshoumaru felt mighty smug to know she'd found a demon of the same species as him to date. Natsuki being of mixed breeding surely made the Daiyouki feel all the more superior.

But Kagome had never cared about such things. She'd loved Inuyasha once, too.

The short version of their 'getting together' just two months prior was that she'd located a demon bar a few years ago and had been dating youkai ever since, using the place as a means to meet them. The relief of finding the secret den of long-forgotten youkai had been unparalleled. Kagome now knew exactly how to locate and see through glamorous thanks to years of experience.

She'd found out through the process of elimination that humans just kind of...weren't enough for her. Kagome needed the youki, the rush- the bite of claws, talons or fangs.

Natsuki was one of many in a long line of potential 'forever' partners, but Kagome had long since stopped expecting marriage down the line. If they lasted, that was fine. If not, that was fine too.

She had resolved never to fall hard for someone again.

Natsuki left Tokyo a few days prior to go on a hunting trip with his pack in a remote location up in the mountains, a monthly tradition.

'Can you skip it this time?' Kagome had asked. 'I'd just...really like it if you could come to Kyoto with me?'

'But I don't know your fox friend.'

'Doesn't matter- he hasn't seen me in 500 years. I would feel so much better if you were there.'

Natsuki looked as though she'd spat in his breakfast. 'Ah, uh-' he ran an awkward hand through his light-brown hair. 'I guess?'

The hesitancy and look in his eyes- begging to be let off the hook- made Kagome force a smile and drop the subject.

She sighed, figuring they'd probably break up soon. There wasn't really anything wrong with their relationship, just a difference in values and priorities.

It seemed to be the norm. No huge fight. No big dramatic breakup. Usually she even stayed friends with her exes.

Sesshoumaru was the outlier in all things.

She made certain not to tell the Daiyoukai of her impending singleness. If he was irritatingly optimistic now- Kagome imagined he'd be a nightmare to shake off if she were available.

But he'd stop if I outright told him to never speak to me again.

Her lips thinned, stomach turning at the mere thought.

For the rest of the journey, she resolved not to think about him. And failed miserably.

----

Shippo had greeted her at the door with an enormous hug the second she'd arrived at his hilltop home. Brilliant red hair had grown longer, swept back into a ponytail. Since his house perched a little further out from most of the houses, he wore no glamour. The pointed ears and foxtails- five of them- Kagome counted, were on full display.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she hugged him back fiercely.

His wife was pleasant, though a little eccentric for a racoon youkai. She'd made a 'welcome' banner and everything for Kagome's arrival.

Three young kits with dark circle markings around their eyes raced around the house- which had crayon drawings sprawled all over the walls at waist-height. Shippo and his wife seemed to have given up on house maintenance, but they were a happy family.

Blue eyes softened as Kagome sat with him in the relative privacy of his art studio. She was so pleased he'd found happiness. As they talked, she bent down- reaching into her bag for her phone to show him some pictures of her workplace- only for it to tip over.

A small bottle of pills rolled out, stopping by his foot.

Kagome paled. She glanced away from his questioning look as he handed them back to her. "Reiki suppression pills?" he asked.

"How'd you know?"

"I've got friends in Tokyo. You're not the only priestess who secretly dates demons," he shrugged, pinning her with a calculating look. "But, it's kind of a shame you feel the need to take them."

Kagome forced a smile, tucking them away, "yeah well- it's because I'm so big and strong," she joked. "I haven't met a demon in Tokyo who could withstand my aura if I really let it out. Taking these is easier. Gives demons the 'flavour' of dating a miko without actually getting burned. It just thins my powers a little."

Shippo nodded in acceptance and swiftly changed topics since it made her uncomfortable. He chattered on about his life, detailing the 500 year gap between when they'd seen each other last. Apparently, after Miroku and Sango had passed, he'd taken to spending more time with Sesshoumaru. When Inuyasha had died, he'd started living with the Daiyoukai permanently.

"You...did?"

He nodded, hands wrapped around his steaming mug of tea. A handmade bracelet clasped around his wrist, and the mug was half-melted, made from clay. Clearly they'd both been crafted by three well-meaning kids. "I guess we were gonna talk about him eventually," he smirked. "I promise not to be biased, okay? Sure, he saved my ass, but you're still my favourite."

Warmth flooded her heart, and Kagome giggled a little despite herself. "You're talking like we're your divorced parents or something," she mused, sobering. Taking a long breath, she stared at her own misshapen mug. "What happened?" she asked quietly. "Why didn't he create a pure-blooded heir?"

Shippo sighed, sweeping a hand through voluminous red hair. "He chased after you pretty much a second after you left through the well. Only he couldn't get through."

Her chest tightened, body stiffening.

"He's told me before though...that regretting what happened wouldn't have been enough, and maybe it was better he didn't stop you. He still felt the same at the time, deep down; that only a pure-blooded heir should take over the Western Lands to ensure he was survived by a long-living heir. He was gonna do it," Shippo muttered. "He was prepared to lay with an inuyoukai to produce an heir, but when the time came he just...couldn't. It frustrated him for a long time."

Kagome took a sip of her lukewarm tea, lips thinning. "He could've taken a mate. It didn't have to be some random woman."

"Heh, yeah but his inuyoukai instincts had already chosen a mate," Shippo winked at her. "And no matter how much he tried to force logic onto himself, his instincts refused to budge. You weren't dead, so in his mind, he couldn't move on. He's remained your captive all this time."

Her eyes widened, swallowing. "That sounds terrible!" she burst, frowning. "What the hell...I'd resent that. Why doesn't he hate me?"

"Hard to explain but...he could have moved on, Kagome," the kit sighed. "If he really wanted to. He's the one who lacked the desire to change how he felt about you. So, despite some relationships, Sesshoumaru has pretty much maintained his bachelor lifestyle."

Kagome stood from her seat, setting down her tea and distractedly looking at Shippo's art pieces, picking up a sketchbook and flipping through it.

Sharp green eyes searched her guarded features. "You're still in love with him, right?"

"Some habits are hard to kick," she said softly, pausing on one sketch. Her vision grew blurry.

Shippo rose and swept the shuddering miko into a hug before she could drop the sketch of Sango and Miroku. He held her for a long time, and they moved on to talking about their friends. About all the things they'd done and the happiness they'd shared.

"M-maybe I...left too quickly," Kagome mumbled, wiping at her wet cheeks.

"Nah, don't get that thought stuck in your head," Shippo rested a hand on her head, gently ruffling the dark strands. "You wanted distance between you and Sesshoumaru. It's not your fault the well shut."

"Why did..." swallowing thickly, she looked up at him, oddly feeling like a child in comparison to his steady, easy-going presence. Like nothing in the world could shock or frighten the little kit anymore. "It took him 6 years to come talk to me, why is that?"

Shippo's smile turned slightly sad. "He wouldn't want me to tell you. In fact, he'd kill me for giving you this-" Shippo reached into his pocket and took out a vial.

Kagome understood what it was almost immediately, accepting the glamour with a perplexed look.

He then scribbled down the name of a random park in Tokyo she hadn't visited before, handing it over with a smirk. "Put that glamour on and visit this park on either Tuesday or Thursday, weather permitting. You'll find him near the duck pond."

She arched a brow, eyeing the vial. "He'll recognise me, even with a glamour on."

"Nah, that's my own creation- and I'm pretty darn brilliant at magic now!" he puffed out his chest, tilting his chin up in a very Sesshoumaru-like manner. Shippo then smiled warmly, taking the sketchbook and tearing out a page. "He's not being honest with you, but it's not outta nefarious purposes. You'll see," he reassured her. "He's changed. Even if he's still an asshole."

Kagome accepted the page, freezing. Her fingers stiffened, emotion clogging her throat at all the implications that came with the picture. She couldn't help but cry again in the safety of Shippo's arms- promptly bursting into tears while on the train ride home too.

Shippo's sketch remained clutched in her hands.

The weight of so much wasted time rested upon her heavily, making the woman bend low in her seat, ignoring the stares of other passengers and letting out several years of loneliness and disappointment. How her skin had ached and burned up with a fever of remembrance- straining for a demon lord to take her wrists and kiss her palms like he once had.

---

Overcast skies blocked out the sunshine that Tuesday, so she wondered if he'd show. The glamour had made her look like a 40-year old, a few grey streaks in her magically short hair. Brown eyes stared back at her instead of blue. She smelled like lavender and home cooking. Kagome sat upon a bench and pretended to read beside the duck pond. An available bench sat further away, nearer to the empty play park.

It was there that a dark-haired man eventually sat, five children having followed him. A lanky teen took a seat next to him, his hair short and grey- eyes milky white with blindness. Kagome squinted from behind her book, sensing he was a snake youkai. Two young hanyous of differing species immediately ran to the play park, squealing. One had concealed horns, the other hiding their leopard spots behind a glamour.

A human girl around the age of 11 carried a toddler to the edge of the duck pond, talking quietly with him and pointing to the ducks.

Kagome held back the hot sting of tears, forcing her gaze to the book in her hands and robotically turning a page.

"Shinto needs to get out of his room," the snake youkai was muttering sourly.

"There is little I can do. Did you wish for me to carry him kicking and screaming to the park with us?" Sesshoumaru snorted, elbows bent to rest on his knees.

Kagome glanced at him furtively from the corner of her eye.

Gone was the easy confidence he'd presented to her during their encounters- the impeccable dress-sense and untouchable air of a bachelor. He looked like a mess. Or rather, a single parent struggling to juggle too much at once. He wore a jacket that had seen better days, hair dishevelled and slight lines under his eyes.

"Maybe that would've been better," his adopted child was muttering, soon sighing and glancing to the side as Sesshoumaru toyed with his phone. "Do you even have her number?"

Sesshoumaru arched a brow, feigning ignorance. "Hm?"

"You know who I am referring to. Just ask for it from Uncle Shippo."

Dark lashes lowered, followed by a rich, silky chuckle that made Kagome's skin warm. "Such underhanded methods, Hiroji," he teased, "no wonder you're not popular with women."

Hazy eyes gazed in his general direction flatly, huffing. "Please refrain from trying to dodge the question. Have you actually asked this 'Kagome' woman out yet?"

"I invited her to coffee."

"Such a cheap date, Papa!" the human girl by the duck pond smiled, carrying her brother back to them. "Couldn't you have invited her ice-skating, or to a fancy restaurant?"

"Or to the park!" one of the Hanyous yelled from the swings.

Sesshoumaru cut his eyes to grey skies fondly, accepting the toddler from his daughter. "The location does not matter. Miss Higurashi is not easily swayed," he uttered, large hands toying with little boots. The toddler giggled, kicking his legs. "Initially, I wished to bury her with gifts, but she would merely see that as an attempt to 'buy' her. No, I sense only a display of humility and regret will soften her opinion of me, however that seems quite impossible."

"Hm? Why's that?" his daughter asked.

"Because I do not wish to use you all as an example of my having 'changed.' It would feel as though you are mere tools for my redemption," brown eyes slid away. "My mindset altered gradually over the centuries. No large thing triggered it. I know of no other way to prove myself other than introducing her to you."

Kagome could tell by the twitching of his fingers and the way he kept brushing them over his jaw absentmindedly that he was itching for a drag of his pipe. She'd wondered if he still occasionally smoked. He must've decided not to around his children.

"Sounds like heavy stuff," the girl hummed, patting his shoulder in consolation. "Can't you just say-" she cleared her throat, voice deepening into a poor imitation of Sesshoumaru's- "Miko, I've been falling in love with you since the first day we met. Fall into my arms~"

Deep brown eyes flattened, and he playfully shoved a hand into her face. "Things are not so easily fixed, Akiko."

"I see. Well, don't worry! If it doesn't work out, we can all go ice-skating instead!"

Sesshoumaru tsked, sinking back into his seat and allowing the toddler to snuggle up on his chest. "How dull. I'd much prefer to go on a date with a beautiful woman than babysit you brats."

Akiko only giggled and whined good-naturedly, calling him a 'meanie' before running off to join the Hanyous on the swings.

Left in silence, the Daiyoukai's brows knitted together, thoughts clearly far away.

Mild concern softened Hiroji's boyish features. "You should try talking to her again," he said quietly, so faintly Kagome could barely hear it.

"Hn, and why is that?"

Shifting, the snake demon glanced sightlessly in Kagome's direction- causing her blood to freeze in her veins. "I suspect she may be more receptive to speaking with you now, that is all. Call it a hunch."

Stiff shoulders slowly relaxed upon realising he wasn't going to expose her. After a few minutes, Kagome rose from her spot and slipped away from the park.

In the comfort of her own apartment, Kagome gazed at the sketch Shippo had given her; Sesshoumaru sleeping without a glamour obscuring his exotic features. Resting on mokomoko, his knees, and the crook of his arm were children, different from the ones at the park, but just as mixed in species.

It implied he'd been adopting them for centuries. What had started with Rin all those years ago- the accidental adoption of his first child, had become a long-enduring habit. And it also gave Kagome the stupid, insidious idea that maybe he wanted hanyou children now. Maybe he wanted them with her.

And that was too dangerous a thought to linger on if she was incorrect.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

The Experts

The second story of this story-line.  Another caveat of the request was to have the Imperials and Dr. Strange here, so here they are.  I have decided to name the planet ‘Polaris C,’ so as to give it some sort of name.  Enjoy Dr. Stephen Strange, Lord Inquisitor Hector Rex, and the Grey Knights meeting the Scoundrels.  As usual, I own no one here except Drake.  

“It is the duty of the Sorcerer Supreme to defend Earth and humanity against all magical and extra-dimensional threats.” -Dr. Stephen Strange

“I am the hammer, the right hand of the Emperor, the instrument of His will, the gauntlet about His fist, the tip of His spear, the edge of His sword!”  -Motto of the Grey Knights

When Doctor Stephen Strange had received a message from Peter Quill, he had almost laughed aloud.  Quill.  Peter Quill, in his opinion, was not only an idiot but a slight egotist.  He had almost laughed.  Almost.  If the message was not a missive asking for help.  His help, specifically.  Strange knew that if Quill, of all people, was begging for his help, then things were very serious.  So with slight misgiving (he didn’t quite know what he was getting himself into), Strange’s cloak had affixed itself to his shoulders and he had opened a portal to the bizarre planet Quill described in the message.  

He almost wished he didn’t come.  The planet itself was filled with strange red mist from an unknown source.  Not a problem, though.  His magic could easily take care of that.  It was the commotion.  People and aliens of all sorts, from all different places, were running about up to god only knew what.  A huge, bipedal metal robot (at least he thought it was a robot) trudged around, seemingly scanning a collection of long abandoned black buildings in the distance.  Soldiers of various sorts, all dressed differently, many of species he did not recognize, ran around doing things he couldn’t even guess at.  

To his left, greatcoat swirling ominously in the mist, lenses of his mask blending in with the background, was Peter Quill.  As soon as Quill saw the sorcerer, he ran up to him, almost hugging him before Strange stopped him.  

“Oh thank god you’re here!” almost shouted Quill.  “I don’t know what the hell’s happening and neither do we and neither to the GA and Cooper is trying to scan the structures to see what’s happening and he’s the only one who’s actually helping and Cain called the Imperial Inquisition who are arguing with the aliens and this reminds me way too much of when my father possessed me so can you help?”  Strange’s mouth worked spasmodically for a moment at Quill’s rant.  Quill almost hugged him and was now begging for his help.  This was a serious situation, then.  Strange held up his gloved hands.  

“Calm.  Down.”  Quill took a few deep breaths.  

“Okay.  Okay.  I’m calm.”  

“Good.  Now, take me to them,” commanded Strange.  Quill gave a nod and beckoned Strange forward.  The swirling mist parted to reveal a series of tents, the sort that he recognized from disasters he’d seen on the news.  Cold and clinical.  They ducked underneath a flap and passed swiftly through an airlock before getting into the main area of the largest tent.  It was much bigger than Strange thought it would be.  Various humans, all wearing whatever armor they had on at the time of the event, lay on cots lining the walls.  All of them were out cold.  

It was not the people on the cots, though, that caught Strange’s attention.  An imposing blond haired woman stood in the middle of it, bickering with two aliens: a small, bug-like creature and an eight foot tall, four armed, blue carapaced alien.  The woman wore a tight black bodysuit, and was currently glaring daggers at the black, bug-like alien.  The four armed one stood behind the bug, both pairs of arms crossed in a gesture that was remarkably human.  

“You can’t tell us what to do!” shouted the shorter insectoid.  “We rule this galaxy, and we will do this our way.”  The blond haired woman sneered at the two aliens.

“Chairwoman.”  The word was imbued with so much venom that it made Strange look up sharply from where he was studying one of the unconscious forms.  “You have no idea what any of this does, not to mention that-”  She was cut off by the beeping of her comms device.  She held a finger to her ear, and paused to listen to what was being said on the other side.  “Understood,” she replied.  She turned back to the chairwoman.  “Well then.  Do it your way.  Xenos no longer has authority here.  Take up the matter with Malleus.”  She spun on her heel and strode out of the tent.  On her way out, she almost slammed into a brown haired man wearing high boots and a leather jacket.  He sharply avoided her, then gave her a glare as she walked out.  Following him was an utterly massive individual in heavy green armor.  Super soldier, though Strange.  He’d bet his life on it.

“Well, looks like that’s all done now,” said the newcomer.  He walked over to Strange and held out his hand.  “Han Solo.  You must be the expert that Quill called in.”  

“Indeed I am,” replied Strange, still puzzled of what precisely was transpiring here.  

“Master Chief John-117,” replied the green armored man with about as much emotion as a bag of rocks.

“Good to know we have a true expert on hand,” said the strange, bug-like alien as she walked over.  “Hopefully you will be more agreeable.  I am the Chairwoman of the Galactic Assembly,” she announced.  

“Doctor Stephen Strange,” replied Strange politely.  “And I am here to help.”  The large, blue carpaced alien introduced herself as Sunny, chief weapons officer of the Omen.  With introductions out of the way, Strange approached the cots of the unconscious humans.  “Now, what precisely happened here?” he asked.

“We were inside one of the larger buildings in the middle of the abandoned city over there,” said Sunny, pointing to a direction outside the tent.  “We went through it… seemed like some sort of weird laboratory.  There was some sort of main central room.  The room had blast doors; big ones to keep something out.  They were open though.  There was some sort of glowing white orb on a central pedestal.  When Wilson, one of the scientists,” she pointed out Wilson, lying unconscious on another cot, “Touched it, it emitted a blast of white energy.  It knocked out all of the humans.  No aliens were harmed, and, oddly, the humans from one particular galaxy were not affected.  They all seem to have some sort of glowing white light around their eye areas, and Adam muttered ‘Deus’ under his breath while still unconscious.”  Strange didn’t know who Adam was, but this sounded… serious.  And weird.  Weirdly serious?  No.  Perhaps seriously weird?  Stop getting off track, Stephen.  

“Okay.  It is good you called me,” said Strange.  He paused for a moment, considering what he should do next.  “Can you take me to the orb?” he asked.  The chairwoman opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the tramping of boot soles on the tent’s artificial ground.  A double file of soldiers came into the tent, along with three hooded, red robed individuals.  

“Scions,” hissed Sunny.  The soldiers all wore heavy black armor, and carried blocky rifles, at the moment pointed downward, but ready to fire.  The red robed individuals hugged the shadows, their cowls concealing their faces.  All of the newcomers had the same symbol emblazoned on their clothing: a stylized “I” with a human skull in the center.  Sigil of the Imperial Inquisition.  

“What is the meaning of this?” roared the chairwoman.  For a bug, she had a pretty impressive voice.  

“This planet is now interdicted,” replied one of the Scions.  Strange glowered at him.  If looks could kill, the chairwoman’s would have reduced the man to cinders at this point.  

“Under whose authority?” she snapped.  The arguing figures all turned around as massive footsteps sounded behind them.

“Mine.”  A huge man tore his way through the airlock of the tent.  Long grey hair was thrown uncaringly across his head, and a red cloak across his shoulders.  Ornate power armor, fitted to his large frame, glowed a dull silver in the weak light.  He was utterly massive, coming to reach the height of the Master Chief.  A beautifully crafted sword rested on his hip, and a bronze breathing mask covered his lower face.  However, it was not at this man that Strange’s eyes turned to.  It was the group of individuals that followed him.  If the man in front was a giant among men, the coterie that followed him were gods among giants.  They stood eye to eye with Sunny, towing a full foot above the Chief and grey haired man.  Each of the five wore silvery grey power armor, covered with strange runes, inscriptions, and seals.  Huge, twin barreled cannons were attached to their left arms, and in their right they all held halberds, suitably sized for their massive frames.  They stared at Strange and the group clustered around him from behind silver helmets.  Vision slits, glowing white-blue, seemed to peer into their very souls. 

With a start and a huge sense of foreboding, Strange realized what they were.  The size of genetically engineered soldiers, the strange runes and seals on their armor, the magic resonance of the ammunition in their guns and the power whispering through their halberds, all augmented by the fact that each of the silver warriors was a sorcerer of fearsome potency spoke of one thing.  These individuals were created and trained for one purpose, and one purpose only: slaying demons.  

If Strange could take a human being and make them into a weapon perfect for destroying the extra-dimensional beings that some called demons, he would have a result very similar to these silent, silver soldiers.  He could already feel the icy trickle of sweat as it made his way down his back.  This was not good.  Things had gotten a lot more serious.  

“Who are you?” half-whispered the GA chairwoman.  The sheer presence these newcomers had put Strange and everyone else in the room on edge.  

“I am Lord Inquisitor Hector Rex of the Ordo Malleus of the Holy Ordos of His Divine Majesty’s Most Holy Inquisition,” replied the grey haired man.  Well, this guy’s very dramatic and, apparently, very holy, was Strange’s first thought.  “We are here to investigate the possession of these individuals,” went on Rex.  

“As am I,” cut in Strange.  He was the Sorcerer Supreme of Earth, dammit, and he would not be intimidated by the likes of these men.  He could sense the Inquisitor, too, was a sorcerer, and a damn good one at that.  “Doctor Stephen Strange.”  Being polite couldn’t hurt, could it?  The Inquisitor gave no response as the lead silver giant stepped forward.  Strange and the various aliens winced as the temperature in the room dropped noticeably.  The giant warrior held out a hand and touched Strange’s forehead with his fingers; not too gentle, not too rough, it simply just was.  Strage felt the man peering into his very soul, but remained silent and still.  He had a feeling the giants would respect that more than any protests he could muster.  

“This one is pure of soul and strong of mind,” announced the warrior.  His deep bass voice rumbled and reverberated through the tent.  Strange found it disquieting.  The man introduced as John-117 had a flat, but normal human voice.  All the super soldiers he’d met in his home galaxy all had relatively normal voices.  It appeared that this one was so heavily augmented his voice was stronger and went much deeper than a usual human.  How intriguing.  

“Very well, then,” replied Rex.  “You.”  He pointed at Strange.  “Come with us.  Everyone else, stay here.  No one leaves.”  On that ominous note, Rex spun, and with a swirl of his cloak, walked out the door, followed by the giant warriors and Strange.  

Elsewhere

“Ah, shit,” swore Thomas Drake.  He looked around him.  Groups of his armsmen, GA marines, and redshirts stood up, confused.  Shepard, Kirk, and Vir brushed themselves off and stared.  

“Where the hell are we?” asked Shepard.  “And where the hell is everyone else?”  They stood in an open, endless expanse of white.  The ground was pure white, the sky… or whatever was located above them pure white.  It was like being inside a sterile room.  Or an insane asylum.  

“Don’t know,” replied Vir.  “Wilson touched that orb-thingy and now here we are.”

“Where is here, exactly?” asked Kirk.

“An excellent question,” replied another voice.  The Scoundrels whirled around to face a man, ethereally floating in the non-existent air.  The figure was a human man, obviously so.  However, something seemed… off about him.  There was, of course, the fact that he was in this strange realm, and that he was floating several feet off the ground.  His face…  Well, his face was the strangest part.  It looked a perfect blend between every human variation: the eyes, the coloring, the hair, all of it.  A perfect blend of every human to ever exist.  How is that possible…?

“What are you?” asked Drake.  His hand went for his sidearm, only to find it wasn’t there.  The ethereal being chuckled.  

“I’m known by a lot of names.  You can call me Adam… Adham, and variation of the name, really.  You can call me the First, or you can call me Deus.  Your choice, really.”  

“Deus…” muttered Vir.

“Great.  Why are we here?” asked Shepard, cutting straight to the point.  

“Quite simple.  You are now imbued with my power.  The power of what you may call a god.  There are things out there that would see you corrupted, and we can’t let that happen.”  

“Good luck trying to corrupt us,” said Shepard.  The being frowned.  

“Many more powerful than you have been.  Many.  It is simply a failsafe.  Through this, you gain a portion of the power of the combined gods of humanity throughout our realms.  While you can’t do any sort of god-like things; you’ll be the same as before except in one regard.  You are all now utterly immune to any sort of corrupting influences.  No one can hijack your brains.”  

“Great,” said Vir bluntly.  “Now what?”  Deus smiled.  

“Well, unfortunately, you can’t remember this conversation.” 

“Why not?” snapped an indignant Drake.  

“Two reasons: it’s best if you don’t, and there is a small chance that if these memories remain, you might go slightly insane.  Slightly.  Still don’t want to risk it.  However, there is one other thing that I can do safely.  I have a favor to ask you.  There are artifacts hidden in several locations around my galaxy.  They carry a taint.  There is one on each of the places that this planet reaches out to.  You can figure it out from there.  I want those artifacts destroyed.”  

“Okay.  Can you send us back to... wherever we are supposed to be?” asked Kirk.  

“Yes,” nodded Deus.  He snapped his fingers.

On Polaris C

“This is the chamber,” came the reverberating voice of one of the massive, silver armored warriors.  Strange had learned they were called the Grey Knights.  They didn’t tell him anything else.  Lord Hector strode forward to the white orb on the central pedestal.  

“It doesn’t look like any… Chaotic artifact,” he murmured.  “Hmmm.”  At that moment, the orb, which had been glowing brightly, suddenly went dark. 

“What was that?’ asked Strange.  

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

Drake’s head shot up so quickly it smashed into a medical orderly who had been tending to him.  With a cry of pain, he went back down into the cot, only to miss with one hand, lose his balance, and fall on the floor.  Over his muttered curses and the orderly’s apologies, the rest of the unconscious humans woke.  Sunny rushed over to Vir’s side.

“Adam!  What happened?” she asked.  Vir rubbed his head.

“Don’t know,” he said.  “There was the orb, then Wilson touched it, then we got knocked out.”  He looked up, seeing the Scions guarding them in a strange tent.  “What the hell happened?” he asked, slightly miffed.  At that moment, the flap leading to the airlock parted, revealing Dr. Strange, Lord Rex, and the Grey Knights.

“That is precisely what I am wondering, Admiral,” said Rex.  He came forward, and held out a hand, touching Vir’s forehead.  The temperature of the room dropped, and Vir felt the uncomfortable sensation of the grey haired man staring into his soul.  Rex dropped his hand and turned to the Grey Knights.  The temperature returned to normal.  “He appears… untainted.  Normal.”  A pair of inky brown eyes stared down at the waking humans.  “However, we must be sure.  Our testing shall be… rigorous.”

There we have it.  Now, unfortunately, you ought to know that the Grey Knights have a scorched earth policy.  They fight daemons, and daemons corrupt.  Therefore, anyone who is near them is at risk.  Also, they are a secret organization, and if anyone is left alive to know about them, Chaos could use it against them.  They have been ordered to not harm the Scoundrels themselves, as they believe they are vital to some future events.  They won’t harm Strange, as they see him as a protector of his realm, much like them.  The GA people though...  Tell me what you think should happen, and if you like this story line.  If you have any comments, questions, requests, criticisms, or concerns, tell me!  

[fortisfiliae]

Promised Part 5 - Tom Riddle x reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2.5k

Part 5 - Making believe

The news about your fight with Tom had spread across Hogwarts quicker than you had thought was possible. Three days had passed and you were sure even the teachers knew about it by now. And everyone seemed to know more about it than you did. 

You had heard stories about you hexing Tom in the hallways, about him threatening you there, about you almost drowning yourself in the lake, about Benjamin trying to kiss you, about you trying to kiss Benjamin. The list was endless. And none of it was true.

The way people looked at you made you angry to a degree where you had to control yourself not to smack them. Your anger was also fueled by the fact that Tom had not apologised yet. Three days. Feeling as long as three years when the whole school seems to watch your every move while you are waiting for your future husband to make up his mind.

Those three words alone made your blood boil. Your future husband. Who certainly was the most conceited, hot-headed, mistrusting bastard on earth. Who you had agreed to marry for your sister. Who thought you would cheat on him, in this imaginary relationship, on the first chance you got. With Benjamin Hilt... Maybe he was also the daftest future husband on earth.

But nonetheless, you wondered far too often when he would finally walk up to you and apologise. You had even considered apologising to him just so you wouldn’t have to ignore him anymore. But that thought hadn’t lasted longer than a minute. He had to learn his lesson.

Tom’s friends seemed awfully aware as well. Although Avery and Lestrange stayed out of your way, some others made you feel like you were constantly observed. Almost as if they were his spies, telling him where he could go to avoid you. Tossers. 

The only person keeping you sane was Camille. She knew the truth and shut down every rumour that came to her ears. She had also tried to talk to Tom, much to your dismay. But he had ignored her completely. 

“Still no news on the fiancé front?” Camille asked when you sat with her in the courtyard. 

“Don’t call him that,” you answered. 

“Sorry,” she said but smiled. “I’m sure he’ll talk to you soon.”

“You think so? I’m not so sure. And I don’t really care.”

Camille laid her hand on your shoulder. “You don’t care, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Oh well… You talk about it an awful lot for someone who doesn’t.”

“You started it this time,” you grinned. Changing the subject seemed appropriate. She was right. “Do you want to study together around 5? In the library?”

“Sure. I still haven’t done the homework for Charms.”

“Me neither.”

You watched the people around the courtyard. They looked comfortable. Cosy with their scarfs on. Carefree, wandering around and talking to their friends. You wondered if you looked like them too. Or if they could see how bitter you felt. How uncomfortable and tired. If your poor attempt of faking indifference was enough to deceive them. The bench where you sat with Tom three days ago was right next to you. You had specifically chosen not to sit there but at the one next to it. Not that anyone had a clue, not even Camille knew which exact bench it was. But it felt good to avoid it. 

One of Tom’s friends, Evan Rosier, walked by. Another spy, another rat, running back to the nest, to tell him where not to go. He locked eyes with you for a brief moment but retracted ever so quickly and went inside. 

“It’s cold,” Camille said and pulled your gaze away from the other students. She rubbed her hands together and crossed her arms. “Want to leave?”

“Just a few more minutes,” you said and took a deep breath. The cold air didn’t hurt. It was sharp and fresh, it kept you awake.

“Okay,” she answered and laid her head on your shoulder. “Look, Ben and his friends are over there.”

They sat on the ground next to the stone walls, about fifty feet away. They didn’t seem cold either. Some of them had their coats open, their scarfs only hanging down loosely from their necks.

“They’re strange,” you mumbled.

“I know, right? Like outcasts. But cool ones.”

“Cool? I’m not sure about that.”

Camille laughed. “I don’t know. They seem so happy all the time. As if nothing mattered to them really.”

“If that was true, Ben would know how to mind his own business.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

You turned your head away from them, looking to your left where you heard footsteps coming your way. And indeed, someone was approaching you. The person’s shoes seemed oddly familiar and all your muscles tensed when you looked up and found out who they belonged to. Tom.

Camille noticed your movements and looked over as well. Tom stopped in front of you, not saying anything, just looking from you to Camille and back to you.

“I, um,” Camille cleared her throat. “I think I’m gonna go inside. I’m freezing.”

You nodded, watched her leave, then looked up at Tom again and waited for him to say something. 

But he didn’t. He just looked back at you, or through you maybe, until he finally sat down next to you.

He sat there, staring straight ahead in silence, even though you gave him every chance to speak. The wind tousled his hair in those everlasting minutes of curiosity. What was he doing here, if he didn’t want to talk? 

People around you had noticed as well. They were looking over in turns and proceeded to whisper to each other. Like you wouldn’t notice.

“I have something for you,” Tom suddenly said and fiddled something out of the inner pocket of his coat. “My grandfather sent an owl.”

Seriously? Three days of silence and he came up to present you a letter? From Marvolo Gaunt of all people. The nerve of him.

“And?” you asked.

“And what?”

“Don’t you think you should say something first? Like an apology?”

He sighed and looked away again. As if he had known you wouldn’t let him get away with it. As if he had dreaded that moment.

“Yes,” he then said, so quietly you could hardly hear him. “I’m sorry for how I behaved. That I haven’t trusted you and that I didn’t let you speak.”

He looked like it hurt him physically to apologise. But it wasn’t enough. 

You turned towards him, watching him staring into the distance. “Now look me in the eyes and say it again.”

Tom turned his head your way, his brows furrowed, eyes looking into yours, filled with such anger, making you regret what you had said. You couldn’t tell if he would rather stand up and leave, or curse you right then and there for what you asked of him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated nevertheless.

“Thank you,” you answered and wondered if you should comment on how long it had taken him. Better not.

Tom pointed to the letter in your hands. “Now read it.”

The parchment was old and smelled damp and mouldy.

“Tom,

I was informed by an unknown source that people at Hogwarts are doubting the authenticity of your relationship with your fiancée. 

Someone sent a letter and implied they would notify the ministry about it if we wouldn’t cancel the wedding ourselves. 

Let me remind you two, that our plan must go through. If it won’t, the little one will pay for it.

Improve.

Marvolo Gaunt”

Breathing felt harder all of a sudden. There was a lump in your throat that burned and stung right down into your lungs. If the ministry would doubt the validity of your relationship, they could definitely null and void the marriage before it even happened. Which would be fatal.

“Merlin’s sake,” you sighed. “Who would do that? Threaten your grandfather...”

“You don’t know?” Tom asked and looked over to the group where Ben sat. “I got a suspect.”

“Of course… And what are we going to do about it?”

Tom took the letter and folded it back together, not taking his eyes off Ben. “Let me handle him.”

“What will you do?”

“Nothing too bad,” he said. “Possibly.”

“And how does Marvolo expect us to improve?” you asked. “We can’t change what people think about us.”

“Make them believe. It’s not that hard to fool people.”

He was right. Tom might have been a prick, but he certainly wasn’t a fool. If rumours about your fight spread so quickly, rumours about you making peace would spread even faster. 

“Hold my hand,” you said.

“What?”

“We have to make them believe. Better start right away. There are lots of people around. Maybe we can even trick Ben and his friends.”

He restrained for quite a bit, then ever so slowly reached for your hand, still not looking at you. His skin was warm from being inside, almost hot against yours. He felt stiff and mechanical, as if he didn’t know how to behave. It was a bit uncomfortable, having your hand lying in someone else’s, who didn’t really hold it but simply let it lay there.

You adjusted your fingers and put them right against his, which made him turn towards you. His pulse pumped softly against the tips of your fingers. It was faster than you had thought and made you smile. Tom didn’t. But he looked at you, differently.

His brows weren’t furrowed anymore, the anger from before completely washed away. His eyes were open, studying your face with a deadpan stare until he squinted.

“You’re cold,” he said and brought his other hand around the back of yours, now properly holding it with both of his.

“I’ve been here for a bit,” you told him and looked around, letting his unfamiliar warmth spread through your veins. “I think it’s working.”

“Hm?”

“The people. They’re watching.”

Tom took a glance, his fingers twitching as he did. The other students turned away one by one when his gaze neared them. Even Ben and his friends had noticed but ducked their heads now too. 

Seemed that making people believe was actually easy. 

“And he really held your hand? Wow. Even I wouldn’t have guessed that,” Camille whispered when you told her about what had happened.

“I know, me neither,” you said while opening the Charms textbook. 

“And I wasn’t there to see it. Damn it. I knew I should have peeked around a corner.”

“Gross,” you joked and looked around if anyone could hear you. 

The library was quite full, but you had found a desk at the far end, where no one would bug the two of you.

Studying with Camille was, as unbelievable as it may sound, one of your favourite parts of school. It brought tranquillity and effect together. Feeding your brain with new information and sharing it with one another was a sensation you got nowhere else. You had done it since first grade and it had worked well ever since. No matter how dry, or tricky the material was, you had always found a way to remember. You were great together. Balanced. 

And she brought chocolate, every time. Major plus.

It had gotten dark outside a while ago when you finished the Charms essay. Only then you noticed how tired your eyes were from the dim light. Camille had completed hers two chocolate bars ago and was waiting for you by the window. 

“Done,” you sighed. “Finally.”

“Great. Let’s go then,” she said and started packing up her things.

“I haven’t proofread.”

“Oh,” Camille nodded and teetered from one foot to another.

“But you can go. Really. You’ve already waited for so long. I’ll just read it again and then I’m off.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yes. Somewhere you need to go?”

“The loo,” she whispered and you laughed.

“Then run!”

You rubbed your eyes and folded the parchment flat out under your hands. One more read-through and you were done. It was even quieter around you, now that Camille had left. The only things you heard were the librarian’s steps, as she tiptoed through the rows every now and then, and some quills scratching on paper from afar. It was a hypnotic silence, that made it easier to read. So easy, you didn’t even notice someone walking up to you.

The sound of the chair next to you screeching lightly over the floor was so startling, you almost knocked over your inkwell.

“Merlin’s sake,” you whispered as you screwed down the small bottle. “You can’t creep up on me like that. Almost ruined my essay.”

“Pardon me,” Tom said. “Who could have thought people had to be quiet in a library?”

You shot him a look to prevent yourself from telling him to keep his cocky jokes to himself. “What are you doing?”

He opened up a book, giving you the same look in return as if to say, what do you think people do in here. “Reading.”

“Alright then,” you said and leaned over your parchment again. 

Just a few more pages. But suddenly the words you had written didn’t make sense anymore. You had to read each sentence twice, to even understand what they meant. And you were awfully aware of your breathing. Tom made you nervous. 

It took you twice as long to read one page and the fact that you watched him from the corner of your eye every other moment didn’t help. 

Concentrate. Forget he’s even here. You had eventually found somewhat of a rhythm again, laying one paper aside, when Tom touched your hand.

You automatically jolted and looked over to him. He was still reading his book, now holding your hand firmer, more proper than earlier that day. It seemed like he wanted to finish this particular paragraph before he looked back at you. And the blank expression on his face said more than ever before. It was a mix between him waiting for you to pull away and simultaneously telling you not to dare to move. 

It was the same silence, the same tension that occurred when he had come for dinner at your house, when you were alone in the dining room with him. But yet, it felt so different.

So you held him, too. Quietly. Still staring at him. While no one spoke a word. 

Your fingers folded along the back of his hand perfectly, like they were meant to be there. 

And then, he moved. His thumb swayed back and forth across your skin, so lightly you could barely even sense it. So softly, as though he was scared it could hurt and break you. His eyes were fixated on you. He studied every breath, every flutter of your eyelashes, every muscle moving in reaction to his touch. 

And there it was. Something different in his eyes. Something more than the notorious apathy. A spark, a tiny hint of what you would call emotion. 

Something you had never seen on him. It suited him well. So you let him feast on it. For forever if he asked you to.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Masterpost | Masterlist

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[antihero-writings]

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch1)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: I’ve actually had this idea ever since the first or second time I read Chamber of Secrets. Though Tom has never been my favorite character, I found young Tom interesting, and I always thought things would have gone differently if he had come back when he was Harry’s age. I was always curious if he could have been redeemed if things had gone this way. Now, I know JK Rowling purposely wanted to create an irredeemable villain, so she wouldn’t have redeemed him even then, but I wanted to write a fic playing with that idea myself.

Despite having had this idea for a long time, I didn’t write it because I was afraid I’d bite off more than I could chew, and wouldn’t finish. But this last time I read Chamber of Secrets, I decided I’d just go for it. I’m still afraid I won’t finish, as this is the longest premise of any of my fics posted, (and I haven’t finished any of my other, shorter, long fics…) but I didn’t want that to stop me from at least trying out the idea. Even if I don’t finish it, at least I’ll have something to show for it!

All that being said, if you like this fic and do want me to continue please consider commenting, and/or reblogging. Sometimes one comment can mean the difference between me continuing, and me leaving the fic behind. It really helps to know people are interested.

Above art from the internet. 

Chapter 1:

He didn’t know how fitting it was.

Tom Riddle didn’t know just how fitting it was that the first two things he sensed after waking up were the sound of crying, and the stench of blood.

He didn’t remember how much of his past—or perhaps one could call it his future—was comprised of tears, blood, muffled screaming, and the words avada kadavra! hissed in a cold, high voice that was surely not his own.

Right now, he didn’t remember much of anything at all.

Sixteen years or sixty, he remembered none of pain, the loss, or the victory.

All he knew in this moment was that world was damp and cold, it smelled like death, and someone was weeping.

That was the world to him; an ink spill on living canvas. A hole made in screaming pages.

The sound of weeping was the first thing he knew in this new life—(or this old life, made new)—it echoed and filled the place—whatever the place was—like the slow drip of water in an empty cave; tiny on its own, mistakable in a crowd, but sharp, vast, and overpowering when the world was hollow.

And the world did feel hollow.

He did not wake to a warm, dry hospital bed, a fire, and a heap of get-well cards. His family did not surround him, showering him with love and gratitude, asking what he did and did not remember, and what had happened to their sweet boy. No one held up pictures, pointing to the scenes and people within them fervently demanding remember?!, praying amnesia would leave him sooner rather than later.

Instead he woke to a place in which every sensation burned: cold searched for weaknesses in his damp cloak and slithered across his skin; the smell of blood bored into his nostrils, enough he could almost taste it; and the longer he heard the wailing it burned in his ears too.

Burned because it hurt his heart not just his ears? Because it was sad? Because it mattered, and he needed to know what was wrong?

Surely not.

Burned because it was annoying, and he wanted to shut it up. Burned because it wasn’t a nice sound to wake up to, and whoever they were ought to have more courtesy for orphan boys who just wanted to wake up in peace.

Everything burned because something about feeling, sensing anything at all, was…oddly unfamiliar. Not strange as in a new way; it was like something he once knew well that had been forgotten, left behind for a while, like nostalgia.

And if simply living was this foreign…how long had it been since he was last alive? How long had he been a ghost? And what brought him back to his body?

He opened his eyes.

Sight didn’t change the impression he had received from his other senses; mostly it just added ‘dark’ to the list of not-very-nice things the world was made of. And due to this fact, sight didn’t burn nearly as much as his other senses. Still, the world was crisper, more colorful, somehow, despite its drab nature…

He was in a chamber, a dungeon of sorts—probably underground. Stones and statues, turned brownish-green in the humid atmosphere, lined the walls. Snakes poked their heads out at him from the walls, their eyes glittering as if they’d come alive at any moment. And before him was a particularly large statue of a man.

But, as he sat up, his clothing—long, black robes, with a green patch on the chest—clinging to him uncomfortably, there were a few things sight showed him worth noting:

The first, most obvious, was the gigantic snake lying beneath the statue some ways down the chamber, its scaly green tail glistening in the low light. It was clearly dead; lying still, its belly up. There was blood where its lifeless eyes had been scratched blind, and a hole in the roof of in its gaping mouth, one of its front fangs missing. This was most likely the source of the foul smell. How long had it been dead? Couldn’t have been long, considering the other things around the room…

The second, what may have once been a book. This one was very close to himself. Its pages were ripped out of their bindings, in shreds, surrounding him like fresh snowfall. The leather cover had many holes and gashes in it, apparently made by the missing fang, which also lay beside the book, blackened ink on its tip—(but can words bleed?)—the book mutilated beyond repair. This was one of the strangest sights. It was almost as if someone—probably the person crying—blamed it for their problems and took their anger out on it, before that anger became the sorrow that resonated through the chamber now.

The third was a gleaming orange and red bird, long tail feathers unfurled on the floor, like a flame, its head held high, sitting quietly beside the mourner. It didn’t look like it didn’t belonged in such a grim place—like a rich person walking in a slum.

There was another glittering thing beside him: a silver sword with jewels encrusted in the hilt. This was likely the cause of the snake’s death, especially considering it had blood coating it.

A little way from it was a pile of raggedy brown fabric. …He couldn’t quite tell what it was supposed to be.

The sixth: the source of the crying, a boy. He had unruly black hair, and his black robes—(the same robes, he noted, that he himself was wearing, or very similar)—were christened with the blood and slime of beasts—(and maybe men, he couldn’t know)—and ink. He was possessed by the demon that was tragedy; his entire form shaking, heaving, whether from sadness or rage, or both, only time, and a healthy dose of good questioning would tell.

The last thing of note, and what was most likely the source of the tears: a corpse. A girl specifically, with red hair—almost as fiery as the bird’s feathers—ashen skin, and, once again, the black robes—(must be a uniform of some sort). Perhaps they were at a school? Quite a dreary school it was, if so. She was small, apparently young.

The scene was both a lot, and not much, to go on.

Three living things—one without memory, another without peace—two dead, and four inanimate, one of the inanimate things more mauled than any of the living or dead.

His mind started to provide theories about the scene,

Theory one:

The snake had killed the girl, the boy had taken up the sword and killed it in outrage.

Made sense, but that still left the diary, the bird, and himself. As well as the pile of fabric…

He didn’t see the bird having a big role in this; his best guess was that it belonged to the boy, as it seemed loyal to him, sharing his grief, and that its role was the scratch marks on the snake’s eyes, helping the boy defeat it.

Theory two: The girl had written something in her diary the boy didn’t like, perhaps something about he himself. He had torn the diary apart, and in a jealous rage sent his pet snake after her, but regretted it after the snake went too far and killed her, and decided to kill it after all.

Theory three: Reverse of roles; the diary was the boy’s, and she had found it, and he was either mad she found it and tore it, or she had after finding something she didn’t like in it, potentially about him, and the offended party let loose the snake.

Theory four: The snake belonged to neither of them, it was by accident they happened to wake it, or stumble into its home while fighting about this diary.

But why did they find an underground chamber the best place for an argument? Did they live here? Was this a normal place for them to spend time? Like some sort of secret hideaway? Were they in hiding from something?

Four(a): Or else were they on some quest to find it—was the snake guarding treasure? Did the diary hold the map to it, and they tore it simply to keep anyone else from finding it, or else falling into the same trap?

Theory five: The diary was his own; not the boy's or the girl's. He had some relationship to one or both of them that went awry.

Five(a): The snake was his own, and he had set it loose on the girl for some reason, perhaps he was the jealous and angry party here.

Theory six: The snake didn’t kill the girl.

Six(a): She was already dead or dying before the snake even arrived. Maybe the snake's venom, or something else about this chamber, was meant to cure her and failed.

Six(b): The boy killed her. Perhaps in his aforementioned jealous rage he had took the sword to her himself, and now he regretted it.

Six(c): He himself killed her.

He sat up, blinking at the dreary universe. The boy didn’t hear him, just kept on crying. It was a very tiresome noise to hear so constantly.

He reached over and, quietly as possible, drew the diary closer. What made its disfigurement all the stranger was that every page he could see appeared blank. People didn’t usually have qualms with blank diaries—it was the words that people were so touchy about.

When he lifted up the cover, he could see beneath the gashes a name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The sight of the name sent a curious sensation through his stomach; he didn’t remember who it belonged to, but the name set a fire boiling in his gut, a bubbling, swirling, writhing fire within him. A fire that threatened to destroy everything around it too.

He looked up at the mourner. Was that his name? Or was the girl, in fact, a very petite, long-haired boy? Did the diary belong to no one present, and it was the secrets within, not the owner, that mattered? But there were no words at all, let alone any secrets…

Or…was it perhaps his own? His own name that he didn’t even remember.

Sitting here theorizing wasn’t going to get him any closer to the truth.

It didn’t seem like a good idea to disturb the boy in his grief, but he didn’t have much choice—losing your memory is an ordeal of its own, you know.

He got to his feet—this sensation too didn’t feel completely mundane to him. Everything felt nostalgic—like in some fond childhood he walked, and smelled, and saw, and heard, but as he grew up, sense left him, and he forgot what it meant to be alive. His damp clothes clung to his body, making him shiver.

His footstep broke the atmosphere; the first new sound in the stagnant place, the pieces of peace cutting through the tears. The boy gasped—the kind of raw gasp, full of dread and despair, one takes when they realize the dragon is awake.

But the dragon in this particular chamber was slain…

His slow steps filled the chamber, an ominous repetition, the ticking of a clock.

When he got close, the boy’s hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword, the metal twinkling in the dim light, scraping and clattering on the stone as it moved.

“I’d stay back if I were you,” his voice was soft but solid, dangerous, wet with tears, shaking with rage, hoarse from screaming.

He stopped. He didn’t know what that meant, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

Hmm…What to ask? ‘Why’s that?’ ‘What happened here?’ ‘Who are you, who was she, and, while you’re at it, who am I?’

The scene was still fresh; if he touched the embers it might reignite.

“And…If you were me, what would you do?” he decided to ask. Speech, words forming on his tongue, felt odd too… but it was the sound of his voice that caught him most off guard…why? Had he been expecting to hear something different?

It was an odd question; he could tell the boy wasn’t expecting it. He paused. Then he scoffed,

“I’ll never be like you.” Then his voice grew quiet and dangerous, “But if I were in your place…I would run. As far away as I could, and as fast as I could, before I found out what the famous Harry Potter is capable of when you take something important from him.”

An even odder response.

The boy turned. One of his most defining features was the circular-rimmed, cracked glasses he wore. That, and the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which was red and irritated. Seeing this scar, for some reason, made ire rise in Tom’s throat too. His glasses shielded eyes of a bright green which also heralded from a distant memory.

Bright, but dark. A green that pierced the veil of shadows, yet reflected the rest of the world. He wondered if he had ever seen such hatred in someone’s eyes before, in that past he didn’t remember. They burned as bright as the bird by his side, bright as the girl’s hair. They were bright enough to set the chamber ablaze, dark enough to enact the threats in all the room’s corners. Yet his name didn’t immediately come to mind.

Harry Potter. That was what he said his name was. Once said aloud, the name was more familiar than sensation itself; a burning scar upon his mind, never quite healed. The name was rage, and humiliation itself to him…though he couldn’t place the source of these emotions; no memories came to mind.

They were enemies.

Only two names he knew so far, and both sent the same sort of mad fury through him. Curious.

He couldn’t be more than twelve years old. Twelve years old was quite the young age to be defeating monsters, watching girls die, and to hold such hatred in one’s eyes. Very young to be so hated by he himself.

He was just a kid. Did this Harry Potter really deserve all this?

Why did they hate each other so much? Was it normal for him to hate twelve-year-old boys?

Come to think of it, how old was he himself? He sounded young, not much older than him. But he didn’t feel young.

Why did he hate him so much?

It was starting to look like Theory six(c) might be the most likely.

He didn’t take his advice. He didn’t know much about himself, but he didn’t think he was one to take people’s advice, especially not that of his enemies. In ignorant defiance he took a step forward.

“Stay back!” Harry Potter barked, as vicious as a loyal guard dog.

That same hatred he felt buzzed behind his words.

Another step.

He held up the sword.

“I’m warning you.” Tom knew the threat in his voice was very real.

Yet he came closer. Close enough to see the face of the girl.

He didn’t recognize her. Predictable, but aggravating. He had hoped that perhaps seeing her would bring him to his senses. Alas, she was just a dead girl.

He leaned in closer.

“DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!!” the boy’s words, along with the sword, were at his throat without a second to spare.

He simply flicked his gaze to him; no sign of shock or emotion at his outburst on his features.

The world must burn for this boy too. Burn, not because of sensation itself was strange, but because what he felt was currently was too much to bear.

Hatred, horror, heartbreak…hell. It all blazed and overflowed in his eyes.

He backed up one step, then another, and kept backing away until the sword was no longer close to his skin. Harry could have easily followed him, keeping the threat alive, but it seemed staying by the girl, protecting her lifeless body was his highest priority—Why? What could he possibly do now that she was dead? Was he prone to mutilate dead girls? Was his touch repugnant enough on its own to warrant such violence?

The anger was still white-hot, but confusion was in the boys’ eyes too now.

Yes, six(c) seemed pretty likely.

So, how had he lost his memory? He himself didn’t seem hurt in the slightest physically, he didn’t even have so much as a spitting headache to tell him he’d knocked his head hard enough to lose his memory. It didn’t appear as though he and the boy had dueled, despite the indication they were opponents, and the sword in his hand. Nothing indicated how he could lose his memory, or why…or, come to think of it, why he was still alive.

If it was true he had killed her, that they were enemies, why hadn’t Harry killed him in his sleep? He surely had the chance, in the midst of all the wailing. Why didn’t he walk up to him, send that sword through him and be done with it? Why didn’t he fight him, run him through, now? Tom was clearly unarmed, and Harry was likely the one who killed the snake, clearly he had the upper hand, the power to do so. It all made too much sense.

He could tell he wanted to.

…The diary. It must be connected to everything. Would it reveal the truth of the situation, and his lost memories? Everything seemed to trace back to it. From the looks of things, it was the source of the scene…and it was the most confusing part of the scenario. If he started with it, perhaps he could get somewhere.

He sauntered back to it, crouched down and picked up the mangled cover, staring at the name, the holes where someone—presumably Harry—had stabbed it, a few blank pages hanging limply out of the binding. But why would he hurt an inanimate diary?

“Who’s Tom Riddle?” he asked.

[youcantfiremebecauseiquit]

idk if u care but crispin gray recently had an interview about his entire career and it kind of changed my perspective of queenadreena…idk if for better or for worse lol. it was weird to see him so dismissive of a lot of his catalogue w katie except for ‘love your money’ just because that was the only remotely chart successful song. i get you want to be able to sustain yourself but jeez him and katie really had a weird back and forth relationship

Sorry i'm replying late, i've seen the interview pop up on Youtube but honestly i was too invested in university shit recently & generally not in the good mood for that but i'm planning to watch. How did it change your view on Queen Adreena, did he say something mean specifically on QA or Katie? I mean i gotta watch it but honestly? Not surprised in the slightest. A few years ago he was asked to describe fave songs he recorded throughout the years and he listed more of Daisy Chainsaw ones than anything else, with Love Your Money as number 1. The differences in their points of view are real something, Katie Jane absolutely HATED Love Your Money, same as Daisy Chainsaw. Kinda apparent he wanted bigger fame but DC dropped fast and QA failed to live up to their predictions.

i had a time when i liked to dig up old Queen Adreena interviews that are lost in the old internet & generally not available for years (which i planned to post on is-she-suffering but my investment in that site is... varied in its intensity). Also that was back in the days when i wrote Queen Adreena book during manic phase and tried to sell it but lost motivation Well since i don't do anything with that knowledge anyway i'll put what i know here as i love fan discussions

So they sure had/have odd back and forth love-hate relationship & that's the reason why their career went how it went. There's been a huge tension between them at some point. I'm sure you know she had a major mental breakdown (probably schizophrenic episode) after Daisy Chainsaw, or even beginning before her leaving, and then she went into isolation and lived with an old woman in Lake District for awhile. She left Daisy Chainsaw cause Crispin didn't want her to come up with her own songs (all of DC was by Crispin except for Lovely ugly brutal world by KJ).

They almost split up as Queen Adreena after Drink Me. The material for The Butcher and The Butterfly was written at different times, originally it was meant to be called Atom Bomb at Bikini but it was constantly delaying and they eventually recorded everything they've got live. So that's obvious right? But i was surprised to find out they were writing songs separately. Some of them (i forgot which though) were written by Katie Jane and Pete Howard's sons band (they're even credited) + some with Melanie Garside, Richard Adams + some other musician. Katie Jane didn't like it. They intended it to be their last album at the time. She also hated live at ICA show but they released it cause they were broke

But that's a digression. I just wanna say that at this point they were done with each other but kept pushing it. Katie had her own art projects and stuff, Crispin started Dogbones with Nomi and i just remember how vaguely pissed at Katie he waas in the interviews. Like he stressed that Dogbones is his number one priority and if Katie wants to do something with Queenadreena, she must wait til Dogbones have a break first or something, and it sounded oddly bitter.

RaCH and Djinn era are just so weird, they had opportunities but let them go in a way. I don't think many people know but they were huge demand in Japan. They entered album charts and were interviewed by 11 magazines and 6 (!)TV stations there (wtf happened to that material i want to know???). But they only played 5 times or less.

Katie said she considers the band dead but they decided they can try to play for a couple more months. But aside from that she 100% lost the interest in the band around Djinn. There's an interview where she says "the overall image is Crispin but the shape will change again at rehearsals". And you can hear it, it’s more blues rock than anything. IMO it's their worst production wise. Instruments are fine but Katie's voice is so badly produced that sometimes i find some songs fucking irritating, cause they didn’t cut out her breaths and the vocals are TOO LOUD, to the point of distorting. As if she stands too close to the mic. The album is fine but it feels unfinished.

And here we come back to Crispin... here's what he said after the QA split:

Why the Dogbones started? “I needed to work more than the previous band I was in was working, the previous band who shall remain nameless, haha… um… Queenadreena. I wanted to work more than the singer of Queenadreena wanted to work… so that’s why it started. Fine by me… but I really like to be in a band, I’m not a solo project kind of guy. The last album (‘Djin’) did come out in the UK, but it was so low key because Katie kind of disappeared so there was little point in promoting it. Personally it’s my favourite by far so it was a shame but there you go… So here are Dogbones, it’s not been an easy ride but we are trying very hard.

Ok so the bitterness is kinda apparent isn't it. I think there were two reasons why they argued so much, first musical differences. Katie at some point lost interest in loud rock music for some years and went the folk way in Ruby Throat. I have a theory that Taxidermy and Drink Me are more influenced by Katie Jane and Butcher and Djinn are more Crispin. During first albums i think Katie more actively took part in music composition and choosing arrangements. She wrote lyrics, melodies but also composed a lot of songs on some little electronic keyboard thing and 4 track (Heavenly Surrender, Pray for me, My Silent Undoing, all Lalleshwari +more). Plus she wanted more peaceful/dreamy sound on Taxidermy than full on rock, Crispin complained about it in some 00's interview, that he'd like it to be more rock. Then there are 2 versions of Drink Me, the original has rough and alt versions of songs (it was sold by Katie and it's leaked on FB and probably YT). Crispin Gray apparently really hated the final Drink Me. Now next album is The Butcher & The Butterfly and it's more standard blues rock, no more crazy dreamy things of previous albums etc., Djinn is even more blues rock but darker. Djinn was his favourite at some point while KJ hated Butcher, not sure about Djinn. So i think they had different views on where they should go, Katie made her weird simplistic creepy tunes (like Lalleshwari) and folk melodies adding that strange things to noise rock. Crispin probably wanted blues & rock.

Other than that, i’m convinced they are bitter exes, lol. There’s been rumours about them dating during Daisy Chainsaw for years, plus Katie had a history of dating band members. Crispin wrote X-ing off the days about her. I don’t know if they dated again in Queen Adreena. Then there’s this interview, timeline is unclear, either The butcher & the butterfly or later:

„Katie writes all the songs herself and often looks for melodies and structure with the drummer. With Crispin - her husband or ex-husband, which is not entirely clear to me - for almost three years she has no longer been in a room. "Sometimes we send him a letter with a new song and that's all we can do. All we have are our lungs and our musical talent and we have to do with it. It is repugnant difficult life, I know most of the time how I should deal with it." But Queenadreena will still remain even exist? "I think so, we are now pretty busy and I see where the ship aground.”

I always wondered what exactly happened after Djinn, i’ve seen Katie Jane say „i think they gave up on me” while others said she disappeared. Other times CG said there’s no bad blood between them but at the same time there’s been some weird tension.  As of recent i thought they reconnected somehow through the internet and had a good relation but who really knows.s

I get why Crispin gets irritated when people compare everything he does to „stealing from KJ” but honestly, he gave them good reasons, at least in the 90’s. I can believe Starsha Lee singer isn’t copying Katie cause she’s from Brazil or something and she didn’t know Queen Adreena before. But everything else… Crispin’s problem is that he doesn’t know what he wants. He spent 90’s chasing something, tried singing himself, had girl singer replacements and even one KJ copy. Dogbones was ironically his most original non-Katie band, even with all their grunge influences. In a way he wants to be a frontman and at the same time doesn’t. Idk if he’s very controlling, but Daisy Chainsaw shows he valued his songs/lyrics first & in Queen Adreena he had to step back a lot, cause Katie’s condition was she would be in charge of the lyrics. I don’t think he realizes how strongly Daisy Chainsaw issues affected Katie, i mean from her own words you can read that aside from media attention/hate, her being unable to write lyrics had a role in her breakdown. I think she now let go but for years she hated remembering Daisy Chainsaw and she felt kind of worthless cause she was only somebody else’s mouthpiece. I’m not trying to say he’s cruel or anything, but i firmly believe rock lyrics writers should sing their own songs or else there are problems.

They both were writers-composers with different vision and i have impression they struggled a lot while shaping their songs, cause they both stuck to their ideas. Hence 2 versions of Princess Carwash maybe. Katie once said that he „gets terribly upset with her” cause she writes her songs on a simple wind organ and uses a few chord buttons only. Clash of writer ways/personalities/egos and at some point they had to let go.

Maybe he prefers music/bands where he was 100% in control including lyrics (note he wrote/sang some lyrics in Dogbones too). Daisy Chainsaw achieved bigger success US and UK wise as they were offered to play Top of The Pops, and they’re more well liked/remembered by „general alt public”. Queen Adreena however is way more valued as a cult band, with cult following and admiration in UK & France. Most people think Pretty Like Drugs and other QA songs are his best work and he probably finds it irritating cause truth is, he never managed to be more successful than Daisy Chainsaw/Queenadreena. Love Your Money is ironically the least Crispin Gray/DC/QA sounding song in my opinion. I kinda find it irritating that he downplays Queen Adreena cause it was probably his best work in this band but whatever

So yeah sorry for the word spill, that’s what i can think of it right now but as i said, i haven’t watched the interview yet, it’s just this kind of treatment is in a way consistent for him

[ethelphantom]

Like You Could Be Family

And I’m back with new soulmate AUs. This is my Maribat Secret Santa contribution to @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry​. I hope you like it even though it seems my brain took some liberties with the instructions. There shouldn’t be anything you specifically said you didn’t want, though. I think. So yeah. I hope you like it. (It’s Timari, by the way). There’s also a piece of art of one of the scenes that I ended up doing bc I’ve got absolutely no self-control at the end so don’t miss it!

Ao3 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Dick, are you seriously trying to model on the cheese shelf? I swear I’m going to disown you as soon as we get home— hey, miss, do you want a new embarrassing brother? You look like you could actually be family anyway.”

Marinette stared at her wrist. Of all the things she was expecting to read on her skin once she turned 18, she wasn’t— it really was not, well, whatever the hell this was.

She massaged her temples, trying to make sense of the sentence her soulmate would say to her as the first thing after today. She could not believe that she would actually have to see someone modeling on the cheese shelf in a grocery store judging by how it all sounded like.

Yeah… What if she just didn’t go on her trip to the States with Uncle Jagged like she had meant to? After all, the sentence was in English — in all likeliness, she was going to meet her soulmate there. Marinette most certainly was not ready.

Then again, fate had a funny way of making things happen anyway, so it wasn’t like she could just avoid it. Besides, she did want to meet her soulmate, so maybe she just should resign to her fate and go regardless of how much she was not waiting for it to happen.

So. Everyone got to see the first words their soulmate would say to them after their 18th birthday, and as it was, it was Marinette’s 18th birthday. She had earlier that day heard from Uncle Jagged that he was going to take her with him to the States to go around the country and to perhaps meet new people that might want to commission her or possibly sponsor her. It was very sweet of him and Marinette really did want to go with him — after all, she was finally able to travel since there was no longer a threat of akumas because Gabriel Agreste had been arrested; He could just rot in prison for all she cared because of how he had treated Adrien and for endangering the entire City of Lights for so very long — but she really was not ready to meet her soulmate, not so soon.

Especially not if this was how she was supposed to meet them instead of a peaceful, not so strange situation.

But, as all things always went with Uncle Jagged, she gave into him and told her parents she would be gone for the summer at least. Maybe longer, since if she got enough commission work or someone to sponsor her, there was a chance she’s stay. Then there was the fact she might meet her soulmate, which also meant there was a chance she’d stay with them.

Really, she just didn’t know if she would even come home after this or if she’d start a new home there, but she told her parents that too. Her maman and papa just smiled at her and embraced her, telling her that it was fine, that they would support her no matter what. She just needed to tell them where she was going to live so they could visit.

And as she had guessed (and hoped), they were there too on the day she left, stood in front of the aeroport and told her their goodbyes and shed a few tears. They wanted to wait with her for her uncle. After all, she would be travelling with him and Aunt Penny. And Fang, obviously. One must never forget Fang. Oh, yes, she couldn’t leave Adrien out either — Uncle Jagged had insister he come with them since he was her best friend, his aunt had given the go-ahead when they asked after hearing Marinette was going as well, and he really didn’t have a family outside the Graham de Vanilys and Dupain-Chengs.

Her parents hugged her and told her she would always be welcome home, as was Adrien, and that they loved her more than anything. Marinette smiled back and told them she was going to miss them. Then they — along with his aunt Amilie — made sure they hugged Adrien as well and told him he was like the son they never had (well, Amilie did not say that) and that they all loved him, too. Marinette was glad, seeing he now had a family as well.

That’s how their journey began.

Adrien was, as one might have guessed, excited about the trip. He hadn’t gotten out much in the years before this and now he was actually free from his father — no, just Gabriel; That man did not deserve the title of a father — and allowed to actually travel with his best friend and his idol. There was no Gabriel to stop him from actually living. He too had received a soulmark (“I doubt he would. So, your best friend is the soulmate of mine, huh? Wait… that’s weird, I could’ve almost sworn— It’s you??”) a year earlier, on his eighteenth birthday, and as that too was in English, there was  good chance they’d both meet their soulmates on the trip. The average age for meeting one’s soulmate tended to be between ages 10 and 23, after all.

Thank god both of them had oddly specific things on their wrists; it would make recognising their soulmates a whole lot easier.

They ended up visiting many beautiful cities (New York City, Los Angeles, Charlestown, Metropolis, Salt Lake City, St Louis and Portland) before Jagged decided he wanted to show his niece and her best friend his home city. Adrien was excited. Marinette was a little excited, but knowing Jagged, also suspicious. Penny tried her best to convince him out of it, but no. That did not help.

(If you asked Marinette, it was because she was weak when it came to Jagged being actually excited about something, and since it wasn’t messing with any actual schedules, she ended up giving in to him.)

And just like that, they were headed to Gotham.

“Listen up kiddos! I managed to contact my friend whose oldest kids I used to take to different places to have fun whenever I could, and he says he’s got room for us all! How does that sound like to you?” he asked, basically bouncing on the balls of his feet as they were on their way towards the aeroport. He had switched to French to make it easier for them to talk about it — it was a big decision to make, after all. On one hand, that person was Uncle Jagged’s friend, and to both Marinette and Adrien that meant it was unlikely they were going to run into another Gabriel Agreste. On the other hand, in reality they knew nothing about him and all those years spent as superheroes had taught them to be cautious of anything new. New could always be good, but the problem was, new could also mean a bunch of evil butterflies attacking the city, possessing people and torturing absolutely everyone in the city for years.

“Well, Chaton, it’s your call. I’m going to trust Uncle Jagged not to have chosen a serial killer to take us in—” Adrien snorted at that, “—but you’re the one who’s gone though more shittiness from rich people than I have, so yeah. I’m making this your choice. Please don’t feel pressured to say yes.”

Adrien looked thoughtful for a second before nodding. “Yes. I want this. I want to see new people that could maybe prove me wrong about what rich people are like.”

Marinette grinned. “That’s the spirit! Though, Chaton, I have to say, you are a rich person, Jagged is a rich person, Kagami is a rich person. I think you’ve got rich and not horrible people around you as well, and all of them also happen to be close with you. But yeah, I think I get what you mean.”

Adrien punched her in the shoulder lightly, grinning back at her. Marinette almost had to cover her eyes because it looked like he was brighter than the sunshine itself as he beamed.

Jagged seemed ecstatic to find out they wanted to try meeting his friend and spend time with said friend’s children. Penny rolled her eyes fondly at her husbands enthusiasm and excitement, but went along. After all, someone needed to make sure all of them got there alive.

Once they arrived at Gotham, Marinette was surprised to find the first thing they did was not going to whoever Uncle Jagged had said was his friend but to go to a grocery store.

To buy the ingredients to the favourite food of the mysterious friend was apparently the reason why. Marinette hoped the friend’s taste was better than Jagged’s, she could not handle another week of weird smelling, suspicious foods that Jagged wanted (thank heavens for Penny and the fact she had made ordering edible food an art of mastery.)

Marinette sighed, resigning to her fate. She snatched the shopping list from her uncle’s hands and dragged Adrien along before anyone could protest. “Alright, so we gotta get all of this… Could you please go find the vegetables? And actually the rice, too. I’ll text you which vegetables are needed in just a second, okay?”

Upon receiving a positive answer as Adrien nodded and walked off, Marinette went to search for the meat. It turned out to be a task more difficult than she would have liked to admit — the store was rather big and she didn’t even know where to start.

Finally she found her way to the milk products, proud of herself since usually milk products were placed somewhere near the meat. It wasn’t good enough just yet, though, so once she noticed a small group of guys goofing around (This is what it means boys will be boys, she thought, not when they don’t leave a girl alone even after she tells them no). She was just about to ask them if they knew where the meat was when she saw one of them walk to one of the shelves and lie down, propping one leg up as he posed himself to look like he was…

Modeling.

God, did Marinette wish this was not was she thought it was.

Marinette sighed and walked closer to them, watching as one of the shorter ones in the group groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Dick, are you seriously trying to model on the cheese shelf?” he asked. Marinette’s eyes widened but she walked even closer, not sure if she really had heard right. She needed to know whether she’d heard him right. “I swear, I’m going to disown you as soon as we get home—” The man turned around and looked Marinette up and down before putting a smile on his face. Then he walked to her and spoke as though what he was saying was completely normal and not weird at all. “Hey, miss, do you want a new embarrassing brother? You look like you could actually be family anyway.”

The man still lying on the shelf laughed. “You’re right about that, Timmers. Blalck hair and blue eyes, fits the picture. We gotta keep Bruce from adopting her somehow. You don’t happen to have a tragic backstory, kid?”

Marinette was still staring at them in shock, mouth hanging slightly open before she took a quick glance at her wrist. Indeed. She had heard right. Then she looked at the man who had first spoken to her and, summoning willpower and confidence she didn’t even know she had right now, spoke up. “I don’t think disowning him is even necessary to make him my brother, and it seems there’s a chance we might become family regardless of whether this Bruce adopts me or not,” she blurted out, grimacing at her strong accent. She knew she spoke better and with cleared English, but the shock of meeting her soulmate had her relapse to the accent of her natice tongue.

All of the laughter quieted down as though cut off and their smiles fell, all four of them now looking at her like they had seen a ghost. The first to recover was a guy a little taller than her with auburn hair and — were those eyes yellow? — whose smile was probably brighter than what she’d ever seen on Adrien , and well. Adrien was the literal sunshine personified. She had barely even managed to blink before he was standing in front of her, having shoved her soulmate away.

“It’s great to meet you, miss! We were wondering already when we’d get to meet you, if he’d try to hide you from us or if he’d let us meet you right away,” he said laughing and winked. “Turns out, we got to meet you at the same time as he did! I’m Bart!”

With a light tilt of her head, Marinette smiled back at him. “Marinette, it’s lovely to meet you as well.”

The man still lying on the shelf was the second to collect himself (the other two guys who weren’t her soulmate seemed to recover as soon as he got up, but both of them stayed silent). He stood up (god he was tall, she didn’t deserve this. Marinette seriously wished the rest of the family would not be as tall so she wouldn’t need to look up to be able to talk to them easily — she had enough of that with Adrien) and was in front of her with a few graceful strides. He too greeted her with a smile on his face.

“Name’s Richard, though I have to say, please do not call me that. Especially family should call me Dick. And, since you’re apparently the soulmate of Timmy here, welcome to the family. I’m his oldest big brother, and that scowling kid (“I’m not a kid, Grayson!”) over there is our little brother, Damian. There are a whole lot more of us though, but you’ll meet them later (“Not if I can help it she won’t”). Actually. You don’t happen to be free tonight, do you? We’re having dinner with the whole family for a change today, it’d be great to have you there as well.”

“You are aware Father invited his old friend and his companions to the manor today, aren’t you, Grayson?” the scowling kid — Damian, wasn’t he? — asked from behind them, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, yes, but I strongly doubt Bruce would mind at all if we invited Timmy’s soulmate over as well. His freaking soulmate, Damian. It’s more likely that he will be happy we did so.”

“Er, I’m sorry, but my uncle wants me to be with him, his wife and my best friend today,” Marinette said, hopefully cutting off whatever argument was starting to form between the two. She was still standing in the same place, not completely sure how to act. She had never thought there would be this many people who were important in her soulmate’s life near at once. It was overwhelming — after all, it meant she had to manage to make a good first impression right away.

The last of them, the one who had yet to speak, was still staring at her, though now he no longer looked like he was shocked to see her. No, now he was scowling, glaring, looking like he was examining her. Marinette took a step away from him and closer to her soulmate unconsciously, her eyes never leaving him. Yet another thing years of fighting villains had taught her: do not let your guard down near people that looked even the slightest bit threatening — which this guy definitely look like.

She really wished she didn't need to be alone here.

“Maribug! What are you standing around for?”

Thank heavens for Adrien and his timing.

Adrien threw an arm around her shoulders and leaned forwards a little, whispering “I’m sorry it took so long to get here, my hearing and smell aren’t as good when in this form. Did they try to do anything to you?” in French.

She found it sweet that once he’d understood why flirting with her so much was not okay, he’d researched sexual harassment thoroughtly and now was quick to act and make sure she was okay if things ever looked like there was even the slightest chance someone was harassing her, just like she did with him and his fangirls (especially Lila.) Dear god did she love her best friend.

“No, there’s no problem. Thanks Chaton”, she replied, shaking her head. Adrien squeezed her lightly before he let go, now apparently having a staredown with the kind of scary guy. Marinette let out a quiet laugh before tugging him by the hand to look the other way, to her soulmate. “Adrien, I’d like you to meet my soulmate,” she said, easily switching back to English. That seemed to finally shake him — she recalled Dick calling him Timmy and Timmers, so his name was probably Tim — out of his trance. He shook his head and stretched his hand out to Adrien.

“Hi. I think I might’ve seen you before somewhere. I’m Tim, her soulmate,” he said, smiling at the two of them.

“I’m Adrien, her best friend. You better take good care of her.”

“Adrien!”

Tim just laughed. “It’s fine, I suppose mine will try to have that conversation with you later as well. I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself to you earlier either. Like said, I’m Tim Drake, it’s wonderful to meet you. I love your outfit, is it an MDC?”

Okay, wow. He recognised her outfit as an MDC — which, of course, was her own brand so it just meant she’d made her clothes herself, but it wasn’t like she had made her identity public information yet anyway. This guy was a keeper. “Ah, yes, it is! How did you know?”

Now that he had made it clear he knew who MDC was, she started examining his outfit for anything familiar — of, wait, his shirt. She’d made it as a commission as few years back. She was also pretty sure that the hoodie Bart was sporting was from her autumn line based on superheroes from last year.

Adrien shot her a knowing look and a smirk which had her want to just flip him off before he turned to look at Bart who was making his way to Adrien.

“The signature on the hem kind of revealed it,” Tim replied.

Marinette arched an eyebrow. “But it’s almost invisible. It couldn't be that easy.”

“I know how to look for details. I love MDC by the way, I have a few of her designs as well.”

“I noticed. The shirt is hers, isn’t it?”

“Yeah! I commissioned it from her a while… back…” Tim’s voice trailed off. “...how exactly did you realise it was hers? I know for a fact the signature is hidden and on the flip side, so that cannot be it.”

It seemed Adrien had been listening to their conversation instead of talking with Bart as it didn’t take him even a second to chime in. “Yeah, that’s because she made it. Oh, and I might look familiar because I tend to model most of MDC’s — Marinette’s — designs for men for her website. If you like MDC and are that familiar with her work, that’s probably were you’d know me.”

“Well, there goes that secret. Hi, I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, better known as MDC. I’m glad to hear you like my designs.”

“Wait. Timmers, you got MDC as your soulmate? That is so unfair,” Dick said, leaning against Tim’s shoulder.

Tim didn’t even grace that with a reply. He was — once again — staring at Marinette, his mouth hanging open. It was a miracle he’d even managed to shove Dick away. Marinette just smiled sheepishly and shrugged, letting her gaze wander to the side and the suddenly very interesting floor.

The man who still had said nothing walked to them, placed a finger under Tim’s chin and closed it. “He’s just a big fan — as is a big portion of their family, apparently — couldn’t stop talking about how ‘amazing it was that MDC accepted his commission’ at all for weeks at the time. Hi, I’m Conner, also one of his best friends. You better treat him well, or…”

“Yeah, that’s enough, Kon, let’s not threaten her too much so she won’t run away. I think he’d probably like to keep her,” Dick snorted. “You can give her the shovel talk once they start dating — if they start dating, that is.”

Marinette didn’ t know what to say, so she just kept silent and smiled, instead opting to listen to Adrien talking with Bart next to her. It helped her ground a little, knowing her best friend was right there with her.

“Nah, sure I love her, but just platonically. She’s my best friend, like a sister to me, so he doesn’t need to worry about me coming in between them. Well, unless he hurts her, that is.”

In front of her, Conner stopped talking with Dick and turned to look at the two. Tim did the same. Marinette soon understood why, as well.

“I doubt he would,” Bart replied, an obvious smile echoing in his voice. “So, your best friend is the soulmate of mine, huh?” Marinette’s smile fell and she turned to look at her best friend, who seemed to recognise the far too familiar words coming out of Bart’s mouth as well. Bart was looking at his wrist, now mumbling. “Wait… that’s weird, I could’ve almost sworn—” Then his gaze snapped to Adrien. “It’s you??”

“Oh mon dieu.”

“Oh mon dieu vraiment.”

With a quick glance, it seemed that everyone was now looking at Adrien and Bart. There was a smile growing on both their faces, though it was there far faster on Bart’s definitely. Grinning, Adrien turned to Marinette.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and started speaking in rapid-fire French. Understandable, it was much easier to both of them to deal with feelings in. “I cannot believe this! We both got to meet our soulmates on this trip, almost at the same time, and in Gotham of all places! I swear this was the last place I would have expected to find them at and I am so happy about this and just look at him he’s so adorable and precious I can’t even! I have known him for all of three minutes but I already love him. Oh my god, Jagged is not going to believe this—”

“Oh my god, Uncle Jagged. And I forgot the meat. We have to hurry, we can’t let him and Penny and his friend wait for us too long. Please tell me you didn’t forget anything I asked you to find.” Thankfully, Adrien shook his head.

Of course she had forgotten something. Now, it meant that she was starting to panic. “I am so very sorry, but I forgot that I was supposed to find ingredients for my uncle and I have to go now. I’m so sorry. We’ll still be in Gotham for some time, maybe I’ll run into you later again? Bye!” And with that, she dragged Adrien with her, leaving both her and Adrien’s soulmates behind. Adrien just waved to them before running beside her.

She left them behind having completely forgotten about asking for any means to contact any of them.

This she, obviously, only realised when she was in the car with Uncle Jagged, Aunt Penny and Adrien, already on their way to Jagged’s friend.

“I cannot believe I forgot to ask for his number or anything. I had to clear my inbox a while back, too, so it’s going to take me ages to find even his email address,” she moaned and buried her face in her hands. Adrien just patted her head, trying to comfort her. Yeah, that’s right, she had dragged Adrien away from his soulmate as well. That made her even worse.

“Wait, who are you talking about, kid? Whose number did you forget to ask? A potential new client?” Jagged asked, confused about what his niece was on about.

Marinette lifted her head for a moment to answer him. There were tear streaks on her face, she realised, when the air was a little too cool at only some places on her cheeks and hands. “No, my soulmate’s. I finally met him but then I realised I was late and Adrien met his soulmate as well but I just dragged him away too and oh god I’m such a horrible friend.” Then she let her head fall into her hands again.

“You met your soulmates? In Gotham?” Jagged gasped. “I’m so happy you met them here.”

“Jagged, you do realise this is Gotham, one of the most crime-ridden cities in the world, right?”

“But Penny, I’m sure these kiddos’ soulmates aren’t bad! They are so pure, not even fate would be so cruel! Anyway, kid, you should have stayed with him or asked him to join us! There’s nothing as rock and roll as meeting your soulmate! I would have been fine with waiting for you so you could get his number.”

“His brother actually asked me to come over to his place and have a dinner with his family. I said no because I was supposed to come with you to your friend’s place.”

“You should’ve said yes, Mari! I could have told Bruce you weren’t able to come ‘cuz you met your soulmate and he would’ve been okay with it!”

“What’s done is done, Uncle Jagged. Can we forget about this now? I want to wallow in self-pity.”

Adrien just shook his head and took her hands to his. “No, and you’re not a bad friend, Buginette. I know how you get like when things start becoming hectic, but one, I’m already used to it, and two, maybe we’ll see him again. He lives here and he told you his name, didn’t he? And you told him yours? You can probably try to find him tomorrow. I’m sure you will. And, once you find him, I’ll get to mine as well because he said they were best friends. There’s really nothing to worry about, Mari.”

“You’re way too good for me. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes you do. Now take this tissue, dry your face and we can go inside.”

Oh. They’d already arrived at the manor Jagged’s friend lived in. Marinette took the tissue Adrien handed her, wiped the tears off her face and then stepped out of the car, Adrien following right behind her. There was a man with a white streak in his otherwise black hair waiting at the door, a cigar in his hands.

“Hi Jagged. B said you were coming soon. Get in. It’s a little chaotic right now, babybird apparently met his soulmate and then lost her just about immediately, so he also invited his friends over,” the man said, drawing a breath out of his cigar. It seemed he recognised Jagged immediately, which was probably a good sign.

“Seems like we’er not the only ones with soulmate problems today,” Adrien whispered to her. Marinette just nodded. While she wasn’t one to take joy in others’ problems, she was kind of a little glad to hear that they weren’t the only ones who had to suffer with them right now.

“Well, hello Jay-lad, you’re alive again!” Jagged exclaimed as though being alive again was totally normal and squeezed the man. What the hell. When Marinette looked at Penny, hoping for some sort of an explanation for this, she just shrugged. “Great to see you’ve grown into a big boy now. These are Marinette and Adrien, my niece and her best friend. Oh, and Penny, my wife.”

“Oh give it a rest, won’t you, I wasn’t actually that small back then either. Where’s Fang?”

“Left him in my brother’s care.”

“The one that works at Arkham?”

“That one. He said he’s gonna take him with him to work today.”

“Great, let’s hope he bites Joker’s head or at least hand off. But yeah, good to see you’ve gotten yourself a family now so you don’t need to borrow me or Dick to have children anymore. Now, get in, it’s not too warm a night.” Once Adrien and Marinette got near him, he nodded as greeting. “I’m Jason, B’s second son and the kid Jagged used to borrow every now and then when he wanted to take a kid to concerts or the amusement park or somethin’.”

Adrien snorted next to Marinette who just chuckled. “Sounds like something Uncle Jagged would totally do. He basically adopted me as his niece after I designed him an atrocious pair of glasses,” Marinette laughed. “And Adrien got in because his father is an ass, and my family has joint custody of him with his aunt, which then led to Jagged wanting to take him with us as well.”

“Of course he did. Only Jagged and B would, I swear. Only them.”

They followed Jason inside (Jagged had already taken the liberty to just march in like he owned the place and announce he was back in Gotham, dragging Penny with him), marvelling at how gorgeous and beautiful everything looked. Even Adrien, who had grown up in a similar house, did, perhaps because while this manor was as big (if not far bigger) and just about as decorated as the Agreste Mansion had been, this was also warm and felt like home, like someone actually lived there instead of just… occupying the space. It was amazing.

A broad-shouldered man walked to them to welcome them in. It was probably B (Bruce? Marinette was pretty sure that was what Jagged had called him), based on how Jason greeted him, punching him lightly in the shoulder while he just ruffled Jason’s hair.

“It’s wonderful to meet the family Jagged speaks so fondly of finally. I’m Bruce Wayne. Come inside, I’d like you two to meet my children,” he said, smiling warmly at the two of them. Adrien was a little wary, but followed him anyway, never leaving Marinette’s side and his hand in hers. It wasn’t surprising and Marinette didn’t judge him for it — after all, as far as Adrien was aware, this man could be just like Gabriel (even if by all likelihood he wasn’t).

Jason snorted behind them. “He speaks of his children like there are only a handful of us instead of like, a million, like there in reality are. He’s a serial adopter, I swear. Be careful or he adopts the both of you — Blondie Locks sounds like he has a tragic backstory, and you have at the very least the blue eyes and black hair.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, somewhat ready to meet new people. But, once they actually got to the living room, they weren’t met with a bunch of unfamiliar faces, no. Instead, Marinette immediately recognised four of them, one of which was her soulmate.

How else. Fate had a funny way of doing things, making sure you couldn't avoid your soulmate.

Not that she wasn’t glad about it for this once.

Bart looked up and basically appeared next to Adrien — how fast was he anyway? — who then immediately hugged him. Well. If Bart was here and he was indeed every bit the precious sunshine he seemed to be and Adrien claimed he was, Marinette could safely leave Adrien to him. She squeezed Adrien’s hand once more before making her way towards Tim who met her halfway.

She smiled sheepishly at him. “Sorry, I kind of tend to get stuck in my head when things start to get hectic and forgot to ask you for your contact information,” she chuckled, tilting her head.

Tim just smiled at her, arching an eyebrow. “Well, we got to meet this soon anyway, so I think I can forgive you that this once.”

“Hey!”

He just laughed at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, you told me you were MDC — I would have been able to get in contact with you rather easily,” he reminded her.

Oh yeah. That too.

“It’s wonderful to meet you again, Tim. I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth, Marinette. I’m glad I got to meet you, soulmate.”

Marinette opened her arms slightly, and once Tim nodded and she got the go-ahead, she hugged him tight. Glancing at her wrist and the odd words written on it, the corners of her lips quirked upwards.

Perhaps, perhaps it wasn’t that bad to have “Dick, are you seriously trying to model on the cheese shelf? I swear I’m going to disown you as soon as we get home— hey, miss, do you want a new embarrassing brother? You look like you could actually be family anyway.” written on her body permanently.

After all, those words led her to the young man called Tim she could already tell was a wonderful person, and later on, Marinette couldn't have been happier to call him her beloved soulmate.

(click for better quality)

_____

@kris-pines04​ @thethirdwheelfriend​ @daminett4life​

[nukyster-blog]

Changing Course Chapter 27) Raven named Utstøtt

.-.-.

He should be exhausted, but Ivar was wide awake, back in shackles and frustrated. Worrisome thoughts ate their way into his subconscious like maggots feasting on rotting flesh. Everytime he closed his eyes, images appeared; of his mother waving her last goodbye, his one-eyed father being eaten by a flock of ravens, and of the fair-maiden, walking past him into her dread filled future. Even Piglet’s dark eyes and temper came into view.

Ivar could no longer pinpoint who he was. He had been a lot of things; a prince, a despised brother, a cherished son. A disgrace. 

He’d become a lot of things, too; a slave, a savior, de martelaar, the bloody bear of Kattegat, a cursed one. 

And he was and always would be a cripple, nature’s mistake. Possibly a changeling and the reason for his father’s absence. 

He held so many titles. Too many, and he no longer knew which one to hold onto and which one to throw away forever. What use was it to ponder over his royal blood, as it had been spilled countless times by his masters? 

But to embrace the title of a slave? Never. The Giant could flog him over forty times, break his useless legs and spit on his grave, but he’d never fully bow to the rulers of De Haar. 

Another toss and turn, another long sigh of frustration, and Ivar crawled on his side to stare in envy at his sleeping companion.  

Although spring had kindly rid the shed of cold, after twilight, Piglet still turned into his shadow. No longer would she cling onto his body for heat, but she’d sleep at his side. 

It no longer bothered him, not even that high pitch weeze she’d make as she’d fall deeply asleep. Or how her stone cold feet always managed to find their way up against his knees.

  There was a level of trust from her behalf and it was an odd and unfamiliar sensation to receive such a gift from someone else. It was a fragile treasure, one he’d broken countless times. Yet the shards and shatters always magically seemed to restore, as he’d proven his loyalty to the slave maiden. 

There was this strange balance between them, one that at times made him push her away and yet drew him closer and closer. 

“Why?”, he whispered to the sleeping form of Piglet, “why do I bother to care for you? You are just a soil skinned slave”. 

His words were meant to sound harsh and insulting, but they came out so hopeless and quiet. 

.-.-.

Ivar had been very wrong about one thing. He most definitely hadn’t missed cleaning chamber pots. Retching, his back arched against the stone well as the stench of human waste mercilessly filled his nostrils. 

What should be a miracle actually felt like a punishment; at dawn the Giant had released him from his chains, hoisted Ivar on his shoulders, and tossed him into the midst of the cobblestoned centre. 

He’d been freed and turned into the laugh of the town, as he’d suffered his way through the chamber pots. The stench already sank into his skin and Ivar was fully aware that the Giant unleashed him only to torture him. Yesterday, he’d been able to cleanse his body for the first time in months, and now he stank even worse than before. 

Even Piglet, queen of poor personal hygiene, scrunched up her nose as she rapidly dumped his breakfast at his feet. 

Ivar did not blame her and, frustrated, he whipped at the flies circling around his head. 

After fulfilling his duty, the Giant picked him up again and carried him over to the entrance of the castle. Dropping him to the floor like a sack of shit, he handed Ivar a bucket and a cloth, indicating that he’d better start scrubbing. 

This task was less revolting and allowed Ivar to embrace the meager glimpse of daylight. Although his stiff muscles and knees ached, he counted this moment as a humble blessing. To be outside, breathe in fresh air, and be able to observe the residence of de Haar. Small children playing silly games around the well, carts bringing in new livestock, the linen maidens handing out loads of fresh laundry.  A peaceful scenery, a delight for the eye. 

But that wasn’t what filled Ivar’s heart with content. Now that he was deployed to another part of the Castle, he was able to observe far more interesting aspects; the specific amount of guards and their route. Without drawing any attention, he was able to glance at their weaponry. From the main entrance, it was easy to view the main gate and how it was being watched by two guards. Two, it took two full grown men to open the gate. Now that was a very important discovery, as this meant Ivar wouldn’t be able to escape during nighttime, when the gate would be closed. 

‘Unless I grow wings’, Ivar thought to himself as he enviously glanced up at the circle of ravens flying high in the air.  

Ivar pulled himself onto the fifth step of the stone stairway when his ears perked at the sound of  distressed squeaking.  

A hatchling lay in the middle of the main entrance, ready to be stomped to death. A little puzzled about the baby bird's previous whereabouts, Ivar crawled closer to inspect the tiny little thing. 

It looked hideous, mostly bald with tufts of light feathers. The baby bird was defenseless and incapable of fleeing as the limp wings lacked strength and feathers, it’s eyes hadn’t even opened up yet. 

Ivar glanced up again, scanning the rooftops and walls until his eyes rested on a raven’s nest submerged in between roof tiles. Two ravens flew on and off to provide food for their offspring. Neither of the parents seemed aware or bothered by the unfortunate youngest who’d taken a massive tumble down. 

The heavy footsteps of the Giant marched close and without any hesitation Ivar picked up the bundle of cold naked flesh and stored it inside the pocket Piglet sewed in to smuggle food.

 Meaty fingers raked through Ivar’s hair and yanked him up onto his knees with a pained hiss. The Giant was not pleased with his slave taking a break. With force, Ivar received the cloth back in his hand while his face was shoved into the dirty water of the bucket. Reliving vividly how he’d nearly drowned inside the well, Ivar squirmed, gasped and whittered. 

The threat of drowning was short but powerful and the moment his lungs were allowed to fill themselves back up with air, Ivar’s hand turned into fist and dutifully began  scrubbing the entrance of De Haar. 

.-.-.

Piglet was in a state of pure bliss with so many new animals inside the shed. Sheep with lambs, a flock of chickens, and six young calves were stored inside, all with hungry mouths to feed. 

“You’re working yourself to death for those stupid animals”, Ivar felt the need to tell her.

  Of course, his statement fell on deaf ears and Piglet happily slaved herself through countless troughs of fresh water, bales of hay, and handfuls of grain. She then still remained strong enough to fill up Ivar’s trough and announced he stank. Which he did, there was no denying that. 

“Use this”, Piglet said as she handed him a black lump of lard, motioning by scrubbing her own arm and face, “it helps”. Ivar recognised the structure of the lump; it came close to the herbal soaps their elderly made in Kattegat. It was a time consuming process, not to mention very delicate work. 

Ivar pulled the tunic over his head and scrubbed the greasy lump over his smelling skin and washed himself. As he rid  himself from the stench of human waste, Piglet came back with supper. 

“Piglet, you know a lot about herbs and ointments”, Ivar stated, referring not only to the soap, but also to the professional way she’d tended his wounds. “How do you know all of this?” 

Piglet paused, shoving a handful of potato into her mouth and chewed slowly, buying herself some time, because by the Gods, his question meant revealing something about herself.

“Before you, there was another cripple, but not her legs. No-”, Piglet tapped her index finger against her temple a couple of times, “in here. She meant no harm, but she talked. All the time, never shut up”, Piglet gestured towards the stairs, “I slept up there, called her Rattle-mouth. Her real name was Mabelia, not that anyone cared. She taught me about plants, herbs, soap, how to disgust men, keep them away. She was my friend”, Piglet added, sincerely. 

“Was?” Ivar noticed how she’d spoken in the past tenses. 

“The Toothless burned her alive”, Piglet whispered bitterly, “everyone knew about her special gifts. She knew things. She helped people, she cured sickness, wounds, colds. Never asked for anything in return. She saved lives, until she couldn’t. And the Toothless blamed her for that”.

“Who died, Piglet?” Ivar asked, “who’s the one she couldn’t save?”

Piglet stared at him but seemed to look right through to him: “his son, born in breach, never able to draw his first breath.” 

The Giant lost his son. Oddly enough, that made the man seem less untouchable and more human. 

“She was accused of witchcraft. Toothless stated she purposely murdered his son for her Lord, the devil. She burned the same day his son was buried. Mabelia Rattle-mouth at the stake with her tongue cut out, all because she failed to save his son.” 

“Yet you survived”, Ivar stated sharply, “you were her friend. A witch’s friend.”

“I spoke lies, that she bewitched me, that she talked to the Devil night after night. I caused her to burn, saved my own skin.” Piglet told her story pragmatically but the guilt that crushed her was unmistakable. It took over her whole being, she seemed to shrink and cower away. 

  Ivar wanted to lash out at her, because that had been a gutless act on her behalf. Although it wasn’t his betrayal, her confession felt like a stab in the back. For he’d taken a flogging for Piglet, one that nearly caused him his life and left him scarred forever. He’d never expected her to return the favour, but to hear her say she’d sold out a friend, yes, that put her in a completely different light. 

Yet, all the poor young woman had done was simply survive. No doubt, Mabelia would have burned without Piglet’s lies, for failing the Giant’s son.

A muffled squeak eventually broke the silence between Ivar and Piglet. Ivar had completely forgotten about the baby bird hiding in the safety of his tunic.  During the day he’d been so focused on his tasks, the small animal warming up due to his body heat, becoming a small bundle of warmth, skin and a heartbeat. 

Ivar picked up his tunic and scooped the bird up. In his large hand the bird seemed even smaller and so fragile.

“You’ve saved a bird? Why?” Piglet asked curiously, as Ivar never before showed much care to any of the animals aside from the pigs. And that care had only been there because it had been his task. 

Ivar shrugged, still unable to answer that question for himself.

  Piglet leaned in for a closer look. “Does it have a name?”

“He,” Ivar snapped, “it’s a he and he does have a name: Utstøtt.” 

Piglet’s brows furrowed as she hadn’t learned that word yet, “what does that mean?”

Ivar’s fingers petted the small beak of the bird, “Outcast.” 

.-.-.

Over the course of days, Utstøtt’s feathers started to flourish and his eyes opened. That was how Ivar understood his subconscious reasoning for saving the young bird. Instead of growing ink black feathers as all ravens do, Utstøtt’s feathers were white as snow. Another abnormal feature was Utstøtt’s eyes. His right was milky and pupil-less, while his left eye was icy blue. 

Had Utstøtt’s fall from the nest been an accident? Or had the parents deliberately pushed their offspring from the nest? In the animal world there was no place for abnormalities, nature could be cruel, allowing the parents to either eat or kill their young.

Or abandon them in the woods, to let the wolves do the dirty work for them. 

Neither Ivar nor Utstøtt should be alive, because they didn’t stand a change in this cruel world. They both had all odds against them, but Ivar knew from experience that sometimes the damaged ones can rise. 

So, he did his best to keep Utstøtt hidden inside his tunic. Collected worms during his tasks outside and chewed the boneless, wiggling things up to feed his pet raven. 

Piglet was appalled by the way he fed the bird, yet touched by his will to care for Utstøtt. She brought him scraps of beef and chicken so he no longer had to chew on worms. 

Utstøtt turned out to be a smart bird, oddly aware of when he needed to remain quiet and still inside Ivar’s tunic. While at other times, he’d poke at Ivar’s chest and caw, indicating that he was hungry. With his good eye, he’d stare up at Ivar accusingly if he took too long. 

And so, another chapter started in Ivar’s life, that of being a foster of a white, one-eyed raven named Utstøtt. 

.-.-.

A/N: So, for this chapter I had about 6 tabs open about ‘ravens’, and then 3 more about ‘how did they make soap before soap?’ This chapter felt a bit all over the place, but I didn’t feel like cutting it up in pieces and adding extra ‘space’ purely to make it more organized. Basically I didn’t want to bore myself and I needed to get a lot of thoughts/information/background and Utstøtt into the story. So yes, most of all happy with the chapter. Hope you enjoyed it too:)

Xoxoxo Nukyster 

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane

The tagged ones:@youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys​ @shannygoatgruff@pieces-by-me@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa@readsalot73@lauraan182 @conaionaru@sarahh-jane@peachybonelessIf you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

[lunarsaga]

EPISODE 1: Here Comes Trouble

[[HERE WE GO, BITCHES! Fanfic and Fanart combine to make some unholy mix of Time Consumption that will not leave me alone.

THE LUNAR SAGA, EPISODE 1, START!

Note: the text in the panels doesn't match the actual written portion of the fic ^^; I tried my best but I didn't wanna redraw all of this... ]]

===============

Kagome had been gone longer than she usually was, and Inuyasha was getting impatient.

They’d finally gotten their first lead on Naraku since his disappearance—that he was heading in the direction of the Ox and Tiger (Kagome called it “noh-rth-eest”?)—this was no time for her to be going back to her world! He tried to tell her that when she left, but she insisted that she was going home to bring back something that would help them.

She’d been gone for almost ten days now! What could possibly be taking so long?!

The half demon sat beside the well, seething as he waited for something to happen. He’d been at this pretty much constantly since the day after she left. He had half a mind to follow her down the well to her world and drag her back here; he’d done it before, he could do it again.

“Don’t you dare follow me!” Kagome had said before she left, “I might be gone a while, but I promise it’ll be worth it!”

“Ain’t worth it if we lose track of Naraku because you’re taking so long,” he growled to no one in particular. Obviously, he got no response from the dry well, so he stood up and raised his voice: “HURRY THE HELL UP, KAGOME!”

“Inuyasha?”

Inuyasha jumped from surprise when he saw Kagome hop up out of the well. She sat on the edge, smiling just softly. A little embarrassed that he was yelling at the well, Inuyasha folded his arms and cleared his throat.

“It’s about time you got back, Kagome,” he said. “What took you so damn long?!”

Kagome sighed, still smiling as she set her feet on the ground and stepped closer to him. “I told you, I had to get something. It took a second, but I said it’d be worth it, didn’t I?”

“I hope you’re right,” he snorted, “Because if Naraku gets away cos you took too long over there—”

He didn’t get to finish his thought. He hadn’t been paying attention to the well at all; usually, he wouldn’t have needed to. This time, he would definitely regret it. From the depths of the well came a voice he’d never heard before:

“HEADS UP!”

He didn’t even have time to wonder who the hell’s voice it was. Seconds later, something heavy flew out of the well and smacked him square in the face.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Kagome laughed nervously, holding her hands up, “Uh… that would be her.”

Anger boiling and holding his freshly bruised nose, Inuyasha shouted back at her: “WHO?!”

“Keep your pants on!” Came that same voice again. Inuyasha turned his attention back to the well as someone he’d never seen before pushed herself out of the well.

She dressed strangely—that was a given, she seemed to be from Kagome’s time—and carried a large, oddly-shaped bag on her back. She had thick waves of black hair, much longer than Kagome’s, but pretty much the same shade of jet black. Not only that, she seemed to resemble Kagome in a lot of ways, even if she looked much older. They had the same shape of face, the same nose, and the same round, brown eyes—although, if he looked close enough, he could see a strange pattern in this girl’s irises: little flecks of pale gold, asymmetrically surrounding her pupils.

Inuyasha was immediately on edge, his hand going instinctively for his sword hilt. Kagome saw, and shook her head, setting her hand on his arm.

“Relax, Inuyasha,” She said, “This is who I went back to get.”

“Sorry, did my bag getcha?” The girl asked as she hopped out of the well.

“Inuyasha,” Kagome continued, gesturing to the older girl, “Allow me to introduce you to my older sister. This is Luna.”

For a second, it didn’t set in. Inuyasha blinked once… twice… “Your… sister? You have a sister?!”

“She sure does,” the girl—Luna—stood tall, grinning and holding out her hand. As she did, she said something he didn’t understand. It sounded like weird gibberish. When she saw his face, she laughed and smacked her palm to her forehead. “Right, sorry. Still getting used to speaking Japanese more than I do English.”

Once again confused, Inuyasha just stared at her. “In-glesh?”

Luna nodded. “It’s the common language where I live.”

“Inuyasha, Luna lives in a different place than the rest of our family,” Kagome explained, “She lives in a country that’s across the ocean, called America.”

“A-mare-i-kah…” Inuyasha tried to say. “Sounds weird.”

“Oh it is, definitely.” Luna laughed, going to pick up her bag.

“Is that what took you so long?” Inuyasha asked Kagome, “You had to wait for her to travel across the ocean?”

“Didn’t take as long as you’d think, had to visit mom and gramps and Sota, too.” It was weird how casual this girl was about everything. “But I can explain why I’m here and where I’m from once we get to where we’re going, right?”

“Right,” Kagome agreed, smiling as she led her sister back toward Kaede’s village. “You gotta meet everyone else, too!”

“Looking forward to it.”

Inuyasha wasn’t sure how to process what the hell just happened. It was a lot of information in a very short amount of time, most of which he didn’t understand, and all of which he didn’t really like. He wasn’t sure how to feel about a new person joining their group, nevermind that he never knew Kagome had more family than the ones he’d met before. And the fact that she threw a heavy bag at his face certainly didn’t help. (Well… it was an accident, but still. It hurt.)

Well… at least Kagome was back, and the most important thing was that they could get on with their search for Naraku.

~ ~ ~

Alright, time to back up a little bit.

Now, there may have been a reason why Kagome didn’t really mention her sister. Part of it might have been that it would be hard to explain that her sister lived on another continent, but another part might have been that it would be even harder to explain why. And the reason it would be so hard to explain—for Kagome specifically—would be because of their father.

Now, the Higurashi family had quite a long history of shrine keepers, priests, and priestesses, dating back several hundred years. Along with that lineage came a propensity for spiritual magic and a connection to the supernatural, as well as the metaphysical, and Keiichirou Higarashi—father to Kagome, Luna, and Sota— was no exception. However, he had bigger dreams than shrine-keeping.

A bit of a rebel, Keiichirou spent some time in America during High School as a part of an exchange program. It was there, through the family that hosted him, that he found a world that he never would have imagined.

The underground world of Supernatural Monster Hunters.

He spent his high school years in America learning all about it: how to fight and protect people against different monsters, some of them like the ones his father told him stories of growing up. When he returned home, he declared that he’d found his calling, and when he could finally afford to, he would move to America to follow it.

His father worried about the fate of the Higurashi Shrine if his only child were to abandon their family’s legacy. Keiichirou wouldn’t back down, but found when he returned home, that the Hunting world extended even to Japan—not quite to the extent that it was in the States, but he could still find a middle ground between what he wanted and what his father did.

And in the interim, he fell in love and married a wonderful woman named Mei, who accepted his weird, secret world wholeheartedly.

The Higurashis’ first child was born on the first day of November, during a very full Harvest Moon. When she opened her eyes for the first time, the doctor immediately diagnosed her with partial Heterochromia; her hazel-brown eyes were speckled with gold just around her irises, making it look like she had little crescent moons in her eyes. Keiichirou chose her name for these reasons; he’d heard it when he was in America, a name that meant “moon”. Luna.

It was seven years until their next child came into the world: Kagome, named for the eight-pointed star Mei saw on her chest after she was born. Keiichirou was excited when he heard about that; he said that both of his girls had special gifts, and hoped they would one day do amazing things with them.

But another six years passed… and things weren’t so happy in the Higurashi house. Keiichirou had already started teaching Luna about the Supernatural world, where Mei thought she was too young. Keiichirou had grown weary over the years, still longing to go back to America, where the Hunter culture was strongest.

When Luna was thirteen, Kagome six, and Sota only a newborn, their parents separated.

Luna was old enough at that point, that her parents let her decide where she wanted to be. Enthralled by the idea of being a Hunter, she wanted to follow her father, even if it meant leaving the rest of her family.

Travel between the two countries was difficult; Luna was lucky if she saw her little sister and brother once a year. But they kept in touch as much as they could: by letter, by email, and a phone call every once in a while.

Then, just four years after he and Luna left Japan, Keiichirou passed away very suddenly of an illness. Despite her family’s insistence that she come back and live in Japan, Luna remained in her father’s house. She knew, by then, that she was too far into the Hunter world to leave; not to mention that she had Alice (an old family friend, let’s say for now), who had been helping take care of her anyway. So she stayed in America, as five more years went by.

She hadn’t talked to her sister in months, when she got a call from her out of the blue:

“Hey Luna, um… So, I’ve got quite the story to tell you…”

~ ~ ~

So here she was, Luna Higurashi, a 22-year-old American Monster Hunter, standing 500-ish years in the past, explaining herself to a half-dog-demon, a kitsune, a nekomata, a Demon Slayer, and a Buddhist Monk. All of whom were extremely surprised to find that Kagome had a sister.

“Nice to get to meet you all,” She said, “Kagome told me all about your adventures. She brought me here to help you get rid of that Naraku guy.”

“Kagome never told us she had a sister!” The little kitsune—Shippo—piped up first.

“So I’ve heard,” Luna chuckled, crossing her arms.

Sango, the Demon Slayer, looked rather interested in the guitar case Luna was carrying on her back. “You mentioned you were a Slayer too? That must be an impressive weapon you’re carrying.”

“Huh? Oh, no,” Luna shook her head, tugging on the strap. “This is just my guitar. It’s a musical instrument—all my weapons are in my duffel bag.”

While her attention was on Sango, Luna failed to notice the monk approaching her until he took her hand in his. “A demon slayer and a musician! To think Kagome never told us she had such a beautiful and accomplished sister.”

Luna just stared at him, but she could feel the tension rising from the Slayer next to her. It was like standing next to a crackling thunderstorm with lightning bolts ready to strike. But she had nothing to worry about, Luna wasn’t about to fall for it.

“Never did mention me, huh?” She reversed the gentle grip Miroku had on her hand, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it sideways; a warning. “But she did tell me about you. And if you value your hands, you’ll keep them to yourself.”

Miroku laughed nervously, “Ahahaha—ow! Th-there’s no need to be rash! I meant nothing by it!”

The thunderstorm was gone. Sango was smirking as Luna let the monk go. “Oh, I like her.”

Kagome sighed, shook her head and smiled. “Welcome to the group, sis.”

[writing-is-my-guilty-pleasure]

Patient || Kylo Ren/Ben Solo x Reader ~ Part 3

A/N: Part 3! Thank you to everyone who’s sent me messages or left messages on previous parts! Feel free to send in requests - you can find the fandoms I write for in my bio, or here! Also sorry this took a while - had to take a bit of a mental health week and get back into the routine again.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4

Star Wars Masterlist

Main Masterlist

It had been almost a month since you last spoke to Kylo Ren, and almost a month since Tyro had been demoted. Since then, you’d finally felt safe enough to go back to taking the usual route to your work, and everyone had apparently noticed a huge change in your behaviour; you smiled and joked more, and the bags under your eyes caused from lack of sleep and stress had long disappeared. You rarely saw Tyro around the ship anymore - he worked a different shift to you - almost the exact opposite actually, so unless you directly sought him out, you could avoid him for as long as you wanted.

The only relative downside to this development was that you didn’t have reason to talk to Kylo anymore. Not that the two of you had had particularly long conversations - he definitely wasn't one for small talk and you had no idea what you’d even approach as a topic of conversation with him. Destroying planets? His plans to destroy the rebellion?

“Have you heard the latest gossip?” Yasmyn’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. You turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow, curious. She stepped closer, a grin on her face. “Rumour has it, there’s a rebel pilot being held for questioning by Kylo Ren as we speak!” Your mouth opened in slight surprise.

“How did we capture a rebel pilot?” You asked incredulously. “We’ve been trying for longer than I can remember!” Yasmyn giggled excitedly.

“Apparently he’s pretty hot.” She whispered, and you shushed her loudly. “What? I’m just repeating what I heard.” She shrugged, winking. “They can’t reprimand me for just repeating a rumour - who knows if it’s even true!” 

“Just don’t talk about the rebels so loudly.” You sighed in defeat. “If one of the troopers found out-”

“Oh, nothing would happen! You’re in with Kylo Ren, he’s not going to punish you for anything!” Yasmyn threw her arm around your shoulder. “He wouldn't punish his favourite medic!”

“I am not ‘in’ with Kylo!” You huffed, but Yasmyn just grinned at you, and hurried away at the call of another medic.

A while after your conversation, more news spread around the ship, this time talking about the escape of the pilot, who left the ship with a stormtrooper. Phasma’s not going to be pleased about that, You thought grimly as you cleaned some equipment.

                                           ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was only another day or two after the rebel pilot had been captured, that Kylo had allegedly come back aboard the ship after a brief detour with another rebel - but this time any information regarding this event was oddly subdued. Which was strange; shouldn't Kylo be pleased that he’d captured two members of the rebellion in only a few days, even though one of them had escaped? You shrugged it off; Kylo wasn't known to be a very 'open' person, so it wasn't anything unusual.

However, just as before, it wasn't long after the rumour had spread around, that even more commotion seemed to occur as another rebel prisoner escaped.  That was definitely strange – the security on the ship was impeccable; there was no way that two rebel prisoners had managed to get past all the stormtroopers and crew on the ship. It was kind of ironic, how the one time you actually wanted to talk to Kylo, was the one time where he was hardly seen by anyone on the ship - or at least, nobody you knew had seen him. But this was obviously far beyond your expertise - this wasn’t what you were being paid to do, and you didn’t want to stick your nose into business that wasn’t yours to know. So, you continued to do your job in the med-wing, remaining mostly unaware of the conflict around you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It wasn’t until a few more days had passed that people of your station became aware of the growing threat from the Rebellion. As your job was primarily to take care of the wounded on the ship, this wasn’t surprising, although you wouldn’t have minded knowing about all this a little earlier. Would have been nice if Kylo had told me himself, you thought absentmindedly as you half-listened to the Chief Medical Officer give the daily briefing.

Suddenly, a voice crackled through the overhead speakers. “Medical Officer Y/N Y/L/N, your service is required by Commander Ren. You are to wait outside the med-wing until you are escorted to his quarters.” You sat up straight, as everyone’s heads turned to look at you. The Chief Officer gestured for you to leave the room - no doubt fearing what would happen if you didn’t arrive as soon as possible. 

So, you awkwardly made your way through the other medics in the room, and hurriedly prepared a case of remedies and equipment - and as you were doing so, you realised you had no idea why Kylo had called you to his quarters; you didn’t even know if he needed medical assistance. As soon as you had stepped out of the doors to the med-wing, you were greeted by two stormtroopers, who then proceeded to escort you to Kylo’s room.

When you arrived at his doors, one of the stormtroopers that was guarding his room knocked sharply on Kylo's door, and after a moment, the door swung open, seemingly of its own accord, but you knew it was simply Kylo using the Force. It would have been better manners to greet your guest personally at the door, but you weren't about to say that to Kylo’s face. Without a word, you were ushered into the room, and the door closed behind you with a snap as soon as you had entered.

This time instead of sitting on his bed, Kylo was standing by his window, his back to you. You stepped forwards, this time feeling more confident in his presence.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” You asked, putting down your case on his bed and walking closer to him, but made sure you weren’t overstepping any boundaries.

“Yes, I did.” Kylo spoke quieter than usual, and you noticed that he was gripping the window-ledge slightly, and you frowned. “I don’t know what rumours you’ve been hearing over the past few days, but there was a....predicament that I had to deal with.” He turned to face you, and you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp, and you realised that he’d been gripping his window-ledge for support. Something had carved a long, wicked-looking slash down Kylo’s face, that disappeared under the tunic he was wearing. 

“What happened?” You asked, eyes wide as you hurried over to him, peering up into his face. “What- who did this to you?” Your eyes scanned over his face in concern, before remembering who you were talking to, and stepping back slightly, flushing.

“Some scavenger girl.” A sneer crept into Kylo’s tone - something you’d never heard before in your time of knowing him; he always seemed relatively calm, cool and collected. Something that he seemed to realise, as when he next spoke, the sneer was gone. “It is none of your concern.” He met your gaze, eyes as unrevealing as ever.

“Right.” You said, somewhat lamely. “Well, um, if you would allow me to see to your injury then the sooner you can get back to business.” You gestured for him to sit down on a chair in front of a desk in his room, which he did, face remaining passive.

“If I might ask,” You started, opening your case and shifting through the items you bought. “Why not come to the med-wing where we have all our equipment like the rest of the crew aboard?” You pulled out your pad, and typed in a request for a medical droid to be sent over - his wound was just deep enough that it would need some form of stitching for the best results.

“I am not like ‘the rest of the crew’, if you haven’t noticed.” Kylo replied coolly, sitting down on the chair, facing you. “And why seek out a medic when I can simply summon one here? You, more specifically.” 

You raised an eyebrow at his statement. “And why me, out of all the other medics onboard?” You asked, unscrewing the lid to a small bottle and extracting a piece of cloth, soaking it in the liquid in the bottle, which was something akin to rubbing alcohol. “You of all people must know that I am certainly not as qualified or experienced as some of the other medics onboard.”

“If I did not think you were qualified enough, do you really think I’d let you into my private quarters?” He replied almost instantly, and you could tell he was staring at you out of the corner of your eye. You nodded, glancing over at him, and your eyes locked for a moment before you looked away. Kylo was silent as you cleaned his wound, not flinching when the cloth touched the open wound. 

Eventually, you’d cleaned as much of his injury that was visible, and your eyes trailed down to the collar of his tunic, where you could see the injury continued down underneath it. 

“Um,” You cleared your throat, trying to remain as professional as possible. “I’m afraid that I need you to remove your shirt, Sir.” You swallowed heavily. “I need to clean the rest of your injury and it looks like it dips just below the collar of your tunic.” You gestured while you spoke, carefully trying to pull back the collar so it would be less painful. “I can cut it if you want-”

“No. I’d rather not have to waste another tunic.” He interrupted, before he began tugging his tunic off, and you averted your eyes, feeling your cheeks grow warm as you had to stop your eyes from trailing your eyes over his form. Unprofessional behaviour like that around Kylo Ren could very well get you fired, you had to remind yourself.

Just as Kylo had pulled off his tunic, a beeping at his door signified that the medical droid had arrived. You hurried over to his door, but as you got to it you realised you didn’t know the combination to unlock it. As you turned around sheepishly, you saw Kylo move his hand to the side slightly, and you heard the door open behind you, and the medical droid rolled in.

“Right.” You said distractedly. “Sit down, please, and I’ll see what I can do.” As the medical droid scanned the rest of Kylo’s body for any further injuries, you stepped closer to Kylo to start healing his wound the best you could before the medical droid stitched it up. 

You stood directly in front of him, applying healing balm next, spreading it as gently as possible across his face. The noise of the droid in the room sounded muffled as you grew aware of just how close the two of you were. You could hear him breathing, and every so often you glanced up at his face to see that he was looking at you. You felt a flush creep up your neck to your face. 

“Can I ask you a question, Sir?” You asked hesitantly. He nodded. “Was it really just a coincidence that you were in the area when Tyro was...you know..” You trailed off, not wanting to have to relive the experience. Kylo seemed to contemplate his answer.

“No, it was not.” He spoke after a few moments of silence, obviously deciding to be truthful. “After you spoke of someone in your workplace causing you discomfort and unease, I thought it best to keep an eye on you.” His eyes trailed over you. “You don’t look like somebody who would excel in defending yourself.” He mused. “And,” he paused, jaw clenching slightly. “You have treated me like I am just another passenger on this ship, which is...highly unusual. One could consider it rude.” You looked away. “But it made a nice change.” You nodded, and the two of you lapsed into silence again.

You quickly finished applying the healing balm. You stepped back, and tried to calm your breathing and cool down - you felt hot and flustered, but you pushed it down. Such emotions are unprofessional, and frankly, you were very confused by them. You weren’t even sure that they were real. The droid took your place, slowly sealing up his wound.

“I hope that’s enough to let it heal. It will probably leave a scar, though, and there isn’t much I can do about that.” You smiled nervously, wiping your hands on another piece of cloth you bought with you. “But scars are pretty cool. Just my personal opinion.” You added quickly. “Well, if that’s the only service you required of me, Sir, then I’ll be going back to the med-bay, if you don’t mind.”

Kylo nodded in dismissal, and you took your leave, walking towards the door which opened when you got close enough. As you stepped though the door, swinging the case of equipment absentmindedly, Kylo spoke again. 

“Thank you.” You turned in surprise, seeing that he’d turned his head slightly so that he could just about see you out of the corner of his eye. “Your work today was more than adequate.” With that, he turned back so that the medical droid could continue its work. 

“Thank you, Sir.” You tried to contain your smile at his (unexpected, but not unappreciated) compliment. You turned back around, and you were met with two stormtroopers - there was no way of telling if they were the same guards from before, as all stormtroopers looked the same - who escorted you back down the corridor to the med-bay. Once out of sight of Kylo’s room, you finally let the smile that had been itching to be expressed, creep across your face.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

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