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anon-karasu · 2 years ago

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Winter Moments — Solomon

Day Twelve of K’rasu’s Christmas Advent

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Summary: Solomon invites Mc to the Devildom park on Christmas Eve.

Category: Gen

Rating: General Audiences

Language: English

Relationships: Solomon & Main Character, Solomon & Reader, Solomon & You

Characters: Solomon, Main Character

Additional Tags: Asmodeus (mentioned only), Diavolo (mentioned only), references to Asmo’s story, winter wonderland, amusement rides, ice bar, ice, cold, ferris wheel, Christmas Eve, Christmas, does this count as a confession?, lonely Solomon, this was supposed to be a cute fic but then I gave Solomon depression instead…, I’m sorry Solomon, gender not specified for MC, unnamed MC, no beta, Day Twelve of Anon-K’rasu’s Christmas Advent

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Winter Moments — Solomon

Day Twelve of K’rasu’s Christmas Advent

You made your way down the path of the House of Lamentation and felt a smile spread across your face as your eyes quickly found the familiar figure waiting for you just outside the garden gates.

“Mc,” Solomon greeted you in a cheerful voice and gave you a small wave as he watched you step through the gates, “I see you got my last message,” he nodded towards the scarf and gloves that you were holding in your hands, and at the warm coat you were wearing.

Solomon beckoned at you to follow him as he began to lead the way through the Devildom streets and you quickly complied as you fell into step beside him.

“I’m sorry to take up your time so late on Christmas Eve like this,” Solomon said with an apologetic smile, “but I couldn’t let everyone else have all of the fun now, could I?” He added with a mischievous chuckle.

“So what have you got planned?” You asked curiously.

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise, so you’ll just have to wait and see.”

You instantly recognised the route as you followed Solomon, but you were taken by surprise when you finally reached the Devildom park only to find that it had changed drastically since your last visit.

Your eyes trailed over detailed ice sculptures of reindeers that had been illuminated by light-up bases and lined the park pathway. Further ahead, you could see a tall fir tree that adorned blue and while lights along with large silver baubles which was at the centre of many food stalls and amusement rides alongside the ice rink that you had visited earlier that month.

“Lord Diavolo has really expanded the attractions since you were last here with Asmo,” Solomon said in an amused voice as he watched your awed expression, “it’s just like a human world winter wonderland here in the Devildom. Stay close, Mc, we don’t want to get separated.”

You stuck close to Solomon’s side as you both walked down the path and joined the slow moving throng of demons within the winter wonderland.

“Ah, here we are.” Solomon pointed towards one of the attractions.

Your gaze followed Solomon’s gesture until they found a wooden hut that had a large sign mounted above the glass double doors.

“Ice bar?” You read the sign aloud in confusion as you eyed the wooden hut.

“Don’t let the exterior fool you, everything inside is made of ice and the temperatures are kept below freezing,” Solomon explained as he guided you through the crowd towards the hut, “so don’t forget to put your scarf and gloves on, and be sure to keep yourself wrapped up warm.”

He waited patiently as you donned your scarf and gloves, before he held the door to the ice bar open for you to enter.

You stared around in amazement as you stepped into a room that was bathed in blue lights and that was full of tables and chairs, a bar and decorative pillars that were all made out of ice.

“Take a seat, Mc. I’ll grab some drinks from the bar,” Solomon said as he followed you inside and closed the door behind him before he flashed a smile in your direction and disappeared towards the bar.

You marvelled at the ice furnishings around you as you slowly moved towards the closest available table and perched yourself on one of the ice seats.

Solomon returned moments later with two glasses that were made of ice and had been filled with blue liquid.

“I think a toast is in order,” Solomon said as he took the seat opposite yours and offered you one of the ice glasses before he held up his own with a smile on his face “to winter memories together in the Devildom.”

With a grin of your own, you accepted the drink from Solomon before you carefully tapped your glass against his, “to winter memories together in the Devildom.”

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After leaving the ice bar, you and Solomon strolled around the winter wonderland. You both enjoyed going on as many rides as you could, admiring ice sculptures, and trying out games of ring toss, pick a duck, and balloon darts.

“We still have a bit of time left before the park closes,” Solomon told you as he checked the time on his D.D.D, “why don’t we go on the ferris wheel before we head home?”

“Sure,” you nodded.

You followed Solomon as he guided you towards a short queue and after a short wait, you both clambered into a carriage and sat down opposite each other as you slowly began your ascent.

You watched as the winter wonderland and the rest of the park shrank further away below before you lifted your gaze towards the glittering lights of the Devildom instead.

“You know, I can’t really remember when I stopped celebrating Christmas,” Solomon confided in you with an amused hum.

Taken aback at Solomon’s sudden admission, you turned towards the sorcerer only to find that he had been staring out at the view of the Devildom too.

“When you’ve lived a life as long as mine, Christmas just becomes another day that blurs into the rest,” he continued with a thoughtful expression, “or… at least… that was up until recently.”

“What changed?” You asked curiously.

“I met you, Mc.” Solomon answered simply as he finally met your gaze with his own and a warm smile.

You were unable to tell if the red tint on his cheeks was from the cold weather or if he was blushing.

“Every day was the same, so I threw myself into my experiments as a way to distract myself, before I knew it months, years, decades all came and went so fast with little to no relevance and I felt so alone, but when I met you it was as though a switch had been flipped and suddenly my life became so colourful,” Solomon confessed with a small chuckle as his eyes flickered back towards the view beyond the carriage, “somehow you made a place that seemed as dark as the Devildom become so vibrant. I hope I never lose this feeling again.”

You stared at Solomon in astonishment before you both gave a small jolt as somewhere beyond the carriage the chime of a bell echoed throughout the Devildom and thick snow began to fall.

“Is it midnight already?” Solomon asked in a surprised voice before he looked back towards you with that same warm smile as before. “Merry Christmas, Mc.”

#obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me! fanfic #obey me! ao3 #obey me solomon #om! solomon #omswd solomon #K’rasu’s Christmas Advent 2022 #shall we date solomon #omswd #omswd fanfic

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queenclaudiabrown · 1 year ago

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Shadow of The Jaguar by Steven Savile | THREE

It was still too early to call Nando Estevez, and would be for some time yet, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make preparations. There were a thousand things that needed to be put in place for a legitimate scientific expedition, and almost none of them could be done overnight. Still, they had to be done.

Cutter corralled the team into his office, mentally sorting out the best way to divvy up responsibilities.

He looked at them looking at him, and wondered what they saw. Sometimes he had difficulty recognizing the man he saw reflected in their eyes, seeing instead a distorted image in a fun-house mirror. He recognised the features, the lines and bone structure, that was all intimately familiar to him, but the flesh did not make the man. The sum of his experiences did. Memories shaped a man’s life and gave it purpose and meaning.

They had their memories, and he had his, and even when they were of each other they were different. Cutter hadn’t lived through many of the experiences they thought they shared between them. It was a peculiar thing to think about: a wrinkle in time.

He needed to think about something else. Time to throw himself into his work.

They had resources now, he reminded himself. The ARC was a long way from his disorganised academic haven shunted away on the far corner of the university campus. They had money at their disposal, and they even had access to the strings that needed to be pulled.

He could probably have left them to their own devices, said something like: “Suit up and be ready for the morning,” and they would have been.

But he preferred to be on top of things, even if it was akin to teaching his grandmother to suck eggs - an expression that had never made that much sense to him.

“I feel like I just stepped through the looking glass,” Cutter began, peering beyond them at his reflection in the glass door. “Now I’m trying to believe in five impossible things before breakfast, and I think my head is going to explode.”

“Six,” Connor corrected.

“What?”

“It’s six impossible things.”

“Right. And that’s meant to help prevent my head from exploding?” Cutter scratched at the stubble on his cheek to hide his slight grin. “Okay, so let’s review the situation from our end.” He turned to Stephen. “Was Nando Estevez in your seminar group?”

Stephen shook his head. “The name doesn’t ring any bells. Sorry.”

“Ah, well, Nando is an old student of mine. He contacted me last night to report something potentially very exciting. He’s a ranger in an eco-reserve in Peru. Part of his job is to study the behavioural patterns of the 100-plus endangered species that can be found within the rainforest. Recently, he’s noticed a lot of strange activity, including tracks he doesn’t recognise, and bones that are out of time. Reading between the lines I think he suspects they are from a supposedly extinct creature. By themselves they prove nothing, though they do raise a lot of questions, and coupled with some peculiar migratory patterns he has observed in the species, I think it means a prehistoric creature has been introduced into the ecosystem. Perhaps more than one. This could be our first solid evidence of an anomaly outside of the British Isles.”

He paused, and allowed that to sink in for a moment. Connor, of course, was the first to speak up.

“Do you know what that means?” he said breathlessly, as his mind raced to catch up with all of the possibilities. This was a conspiracy theorist’s dream... and nightmare. “It doesn’t have to be the only one, does it? I mean, there could be anomalies all over the world. Everywhere.”

The implications of it hung there, just waiting to be voiced. It was Abby who spoke up next.

“Oh, God,” she said, shaking her head. “What does it mean? If anomalies could begin opening everywhere, the past and the future breaking through, is time itself coming undone? Life’s supposed to be a straight line, from birth to death, not twisting and turning across the millennia.”

Then her specialty kicked in.

“How can we survive if bacteria from the Permian are suddenly let loose, and we’re not there to contain it? We have no vaccines. No resistance. Look at bird flu. What if it’s not natural? What if it appeared just because a bird in Eastern Europe fed on some Jurassic faeces? Look how it’s spread, what it’s done to livestock.”

She sat back and muttered, “Oh, God.”

All of this had occurred to Cutter, and more. The threat to humanity didn’t have to come from the past, either. Seeing Abby’s troubled face, he chose not to voice his fears.

“You think something has come through, then? Some sort of predator?” Stephen asked, bringing them back, ironically, to the present.

“I don’t know.” Cutter admitted. “But that would be the logical conclusion. The rainforest ecosystem is a finely balanced mechanism. Sudden changes are uncommon, and when they do occur it’s almost always because something has unsettled the balance. A new predator is the logical extrapolation of the facts.”

Stephen nodded.

“It’s hardly new, though, surely?” Connor said. “What about El Chupacabra? South American territories are rife with stories of mysterious predators and mystical devil dogs going back centuries. Iconographically, even their gods are based upon incredible monsters. Take Quetzalcoatl, the bird serpent.”

“True,” Cutter said. “There might still be unidentified species in the region.”

“Any ideas what we’re looking for?” Jenny asked.

“Could be anything, literally. We’ve got all of history to contend with. Predators were common on the South American pampas.” He stopped, wary of letting them get carried away with endless supposition.

“So, this morning I was told in no uncertain terms an investigation was out of the question, and this afternoon we’re packing our bags for Peru. As much as I hate the political ramifications of what Lester is asking us to do, this is a pretty unique chance for us to see what’s out there. Let’s not waste the opportunity.

“With that in mind, we’re going to need to make some pretty serious preparations in a very short period of time. I’m going to contact Nando and arrange for a welcoming committee, once we reach the reserve. Connor, I want you to sort out the technical side of things, go to the stores, work out what we’re likely to need to do this properly.

“Abby can you handle the practicalities: tents, dry bags, first aid supplies, salt pills?

“Jenny, if this is meant to be a legitimate expedition, we’re going to need transport both to get there and once we’re on the ground - and it has to be of the non-military variety. Let’s distance ourselves as far as possible from anything official. Get onto the airlines, find out the nearest airport, arrange the hire of an All Terrain Vehicle. I’m sure there are a stack of permits we’ll need to have in place before we touch down.”

“Already onto it,” she said briskly.

“Great. Stephen, we’re going to need supplies in situ: food, water, dietary supplements. We’re not going to be in a position to wander into the nearest supermarket once we land, and certainly not once we’re in the wild. We’re going to need maps too. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

“Maps? Maps? We don t need no stinking maps,” Connor said, doing a fairly miserable Bogart impression. “We’ve got the GPS trackers, satellite hook-ups, pin-point accuracy. All the mod cons for us, Prof. None of this splashing around in the mud trying to read soggy paper.”

“Right, and they’re all well and good, but how exactly do you plan on charging them up on day two? We’re going to have to do it the old fashioned way, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t suppose...” Connor paused, looking around the room hopefully. “You know... What about guns?”

“What about them? Should we plan on smuggling them across international boundaries? Last time I looked ‘gunrunner’ wasn’t in the job description.”

“We could use diplomatic pouches,” Connor offered.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you run around in the jungle with an AK47?” Cutter asked. And his face made it clear that it wasn’t really a question.

Connor shrugged. “Worth a try.”

“Who knows, one day I might weaken,” Cutter said. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

Alejandro Inatuzi was a simple man. His life consisted of simple things.

The simplest of which was the dream of going home to sleep. The Médico Clinica Cuzco operated on a three-shift system - at least in theory. He had worked eighteen hours straight, with three more to go, and needed a cigarette if he was going to make it through.

He snuck out, nodding as he passed the ward sister who was hunched over patient charts working out doses of medication for the night shift. Pills of all colours were laid out in white paper drinking cups, waiting to be taken through to the wards. She smiled up at him as he walked by her desk. Her deep brown eyes were manna from heaven. There was beauty, he mused, the young, pretty kind that was brushed on with makeup, and then there was real beauty, the lines of the face, the curves of the body, ample and rounded, of a proper woman. Sister Maya Vennasque was a proper woman in every sense of the word. She had the kind of beauty that would have made painters weep and plead for the chance to immortalise her.

Hell, Alejandro wanted to paint her, and there wasn’t an artistic bone in his body.

He mimed smoking a cigarette and she shook her head. so he shrugged a kind of rueful can’t blame a guy for trying shrug, and pressed the button for the elevator.

The corridors exuded that ever-present ammonia and antiseptic smell. The floor tiles were scuffed and worn, any kind of lustre long since trodden into submission by countless feet over the course of too many years to remember.

The elevator arrived, and he went outside for his smoke. Alejandro rolled his own licorice-paper cigarettes, adding a little smoothing extra to the tobacco in order to wake him up during the interminably long shifts.

He savoured the smoke as it filled his lungs, finished cigarette, then wandered back up to finish the chores on his duty roster. He had six rooms left to visit before he could go home.

Maya smiled her heart-stopping smile as the elevator doors opened up again.

“No rest for the wicked,” he said, leaning up against the desk, “and no use pretending I’m not the wickedest.”

“Alejandro Inatuzi, what would your wife say if she knew you spent your nights flirting with another woman?”

“She’d threaten to cut bits off of me, I am sure,” he replied, grinning. “So let’s keep it our secret.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Maya chuckled.

“I try to be.”

“Take these in to the Englishman would you?” she said. “He needs to take three on the hour.” She handed him one of the small pill cups.

He wandered back toward his steel cart, which was still up against the wall where he had left it an hour ago. That was one thing about the night shift, generally it was calm - at least once it was past three a.m., that is.

That was one of the curiosities he’d discovered working in the hospital - more people died at three in the morning than at any other time of day.

They joked about the Death Hour, but they all believed it. ‘El Diablo’s Time’, they called it.

He checked his watch. It was five minutes to four. Five more minutes, then he was home free. He laughed quietly at himself and started whistling as he walked.

The Englishman was in the last room off the corridor, sharing, it with Paco, an emphysemic who hadn’t said a word since he lay down in bed, six weeks earlier. Paco had been brought into the hospital to die, left there by a grandson who had no wish to care for the old man. Sometimes people disappointed Alejandro; there was honour in caring for your elders. It went back to tribal times; the men gave their lives for the tribe, and when they could no longer hunt or fish or fight, they were cared for by the beloved they had spent their lives feeding and protecting.

This new generation, with their flat-screens and their fast cars, left a lot to be desired when it came to humanity. With that thought, he turned to enter the darkened room.

There was a man standing over the Englishman’s bed.

It took Alejandro a moment to realise that he didn’t recognise him.

“What are you doing?” he asked. A superstitious part of his brain began screaming that he had walked in upon El Diablo, come to claim the Englishman for himself. Inwardly, he cursed himself for a fool.

The man turned to face him, but said nothing.

For a moment it seemed as though he had no face. There was no shape to it; no features, no colour. Alarmed, Alejandro reached for the switch and turned on the overhead lights.

The stranger was wearing a mask, and he held a needle gun, which he had stabbed into the morphine dispenser. Alejandro watched as he depressed the trigger again and again and again, administering dose after dose.

“Get away from him!” the orderly cried in alarm.

The stranger let the dispenser drop and stepped away from the window-side bed. The saline drip was shot through with a ribbon of red: blood, Alejandro realised sickly.

Still the stranger said nothing. He reached behind his back for something as he walked slowly toward the door. His hand came back holding a snub-nosed revolver.

Alejandro threw up his hands, pleading, “Don’t shoot me. Please. I did not see anything. The Englishman died in his sleep. It happens. Please, do not shoot me. I have a wife and three boys. Please.” The stranger came close enough that the foul stench of his breath was sucked back into Alejandro’s lungs as he swallowed air.

He didn’t pull the trigger. Instead he raised his hand and hammered the hilt of the gun into the side of Alejandro’s skull with a sickening crunch of bone. The orderly fell, sprawling out across the freshly disinfected floor. He could see his own face reflected in the white tiles, and the blood-red rose that seemed to flower at his temple.

The stranger stepped over him, his footsteps echoing hollowly in the antiseptic quiet of the ward.

Alejandro did not dare move until the steps had faded to nothing. Only then did he struggle back to his feet. He stumbled across to the Englishman’s bed and pulled back the blankets. He wrenched the needle out of the patient’s arm, cutting off the supply of whatever drug the stranger had administered.

The flesh had already turned bruise-purple around the central line.

Poison? There were a hundred lethal drugs in the supply cabinets, and no way of knowing the toxicology of what was in the Englishman’s blood without testing the bag from the drip itself.

The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor beside the bed faltered, and stopped.

Alejandro hit the alarm.

A minute later the crash team came running.

The call came in a little before six in the evening.

“Lester,” he said, answering the phone himself. As the voice spoke on the other end, however, he sat up straight in his chair.

Cameron Bairstow was talking.

Sir Charles’ man had made it through the wall of protection ringing the hospital by posing as a hospital orderly.

“We’ve had word.” Sir Charles’ aristocratic burr was stretched painfully thin by a mix of grief and the muted telephone line. “It is Cameron they found, and Jaime is dead.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lester replied, surprising himself because he actually managed to sound as though a part of him meant it.

“I don’t want your sorrow, Lester, I want you to bring my boy home. That is all that matters to me.”

“I understand, but surely Cameron is safe now, and at the risk of being insensitive, there’s nothing we can do for Jaime. There is no longer the need for our little charade. And I’m sure the Foreign Office can assist with the arrangements...”

The silence on the line was long and drawn out, the rasp of breathing the only hint that Sir Charles was still there. Finally, he spoke.

“Cam is far from safe. There was an attempt on his life tonight. He was drugged in his bed, Lester. Someone broke into the hospital and tried to kill him while he slept. God only knows why. I won’t lose him, Lester. I have instructed my man to post armed guards at his bedside twenty-four seven, until your people arrive to collect him. It is only by the grace of God that he is not dead, twice over.” Again there was silence, and then he spoke again.

“Listen to me, and listen to me well. I have lost one son. I will not lose another, Lester. I do not trust these people.”

And despite that shocking truth, there was something in the way Sir Charles spoke that hinted there was still more to this than he was telling.

That rankled.

“I would very much like to contact your man,” Lester remarked, fastening onto the old man’s evasiveness. He wasn’t about to let this go. If there was one thing he hated, it was people hiding things from him. “There are questions I need to ask, for my team, and no disrespect, but it would be best to hear from him, rather than through your filter.”

“Are you suggesting that I would lie?”

“Not at all, sir, not at all. You have nothing to hide, I’m certain, so why should I think you are being anything other than 100 per cent truthful? I understand you are concerned that any indiscretion might make your son’s situation worse - loose tongues cost lives, and all that - but I assure you my team will act with the utmost tact. We will bring him home, but we really need to talk to your man to assess the situation properly. We have questions that need answering. Fools blunder in, Sir Charles, and none of us like to think of ourselves as fools, do we?”

“Very well.” Sir Charles said. “I am trusting you with my boy’s life, Lester. Don’t let me down.” Then he gave him the com-sat co-ordinates, call signal, a list of contact times, and the frequency that would allow Lester to reach his man on the ground.

“A simple telephone number would have sufficed,” Lester said dryly.

This time the silence on the line was absolute. Sir Charles had broken the connection, leaving Lester holding the phone.

He sat back in his chair as he worried over what hadn’t been said. It was far more telling than what had. Lester cracked the bones of his knuckles, one at a time.

Sir Charles wanted his son back, there was no denying that, but he wanted it done quietly, with the minimum of fuss, because for whatever reason he didn’t want Cameron’s story splashed across the front pares.

Was he just protecting his son? There was nothing untoward in that, if he was. No sinister purpose. Cameron had almost certainly witnessed his brother’s killing, and that someone had attempted to murder him before he could talk added a sense of urgency to the situation. That intrigued Lester, he had to admit. But then murder was often fascinating.

So what was it, an eye for an eye? Had Jaime’s killers come looking for Cam to finish the job? If so, what had he seen that could possibly frighten them into murder in such a public place?

He had to impress Sir Charles’ urgency onto Jenny. He had given his word. That meant that they would bring him home.

And not in a box, if it could be helped.

***

The storerooms were an Aladdin’s Cave of gadgets. Connor Temple scratched the scruff on the side of his face and tapped through the various menus looking for anything and everything that might be of use.

Every item he could possibly need or want was represented by a small icon, which led to a description detailing precise dimensions, weight, and function. Despite what Cutter had said, he fully intended to fill up one of the Personal Digital Assistants with every scrap of data he could find on Peru, including flora, fauna, maps, political climate, hot zones, traditions and culture. They could jury-rig extra juice from a spare battery cradle that would give them twenty-four hours continuous use, and considerably more if used sparingly. Sometimes the holes in Cutter’s understanding were frightening. When it came to technology, it was as though he were trapped somewhere back in the eighties with his transistors, eight-track players and LEDs.

“Practical, think practical,” he muttered to himself, resisting the urge to get carried away and requisition stuff for every eventuality.

As an afterthought, he patched through to Jenny on the intercom.

“Stupid question, but what sort of baggage allowance have we got?”

She laughed at him. It wasn’t cruel laughter, though - far from it. There was genuine affection in the sound. He could imagine her smiling into the intercom.

“We aren’t flying British Airways, Connor. And we can’t exactly drop in

on a Hercules, so just this once we’re travelling in style. I’ve chartered a private jet from a government contractor.”

“Nice.” He was impressed.

Moments later, Connor was compiling the playlist for his MP3 player in his head, and he had it complete by the time the first of the steel coffins rolled in on the conveyor belt. It was all about the mood, matching the spirit of adventure with the mellowness demanded by fifteen hours cramped up in a tin can hurtling through the sky. Augustana, Aimee Mann, Breaking Benjamin, some Foo Fighters and Everclear to kick-start the journey. He could imagine Dave Grohl singing ‘Next Year’ as the wheels left the ground, followed by something more grungy as they climbed to altitude, The Levellers’ England My Home’ with its discordant fiddles, and Pearl Jam’s ‘Black’ with its melancholic melody. Throw in some Snow Patrol, Billy Corgan, Neil Hannon, and Mike Doughty and some old classics like Black Dog and 2112, and that was the first hour pretty much sorted.

The second hour, well, that had to be mod classics like Madness’ Must Be Love’, Adam Ant’s ‘Prince Charming and The Specials’ ‘Ghost Town’, then shake it up a bit with ‘It’s A Kind of Magic’, ‘Mirror in the Bathroom’ or Bowie’s ‘Ashes to Ashes’ to follow. With any kind of mix, the success was down to how well the individual tracks flowed - it wasn’t about how great they were individually. There needed to be just the right amount of juxtaposition and continuity between bass lines and vocals to make it interesting, but not jarring.

He broke the seals on the coffins to make sure everything he had chosen was safely stowed inside. Once he was satisfied all was as it should be, he locked them up again and struggled to drag them through to the loading bay. He muttered the refrain from a Stone Temple Pilots song as he wrestled with the steel boxes, not that anyone would have been able to recognise the words between huffs and puffs.

It was a huge amount of equipment, but then, he had tried to think of every eventuality.

Connor went through to the rec room. A re-run of Robot Wars was playing to itself on the flat-screen. He sank down into one of the beanbags across from the sofa and fired up the laptop someone had left on the table. The ARC was on an integrated network. Within a few minutes he was browsing the music files on his own machine and recreating the playlist from scratch. It took him the best part of an hour.

It was an hour in which his curiosity got the better of him. He went back to the virtual server that linked the various machines up, and tapped in a string of commands. He hit a wall immediately, But, he thought to himself, what are walls for if not climbing?

He tried another string, hit another wall.

Then he went back to his own file directory and pulled out a spider program, and set it running as he returned to the wall. In five minutes he was through and looking at the main server, completely free of any filters or barriers.

“Well, well, well,” he said to himself, cracking his knuckles. Six more keystrokes had him in the personal files. Four more and he was reading the name Abigail Sarah Maitland on his screen. It was all there, everything that was known about her, and he couldn’t stop himself from reading until he heard footstens in the corridor outside.

Connor slammed the laptop case down and tried to pretend that he was minding his own business. He was whistling a mangled Nirvana tune when Abby’s pixie-like face peered around the doorframe. Seeing Connor, she stuck her tongue out, grinned, and then hurried away, her heavy boots clattering along the corridor.

He blushed and, sighing with relief at his narrow escape, fired up the laptop again. He killed the connection to the personnel database.

He spent the rest of the day filling three PDAs with everything remotely Peruvian that he could find, and it really was a case of anything and everything restaurant addresses in downtown Cuzco, emergency service numbers, embassy contact details, festivals, ceremonies, custom and costumes, religious practices, poisonous plant life, six-months-worth of newspaper articles. By the end of the day he had compiled an electronic oracle.

“Ask it a question, anything you like,” he challenged Abby the next time he saw her.

“Oh, I don’t know, how about the meaning of life, the universe and everything?” Abby said, smiling.

“That’s too easy,” Connor tapped out a couple of commands, and the number forty-two appeared on the screen. He held it up to show her.

“You are such a geek.”

“But a loveable one, right?”

“Not the first word I would have chosen.”

“Tread softly,” Lester said, handing Jenny Lewis the contact details for Sir Charles’ man on the ground in Peru. “There was an attempt on young Bairstow’s life last night. He’s still with us, and we need to keep it that way.

“Needless to say,” he continued, “Sir Charles is most upset by the whole affair. I promised him you would take care of it. There are armed guards assigned to the hospital now. You are to get Bairstow out of there. Understood?” She nodded.

“Minimum of fuss. Sir Charles is leaning on me to get his boy home, which is all well and good, but on top of the whole attempted murder thing, we’ve got an actual murder to worry about, of a Peer of the Realm’s son on foreign soil. Like it or not, we’re talking a political minefield.

“Sooner or later, the press are going to get wind of Jaime Bairstow’s death. They always do. Someone in Births, Deaths and Marriages will sell them a copy of the death certificate, or one of the baggage handlers at the airport will let slip about the coffin he carried off the plane that morning.

We don’t need a diplomatic incident here, Jenny. It’s all about damage limitation. We need to keep our stories straight.”

Jenny read through the contact information.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked quizzically.

“Make the call, ask the right questions. That’s what you’re good at, after all. Make the necessary arrangements to bring the boy home.”

“There’s something you aren’t telling me, Lester,” Jenny said, laying the paper aside. “What is it?”

Lester shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just a feeling. I’m really hoping we’re talking about poachers here. Perhaps the boys stumbled across some of them in flagrante delicto, so to speak. God forbid Cutter’s paranoia rubs off on me, or Connor’s conspiracy theories, but I can’t help thinking there’s something Sir Charles doesn’t want us to know - and my money’s on the fact that that something is tied in with Cameron’s recollection of the attack. First Cutter comes into the office talking about anomalies in Madre de Dios, now this.

I’m not a huge believer in coincidence, if you catch my meaning.”

“It’s rather hard to miss.”

“Good. Let’s be blunt here, if it turns out young Bairstow has seen an anomaly, we’re going to need to make sure that part of the story never makes it out for public consumption.”

When the next contact time arrived, Jenny took the details down to the Communications Centre on the main concourse. She had a technician relay one of the handsets through the com-sat on the right frequency, and retreated into the privacy of an empty lab.

“Little Gods,” she said into the handset. “Little Gods, are you receiving me?”

A burst of static answered her.

She repeated the call sign every twenty seconds for five full minutes before a disembodied voice crackled back.

“This is Little Gods, over.”

“Little Gods, this is the ARC calling. Over.”

“What can I do for you, ARC? Over.”

“Our mutual friend suggested we contact you before we fly in. We have some questions about the lie of the land. Over.”

“Ask away. Over.”

“We’ve been led to believe you have spoken with Cameron? Over.”

“Yes, I have. Over.”

“What can you tell us about the attack on his brother? Over.”

That was met by a grunt of what sounded like laughter. She hoped it

was a quirk of the broadcast.

“Nothing that makes any sense, I’m afraid. Over.”

“Try me, Little Gods. Over.”

“His recollections are patchy at best, though he does recall being stalked by a big cat. Over.”

“So it wasn’t poachers? Over.”

“No. He’s adamant that it was an animal. A jaguar perhaps, but huge.

He kept saying that. The cat was huge. That’s about the only coherent part of his story. Over.”

“Don’t make me drag it out of you, Little Gods. Over.”

More laughter greeted that.

“He talked about diamonds in the air, as well. Diamonds that swallowed his attacker. Over.”

Jenny paused a beat, and wished she hadn’t heard correctly.

It was a concise and credible description of an anomaly, but she wasn’t about to let Sir Charles’ man know that his words meant anything to her.

“I see what you mean,” she said. “It makes no sense. Over.”

“Trauma plays tricks on the mind. It’s a miracle the lad is alive, after everything he’s been through. His wounds are terrible to see. Over.”

“Indeed. I am assuming one of them was a head wound? Over.”

“Multiple blows to the head, resulting in severe concussion, all of which would account for the disturbed vision and so-called floating diamonds. Not very exciting, I’m afraid. Over.”

This time it was Jenny who laughed. Breaking protocol, Bairstow’s man continued.

“Our friend tells me I am to meet you at the landing strip. I hope you are as beautiful as your laugh, ARC. Over and out.”

Jenny sat there for a few moments, letting the implications of what she had heard settle in. Diamonds in the air. Cameron Bairstow had described the shimmer of an anomaly. There was nothing else she could think of that could possibly account for what he had seen. Not even a concussion would lead him to that precise a description.

The revelation posed an entirely new set of problems, but it did not begin to answer why someone would try to kill him.

She needed to talk to Lester.

“Well, that is most disturbing,” Lester said. He had his back to her, and stared at the wall as though gazing out through a window that wasn’t there. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

“Positive,” Jenny confirmed. “At least that’s what Little Gods reported”

“So what do you suggest we do now?”

“Cutter should be made aware of the situation, for a start.”

“I’m not entirely sure he should. The last thing we need is Indiana Cutter thrashing through the jungle with a machete, in search of diamonds in the sky.”

“But what’s the alternative?”

“In-and-out, that’s the remit. Keep Cutter away from the Bairstow boy. Keep the Bairstow boy away from the press. Basically keep everyone away from the anomaly, and bury this non-story dead.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“It’s why we pay you the big bucks,” Lester said without the slightest trace of irony in his voice. As he turned, she saw that he was smiling. Far from being pleasant, it was an almost predatory expression. “Do your job, manage the situation, Jenny. Go there. Get the boy. Bring him home. I don’t want to be reading about any of this in the newspapers. No anomaly lasts forever, we know that much. So we keep it quiet, bide our time, wait it out. It will decay and disappear. It might already have done so, for all we know. The fewer people who know about what’s going on, the better.”

“Standard governmental operating procedure,” she said, before she could stop herself. Lester didn’t appear to catch the cynicism in her voice; he was far too preoccupied with fighting imaginary PR fires in his head.

“Quite. Least said, soonest mended. It is not as though people are going to stumble upon a temporal rift in the middle of the rainforest.”

She resisted the temptation to point out that it had already happened once.

#primeval #shadow of the jaguar #steven savile #nick cutter #stephen hart #abby maitland #connor temple

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delcakoo · 2 years ago

Text

captain ‘puff | n.rk

✶ PAIRING ! slytherin!niki x hufflepuff!fem!reader

✶ GENRE ! bantering and fluff (?)

✶ WC ! 2.2k

✶ WARNINGS ! none just niki being a cocky mf and yn being a badass

✶ SUMMARY ! you agree to answer a troublemaking slytherin’s questions only if he can block your shots in a quidditch 1v1, too bad he didn’t ask if you were hufflepuff’s team captain..

a/n: niki fr wore a slytherin outfit in the middle of me writing this. the scream i let out.. btw you don’t need to know HP to read this, you’ll catch on quick!

quidditch was easy! from the sidelines, the wizard sport seemed simple enough. every player had their own designated role to follow, and a position to be in. what was so hard about throwing a giant red ball into a hoop, or smoking people in the heads with bowling balls?

you quickly stopped thinking those things during your first game on the hufflepuff team, when you were so focused on watching the quaffle, that you didn’t notice the bludger being thrown right at your shoulder, immediately knocking you off your broom and back onto the bench.

that day, you learned the key to quidditch was multitasking.

you have a quaffle and your fellow chasers to look out for, but also the beaters looking for the perfect moment to strike you out of the air. wait, the enemy chasers are suddenly right in front of you! oh and there’s the seekers coming straight at you because it seems you’re in the way of the golden snitch and suddenly the quaffle in your hand is stolen and your teammate is yelling at you to watch out because a bludger is skyrocketing right at your—

get it now?

even with all these intimidating factors in mind, you’re never one to turn down a challenge. if you aren’t good at something, that wouldn’t be the case for very long due — hours of practice every single day brought one thing to another, and you found yourself — once a benchwarmer — now proudly the captain of the hufflepuff team, only a couple months later.

you could label yourself as an overachiever.

hufflepuff hasn’t had a female captain in decades, and it only made you feel prouder of your new leading title. while the other houses seemed to still doubt your house’s quidditch abilities, you had full confidence that with you as the new captain, your team would destroy all of them in the upcoming tournament this year. hufflepuffs were known for having a propensity for hard work, and a strong sense of justice, after all.

the quidditch arena looked ethereal. the sun reflected off the giant, golden hoops perfectly, and the usually unkept grass was now neatly trimmed and blooming. holding your broom tightly, you breath in the fresh air while using a free hand to pull your quaffle out of your bag. thank merlin classes had at last finished for the day, giving you the chance to use the remaining time for practise.

you swiftly hop onto your broom, zooming off towards the shining rings. you imagine the keeper in front of you, which way should you juke? how should you position your broom? it was a thrilling experience, even when alone.

you fake a throw to the left hoop, angling your broom along with you to seem more believable, before suddenly spinning completely and aiming for the right hoop.

you’d been working out lately, especially your arms. being able to watch the quaffle slam through the golden ring at full force was like a reward for all the muscle building. you grin, diving under to grab your ball.

that was, until you look down and see a boy with fluffy black hair catch your quaffle, smirking over at you.

he’s handsome, you recognise. he has a cute mole under his left eye like many others scattered across his features, and his plump, pink lips were being moistened by his tongue as he inspected you. his ears are pierced with small, silver hoops, and his green tie was nearly falli–

green tie. your eyebrows furrow, lips turning down at the ends as you take another closer look at him.

ah, nishimura riki. this boy was known for constantly getting into trouble and causing havoc throughout the castle with his friends, ever the prankster. though, you also recall him being one of, if not slytherin’s best keeper.

“get your hands off my ball, snake,” you call out, flying down to match his level.

his smirk grows as he eyes you, lazily throwing the quaffle over to you while resting against his broom. “that wasn’t too bad, princess.”

you scoff at the nickname, catching it with one hand and securely tucking it under your arm. “why were you watching me practise?”

niki shrugs, “i came here to practise too,” he eyes your chest, raising a brow at your missing tie. you ignore him, flying over to the other side of the arena to continue your drills.

like an annoying mosquito, he follows close behind. “i’ve never seen you before, what house are you? clearly not slytherin.”

contrary to belief, it was actually great to know you were once so invisible the other team didn’t even remember you. this would only make it more fun to claim victory against them this season as the new captain.

“nice catch, sherlock. i’m trying to practise, if you don’t mind.” you deadpan, holding your quaffle and preparing another throw. you had no interest in talking to your opponents on the court, especially not a troublemaking slytherin boy.

on the other hand, niki is utterly fascinated by you. normally, the girls fell to his feet at just a smirk or a simple wave. but here you, whoever you were, completely ignoring his existence.

it only motivated him to keep bothering you.

he watches as you throw once again, whipping the quaffle impressively fast into the middle ring. “it’s a shame you aren’t slytherin, we need a good new chaser. you must be gryffindor to be this decent, then.” you only roll your eyes at his rude, false assumption.

he continues to trail behind you as you dive down to grab your ball. “i have a suggestion.” you huff at his determination, flying back up before the hoops once again. you make eye contact as he chases after you, and you couldn’t deny the fact that this boy was stupidly appealing to the eye.

you do your best to ignore this fact by directing your attention back to your quaffle. “i’m a keeper, so how about we practise together? but everytime i block one of your shots, you have to answer one of my questions.”

you sigh at that, throwing your quaffle into the air before catching it again. this could be a good opportunity to learn his technique for the real games. “and when i score?”

he grins cutely, “well, what do you want, princess?”

again with that damn nickname. you huff. “stop calling me that. and i suppose the same thing as you.”

the slytherin immediately grows his damn smirk again at your words, cockily raising a brow. “you wanna get to know me huh? am i that handsome?”

you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief at his confidence. “if that helps you sleep at night, sure.” you nod over to the hoops. “i’m waiting.”

niki quickly flies over to the three goals, cracking his knuckles. he didn’t know why, but he was feeling very competitive. he wanted to impress you, and he definitely wanted to win those answers. “give it your best shot.”

“oh i will, nishimura.” you reply, before taking off towards him as fast as you could.

his eyes narrow in concentration, watching you closely as you fly to the far right. he follows you to block the right hoop, when you suddenly loop upside down to the left, a move you’d been working on the past few days.

however, you weren’t too surprised when niki caught up to you just as fast, he was titled the best keeper of slytherin for a reason. “you’re not as stupid as i was hoping.” you comment, shooting back towards the right ring.

niki follows you silently, and while you think he’s distracted heading over to the right hoop, you shoot over your shoulder, right into the middle one. it was centimetres from going in, until a gloved hand shoots up and blocks it.

your eyes widen in genuine surprise, watching niki scoop up the quaffle before it touches the ground. he flies back up to you, smirking proudly. “too slow princess, could see you lifting your arm seconds before you shot. gotta work on that throwing speed.”

you growl in annoyance, you couldn’t lose to this asshole. “that was just my warmup, what’s your question?”

niki already had this one planned, “what house are you?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. he was ready to hear gryffindor, or perhaps ravenclaw. but then again, he’s never been so interested in a girl from the nerd house before.

“hufflepuff.” you answer simply.

his eyes go wide in horror, looking at you as if you’d just grown another head. “really?”

you scoff. “it’s despicable how much you underestimate us. you really thought i was gryffindor ‘cause.. what, i’m good at quidditch?”

he shrugs, throwing your quaffle back to you. “everyone knows hufflepuff has been lacking in the quidditch department, just the facts.”

“we’ll see about that next season.” you murmur, gripping the ball tighter before taking off again.

niki seems more laid back than the first time, you recognise in his body language, as if he was confident he could win every round all because of one victory.

small, small minded, you think. just like before, you remind yourself that you’re never one to turn down a challenge, and that a loss was simply a learning experience.

perhaps it was time to bring out some of your more reserved plays that you usually saved for games.

you dash towards him once again, deciding to head for the left ring. he follows you, closely calculating your brooms movements. with no notice, you suddenly fly upwards, leaving a whoosh of confused air behind for your enemy.

niki only grunts at your unsuspected direction change, quickly craning his head up to find you already throwing your quaffle upside down on your broom, right into the middle hoop.

“the fuck was that?!” he calls out, stuck in his spot as he watches you cackle, diving down to collect the ball once again.

“what? you think the only directions i can go are left and right?” you smirk, spinning the quaffle on your finger innocently.

he scowls, “upside down? seriously? there’s no way you’re a newbie, or a hufflepuff!”

you shrug, still giggling at his dumbstruck expression. “now tell me,” you ponder for a moment. while niki was using this little deal to learn about you, you were more interested in something else. “what are the full names of all the new players on your team this year?”

his eyes widen, jaw tightening in frustration, “you know you aren’t allowed to know that until the rosters drop.”

you raise an eyebrow, smirking evilly, “oh really? our little bet says otherwise.” you watch as the grip on his broom tightens, fingers turning white. “are you being a pussy, nishimura? gonna drop out?” you pout in fake sorrow.

he snaps at that, beginning to list a total of six people, eyes staring at you with fire the whole time.

satisfied with your new information, you grin at him. “thanks, wanna stop playing?”

he grits his teeth, determinedly getting back in front of the rings. “you wish.”

two rounds later, niki has found out your name after barely blocking your shot with the tip of his finger. he swears he’s heard it somewhere, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

meanwhile you found out the positions of all the new slytherin players after scoring an amazing goal on the left hoop. you weren’t sure why he didn’t take your strategy and begin asking about the hufflepuff team, but you weren’t complaining.

“next period will be starting soon.” you say, passing the quaffle between your hands. “last round.”

he cracks a grin, “ready when you are, princess.”

little did he know, you had a new plan.

as you take off towards the slytherin boy, instead of juking to a different direction, you continue going straight ahead. niki watches you fly at him with full speed, gulping, “uh, what are you doing?”

as you two are about to collide, you come to a sudden halt. your faces are now inches apart, and you smirk at the nervous, stuttered breath that leaves his parted lips.

you balance on your broom, raising your free hand to cup his jaw, slowly moving forward until your lips are pressed to his. he doesn’t kiss you back for a few seconds, trying to process what was happening until he finally reaches up to your neck, pulling you closer.

too easy.

you open an eye, unravelling the quaffle from your other hand, gently tossing it into the glimmering hoop he’s completely forgotten about before pulling away from the kiss. niki just stares at you in utter shock, rubbing his lips together until the sound of the quaffle hitting the ground snaps him out of his trance.

he turns to see if what he heard was correct, snapping his head back to you.

“i win,” you cockily announce, just as the class bell rings behind you in the castle. “you owe me an answer.” you turn around, beginning to fly off before looking back at him once more. “oh and, get my quaffle for me, will you, nishimura?

niki hates losing. but losing because of a damn kiss was much, much worse. he furiously flies down to grab your ball, jaw dropping in absolute horror when he takes a closer look at the writing spread across it.

“PROPERTY OF L/N Y/N, HUFFLEPUFFS CAPTAIN. RETURN IF FOUND.”

if you enjoyed, reblogging n’ feedback is always appreciated and motivating for me !

taglist: @duolingofanaccount

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raayllum · 2 years ago

Note

Kay but like with all the Viren-Callum parallels imagine if we got a moment where Viren and Callum actually get to talking, one on one, and obvi there’s so much baggage there with the family friend betrayal and look who’s got your old job now—

but imagine if there’s a moment where Callum’s asking him where Rayla is and Viren, like whether he knows or not, he’s not looking to answer Callum’s questions anyway, so he just snidely says smth like, well, shouldn’t you know the answer to that better than me? Bc last he saw they were attached at the hip—

And the new high mage’s face changes into something raw and festering, and Viren recognises the look on Callum’s face.

There is a short, stunned silence before:

“…Ah. I see. Another jilted high mage.”

And maybe Viren says it out loud or the silence says it for him:

you really are becoming just like me.

Bc like I think that’s the one parallel that could really get to Callum, that the love of their lives left them — obviously it’s different with Callum, Rayla left because she loved him, to protect him, but he probably doesn’t see it like that —

Callum probably still thinks it happened because he did something wrong somewhere, going over it again and again in his mind like if only I’d been stronger or smarter, if only I’d said this or done that then maybe she would have trusted me and brought me with her, she left because she doesn’t trust me enough, because I’m not enough—

And having that insecurity thrown in his face, of being left, by Viren of all people, who probably didn’t even mean to be cruel in that moment, if anything he’s almost sympathetic because he’s seeing himself now in Callum’s shoes, abandoned by the love of his life because of reasons he just can’t understand.

Just like, the painful irony of Callum being surrounded by so many people who love him and want to be there for him to talk things out, who want to be a healthy support system for him — but in the end it’s not them but Viren who most understands the pain Callum feels because he knows what it’s like.

Harrow lost his world to a dragon. But Viren knows what it’s like to have the rug pulled from under you one night as your world walks away from you by choice. And what does that say about you? What could be so wrong with you, that you would be abandoned just like he was?

Just. It would mess with Callum’s head so much and I am here for it.

I don't think Callum and Viren would get to a civil enough place (Callum left him to die and will probably ragefully want him dead bc he's the reason Rayla left in a lot of ways, right? Easier to blame) to have this type of conversation, and I think they'll draw parallels between some kind of Aaravos backstory (being separated from someone he loves due to his imprisonment, maybe) in order to tether him and Callum as foils / garner sympathy from Callum to him.

All that said: I have definitely thought about Callum is carrying the weight of both Harrow and Viren's losses regarding their wives. (Which, the amount of parallels Rayllum continually has to married couples in the show just makes me lose my mind every time.)

For Viren it is the abandonment, the possible bitterness, and like you said, having the rug pulled out from under you. Having the relationship break with no say in the matter. We know Viren did something morally dubious to heal Soren when he was a kid, but whatever it is made Lissa feel unable to stay (although not to the degree she didn't feel safe/okay leaving their children with him). Callum also did something kinda morally dubious, coming up with the Moon Henge plan and lying to Lujanne's face, tricking Allen into helping them, etc. - so it's not really surprising that it blew up in his face, tbh. I think it's likely that Callum blames himself a decent amount for Rayla's absence, yes - guilt over going to sleep that night, over not reading her signals, over not waking up and being able to stop her, etc - but I also think he knows her well enough to know, with the clarity of the aftermath, that this is just who she is and who she's always been. He just didn't think it would take her away from him like this.

Then with Harrow, it is the years-long grief. Harrow mourned Sarai until he died, writing about her in his final letter to Callum on his last day, nine years after she passed. Callum is two years in, clearly trying to prepare himself for the possibility that Rayla is already dead, but also shows no signs of actually moving on and getting over her, either. Tell me she wasn't your world.

And given Harrow's reservations about seeking revenge in 3x06, as Viren coaxes him into pursuing it, the Avizandum-Viren parallels set up in the S4 opening...

H: It's been a long time. Our kingdom is prospering. There is peace. [...] Perhaps it's wiser to stay focused on these blessings.

I think it's exactly why Callum will be tempted into Dark magic / more dangerous, desperate dealings, too.

#rayllum #tdp callum #the royal family of katolis #it was just red #thanks for asking #anonymous #s4 #arc 2 #mini meta #parallels #harrai #viren x lissa

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wroetospotterwp · 3 years ago

Note

death eater x harry???? oR SOMEONE ELSE IDK AH

Dark Red

Pairing ✨: Harry Potter x Death Eater!Reader (Fem!) (also implies that reader isn’t in gryffindor n also set during OOTP)

Summary 💓: Y/N has been forced by her parents to follow in their footsteps and join the death eaters, it doesn’t help that her boyfriend is Harry Potter.

Word Count 🖊: 2,613

A/N 🗣: FIRST REQUEST FROM THE LEGEND HERSELF 🤌🤌 she first sent me an edit on tiktok and she was like idea, so we’ve went for it, also first song imagine! all the lyrics i’ll be using will be in italics but i’ve had to change pronouns to fit harry :)

Warnings ⚠️: swearing and made my heart ache a little, manipulation

Requested? 📮: yes! :)

Masterlist

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The rain was pelting hard against the window in Y/N’s dorm, the loudness of the rain drops smashing against the glass had awoken the girl from her slumber. She sat up from bed and leaned against her headboard.

Rubbing her eyes, Y/N adjusted to the dim lighting in the room. Everything in her life was just perfect, her grades were good, she had lots of friends, and last but most definitely not least there was Harry.

They had been dating for over a year now and Y/N could see it lasting, what she felt with Harry was something so indescribable, but it made her so happy. The two of them distracted each other from their lives. Y/N helped him take his mind off He Who Must Not Be Named, and he distracted her from her parents.

Her parents did not approve of their relationship, and Y/N knew it probably had something to do with the fact they secretly supported Voldemort. But she hadn’t ever told him that, for the matter she hadn’t told many peoples.

Y/N was staring at the top of her bed, her stomach beginning to turn. This usually happened when she got a bad feeling. Y/N focused on trying to figure out what might happen, fail a test? Have an argument with someone?

Y/N thoughts were going fifty miles an hour that she didn’t hear her friend wake up next to her. “You look deep in thought.” She joked, Y/N turning to face her. “What’s the matter?” Her friend questioned.

Y/N let out a sigh. “Something bad is about to happen to me.” She mumbled, knowing how ridiculous it might have sounded.

“You’ve been listening to Trelawney too much.” Her friend brushed off with a smile, but it slowly dropped when she saw Y/N’s expression. “Come on Y/N, what could possible happen?”

“I don’t know what, but I feel it coming.” Y/N voiced her thoughts to her friend.

“Let’s do something to take your mind off this.” Her friend suggested. Y/N thought that be the best. Normally when she didn’t feel great, if she did something else to busy herself, the thought usually disappeared.

“Where are you planning to take me?” Y/N questioned, she got out of bed and collected her clothes that she would put on.

“I need to go down to Owlery, I promised to send my sister something from Zonko’s.” Her friend informed her, going into the toilet to get dressed.

Y/N decided to just get dressed in the dorm, the other three girls were fast asleep so she felt comfortable changing. The two girls them left the dormitory once they were ready and headed out their common room.

There wasn’t many students around the castle yet, but this was around the time many of them would be waking up. Many would wake up so thankful it was finally the weekend and they could have some sort of freedom.

Umbridge’s rule over the school was making many reach breaking point, there were new rules almost every day and it was completely turning Hogwarts into a prison. They weren’t allowed to do anything, couldn’t act like normal teenagers, she was determined to make everyone prim, proper and to not challenge the Ministry.

There only hope was Dumbledore’s Army, the only freedom they had. But Marietta Edgecombe had ratted them out, and they were all severely punished. Y/N felt sorry for Harry, it was all going so well and once they were caught, he blamed himself. Y/N tried to reassure her boyfriend that it wasn’t his fault, but she couldn’t get through to him.

In fact, the two of them hadn’t really spoken since Umbridge began giving them punishments, Harry was isolating himself and kept his distance. Y/N was missing him but sometimes he did this, so she decided to let him have a moment to himself and then he would be back to normal.

The girls eventually reached the Owlery, Y/N’s friend immediately heading to find her owl so she could send the products from Zonko to her sister. Y/N looked around at the different owls, but one caught her eye.

It was her parent’s owl. And it had a letter tied around their talon. Y/N untied the letter, about to read it until her friend appeared behind her.

“Has Y/N got a love note from Potter?” Her friend teased her.

“Parents owl.” Y/N informed her friend, who raised both brows. Y/N’s parents hadn’t really kept in contact with her much when she was at Hogwarts, so receiving a letter was unusual.

“What did they say?” Her friend questioned.

“I’m not sure, I haven’t read it yet.” Y/N replied, laughing slightly as she thought of something. “Might be so sad, might leave my nose running.”

“If it’s just to bring you down, ignore them.” Her friend reminded her, her arm wrapping around Y/N’s shoulder. “Let’s head back up, I’m starving.”

Y/N agreed, the two girls heading up the castle for breakfast. They entered the Great Hall and were about to sit at their own house table before Hermione waved them over.

“What’s that?” Hermione questioned immediately as they sat down in front of her, the girl’s two best friends were nowhere to be seen, but not unusual for them to be late for breakfast.

“Nosy are we, Hermione?” Y/N’s friend joked, Hermione playfully shrugged it off.

“It’s a letter from my parents.” Y/N told her, placing the unread letter onto the table.

“Oh.” Hermione mumbled, most people knew what Y/N’s parents were like, she had either told them or heard Harry’s complaints about they didn’t approve of him and the relationship. “Is everything alright?”

“I haven’t read it yet. I will after I have something to eat.” Y/N replied, scanning the table to try and find something to eat. “Where’s the toast?” Her friend reaching and grabbing a piece of toast for Y/N.

The three girls just quietly ate breakfast for a while and enjoyed each other’s company, Ron tiredly stumbled towards them. “Nice of you to finally join us Ronald.” Hermione greeted as he sat down beside her.

“Hermione, I was exhausted.” Ron huffed, grabbing as much food as he could onto his plate, he always acted like he barely eats.

“You always are.” Hermione mumbled under her breath, going back to eating some porridge.

“Where’s Harry?” Y/N blurted out, poor Ron had been harassed by her since Harry started to isolate himself. Ron most definitely knew more than she did.

“Still getting ready, mate.” Ron spoke with his mouth full, Hermione pulling a face and scoffing. “I think he’s alright today, you know, I’d have a chat with him today.” He suggested.

“Thanks Ron.” Y/N smiled, finishing what she was having. Her eyes caught the letter again, she really didn’t want to open it but she was also desperate to find out what they want. With a quiet sigh, she picked up the letter and began to read it.

Dear Y/N,

We hope you are well at Hogwarts, Umbridge seems to finally be turning that school around for the better, I’m sure you’d agree.

Well you would have when you were younger.

We miss our old Y/N, always following the rules and in our footsteps. But every since you started to attend Hogwarts with that daft old man as your head teacher, you changed.

And of course that boyfriend of yours didn’t help either, just like his father, always in trouble. Poor Lily should’ve saved herself.

As you know, the Dark Lord is back. You know how we always felt towards him, but we fear he will target us because of your choices. Many have heard he won’t accept us, because of your closeness to Potter.

He may come after us Y/N, we need you back on our side. Otherwise we’re all dead, you don’t want Potter finding out you’ve been killed by him? He can’t lose another loved one to the Dark Lord.

Write back to us as soon as you can, we can guide you along the way.

All the best,

Mum and Dad.

Y/N eyes began to well up, she knew that feeling from this morning meant something, but for it to be this bad? How on earth she was meant to tell Harry this? “Everything alright?” Her friend put a hand Y/N’s shoulder, the latter had completely forgot where she was at the moment.

“I need to go.” Y/N informed them, quickly jumping up from the bench.

“What did they say to you?” Hermione questioned, but Y/N didn’t answer her. The girl made her way from the hall, eyes trained on the floor to avoid any eye contact from her friends. But that made it difficult to watch where she was going.

Y/N crashed right into someone. “I’m sorry.” She quickly apologised as she refused to look up, she just wanted to go back into her dorm room.

“Y/N?” A voice she could instantly recognise.

“I can’t talk right now, Harry.” Y/N rushed past him, she needed to think what she was going to tell him, if she was going to tell him.

“I just hope he don’t want to leave me.” She mumbled to herself.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It had been a few weeks and Y/N hadn’t said a word to anybody, her and Harry had completely switched places. She was the one isolating herself, trying to decide what to do. Ignore what her parents said, stay with her boyfriend and friends and hope to God nothing happens to them. Or risk listening to her parents, and possibly lose her relationships at Hogwarts?

She had been exchanging letters between her parents in the meantime to see what she needed to do, and it seemed to be to just join them at the Ministry, which didn’t seem so bad. Her parents worked high up for the Ministry anyway, so as long as they gave her permission to leave, Umbridge would let her.

Y/N had pretended to stay asleep until the rest of her dorm mates left, including her friend, before eventually getting up. The feeling in her chest was back from before, the one she got before her parents letter. “Something bad is about to happen to me.” She sadly mumbled, even the weather had mirrored her emotions, it was a dreary day, grey skies and gloom surrounded the castle.

Y/N fidgeted with her hands as she thought what would happen, anxiety fuelling her veins. “Why I feel this way? I don’t know…” She took a deep breath. “Maybe-“

The dorm door opened and revealed Y/N’s friend. “What the fuck is going with you?” She demanded. “What did they say to you to make you like this?”

“It’s complicated.” Y/N brushed off, should she tell her? She did tell her friend everything and maybe it would be good to have some advice.

After some deep breaths and forcing tears to stop falling, Y/N confessed to her friend everything. By the end of it, her friend was in complete shock, face contorting from confusing, to anger, to annoyance.

“And I just don’t know what to do about Harry.” Y/N sadly mumbled. “I think of him so much it drives me crazy.”

“Y/N, this is bad.” Her friend managed to stammer out.

“I just don’t want him to leave me.” Y/N cried, finally allowing the tears to fall.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N.” Her friend snapped. “Of course he will. Joining the people who support the being who killed his parents?” She raised a brow. “I’d definitely forgive you.” Sarcastically she finished.

“But he knows what my parents are like.” Y/N countered.

“I don’t think he’ll care.” Her friend pointed out, deep down Y/N knew the same, Harry would be extremely hurt by this. “How the fuck are you gonna get out this?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugged. “You Know Who will kill them if I don’t help them.”

“Are you forgetting who your boyfriend is?” Her friend raised a brow.

Oh yeah, it would be completely fair on Harry to force him to protect her family. “Like he’s gonna show mercy.” Y/N huffed. “Harry was with Cedric and look what happened, he wants Harry and to just kill who gets in his way.”

It was silent for a moment, neither of them knew what to say. “What are you gonna tell him?” Her friend quietly spoke up, Y/N didn’t say anything. Her friend’s mouth fell open and eyes widened at Y/N’s lack of an answer. “You need to tell him.”

“And say what?! Sorry, I need to go help my Death Eater parents and probably do something for You Know Who.” Y/N snapped.

“I don’t know how to help you.” Her friend awkwardly mumbled.

Y/N knew she couldn’t. She was now trapped with no escape.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Y/N was at the Ministry with her parents, she still had no idea what they were doing or why they needed her, but it wasn’t as bad as she thought. The family got into an elevator and started to head down a few floors.

“Now, whatever you do, don’t talk.” Her mum warned her before the elevator stopped, the girl nodded and they walked out as the doors opened. Y/N could see Draco Malfoy’s father and another woman with curly black hair.

“Did it work?” Y/N’s father asked Lucius.

“I believe so.” Lucius replied, nobody really taking notice to Y/N.

“I can’t wait to meet him.” The black haired woman cackled.

“Now, now, Bellatrix. We have to leave him for the Dark Lord.” Lucius reminded her, the woman huffing dramatically. Y/N’s eyes widened, oh how she was praying they weren’t taking about Harry.

Please don’t be talking about Harry.

“What if he’s fine?” Y/N thought to herself. “It’s my mind that’s wrong. And I just let bad thoughts linger for far too long.”

“We’re going in. Have your wand ready.” Her dad whispered to her. They walked through a door with a handle in the middle into a huge room filled with crystal balls. She couldn’t study them for long before being dragged into the darkness.

The door had opened again a few minutes later, but Y/N couldn’t see who had walked in, only dragged by her parents deeper into the room.

“They should be here!” Harry’s voice was heard, Y/N’s heart dropping to her stomach. Why did he have to come here?

“Harry? It’s got your name on it.” Neville informed him.

“Follow Lucius.” Her mum whispered in her ear, Y/N reluctantly following him, who was now wearing a Death Eater mask.

“Harry!” Here it goes, Y/N kept back from Lucius as the group’s wands lit up the path, she desperately wanted to stay hidden and they would never know she was here.

“Where’s Sirius and Y/N?” Harry demanded as Lucius approached him.

“How fortunate we are to have Y/N right with us.” You could hear the smirk in Lucius’ voice, Y/N wanted to run and escape, but how could one girl manage to escape four Death Eaters?

“What are you talking about?” Harry angrily asked.

“Come on Y/N, don’t be shy.” Lucius gestures for her to come forward. Slowly and painfully, the girl got closer to Harry and the words kept repeating in her head.

“Don’t you give me up. Please don’t give up.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

thank you so much to @drearyxo for being my first request!! i hope this was class enough for you, no hate comments from you 🙄🙄

I HAVE TO SAY I LOVED WRITING THIS SO MUCHHHHH DEFO A FAVE i think you all know by now i’m definitely better at the dialogue part then anything else, but i’m quite proud of it all today :)

there could be a part two to this??? maybe, depends if people want it

hope you enjoyed!!

Taglist: @malfoysstilinski @drearyxo @just-a-bittersweet-tragedy @fizzleberries

#wroetospotterwp #harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter fluff #harry potter angst #harry potter fanfiction #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter imagine #harry james potter

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saxifactumterritum · 3 years ago

Text

When I was getting revenge on Afin and Lynne for making sad fics and I wrote the 'hst retires' fic, I think this was originally part of that, I scooped it out of the google docs. Hst is retired and didn't keep in touch. There is a cat.

One

"Yingjie, that's…isn't that… Huang Shaotian?"

Huang Shaotian looks up. Two young men are looking down at him, they're standing very close to each other, both of them with matching expressions of surprise.

"Ah! Captain Gao, the great captain of Tiny Herb! And Qiao Yifan, Happy's biggest hope. The biggest hope in a team full of hope, an accolade! And both of you are here and recognising me, it's an honour. Yes, I am Huang Shaotian, your eyes do not deceive you Qiao Yifan, here I am! I know I have grey hair and a bent back and so many lines now, it's a compliment to be known," Huang Shaotian says.

He has more, he's pretty sure there's more, there usually is. Plenty to say, absolutely. They laugh and he smiles as wide as he can, not letting it flicker. Qiao Yifan clears his throat, shuffles his feet. Gao Yingjie's hand brushes his elbow, just a moment, so brief. Qiao Yifan is wearing a Tiny Herb t-shirt, it's poking out of his jumper. Tiny bit. Just enough for Huang Shaotian to clock the familiar logo.

"It's good to see you," Qiao Yifan says. "We were just on holiday. How-"

Gao Yingjie has unstuck himself from Qiao Yifan's side and come to peer curiously at the box set on Huang Shaotian’s knees, though, and now he interrupts Qiao Yifan's politenesses.

"Is this a cat? Why did you bring your cat to the park?" Gao Yingjie says.

Huang Shaotian looks down at his small kitten. She's sleeping, she doesn't know yet that she hasn't got a home anymore. Not until Huang Shaotian can fix this problem. He's sort of reached the end of his ability to find solutions this week.

"She's lovely," Qiao Yifan says, sitting on the bench next to Huang Shaotian. So close, so warm, uncaring of personal space. It's very on purpose of him. He's probably a great vice captain, memorising people's preferences like this and being comforting in this nice, low pressure way. Huang Shaotian keeps on smiling. "What's her name?"

Gao Yingjie also probably has plenty of practice reading people, and he definitely can read Qiao Yifan - he follows the lead, sitting the other side of Huang Shaotian and leaning to see the cat.

"Will she wake up if we stroke her?" Gao Yingjie asks, as if Haung Shaotian hasn't got one hand desperately buried in her soft fur.

"I was going to call her Swoksaar," Huang Shaotian says. "But then- look, because she's silver. In the right light she looks all blue-ish. Such a good kitten, the best kitten. I picked her. She's called Midnight. But she has to go."

His eyes commit an act of betrayal, welling up. He doesn't want to cry. He cried three times today already. His students are doing a group project to build the best marble maze, with the best mechanisms and anything Huang Shaotian could think up to make 'build cool things' to fit with the after school tech club he’s teaching right now. Two of his teenagers decided to call their team Blue Rain, and they told him all about pro esports and their favourite game and favourite team, and their favourite captain, who Huang Shaotian hasn’t spoken to in a very long time.

He'd listened for twenty minutes, all about how brilliant Yu Wenzhou is, while he fixed their little contraption. They'd been trying to gently lob a marble across a gap in their track and had accidentally made, effectively, a marble gun. Huang Shaotian is still going to need to come up with an excuse to explain the hole in the wall (the absolute delight on Hu Bing's face when her marble hit the wall will haunt him), he’d got distracted listening to them talk about Yu Wenzhou.

"I'm just thinking of a solution," Huang Shaotian says, firmly, smiling, dragging his thoughts away from his teenagers, their delight at accidental property damage, their delight at Glory. Away from Yu Wenzhou and Blue Rain.

“It’s just the cat, just Midnight who hasn’t got somewhere to go?” Qiao Yifan asks, all gentle and careful like he might scare Huang Shaotian away.

Well, they did find him sitting on a park bench with a single box and a coat that is too too old. It’s Ye Xiu’s, Huang Shaotian has no idea how it ended up among his things, he thinks maybe it was one of the times he owed Su Mucheng a favour that coincided with one of her or Chen Guo’s missions to get rid of Ye Xiu’s too old clothing. He probably looks a bit lowly.

“I’m fine, I’m really ok, it was just a long day. I ran out of steam about here, I was walking but then I ran out of steam. My housemate says the cat can’t stay, she’s,” Huang Shaotian hums, thinking, looking down at his small charge, “a little bit of a nuisance.”

He might sound just a little bit proud. Qiao Yifan relaxes, and Huang Shaotian quickly turns to watch Gao Yingjie’s face, because that always used to be fun. Sure enough, Gao Yingjie is smitten, all unable to look away, staring at Qiao Yifans little smile. Huang Shaotian feels something tight and hard lodge itself in him somewhere, thinking of having someone to watch like that, someone watching, someone to gossip about it with. To turn to Yu Wenzhou and whisper the secrets he’s discovered about who’s in love with who, who’s sleeping with who, who’s sneakily upgrading their weapons. Gossiping with Song Xiao, trying to drag Zheng Xuan out of his apathy toward it all. Qiao Yifan asks something again, something maybe about this situation.

“See, she’s only small, she was so so small when I found her and I took her and got her all sorted out at the vet and they said she was probably the runt and that’s why she was tiny and that’s maybe why she got left behind. So I took her home and she’s getting really fat, it’s great, and her fur’s all soft and nice now. She’s very happy, and I like talking to her, I think she’s maybe learning some bad habits,” Huang Shaotian says. The kitten is still sleeping, good.

Qiao Yifan makes encouraging noises. Gao Yingjie is using one finger to gently pet the kitten’s head, she likes that it will keep her sleepy. Qiao Yifan clears his throat like he’s trying to think of the polite way to tell Huang Shaotian to explain.

“She talks a lot, and she wakes up early, earlier even than you captains and vice captains and hopes-of-your-teams do. So early. She’s always pretty hungry. So then she’s loud. She also steals things, but really, truly, that’s Hong Xue’s fault. Anyway, Hong Xue says he’s going to take her away while I’m sleeping if she doesn’t stop taking his socks. And his jewellery. And his shirt. It was only one shirt though,” Huang Shaotian assures. “She’s the greatest cat. I got her out, I just need to find somewhere safe for her until I can sort out a better house.”

“Do you need housemates?” Gao Yingjie asks. He must think it’s rude because he waves the question away, muttering something about the size of Wang Jiexi’s house.

“Big Eye really has a huge house though,” Huang Shaotian agrees. After retiring, Wang Jiexi went to work for a small studio that specialises in making and selling account cards tailored to very specific playstyles, still in city B, still near Tiny Herb. “I thought. I think. I was a bit lonely living on my own, so when I heard one of the teachers I work with say he was looking for a place, I said I was renting a room. He’s a dick though, who doesn’t love kittens? and anyway I got Midnight, so, I just need to find a place for her to stay until he can find some people to share the rent with so I can move out. It won’t be too long.”

Hong Xue thinks Huang Shaotian is too noisy, too. Huang Shaotian sighs. He doesn’t really have anyone to ask, is the thing. In the old days, he wouldn’t even have needed to ask. Lu Hanwen would be volunteering his parents, Zheng Xuan would be saying she could stay at Blue Rain for an easy life, Song Xiao would have loads of good ideas. They’d all realise he wants to keep her, too, and be sympathetic if he was sad she was gone. It’s all academic, if it was those days, he wouldn’t be in this situation, so never mind all of that.

“I’ll keep her for you,” Gao Yingjie says.

“What?” Huang Shaotian says, at the same time as Qiao Yifan says, “you live so far away, Yingjie.”

“I’m here for another month,” Gao Yingjie says. “If you need longer, I’m staying with my sister, she won’t mind having Midnight even after I’m gone.”

“You’ll have to be very clear that she’s not allowed to keep the beautiful kitten, if we bring it to her,” Qiao Yifan says, laughing. Huang Shaotian tightens his hold on his box; he’s not losing Midnight to Gao Yingjie’s evil kitten stealing sister, thank you very much.

“I’ll think of a solution, don’t worry,” Huang Shaotian says.

“She’s thirty eight, Huang Shao. She’s not going to steal your cat,” Gao Yingjie assures.

They talk for a bit longer, but in the end they persuade Huang Shaotian that Gao Yingjie’s sister will give her back, and Gao Yingjie will look after her well. He walks back with them to see the house and meet the sister, and just like that, his problem is solved.

It solves the problem of having a place for Midnight Phantom, which makes Huang Shaotian quite relieved. It exacerbates the rest. Huang Shaotian watches Hong Xue crashing around making dinner, his head pillowed on his arm on the table. Hong Xue isn’t the worst, he’s making Huang Shaotian dinner as well. He’s a good cook. He’s one of the teachers Huang Shaotian really got along with, before they tried living together. Before funny, noisy Huang Shaotian became annoying noisy Huang Shaotian.

“Er, I didn’t mean you had to get rid of the cat right that second,” Hong Xue says, setting a bowl near Huang Shaotian’s head. “Or at all, really. It’s your house. It was just a long day.”

“Yeah,” Huang Shaotian agrees. “I’m leaving.”

“Sorry?” Hong Xue says, sounding confused, then an annoyed huff. “Because of the cat? Jesus. Keep the cat, I just said.”

“I’m not leaving because of the cat. I’ll wait until you find people, so you’re not stuck with the whole rent or anything,” Huang Shaotian says. “Thanks for cooking.”

Hong Xue looks like he’s going to argue, but he doesn’t in the end, he just shrugs and sits down to eat. He’s got his own life and problems, they’re not the kind of friends who share things, whatever Huang Shaotian has going on, Hong Xue isn’t going to press for details. Huang Shaotian eats what’s been put in front of him and tries not to get drowned in the whirl of thoughts about Glory and Blue Rain and Yu Wenzhou and Yu Wenzhou and Yu Wenzhou.

It’s been a while since they talked, longer since they both logged into Glory to play. When Huang Shaotian had left the house earlier with Midnight Phantom in a box he’d headed out automatically as if he was going to take her to Yu Wenzhou. Still, even now after so long, he heads for Yu Wenzhou when he’s tired and in trouble. He logs into Glory and finds Wei Chen and pokes him until he PKs.

It doesn’t take too long to find a new home for himself and Midnight Phantom. The only thing is, just as he’s about to choose the house, Huang Shaotian gets a job offer. They come in, sometimes. From teams or guilds or studios, or even from the Alliance Headquarters. This time it’s from Gao Yingjie, and Huang Shaotian isn’t sure if it’s pity or if Gao Yingjie is after his cat. Huang Shaotian’s visited her a few times and each time the Gao siblings have been more attached to her. She is the best cat, so Huang Shaotian understands.

“It’s not pity, Huang Shao,” Wang Jiexi says, steady and familiar and barely changed. Calm and annoyed with Huang Shaotian at the same time. “I haven’t heard from you in nearly two years.”

“Yes, yes, I know, and it’s been a nice peaceful and quiet two years. You have, anyway, I liked your stupid post on Weibo about your garden. Actually that was a great post, your garden is amazing. Your house is huge but you only have a tiny garden, I like that even so you’ve stuffed bits of garden in all your windows, plants everywhere, it looks really nice,” Huang Shaotian says. “I bought a plant after I saw all your photos. It died, I don’t know why.”

Huang Shaotian stops. He had been going to take the plant to Xu Jingxi, who knows about such things, but he hadn’t had the heart to send him a message. He still didn’t have QQ back, at the time of the dead plant. He has QQ now, but he hasn’t added anyone back. He gets worried they won’t say yes, every time he thinks about sending the requests. They were rubbish at keeping in touch anyway even when he did have QQ.

“I don’t think Gao Yingjie has any ulterior, cat stealing motives,” Wand Jiexi says. “He’s trying to do what you and Yu Wenzhou did at Blue Rain, with the training camp.”

“Huh? What did we do? We didn’t do anything we were just awesome. It’s the best training camp we made it the best, Blue Rain’s the best team really, the absolute best, so of course the training camp is great! Of course Gao Yinjie is jealous of our greatness!” Huang Shaotian says, bouncing too much and nearly flying off the sofa. Hong Xue glares across, he’s been moody since Huang Shaotian said he was leaving, but right now he’s moody specifically because Huang Shaotian is loud.

“Expanding the pro players’ skills, Huang Shao,” Wang Jiexi says. He always did say Huang Shaotian’s name just like that, every time he thought Huang Shaotian was getting off topic and needed to be reminded of the thread of the conversation. Huang Shaotian doesn’t need reminding, he’s just very busy racing ahead. “So people have more skills to fall back on, if their pro career doesn’t pan out, or after they retire, or even just to be more useful if they decide to work for a guild or back of house. You know, maths, history, music.”

“My father tried to get me to learn the violin. I did, I learnt three songs, then I learnt the piano, then the trumpet, that was the best,” Huang Shaotian says. He has more, he skipped around between a lot of instruments until his father got fed up with the noise. Wang Jiexi is making impatient noises though. “So he wants me to teach his tiny little Herblets how to play the guqin?”

“You played the- no. Why would- he wants you to teach them what you teach,” Wang Jiexi says, all exasperated. It’s funny, Huang Shaotian laughs at his annoyance. “How to fix a computer, coding, the backend of Glory. Isn’t that your thing? A lot of everything and nothing.”

“Hey! I teach a lot of the best and most interesting things,” Huang Shaotian says.

“It would be nice to see you. You always avoid anywhere any of us live,” Wang Jiexi says. “I can help you keep a plant alive for more than a week.”

“It was two weeks,” Huang Shaotian says. “Gao Yingjie can’t keep my cat. Tell him. Tell him that, okay? Make sure he knows Midnight is going to live with me.”

Two

When Huang Shaotian turns up in City B, his second day there Gao Yingjie and Wang Jiexi both turn up on his doorstep, with snacks, and the first game of the new season to watch; Tiny Herb versus Royal Style. It’s nice of them to bring a game he has no stakes in. Or, he realises, it’s strategic. He’s going to be working for Tiny Herb for the next eight weeks, they want him to at least pretend to be a Tiny Herb fan. Right, he can do that. He cheers when Gao Yingjie plays well, and Midnight, firmly ensconced in his lap, yowls happily along. It’s the best he’s felt in ages.

Working for Tiny Herb is… nice. He’s done things like this with a few of the teams, since retiring, but it’s been a while. Gao Yingjie is easy to get along with, Wang Jiexi brings Huang Shaotian a plant and visits every fortnight to make sure it’s not dead, Midnight Phantom is good company. The kids at the training camp don’t make the connection between him and Troubling Rain, and Huang Shaotian doesn’t enlighten them. Gao Yingjie and the other pros there follow his lead. His house is nice, with his plant (still alive) and his kitten (growing , growing, so so big).

Tiny Herb is nothing like Blue Rain.

The training camp is very separate from the team, there are, as far as Huang Shaotian can tell, 0 cuddle parties. There’s never once an occasion where a very innocent pro player sneaks his very innocent protege into the training camp with a very innocent guild leader and bribes the best newbies into helping out with the very special task of hunting Wei Chen down and taking sweet, sweet revenge. There’s not even one time when a vice captain accidentally starts a prank war with the training camp. There’s not even one game of pros versus training-camp hallway-ball. Which never happened at Blue Rain anyway and wasn’t Huang Shaotian’s idea and didn’t lead to even a tiny fire. Hallway-ball is the best game, but he can’t teach his students that. He probably can’t. He definitely shouldn’t.

Huang Shaotian teaches Tiny Herb trainees hallway-ball on his last Friday.

“You have to get into teams, quickly, quickly, as fast as you can,” Huang Shaotian says. He sings his Friday song for them while they do, and Han Yunlong points out that he changes the words too much for them to sing along with him, before he can complain that they don’t.

She’s one of Huang Shaotian’s favourites, she invented a new kind of sandwich and named it Vacaria which is very hilarious of her. She’s also a warlock and really, really good. Huang Shaotian aches a lot, when he sees her play, thinking about the old days when he might’ve tried stealing her away to Blue Rain.

“Are you in teams? Good,” Huang Shaotian says, ignoring the comment on his lyrics, his lyrics are the best, Midnight always sings along, that’s proof. “Ok, you have thirty seconds to find the best ball starting… now! Go go go!”

Hallway-ball is a great game, from start to finish. The trick of it is to get a ‘ball’ that doesn’t bounce too much. And to be lucky enough to be wearing slippy, slippy, wonderful sliding socks. Tiny Herb has a great hallway for it and they have a really joyful hour playing. It’s super useful, too. It tests people’s tactical thinking, their ingenuity, their ability to think outside the box, it’s a game of strategy and-

“You made a dent in our wall,” Gao Yingjie says, interrupting while Huang Shaotian tries to explain all the greatness of hallway-ball. It was glorious, Han Yunlong sliding down through the chaos, so so fast, into the wall with a great thump. Huang Shaotian opens his mouth. “Yu Wenzhou already tried to poach her, we’re keeping her. Even if she decides to make denting walls a habit.”

Huang Shaotian shuts his mouth.

“I wasn’t going to poach her. Who would I poach her for?” Huang Shaotian says.

“It might not be my place, but you’re sitting in my office.They miss you too," Gao Yingjie says.

“You promised you wouldn’t advertise where I’m working,” Huang Shaotian says. “I put it in my contract. How would they know where I am to miss me? Why are you talking to them about me?”

“I didn’t tell Yu Wenzhou where you are. There’s a new swordmaster on Team Happy, she came up from the guild, she learnt from Wei Chen. She has a few familiar tricks. Lu Hanwen was spamming the chat about it,” Gao Yingjie says.

“How do you do it?” Huang Shaotian asks. “You live so far away from him.”

Gao Yingjie smiles, he looks so so happy. He doesn’t answer, just shrugs. Huang Shaotian writes a cheque to pay for the property damage, promises never to teach anyone at Tiny Herb any games ever ever again, and refuses the offer to teach another eight weeks. He wants out, he wants away from Glory for a bit. He dithers on what to do next and ends up picking up shifts at a cafe making boba tea, for want of a better idea.

Three

After Huang Shaotian retired, he had plenty of money. He needs to work, he’s not so rich he can live off his savings forever and ever, and he gave a huge lot of it to his father and grandparents so they could live good lives. Whenever he feels like he’s getting too much saved and it starts making him anxious, he gets in touch with Ye Xiu, who now officially runs a bunch of funds for ex pros and failed pros who are left without life skills or much education, those who didn’t get far enough to get rich. People who love Glory as much as them, but weren’t so stubborn or so lucky.

He does still love Glory. He likes working in the cafe, too, but it’s around the corner from an internet cafe that’s popular with people who play Glory, so there’s lots of talk about the game. It’s a strange sensation, to still be in love with that world, to witness the joy and how it brings people together, to remember it all, and then to go back home to his cat and his empty flat.

“I should get in touch with them,” Huang Shaotian tells Midnight Phantom, kneeling by her bowl to try and scoop her food in before she eats it out of the tin. She keeps trying to shove her face in and it’s hard, but he is skilled. He waits for his opportunity and plops the gross mess into the bowl. “Su Mucheng used to call me stupid. She used to say ‘none of these people you miss are dead, Shaotian. Walk down the hallway and knock on Yu Wenzhou’s door! Ring Wei Chen! Leave me alone I’m so so busy and important!’.”

Midnight meows conversationally and turns around, backing into him, trying to push him away from her dinner. Her bowl scoots forward and she makes a happy sound, shoving it away with her nose. Huang Shaotian gets up and goes to fish his belongings out of her bed, he does it once a week and always the next day she’s taken something else. She’s a weird cat. The best cat. Today he finds an old Blue Rain patch he doesn’t even remember keeping, and his old Blue Rain badge which he does remember he kept. He lies on the sofa and wonders what he should do next.

What he does next is nothing. In fact, it’s so much of nothing that Wang Jiexi gets tired of having his messages ignored and turns up uninvited and glaring, demanding Huang Shaotian put on nicer clothes than the work-out clothes he’s wearing, and demands company to a karaoke night. He’s being dragged to the karaoke by some colleagues and he in turn is dragging Huang Shaotian, because watching Huang Shaotian do nothing at all is going to make his single plant so sad and depressed. Wang Jiexi explains all this while tipsy, talking very seriously, winding his way to persuading Huang Shaotian to a. drink something that looks very, very green, and b. go sing something specific from the TV show Wang Jiexi likes.

Huang Shaotian’s stood on the stage, microphone in hand, when it happens. The music and words start up, Huang Shaotian opens his mouth, and for once nothing comes out. Nothing at all. Because Yu Wenzhou just came in. Just walked in and Huang Shaotian knew it was him before he even stepped inside, and there he is, and Huang Shaotian hasn’t spoken to him in so long, hasn’t seen him in even longer, and he’s just walked in. Just walked in and gone over to Wang Jiexi like he’s been invited here by Wang Jiexi as if this is a plan. All those clever tacticians of the old days, scheming and planning. Huang Shaotian climbs off the stage very carefully (he had four of the green, green drinks) and tries to sneak out without being seen. There’s only one exit.

“Shaotian.”

“I didn’t know he was coming,” Wang Jiexi says. “xiao Mo invited him.”

“xiao Mo?” Huang Shaotian says, staring at Yu Wenzhou.

“xiao Mo’s making an account for Blue Rain,” Yu Wenzhou says. “Zheng Xuan is retiring and we’re going to try bringing up Feng Jian. I need her Following Wind account- Shaotian.”

“Come on,” Huang Shaotian says, heading for the exit. “Come on, come on, not here.”

He gets out into the fresh air and breaks into a run. In the old days, Yu Wenzhou would keep up or catch up, it wouldn’t matter, and it takes a bit for Huang Shaotian to remember it’s not the old days. He stops abruptly, panicking, and turns to run back and fetch Yu Wenzhou, but Yu Wenzhou is right there, turning as well, turning to follow. He followed. Huang Shaotian looks around, trying to see if he’s at least run in the right direction. There’s tears in his eyes and everything is wobbly from the green drink, but he’s nearly home. He thanks Wang Jiexi for dragging him somewhere close, and runs again. He bursts into his house and rushes to find Midnight, scooping her up and carrying her to the kitchen, she’s getting so big his arms are full of soft, soft fur, she’s happy to lie there and purr even if he does get her fur damp with his tears.

“Do you want a drink?” Huang Shaotian asks Yu Wenzhou, who’s waiting politely in the kitchen.

He looks the same. He doesn’t, though, he has new lines, new glasses. He’s wearing a really nice sweater. He has the same hair style, it makes Huang Shaotian want to cry more. He looks older. He’s stood in Huang Shaotian’s kitchen looking at Huang Shaotian and all of Huang Shaotian’s thoughts are shattering all over the place in messy confusing pieces.

“I didn’t expect- how are you here?” Yu Wenzhou says. “Why did Big Eye say… he knew you’re here. He knows you. Do you live here? Do you work for Tiny Herb? I thought I’d recognise if you ever worked for another team, I thought I’d see it.”

“For the training camp. I taught them computer bollocks, I have this eight week course. I have a website, people can pick a course and I go teach it,” Huang Shaotian says. “Gao Yinjie wanted to pick my brains about Blue Rain. I didn’t tell them any secrets! About the skills stuff we did at our training camp, lessons and not just Glory. Wang Jiexi gave me a plant, do you want to see? It’s not dead.”

“I want to see everything you want to show me,” Yu Wenzhou says, not taking his eyes off Huang Shaotian, as if Huang Shaotian might vanish if he looks away.

“My cat,” Huang Shaotian says, holding Midnight out. She’s a big purring sprawl across his arms. “She tries to bite sometimes but she’s the best.”

“She’s beautiful. She’s silver but maybe also blue,” Yu Wenzhou says.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ring,” Huang Shaotian blurts out. Yu Wenzhou’s face creases, as if that had indeed worried and upset him. It’s not fair that Huang Shaotian can still read his face creases. “You dumped me.”

“I didn’t,” Yu Wenzhou says, but he looks away.

“You asked if we should stop and then… Gao Yingjie and Qiao Yifan make it work, they’re not smarter than us, they’re not better than me, I can still play Glory I’m still good enough I’m still good,” Huang Shaotian says. “I don’t want to show you my plant.”

“Oh. Okay,” Yu Wenzhou says, like it actually matters. Maybe it does, it’s a good plant and Huang Shaotian has kept it alive, because he’s living a good and excellent retirement life.

“I taught Tiny Herb hallway-ball,” Huang Shaotian says. Then, because old habits die very hard, “I learnt it from that unwise and very badly behaved pro player who taught it to the Blue Rain camp, what an unruly person, but it wasn’t me of course. I will keep their name safe, I’m not a snitch, but it wasn’t me. How unruly.”

Yu Wenzhou’s lips twitch, and Huang Shaotian gets a desperate urge to make him smile. He looks unhappy, all scrunched up and worried about something. Maybe he’s forgotten how to make Yu Wenzhou smile. That is an unhappy thought. He hugs Midnight, she’s still happy to be in his arms but she’ll get annoyed soon so he sets her down and bustles around getting out snacks and making some of the gross tea Wang Jiexi keeps sending him. They sit at the table and Huang Shaotian watches Midnight Phantom steal Yu Wenzhou’s wallet and ID and Blue Rain badge from his jacket in the hall, behind his back.

“My cat is the best cat,” Huang Shaotian says.

“She’s lovely,” Yu Wenzhou agrees. “How are you here?!”

“I moved here. I sometimes work for the teams, or the guilds, I always put in the contract that they can’t spread rumours about where I am,” Huang Shaotian says.

“So that I can’t find you?” Yu Wenzhou asks.

“Because it always feels like I’m betraying Blue Rain. I’m not, I’m not, I would never, but it feels that way,” Huang Shaotian says. “Why are you here?”

“I had a meeting at the Alliance Headquarters, xiao Mo heard I was in town and invited me to the karaoke thing,” Yu Wenzhou says. “I’m glad I ran into you.”

They don’t really talk. Huang Shaotian is pretty sure they’re both too shocked to see each other. They sit and drink horrible tea and then Huang Shaotian sets up a bed for Yu Wenzhou on the livingroom floor. This time around he got a flat with no spare rooms, hoping smaller would feel less empty, giving up hope that people would come stay in his spare room. He has a good futon and Yu Wenzhou will be comfortable. Huang Shaotian lies awake for a while then drags his duvet off his bed and sneaks to the sofa.

“Do you mind?” he whispers.

“I don’t mind,” Yu Wenzhou whispers back.

They lie in the dark, a great distance apart but so close, just the sound of their breathing. And Midnight singing to herself and the moon on a windowsill somewhere. She eventually gets bored of the night and comes to lie across Huang Shaotian’s chest the way she does when she thinks he’s sad. It’s good. It’s really good, to be somewhere where Yu Wenzhou is again. He stays awake listening to the sounds of him being close for a really long time, storing it up, then he falls asleep and sleeps better than he has in a long time. He nearly forgets that he has work, in the morning.

“Can you stay? Do you have a flight? Do you have to leave? I have to leave, I’m going to be so late, so so late, damn Wang Jiexi! This is all his fault! Are you going to be gone when I get back?” Huang Shaotian asks, charging through the living room to the kitchen where Yu Wenzhou is leaning, drinking coffee, in pyjamas, fuck fuck fuck he looks so good. “Don’t leave?”

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Yu Wenzhou says.

“Great! Really? Good! Ok, ok, ok, I need to go, don’t go anywhere!”

Huang Shaotian leaves at a run. He gets halfway through his shift making Glory fans tea when there’s a commotion, a lot of gasping and whispering, and Yu Wenzhou patiently waiting in line while the entire tiny shop sort of explodes with excitement. Huang Shaotian begs his manager to let him have a break and she’s very stern about it but lets him, and then boggles at him for dragging Yu Wenzhou, the Swoksaar, captain of Blue Rain, into their tiny break room.

“I’m going to have to answer so many questions because of you, what are you doing?! Don’t you know we’re right in the heart of Glory fan territory here?! I know it’s City B so there are a billion other teams to support but even here you have fans!” Huang Shaotian says, peeking out into the shop and glaring at the people craning to try and get a look in.

“I have to call in for a meeting in an hour,” Yu Wenzhou says.

“Uh huh, uh huh, you want to do it from here? It’s so noisy, home is much quieter, it’s so quiet at home, if Midnight is singing just give her some food she usually takes that away and hides and she’s quiet for a bit then,” Huang Shaotian says.

“The quiet isn’t the problem,” Yu Wenzhou says.

“Oh? Then it’s a problem with your phone service? Do you want to borrow my phone?” Huang Shaotian asks. Yu Wenzhou narrows his eyes, and it’s so familiar. He’s trying to work out if Huang Shaotian is pretending not to know the problem or if he really doesn’t know. It suddenly dawns on Huang Shaotian what the problem is.

“My phone is missing,” Yu Wenzhou says.

“I didn’t take it!” Huang Shaotian says. “You must have dropped it or lost it or maybe when you get home it will be right where you left it. That’s way more likely than my kitten- but you might want to try looking behind the books, second shelf from the floor, right by my bedroom door. There might be some things there, when stuff goes missing.”

“Your cat stole my phone,” Yu Wenzhou says.

“She’s a good cat,” Huang Shaotian says. “She didn’t, anyway, cats don’t do such things.”

“You trained your cat to steal my phone,” Yu Wenzhou says.

He’s smiling, he’s really, really smiling, all his new lines trailing beautifully, god he’s beautiful, he’s so so beautiful, and there’s nothing Huang Shaotian’s allowed to do about it. Except maybe cry.

“You should go look on that shelf,” Huang Shaotian says, doing some bustling. Lots to do. “I’m quite busy. I won’t be too long. I’ll be back soon. I have to work, very busy.”

“Shaotian.”

“Please.”

Huang Shaotian stands and faces the wall until Yu Wenzhou leaves, and then stays there a bit longer until the fear of crying goes away, then takes a deep breath and goes back to work. It takes his manager all of ten minutes to remember who used to play Troubling Rain and then the rest of his shift is A Lot. She’s a Tiny Herb fan, but she plays Glory and she’s a blademaster and she’s been playing long enough that she actually knows who he is, not just from rumours but remembering. Huang Shaotian tries to pretend to be Ye Xiu, enigmatic and unflappable. He at least manages not to cry until the walk home. It’s raining so it goes unnoticed.

“I found my phone and my wallet but I can’t find my ID or my badge, and now she’s got my socks, I think in retaliation for me getting the phone back,” Yu Wenzhou says. “Oh.”

“She likes socks,” Huang Shaotian says, rubbing away the rain on his face and not acknowledging that Yu Wenzhou can still tell he’s been crying. “It’s been a really long time since people at work recognised me. Yu Wenzhou, you weren’t meant to dump me. Blue Rain is meant to be the best at communicating, we were meant to be friends. Why did it all fall apart? I’m soaking wet. Why are you so, why do you still look like that?”

“Can I hug you?” Yu Wenzhou asks.

“I don’t know where she’s hidden your socks, she changed her sock stash and I haven’t found it yet,” Huang Shaotian says.

He takes a tentative step, and then another, and then he’s folded into Yu Wenzhou’s arms and it’s warm and familiar. It’s been such a long time.

“You’re gonna get wet,” Huang Shaotian says.

“Mmhm,” Yu Wenzhou says, all relief and breath and warmth and so many good things. Huang Shaotian carefully rests his cheek against the soft jumper and holds on.

“I’m so bad at retirement,” Huang Shaotian says.

“You’re doing beautifully,” Yu Wenzhou says.

Huang Shaotian can think of at least eight more things to say, but it hasn’t just been a long time since he hugged Yu Wenzhou. It’s been a long time since he hugged anyone. The world outside of Glory is not like Blue Rain where there was always someone to hug or lean on their shoulder or ruffle their hair or fist bump or any one of a hundred different touches. Huang Shaotian always thought he was good at making friends, but here he is in his thirties, clinging onto a man he hasn’t spoken to in so long, soaking wet, and he feels like he hasn’t had a friend within reach for years and years and years. Yu Wenzhou’s hands are as big and comforting as Huang Shaotian remembers, he closes his eyes.

#yuhuang #sort of #the kings avatar #ficlet #mine

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saphirered · 3 years ago

Note

Ah I just read like 5 of your head cannons they're amazing! Could you write about the M9 reacting to a fighter s/o using magic for the fist time, and the s/o explaining that they haven't used it cause it scares them?

Thank you so much ☺️! It turned out a bit longer than I intended but more content is good right? I tried to get some variety in the types of magic users to kudos to anyone who figures out the (sub)classes. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this one 😘

Caleb:

Caleb, observant as he is caught on the fact you had more knowledge of the arcane than you let people believe. You knew things someone not schooled in some kind of magic wouldn’t have the faintest clue about. It may have left him a bit suspicious of you in the beginning but over time he saw no malicious intent or a connection to the people he’d rather distance himself from.

The first time Caleb noticed you cast a spell, you spoke the familiar words combined with the motions to deflect a hit from an enemy mid battle that otherwise might have been the death of you. You thought no one had noticed but Caleb had, and he recognised the shield spell you used. He saw you flinch the moment you cast it and fear in your eyes as if you were waiting for an aftermath. It never came but you were on edge for the next few hours.

Approaching you after noticing you were still on edge, nervously fidgeting with a coin in your hand to get rid of the more obvious jitters, you denied all claims. If Caleb is good at anything it’s providing a verbal slap in the face through reality check and calling out your bullshit. He wouldn’t press for answers because your past is your past and he had no right to demand it if you were not willingly offering it.

It took you some time but you came clean. You told him how your relationship with practical magics is destructive and hurts people. Because of that you vowed to distance yourself from magic altogether but sometimes you slip and hope no one notices and no ill effects follow you casting any spell. Caleb understands, better than anyone perhaps. He admires your restraint and capability of stepping away from the thing that causes you so much pain; something he never could.

If you’re able to and with your consent Caleb would help you work through your fears, only for your own wellbeing because one thing is undeniable; your magic is part of you and if you never learn to live with it, that it is part of you, you might never be able to accept it. What happens when you’re unable to fear the magic? Will you instead turn to fear yourself like he had himself for so long? No, if he can spare you a fate like that he’d do anything.

Beau:

You never hid the fact you were schooled in the arcane. It just never clicked you are actually a very capable spellcaster especially donned in battle worn armour and your tastes for sharp edged pointy things, and a ‘will cut a bitch’ attitude whenever someone comes for you or those close to you.

Perhaps a little ashamed to admit the first time Beau actually saw you cast a spell it was a simple mage hand cantrip. You couldn’t reach a book on a high shelf at the Archive and you thought it disrespectful to physically climb the bookcases to get it. Beau may or may not have been watching you, more like admiring your muscle. Nothing better than a strong, gorgeous ripped bookworm. Mouth agape you caught Beau staring. You had to snap her out of it. Beau had a million questions, maybe half of them flirty. You answered her questions best you could, even the flirty ones but when it got to where you learned magic you sort of just shut down so she dropped the subject. Beau knows how to read the room no matter how much she might want to press for answers. She’ll refrain. For now.

This doesn’t mean Beau drops the subject entirely for all future reference though. She’d leave hooks for you in case you’d be in a more talkative mood and grow frustrated when you ignored or brushed off the so-many-eth attempt to get you to spill some beans. One day she sat you down, giving you one more chance to tell her what’s going on. If you wanted to tell her, you could. If not, she’d never ask again or try to get you to talk about it.

That’s when you broke down, explaining all the terrible memories of your ‘studies’. You were the only child in a long line of powerful mages to barely be able to cast a cantrip growing up. You were a disappointment and disgrace to your family. Rigorous hours practicing and studying from dawn til dusk without breaks. Not being allowed to go outside and play with friends until you got this one thing right. Nevermind the fact that your family let it be known you were a disappointment.

You’d been working hard already to break the circle but couldn’t prevent the bad memories haunting you every time you felt like you had to cast a spell. No matter how far you ran, whenever you reached for the components, spoke the words or performed the somatics, you were hit with a sense of incompetence. Beau’s not unfamiliar to the need of living up to the expectations of family. She’d be there for you if you wanted to take up magic on your own terms or distance yourself from magic entirely.

Fjord:

Didn’t have a single clue you were magically inclined. But to be fair you never gave anyone a reason to believe you were. You were born with magic and you had seen what developing those abilities had done to others like you. You like yourself the way you are and would very much prefer not to fall into the servitude of some evil entity in the hunger for more power.

You’d seen Fjord spiral into the clutches of his patron and saw him struggle to get away from the leviathan. Ritualistically you tapped into the power bestowed upon you to search for a way to break the pact between warlock and patron. Of course it was doable and your powers could show you the way but you needed to get stronger first…

Fjord grew worried. You’d begun talking to yourself, spending nights awake and an odd sense of paranoia had grasped you. A storm hit once and you had nowhere to shelter. The little voice in your head came back. You could stop that storm. All it would take is a little tiny taste. When you agreed you had no control over yourself. Hand held up to the sky, eyes white and skin ashen, a bright light emitted and the clouds disappeared. Needless to say this did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Obligatory endless questions. Obligatory none answered. You retreated within your shell choosing to ignore your surroundings and feeling the nagging in the back of your head. Fjord heard you speaking to yourself at night. Asking the skies if it was worth it. Worth what? You heard him and just because the voice in the back of your head told you not to, you told Fjord everything; how you had been trying to find a way to keep Uk’otoa at bay, how to break his connection with his patron and give him freedom and what would happen to you if you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for more after completing that goal.

Fjord refuses to let you sacrifice yourself for his freedom. He’d rather have you fighting the evils of the world at his side than end up fighting you in an attempt to save yourself from what you might become. The two of you would work together to repress the inkling for more power and keep your powers at bay and under control. While you might want to see it differently, for the good of everything you’d stay far away from any magical forces seeking to awaken the power you were born with.

Veth:

Veth made it clear she would not understand why anyone would pass on the opportunity to learn or develop magical abilities should they be available to them. She literally spoke those words and you just nodded along changing the subject. You’d rather not lie but is this lie by omission?

It was an emergency. A fight had gone south and you were losing quickly. Clerics on their last legs, a wizard down being dragged away by the monk and Veth running in arrows blazing and screaming to protect her friends. You had to get out and none of you were quick enough at this point to all get out. So you did what you had to do. A quick expeditious retreat resulted in conveniently released magic missiles at your enemies, grabbing the halfling who got out some last shots you misty stepped your way to safety. You shouted to the others you were safe immediately knowing to keep your mouth shut for the next minute. Bless the gods the surges weren’t that bad this time.

Safely returned Veth commented on what you did. Did you take those scrolls? Did you buy that misty step enchanted item after all? Those were the only logical explanations right? Yes but they weren’t true. So you told Veth the truth. No scrolls or enchanted items were involved. Why didn’t you tell anyone you could do that?! It would have been so helpful in the past! Look how many buttons you could have helped her get!

You calmly explained her you could cast spells and were actually quite good at it one point your magic is dangerous, and the surges uncontrollable the state you’re at. While this time the reward by far exceeded the risks in this situation, you’d rather prevent killing those around you in a blaze of glory if you can. Wild magic surges are no joke and you’re so afraid of hurting the people you care about you’d rather step away from magic completely than live with the knowledge you could be the end of your friends and family.

Veth still has a hard time understanding your reasoning being prone to risky behaviour herself but accepts your views and respects your decisions. While you may not practice magic you still know it and after some persuasion, the woman gets you to teach her a thing or two. Of course all used for the good of mankind of course…. She just failed to specify who’s.

Jester:

You’re a special one. The Traveler told her so after all! He just didn’t tell her in what way specifically but you are special! That Traveler of hers may know a bit more than you’re comfortable with so you’ve been wary of the green cloak should he see the need to reveal your secrets. Luckily he cares about Jester and revealing your secrets would hurt you and you being hurt makes Jester upset so you can take comfort in the Traveler’s attachment to the tiefling.

Pixies came to haunt you in the night. They were meant to send you a message. Someone wanted you to stop running and accept your fate. Pissed off as you were you fought them off but when some tried to get away and your bow out of reach you were forced to release the bursts of bright green energy. Regret hit followed by fear. What if your patron could find you now? What if they came to get you or tried to hurt your friends to get you to cooperate? You will never be a puppet again and if a cantrip screwed this up for you….

“Oh. My. Gosh. Why did you never tell me you could do magic?” Jester exclaimed waking up Fjord just to tell him your eldritch blasts looked so much cooler than his. Guess the cat’s out of the bag… You had to prevent Jester from waking up the others to tell them you’d just gotten even cooler than you already were.

Successfully sending the others back to sleep you took Jester aside. Your hands still shaking, you asked her to talk to her god and ask him if he knew someone might be looking for you and getting close. The Traveler obliged but he wanted to hear the story behind your predicament. You told Jester everything ignoring the green hooded figure. How a being from another realm tricked you into an agreement. From then on you became a warlock.

You didn’t like being a warlock and you being stuck in such a binding deal lead to a very abusive relation between you and your patron so you did everything in your power to get away from them. Luckily crossing the planes is a lot more difficult and limits their capabilities quite a bit. Jester promised she’d protect you and of course the Traveler can be your new god so he’ll protect you too. Both you and the Traveler might not have been in full agreement with this statement. Jester understands you wanting to be far away and never see your patron again. She’s seen her mom get rid of the people getting a little too close for comfort or too attached and possessive so she knows how to deal with them.

Caduceus:

From the beginning you knew you couldn’t hide anything from Caduceus no matter how hard you tried. This lead you to just never specify anything. If he picked up on thing and asked about them then you’d answer, if not, you weren’t just going to say anything. Not even to explain yourself. Let him draw his own conclusions.

You may once have been a devout follower of your god, the one who bestowed upon you the powers you’d need to uphold their tenets but you veered from that path. Not everything is as black and white as some people claim it to be. You learned the hard way afraid of repeating your mistakes you’d only revert to your old habits in the most dire situations.

Caduceus had gone down. Jester was too far away and you were the only one able to get to him in time but you were out of healing potions. A quick lay on hands later and Caduceus was back on his feet albeit a bit confused about how you had managed to get him back to the land of the living. Talk later, he told you after seeing you mortified of what you had just done through the relief of seeing Caduceus alive.

Talk later you did. You couldn’t run away from your problems. Caduceus wouldn’t let you. You told him how you had done terrible things, hurt people because your god willed it so. You thought you were doing the right thing until you were faced with the truth and consequences. That’s when you stepped away from your life as a paladin; a vessel for your god.

You kept the sword but refused to use the magic; proof of your ability to hurt people who were worthy of redemption. Over many months Caduceus would help you see that your magic is nothing to be afraid of as long as you wield it with a good conscious and to protect instead of seek vengeance. There’s a fine line between being righteous and being just. The Wildmother taught him as much. Maybe she could through him, show you the same?

Yasha:

Whenever someone played a happy tune or began singing you’d retreat and block out your surroundings or find anything you could to distract you from the sound. Yasha just thought music’s not for everyone and maybe these songs and melodies just were’t your style. However when you asked her to please stop humming a tune while you had watch together she became a bit suspicious.

Spending some downtime at a tavern, deep in your cups Yasha was being bothered by a rather persistent asshole. On the verge of a fight breaking out you stepped in front of the barbarian and in a singsong voice told the asshole to kindly piss off and find company elsewhere with someone actually interested. The act alone made your stomach churn so you ran off.

You didn’t like controlling people. It didn’t even take a rhyme or proper verse. All it took was some booze and a melody in your head. This couldn’t happen again. Yasha had come after you to check on you and when you told her to stop, she stopped, frozen in place unable to move. You immediately dropped the accidental spell you cast putting distance between you and Yasha.

Yasha assured her it was fine and with your permission approached. A hug from the gentle goth was all it took for you to turn into a sobbing mess. When the sobs calmed down you told Yasha how you were cursed with your voice. Song and rhymes, tunes and melodies constantly plagued you afraid you’d go along with them and people got hurt because you couldn’t control your voice.

For the longest time you were uncomfortable using your voice but with your permission Yasha would help you practice. She can take a hit if you lose control badly but this fear is no good for you. She’ll play sweet serenades, some prettier than others as she too needs practice, the both of you can practice together learning and relearning the things you grew to love together.

Mollymauk:

Mollymauk doesn’t care about your shit. Everyone hides something and as long as those secrets aren’t a danger to those around you it’s all fine. Though he can’t deny being a bit curious when you snuck off to burn a suspicious stack of paper…. lighting the flame without tinder, flint and steel, or anything.

The next few weeks involved Molly trying to get you to use magic again, asking you to do small tasks much easier to complete with magic than they would be manually. You didn’t budge. Somehow he couldn’t get you to do anything. You’d complete the task the hard way each and every time. He began to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning until he decided to give up on sleep and just face you with the question to be done with it. You were gone, the light of a fire a bit away from the rest of the group. He found you watching the flames, tears in your eyes and devoid of all emotion. He’d seen Caleb in a similar state before. That’s when it hit him. This was pain, fear and trauma and you’re disassociating to get through this.

Sitting down next to you he’d place a hand on your shoulder, when you don’t stop him he’d wrap it around your shoulder letting you know he’s here for you when you need him. His views don’t change. Everyone is entitled to their secrets and keeping their lives to themselves. If you want to talk, he’s here but he’d accept your silence too despite his curiosity. Luckily for his curiosity, you told him everything. The torments of the past and the family you lost, the pain you’ve caused countless others and how you’re trying to pay your penance and make right your wrongs.

You’re glad to have Molly at your side be that to cheer you up or listen to you. He’s there whenever you need him and will take no for an answer when you don’t want to talk about something. He won’t ask for further details but will do anything to show you you’re on the right path and leaving a place better than you found it when you can’t see it.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #beau x reader #beauregard x reader #fjord x reader #veth x reader #nott x reader #jester x reader #caduceus x reader #yasha x reader #mollymauk x reader

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stuckwith-harry · 3 years ago

Text

Hide-and-seek

A/N: Oh, to be a chicken in times like these. (CW for discussion of death, nothing graphic.)

In the chicken shed it might as well still be the eighties, as though time had only gone on for the humans living in the house on the other side of the fence, but not in here, where the hens are quietly clucking and cooing and enjoying their naps, until Ginny shakes a handful of lettuce in the air like an invitation, a beckoning – then they come hurrying towards her, beaks tearing greedily at the green leaves.

When the hens have had their fill, Ginny looks over the gaggle of bickering ladies and finds her favourite amongst them, Genoveva with her warm brown feathers and clever eyes, who yells and shrieks when Ginny lifts her up by her impossibly soft belly, crouching down in the chicken shed, and pulls the disgruntled hen to her chest.

“Look, I’ll make it up to you”, Ginny tells her quietly. She fishes sweetcorn out of the front pocket of her dungarees and holds her open palm out to Genoveva, not flinching or grimacing when the sharp beak leaves little red marks on her skin as the hen gulps down her treat.

Ginny smiles.

The summer after her first year, she climbed into the chicken shed every day. She was soothed, then, by the arrhythmic clucking and the smell of fresh hay and the fact that the hens allowed her to share their company, that they did not recoil in horror at her sight.

It was her that named them, while she sat here for hours and hours with a chicken in her lap, more often than not Genoveva, who, for all her complaining, was easily the most patient of the bunch, and who nestles into her lap now, blinking slowly in the twilight while Ginny strokes her feathers, the burning inside her ribcage dull and pulsating like that of an infected wound.

Like it was her that took the damn Killing Curse to the chest.

“You’ve no idea how lucky you are”, she mutters, meeting Genoveva’s sharp eyes. “Nothing in those little heads of yours except earthworms and soft hay.”

She sits there for ages and ages like she did that summer, willing the comfort of the soft animal to sink into her like warmth. When she finally gets up to leave the chickens be, she tosses the rest of the sweetcorn into the hay (Genoveva looks utterly betrayed), fills up the grains in the feeder, and climbs out of the shed with the smell of warm feathers and wheat straw still in her nose.

“Chicken-feeding duty?”, calls a voice from near the house as she swings her bare legs over the wooden fence and strolls back towards the Burrow. When she looks for the voice’s owner, she discovers Ron, sitting on the weathered bench below the kitchen window.

“What’re you doing out here?”, she calls out as she comes closer.

“Hiding”, he says dully. “Mum’s crying again.”

Ginny feels something inside her chest take a tumble. “Is anyone with her?”

“Yeah, I’m not that much of a dickhead. Dad and Percy and Bill are all in there.”

“You’re not a dickhead”, Ginny says automatically, surprising them both. Then: “Mind if I stay?”

He shrugs. “Be my guest.”

So she sinks on the bench beside him, joining him in his grim silence. They gaze aimlessly over the soft green hills all around, the shape of the lake like a blue thumbprint in the landscape, where they whiled away so many happier, warmer days than this, and Ottery St. Catchpole’s mismatched roofs in the distance, smoke rising from the chimneys.

Ron finally looks over at her. “Were you with the chickens this whole time? I thought you’d grown out of your obsession with them.”

Ginny musters up a grin. “Never. I love those stupid hens. That was just an elaborate ruse so I could hide in the chicken coop when we used to play hide-and-seek. It never occurred to any of you to look.”

“Well, you stopped growing at about five feet, I figure you fit right in.”

Ginny whacks him in the knee. In a true testament to the severity of the situation, Ron does not retaliate.

She tells herself it’s that, not how much they aged him, the few short months that he was gone.

It’s less blatant now that Mum has shorn back the unkempt mop of hair that was falling into his eyes and growing down the back of his neck like wild weeds when he walked through the secret entrance of the Room of Requirements with Harry and Hermione; now that he’s shaved the patchy stubble on his cheeks and his face has regained a little fullness. But sometimes she still looks at him and wonders how ten years have not passed since she watched him slip away into thin air at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

“Did anything happen?”, she asks. “With Mum?”

Ron shrugs, expression blank. “Some fool said his name again. I never noticed how rarely we actually said the twins’ individual names until we had to break the habit of saying Fred-and-George all in one go. It’s like he’s Voldemort.”

Ginny doesn’t laugh.

“I know”, she mutters. “Don’t think it’ll ever come naturally.”

He nods mechanically. “Anyway – I made a run for it. I just couldn’t do it right then, having to comfort her and everything.”

Ginny looks over at him. “Funny, you’re so good at it.”

“You just say that because I make the best tea.”

“Well, you do.”

The same way that children can recognise each of their family members by the sound of their footsteps as heard through a wall, or the rhythmic pattern with which they knocked on the door, the Weasley siblings have learned to read each other’s silences since they’ve come home. Often now, they appear at each other’s bedroom doors at all hours of the night, shaken from nightmares or too restless to sleep or, rarely, weeping.

Most nights, two or three or four of them eventually find themselves in the kitchen, where Ginny turns on the lights, and Ron puts on the kettle, and they sit there and while away the small hours in each other’s company, in silence, in quiet understanding, in murmured chatter about nothing at all. It’s good comfort, the idea that even after everything, there’s nothing in this world that a hot cup of tea can’t fix.

Ginny shifts on the bench next to him, pulling her knees to her chest. “Remember when that fox got one of the hens? I was inconsolable, and you were so nice to me when we put her in a shoebox and buried her behind the house, you didn’t even make fun of me.”

“You lot are different, that’s easy. I just can’t take it when it’s our parents.”

Ginny hums in understanding. “I think seeing Dad cry was worse for me. At the memorial.”

“Cheers, thanks for bringing it up again.”

She snorts.

“You’re good with Harry”, she says softly. “D’you miss him at all?”

He rolls his eyes. “He just sleeps two floors below me, it’s not like he died.”

Ginny winces.

Ron does not miss the look on her face or the heaviness of her silence, as they have all learned to do, and asks in an unnaturally light tone: “How’re you coping with him waking up three times a night?”

He seems relieved, for a moment there, when she smirks.

“It’s not too bad, actually. At least he makes for a great pillow.”

Ron looks appalled. “What the hell happened to the camp bed?”

“Oh, we just keep that around for decoration now.” She grins, comforted by the opportunity to tease him. “And he doesn’t wake up as much anymore.”

His face lights up. “That’s good news, at least. Lead with that next time.”

“Oh, he’s just … stopped going to sleep altogether.”

“That really solves that problem”, he says darkly. “The idiot.”

“I don’t think it’s purposeful”, she says. “He’s always pretending to be asleep when I look at him, but I can always tell. And when he does doze off, I’ll just stir next to him, and that’s enough to wake him up again.”

“He’s a really light sleeper these days”, Ron says apologetically. “The worst camping trip in the world will do that to a person.”

Ginny grins faintly. “Yeah, he’s mentioned it.”

“He’s talking, then?”

“Hm-hm.” She wraps her arms a little tighter around her legs. “Which is good, I guess.”

He watches her for a minute, as though unsure what to make of her tone. “Anything on your mind?”

She laughs. “Anyone ever told you you’re turning into Mum?”

“Well, we’re here anyway!”, Ron says, ears flushing. “Spit it out, will you?”

“He, uhm –”

It has not occurred to her, until right now, how difficult it would be to pass the story on, even to someone who has heard it before. Harry handed it to her because she asked him to, and still it knocked into her like a wild animal, pouncing, the weight of it like a Hippogriff standing on her chest, pinning her to the earth.

“He told me about walking into the Forbidden Forest.”

“Ah”, Ron says hollowly. “No wonder you’re hiding in a chicken coop.”

She looks around at him. “It’s not Harry I’m hiding from.”

“But you are hiding”, Ron says wisely.

Ginny shrugs. “I dunno what I expected. Somehow I’d convinced myself I already knew the worst of it. Which, as it turns out, was a bit stupid of me.”

She draws in a shaky breath.

“I thought he was in on it. Ever since I watched him come back to life at Hagrid’s feet … I thought there was some sort of plan. But there wasn’t, or Dumbledore didn’t tell him, anyway. I thought he knew he was going to survive, and it turns out that, uhm – he didn’t know shit. He went there to die, for real.”

Ginny looks back at him, words coming faster now. “And I’m – I’m so angry, and I don’t know why. Or who I’m angry with. It can hardly be Harry.”

“In all fairness, I kind of felt like punching him when he told us”, Ron says quietly, and her mouth briefly twists into something like a smile. “If anything we should be angry with Voldemort, or Dumbledore, even – but they’re not within punching distance, so what are you gonna do?”

“If Dumbledore wasn’t already dead, I would kill him”, Ginny says. “I swear, I would kill him.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable”, Ron says good-naturedly, patting her arm.

“And Harry – Harry keeps apologising, and I don’t know what for.”

Ron’s expression is pained. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

He sighs. She handed this to him, and now he is steeling himself to hand something back to her. She can tell.

“My best guess is … for not saying goodbye.”

Ginny does not look at him. Suddenly she is blinking rapidly in the fading light, sitting there as the blow rolls over her, something blunt and violent that should have broken her ribs like the impact of a Bludger; but there is no injury, only an ache that does not abate, that sits all around her, inside her. She doesn’t think it’s ever going to go away, all that hurting, writhing and straining inside her like a second skeleton.

“How could he have? We would’ve dragged him back to the castle by the damn hair.”

“Of course we would have”, Ron says robustly.

For a moment he looks like he’s going to reach out to her, hold her, maybe. He seems to think better of it in the end, and she’s almost relieved, dreading what she’d do if someone hugged her.

It’s another thing that won’t ever come easily: showing up on someone’s doorstep, weeping.

“If it’s any consolation”, he says after a while, “I think that’s the worst of it.”

“I’ve been wondering”, she mutters. “Can’t think of very much that beats walking to your own death. No fucking wonder he doesn’t sleep.”

“It’s funny”, Ron says, “I talked to him less than an hour ago, and he seems alright, almost.”

Ginny shrugs. “Isn’t he always? Remarkably functional, considering.”

Ron makes an attempt at a smile. “It’s such a Harry thing to do, though, isn’t it? Always dying for other people. Or trying to, anyway.”

“Hardly just a Harry thing, it turns out.”

It’s all shit, she thinks when he looks at her. Being the person knocking at the door, and the one listening on the other side, opening it.

“He told me about Malfoy Manor”, she says softly.

“Ah.” Ron kicks at the dirt to his feet. “Well, then you know what keeps me up at night.”

“He said – he said you offered to swap places with Hermione. Let Bellatrix have you instead.”

“And? You would’ve done the exact same thing for him.”

Ginny almost smiles. He might as well still be the boy who stuck stubbornly by her side next to the chicken fence all night, when she couldn’t bear to head back to the house, in case the fox ever came back.

“Yeah. I would have.”

It settles on her shoulders as quickly and unnoticeably as night, rapidly falling all around them: everything she would’ve done, in a heartbeat, in an instant.

“I would’ve taken the forest, too”, she says, more to herself than to Ron. “I would’ve done it all for him.”

It seems significant, somehow, that Ron does not resist this. That maybe he knows what it felt like, to Ginny, when they walked out into the courtyard and saw Harry.

That, too, felt like a Bludger to the chest: the sight of him, a kid in Hagrid’s arms, his glasses askew. How she wished it was her lying there, dead in his place.

“Those two”, Ron says abruptly. “Some day they’re really gonna be the death of us.”

Ginny almost laughs.

“So you won’t strangle him for abandoning the camp bed?”

Ron eyes her for a moment, a sort of benevolent sternness in his expression – and Ginny was right, that’s all Mum. “Yeah, I’ll consider it.”

“I’m sorry, anyway”, she says, half-smiling. “For costing you your roommate.”

Ron sighs. “They grow up so fast.”

“And for all this, too. You were trying to hide, I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s all right. You had to find me eventually.”

#hp #hp fanfic #fanfiction #ron weasley #ginny weasley #jessie writes #at this point if there's typos in this .... exchange 'em for cookies at the till #also i like desperately need a tag for these two but it'll be meta as all hell #brotp: i'm a can on a string you're on the end #told ya.

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neovisioned · 4 years ago

Text

♡ꜜ out of my league﹫mark lee

out of my league - fitz and the tantrums

pairing : mark x reader (f)

genre : tiny angst, fluff, smut with some plot, bestfriend!mark, college!au, best friends to lovers.

warnings : weed, making out, fingering, unprotected sex, praising.

word count : +4k

synopsis : your best friend Mark Lee tells you all the things he believed, you were always out of his league.

Mark Lee has been in love with the same person for as long as he could remember. It's something he took some time to understand, days to wrap his head around.

Where do you draw the line between deep friendship, platonic love between friends and a connection running deeper, a love that seeks more than the label "friends" ?

Laying on your bed, his right hand throws a tennis ball in the air, easily catching it while his left hand hold the rolled up paper between two fingers.

It's a shame, the smoke he's blowing out of his lungs is probably sticking to your bed sheets, ones he noticed you washed the moment he dropped his body on your bed.

Soft rose fragrance, traces of an exotic fruit he can not pin point, though Mark is sure he could recognise the perfume of your detergent between thousands of others.

Heavy sigh, smoke escaping his lips like a dragon dissolving in the air, heavy eyelids closing in front of his brown irises. He really should stop smoking, Mark thinks. It's a black hole in his wallet, it is not that good for his health and fuck, does it makes his mind wonder.

Correction, Mark should stop smoking around you. Because, whenever he does, his mind might search in the deepest, darkest folds of his brain for a new topic, he'll always, forever, come back to you.

Mark Lee has been in love with you for as long as he can remember.

It's something he's been aware of for some years now. It's crazy how he can pinpoint the moment his mind clicked, the moment he put two and two together. He can still visualise the moment his heart went from a friendship he'd die for to a love he'd die for, one so strong he, himself, was dumbfounded by his years long blindness.

It happened right before prom, second to last year of high school. Mark Lee remembers when you stepped out of your father's car (he doesn't trust any other boy but Mark, he insisted on driving you to your school's dance).

Pretty deep blue dress, it's his favourite colour on his favourite person. You did not do anything special to your hair, only added a bit more makeup. Though, it's not your appearance that made everything click, you've always been pretty, it wasn't the first time your friend noticed.

Rather, it's when your date shows up. It's when one of the school's popular kid shows up and makes you dance that he understands. He wants it to be him so bad. He wants to make you twirl, he wants to make you laugh.

Mark understands it isn't just him being mad that you're not answering your phone, it's love. Jealousy, green monster eating away at his heart when he wonders if you're still with him, it's a hand tightly wrapping around the muscle when he wonders if you're going to fall into someone else's arms.

Mark remembers it, it was five years ago. Late summer night where he stayed on his phone for too long, love sick kid scrolling through pictures and pictures of his prom waiting for a text from his best friend.

He didn't say anything, maybe Mark was a bit of a coward, and you were out of his league.

“Mark ?”

From all the things you best friend loves about you, if he had to pick, it'd be the way you say his name. No matter the intonation, no matter the context, the men loves the way it sounds coming out of your lips.

He thinks he won't ever get enough of it, it's intoxicating, makes him think he has the prettiest name after your own.

Eyelids slowly open, tired smile stretching his lips. You're steading in front of your bed, freshly showered, hand turning your small projector on.

“Hm ?”, he doesn't bother answering with words, humming softly. His head turns to the side, following your movements around the bedroom he knows like the back of his hand.

“This one or...That one ?”, you ask, playing with your remote to show your best friend two animation movies you both saw too many times.

“First one.” You've noticed over time, his voice always gets deeper when he smokes, brown eyes always get a shade darker.

“Alright, baby chose.”

Ah, correction. If there's one thing that Mark loves, it's the pet names you give him. So natural, honey filled, he wished you meant them.

Baby, babe, darling. He loves it all, he wants it all, he wants you all.

Unaware of his thoughts, you finally crawl up next to him, the shirt you're wearing as your pyjamas riding up, Mark takes another hit at that.

Familiar sound of Netflix resonates in your room as you take yet another remote and turn your lights off, before gesturing towards your friend. You're not an avide smoker but, you infale the smoke a few times before giving the rolled up paper back to the brunette.

Mark knows what's about to happen, whenever your movie night has a bit of green, the movie gets long lost behind while you two would rather speak about anything and everything. After years of friendship, you'd think you two would've took and turned every subject under the pale moon but, Mark definitely did not expect this.

Hands free, he crushes the cigarette on the special painted bowl you have for him, Mark also loves the way you have some things for him on your house as if he lives with you.

Your right hand is quick to find his left hand, an old habit your have. Your fingers stretch against his own, comparing sizes like kids flirting, swinging your hands from left to right. Your arm easily gets tired by holding your hand up in the air like this, but the warmth of Mark's hand and the way his fingertips rough by his guitar strings brush against your palm every now and then feels like home.

“How do you know when you're in love ?”, your voice's soft, mindlessly humming to the song in the animation movie Mark chose. Is that the topic you decided to bring up...? Mark's hand stays still for a moment, following your own hand's movement as he thinks for a while.

“Don't give me that “You just know” bullshit.”, you mumble when he stays quiet for a bit too long.

“But I think you do, just know. I think it's different for everyone.”, he starts, speech slightly altered by the green herb intoxicating his mind.

“How is it... For you ?”, you ask. See, you know Mark had some crushes here and there, but you don't think he has ever been in love or, at least, he never told you.

“It's... Loving the way they say your name, wanting to be with them as much as possible. It's... Craving to be as close as possible.” and unconsciously, his fingers wrap around yours.

“It's finding happiness in their joy, sharing their sadness. It's small things like memorising the perfume they wear and what food they dislike.”

The brunette stays quiet for a moment, heavy eyes look upon your locked hands in the darkness, chest light, mind foggy.

“It's them feeling like home.”, he finally says.

Mark smiles to himself, you do feel like home, you make everything feel like home. From the way you have a pillow and the way you keep a toothbrush for him, to the way you always feel so warm and safe.

Thankfully for you, the lack of light hides the small blush creeping on your cheeks.

Mark doesn't know, you've been in love with him for years, though you've been aware for a bit longer. His confession takes your breathe away with a heavy sigh, you squeeze his hand.

“I was in love with you.”

Was, you take the safe route as the words fly out of your mouth before you can even understand. Even if he's shocked, you can play the past card.

“I was in love with you too.”, silence doesn't last long as Mark let's out as well, eyes on the movie even though he isn't paying any attention : his favourite line just played and he didn't even let a giggle out.

The words make your ears ring, skin burn red, heart beat against your ribcage. He was too...? He was. He isn't anymore.

“Why didn't you tell me ?”, you breath out, turning to the side. You use an elbow to support your body, you dare look at your best friend's face.

It's crazy how he still have the still has the same baby face you've always known, the same pretty eyes and the same smile, his jaw got sharper with years and voice deeper and yet, he's still the same. He's home.

Mark, him, doesn't dare look at you for a second. Before he does, soft eyes looking directly into yours. Why didn't he tell you ? He knows why, he has a list of reasons why and another list of reasons why he should've told you he'd rather not think about right in this moment.

“You're out of my league.”, he breathes out. You can read your best friend like a book, you know he is not joking when he tells you so. And yet, you can't wrap your head around the idea.

“I— What, no !”, you're almost whispering and screaming at him at the same time, getting up to sit on your knees. He was out of your league, he has always been, you never—.

“You were—. You are out of mine.”, you tell him, almost dumbfounded. For a split second, it feels like someone's finally giving you the dream you've always wanted and, the moment it touches your hands, it slips through your fingers.

Can you be nostalgic of something you've never even experienced ? And yet, your mind grabs onto a single thing. Present tense, you're still out of his league, he still thinks so.

In his semi-high state, the brunette chuckles out, as dumbfounded.

You wonder if there are feelings still unknown to humans because this, the pull you're feeling at the strings of your heart and the lump in your throat combined to the angering heat taking over your body aren't emotions you're used to feeling at the same time.

“Hey, what's wrong ?”, your best friend asks, an arm wrapping around your neck to pull you closer. You're sure it's supposed to be for hug, one you'd happily accept if you weren't in this very situation. Both forearms stop your body from colliding against his, Mark frowns.

In another situation, he'd be able to read you like an open book and, maybe he's thankful he isn't completely sober right now. If he wasn't slightly high, he'd be as red.

“Are you...Are you still in love with me ?”, you ask. It's almost a whisper, one Mark is sure he would've caught if it wasn't for the almost silent scene going on in the long forgotten movie.

Is he still in love with you ? Yes. His mind screams a loud, obnoxious yes. His body screams another loud and obnoxious yes and yet. Yet, Mark stays silent for what feels like minutes. He knows he is, he's sure of it, he doesn't know if he should say it.

Yes, yes, yes.

“Yeah.”

To be in love with your best friend, to confess your love after years, decades, even.

Such a simple word and yet, it hangs in the air, you can almost make it out in the slight darkness of the room. When Mark has the ability to put words on how he feels, you can't put anything on what goes on in your brain and body when he says the simple truth. You think your heart might fall out right into your best friend's hand, if he did not already have it. Your mind twist the word again and again just to find a fault, a break, a rupture.

There isn't none, he's in love with you.

There's another few seconds where you stay silent. You decide actions speak louder than words. Where Mark pulled you into a hug, you pull him into a kiss you've been craving for years.

Carnal need sleeping deep in both your minds, it doesn't need much to be awakened, burning a fire louder than hell's. Your lips touch his. Its shy, hesitant but, when Mark's arm tighten around your neck, no words need to be spoken.

The sweet, innocent, childlike kiss turns desperate in matter of seconds. Your best friend pulls you closer, closer, closer. He catches your leg between his, pushes your chest against his to the point where you can feel his heart hammering.

Lips move in harmony, common rhythm is quickly found and, you whine the moment he pulls away.

“Tell me.”, he breathes out against your lips, it's a desperate plea for something he had been waiting to hear, something he thought he'd never hear. “Say it.”, it's demanding, greedy. You give in easily.

“I'm in love with you.”

There's a weight pulled out of your chest, you'd chant it again and again if you could. You'd scream in if you could, you'd breathe it against his skin.

The brunette pulls you into a bruising kiss, he pours his soul out, hand cupping the back of your neck.

If this is a dream, Mark is determined to not let it go. Using his body at his advantage, positions are reversed, the brunette quickly towards over you. You switched you could turn the light back on but, the colourful lights of the movie dance against his jawline and shine against his wet lips, you decide your best friend looks like a painter's muse.

“There hasn't been a single day where I haven't thought about you.”, he breathes pretty words against your skin, taking his lips from your mouth to your jaw. It's loving, deep kisses, each to mean something.

“There hasn't been a single day where I haven't thought about being more to you, wished we were more.”

More, more, more. You want more too, you need more too. You refuse to let go now.

“We can be, we can.”, it's frantic. You cup his face with your hands, bringing him closer. “Spent nights thinking about what we could be.”

It makes flowers bloom in his chest, he isn't able to take his lips away from your skin. The tip of his nose digs in your cheek, he inhales deeply. Oh, how he loves the soap you use.

“What did you see ?”, he asks, lips peppering kisses down your neck, hand gripping your shirt. You're quick to pull it up above your hips. First wanting to completely pull it off your body, it seems the brunette isn't patient enough.

His lips leave your neck to your tummy, butterfly kisses here and there until he stops to your panties.

“Us. Together. Living tog—.”

Your sentence's quickly cut off by your best friend, maybe a lot more now, pressing his tongue flat against the fabric of your panties.

If you weren't aware of how wet you were getting, you sure were now.

“Living together, yeah ?”, he asks, bringing his face closer to yours again right after disregarding his shirt somewhere. There's a few seconds where you pose, shamelessly taking in the men's figure.

Forehead against yours, his digits run along the line of your underwear. He's as nervous as you are, as shaken up as you are yet, you two have never been more certain of one thing that doesn't need to be said anymore.

Mark bites down on his lip, you almost hear tje mechanism in his head twisting and turning to find the right way to ask you.

You beat him at it anyways, nodding as your arms wrap around his neck.

There's one thing you'll never tell him, you spent night dreaming about a future and other were filled with thoughts of his fingers.

The guitar player had pretty hands, even prettier when they wrapped around the neck of his guitar or when he picked as some strings.

“'was too scared to tell you.”, he says and, you'd tell him you know. You know exactly how it feels, the fear of rejection by the one you've know you're entire life. You'd tell him it doesn't matter now that you now if you could.

His fingers stop you from articulating right, index and middle finger greedily collecting the wetness between your folds, the brunette doesn't wait much longer before pushing two digits in.

“I—Mark.”, there it is, a moan of his name that intoxicates Mark more than any other drug. Pupils grow wide, ears greedy to hear more. It's him, him managing to make you moan so softly in the dead of the night, him that has you wrapped around his finger.

“Fuck, say my name again.”, it's another desperate plea, say his name again so he knows it isn't a vivid dream he's going to wake up from, say his name until it's the only thing rolling out of your tongue.

You easily oblige when he starts moving his fingers, slowly yet, in a way that quickly had you gasping for air.

There's nothing rough in his actions, expect from the way his teeth gaze at the skin of your neck before softly biting down just to sooth to spot with his tongue afterwards.

It's agonising, like he wants to make sure he maps out your body to remember it perfectly after tonight. His fingers curl and drag against your walls, he remembers how and where.

His free hand creeps under your raised shirt, quickly finding your chest as his mouth finds your again.

There, he catches every sweet sound you make like he doesn't want any body else to hear them, tongue tastes yours as they lazily battle.

“Shit, baby. Just like that, god.”, when you think Mark couldn't get any better, his fingertips brush against a spot that has your hips raising up, slowly rocking against his hand.

“Right there ?”, you nod frantically as he does it again and again, lazily fingering you whilst he lets your hips grind against his digits.

“So fucking pretty.”, it's a murmur once he detaches his lips from your own, wet and red by the exchange.

It's not the first time Mark calls you pretty but at this very moment, it's different.

His wrist twist the right way just as he's about to pick the pace up and the familiar feeling grows alongside the flower blooming in your chest as Mark whisperes sweet nothings into your ear.

He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, it has his cock throbbing in his sweats. Carnal desire to feel you wrapped around him as his fingers speed up until you come undone around them.

It's a mess of his name and profanities you hope your neighbours aren't hearing.

“Want more, want you.”, you babble once you come down from your high, sweat collecting around your hairline, chest irregularly raising up and down.

When Mark seems to take too long to process your words, you take matters into your own hand.

A moment, Mark struggles to find his words and the other, his back hits the bed with a soft gasp.

He's quick to raise with his elbows, almost having whiplash when you sit down on his lap after taking off your ruined and soaked panties.

“Let me help you with that.”, there's a slight shyness in your voice Mark decides he'd die for when your clumsily work on the strings of his grey sweats.

Unspoken words, soft silence when you look into his eyes and help him push the fabric down his thighs. The air is thick, your heart beats harder and harder, your chest swells when Mark pulls you closer by your hips.

“I've been in love with you.”, he starts as you raise, lining your core with his hard member, one your eyes lingered on before he opened his mouth. There's a pause, your lips part as to say something when you slowly sit down, but no sound comes from your mouth when Mark's leaking head pushes inside.

“For so— so fucking long.”, he uses the last bits of air in his lungs to let it out, voice cracking when you sit inch by inch.

You wonder how you went so long without telling him, telling him you love him feels too good to take it back or ever again. There's a slight part of you wondering where you'd be right now if you told him sooner but you're quick to push it away.

Both hands cup his face as you bring him closer for a kiss as you fully settle on his lap, though the exchange doesn't last long. There's a beautiful groan coming from the men in front of you just as you moan out from the sensitivity, the fulness.

Mark's red lips fall open the moment you start moving up and down on him, eyes rolling back the slightest bit like he forces himself to look at you as you ride him. But, when his groans turn into moans, the brunette hides his face in the crook of your neck, arms tightly wrapping around your waist.

You don't think your can be any closer, chest against chest, your mouth to his ear as he mumbles about how you were made for him.

Up and down, up and down, your legs start burning but you keep moving on top.

“Fuck, I love you.”, it slips out when his hips meet yours halfway, not that you can say it, you swear you won't stop doing it at any given occasion.

Mark answers my sucking on your neck, probably drawing blood as he more boldly snaps his hips against yours.

You find the same desperation as when he was kissing you, carnal need wanting to be met, he fucks into you just like he means it, switching between deep and slow to fast and short snaps.

For the second time, you feel it tighten, knot threatening to burst at any moment. If you aren't moaning, your mouth hands silently open and thankfully, Mark can tell you're getting close by the way you're clenching around him.

“You're doing so good, so so good for me.”, voice almost unrecognisable, the way you can feel every vein and the way he pulse tells you he's as close, if not more.

“Come with me.”

After years of tuning your body to his voice, it follows the command almost immediately, there's a few seconds where the brunette snaps his hips, slowly, deeply, right before letting a draw out moan against your neck.

It's the last thing you hear, the way he moans you name breathlessly against your skin before you follow right behind, coming right around him like he hoped so.

Moans and body against body sound abruptly stop for heavy breathing and soft whines, you blink a few times, forehead against Mark's baked shoulder.

He smells like the apple shampoo he almost wears, he feels like home when his arms tightly wrap around your body and rock from side to side, almost lolling you to sleep. He feels safe, familiar, comfortable.

And, right before you fall deep into sleep, you hear him slightly chuckle at his second favourite movie line.

#neovisioned #mark lee #mark smut #mark lee smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #super m smut #nct fluff #nct aus #nct scenarios

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Text

I'll See You Again, I Promise [Din Djarin x Reader]

!! SPOILERS FOR THE MANDALORIAN SEASON 2 FINALE. DISCRETION ADVISED. !!

Author's note: Spoilers for the Season 2 finale of the Mandalorian. Just like last time, I wrote this in three hours. The episode literally came out three hours ago. I'm so thankful for how many people liked my one shot based around last week's episode— and as promised, this is a continuation of this week's episode (the season finale). You don't have to read the previous part in order to understand this, but if you wish to read it you can find it here.

Masterlist

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 2k

Permanent taglist - let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth

Taglist for this part: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @dantakuart @yikesdameron @artsyzartsi @karnita-mexicana @multifandomfollower @saavikchekov @what-is-life-in-general @karnita-mexicana @pcrushinnerd @tillytheslytherin @jedinerd27 @queenofspades20

Din Djarin taglist: @alecdamndario0

gif by @cavill-henry

When you saw Din return, holding the child in one hand, and the ancient Mandalorian weapon in the other hand, relief washed over you. Your whole body deflated and you let out a sigh you didn't even know you were holding in.

"Where are the others?" Din asked, his voice gruff as he pushed a binded Moff Gideon to the ground. You gasped when your eyes met with the ex-ISB officer who you knew had given Din so much trauma and hurt. There was a dark and menacing glint in his eyes that you could see right through.

"With Boba on the ship. They didn't think you'd come back," you admitted sheepishly, biting your lip as you cautiously looked back up at Din. "But I believed in you." You desperately tried to search through his visor and locate his brown eyes.

You wanted to cry; your little family had been restored. Grogu had been rescued. You were once more a clan of three. And now, things could be different. You had seen the beauty that was hidden beneath the beskar. You had seen Din for who he really was. You imagined starting a new life with him and the Child, far far away and out of any danger. You could be happy. Of course, you had to deal with Moff Gideon first.

You took a step closer to Din, breaking any remaining distance and placing a hand on his chest. "I'm so glad you're safe." Din revealed with a shaky exhale as you caressed the child. You wanted nothing more than to curl up into his arms and tell him how much you loved him, how proud you were. Grogu was so lucky to have a father as loving as Din.

"We can leave now," you smiled weakly. "We can be free. Go to the lake county on Naboo and start a new life. Live in peace." You had half forgotten Moff Gideon was even there. You just wanted to live in the moment with Din. All you could see was the love of your life holding his child. Everything else in your peripheral vision was a blur. It didn't matter.

"How cute," Moff Gideon's lips curled into a snarl. "The Mandalorian has a lover? What an unexpected twist of events." Din knocked Gideon to the ground the second those malicious words left his mouth, leaving him doubled over and grumbling in pain.

"We don't have time to stick around, we have to go." Din told you, grabbing your hand and interlocking his gloved fingers with yours. You were ready. You were so ready to leave this life behind and be with Din and Grogu forever. It was the happily ever after you knew Din deserved more than anyone else in the galaxy. Before the blast doors could open, the nav system began to beep hysterically, illustrating that a single light Starfighter was boarding the same Imperial cruiser you and your little family were on.

"It's an X-Wing…" you were rendered speechless. Din considered who it might have been. Had Cara comm’d the New Republic from the ship? If so, why was it only just one fighter? Could it have been the likes of Trapper Wolf who had granted Din a favour back when he encountered trouble on the ice planet of Maldo Kreis? Din was truly clueless.

Grogu began to coo and shuffle around, prompting Din to carefully place his son on the floor. Grogu waddled over to you by the terminal, gargling and pointing his finger up at one of the screens. "What is it buddy?" you asked, leaning down and picking up Grogu. Grogu guided you to the CCTV where you saw a cloaked figure emerge from the X-Wing and ignite a lightsaber. Your heart stopped. "Din…" you said nervously, your grip tightening around Grogu defensively. "You might want to see this."

Din approached the small screen and looked closely. "A Jedi?" he asked, although it almost sounded rhetorical. He looked back at Grogu who was already staring up at him. "Did you… did you bring him here?" Din asked the child, his voice breaking slightly. Grogu made a small and indistinguishable noise in response.

"No," you placed a hand on Din's shoulder with comfort. "No, Grogu wouldn't…" you reassured him.

"The seeing stone," Din deadpanned, his gaze not tearing from his son once. He remembered Ahsoka Tano's words. "Grogu reached out with the force and if a Jedi felt his presence, they'd come looking for him," Din turned to you, his body stiff and his voice shallow. "And they've come."

Your lips parted slightly as you turned back to the screen, watching as the mysterious figure roamed through the halls of the Imperial cruiser. Part of you deep down knew that Din was right. It was the only plausable explanation, but that didn't mean you wanted it to happen. You knew it wouldn't be long until you were found.

"Din, let's go," you said with teary eyes, feeling your anxiety bubble up in your stomach. "Please Din? Can we just go."

Din clenched his fingers into a fist. "No." he said sternly, his voice returning back to being gruff and modulated. He was doing what he always did when fear consumed him. He'd shut himself out and go into hunter/protector mode. He'd become the fighter he was trained to be since he was just a young boy.

"Din." you hated the way his name fell from your tongue, sounding needy and desperate, but you were just as afraid. You didn't want to stay any longer. You had what you needed; Din and the child. You didn't need anything else. You could go now.

Din picked up Grogu and nursed him in his arms, holding him close to his chest. Just like always, Grogu curled up into his father, taking comfort in feeling his beating heart, learning the true feeling of unconditional familial love.

The blast doors shot open and the cloaked figure entered the room. Your fingers dropped to the blaster in your holster as he approached you both. The man put his lightsaber away, signifying surrender, and pulled down his hood, revealing himself. He looked slightly older than you, with pale skin with mousy brown hair. He looked like he had seen a lot in his lifetime.

"Are you a Jedi?" Din asked eventually, breaking the silence through the need of confirmation.

"Yes, my name is Luke Skywalker," he introduced with a small nod. You recognised that name… Skywalker, perhaps from old tales, the likes of myths and folk stories. You didn't spend long contemplating the mystery man's identity. There were more pressing matters at hand and so you opted to brush it off completely. "I have come for the child," Luke announced and Grogu turned from Din, his ears cocking at the mention of him and looked at the man with curiosity. "Hello little one." Luke smiled.

Grogu cooed in response before turning back to his father with big pleading eyes. "He doesn't want to go with you." Din gulped, his heart aching. There was no way to be sure, Din could never know exactly what Grogu wanted. But he was aware of the bond he had with his son, now more than ever he was aware. He knew that there was no way his son would want to leave him. Din loved Grogu. Din loved Grogu with every inch of his being.

"He wants your permission." Luke explained, and Din turned back to look at the little green bean in his arms. His… permission? "He is incredibly strong with the force and without learning how to utiIize his powers he can become a danger to those around him… and a danger to himself. It's important that he understands the nature of the power he possesses."

Luke's words became a blundered fuzz in the back of your mind. This was Grogu— this was Din's little boy. When Din looked into Grogu's eyes, he saw nothing but memories. From the pair of them sipping spotchka, to chasing frogs and playing in the hull of the Razor Crest, everything just felt so distant. Din took a deep breath, his finger softly brushing against Grogu's cheek.

"Hey go on… he's one of your kind," Din winced at his own words. One of your kind— something the Armourer had implanted in Din's head all those months ago. "I'll see you again. I promise."

You felt your heart shatter in your chest. This… wasn't meant to happen. It wasn't meant to end up like this. You wanted to speak, you wanted to say something and put a stop to this absurdity. You knew better than anyone that Din needed Grogu and Grogu needed Din. It felt like your throat had closed up, like you could hardly breathe. All you could do was stand there and watch it play out.

Grogu reached up with a small wail, his green claw tracing the curves and ridges of Din's beskar helmet.

Din knew exactly what his son wanted, and right now, Din was certain he wanted it too. Just for once, he wanted to look at his son with his own eyes. Not the eyes blinded by his visor blade, Din wanted the child to know his face. Recognise him. With a hiss and a click, Din removed his helmet. You swore your heart stopped upon seeing him again. Brown eyes, but this time they were glazed with tears and there was nothing you could do about it.

Grogu reached back up and rested his claw over Din's jaw. Subconsciously, Din leaned his cheek into Grogu's hand, never wanting to pull away from his touch. His heart was broken beyond repair.

"All right pal," Din rasped. "It's time to go." He didn't want this. He couldn't do this. But he had to. He had to be strong for his son. He had to be a good father. "Don't be afraid." Was Din's final words to his son.

He placed Grogu down carefully and nodded towards Luke, accepting his fate. Grogu clutched onto Din's leg, not wanting to let go. His little mind was racing with wonder— why can't his daddy come with him? Why must he go alone? The erratic beeps of a white and blue astromech droid were what eventually tore the curious child from his father. Grogu waddled towards the droid and Luke picked him up.

No matter how hard he tried, Din couldn't seem to swallow the lump in his throat. Everything Din had done so far had led up to the moment, and he wanted to curse himself for letting it affect him this much. He should've been prepared. It's just, he really didn't think this would happen. He really didn't think Grogu would want to leave.

He didn't blame the child of course. He could never blame the child. He just wished he understood. Just before the doors to the elevator closed, Luke spoke up. Unfazed, unbroken. "May the force be with you." he wished. Din ignored the comment. It meant nothing to him. Nothing meant anything anymore. No meaning, no purpose. Luke tapped the key that would shut the doors and Din offered his son once last nod, trying his hardest to break out an impossible smile. When the doors finally closed, Din let out a choked sob and fell to his knees.

You sprinted over to Din, kneeling down and pulling him into you. He cried, hot salty tears falling from his brown eyes and dripping down his face. You pulled his head into your lap and smoothed out his hair trying your hardest to lull him. But you couldn't. You couldn't even bring yourself to comfort him. Your shoulders curled in and you fell limp, whimpering into his hair. You felt completely broken. Grogu was like a son to you, and you cherished him so very much. You couldn't even imagine how Din was feeling.

His little family was no more but he knew that Grogu was going to go on to do bigger and better things. No matter what, Grogu was going to make Din proud.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers #the mandalorian season 2 #grogu

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help-im-a-gay-fish · 4 years ago

Text

The Night of the First Mistake

Sequel to

Synopsis: pre X-orcist, almost a year after Nightmare's death, Dream is still not on top of his grief and causes him to resort to desperate measures.

Tw mentions of death/dead loved ones.

X-orcist au belongs to me and @zu-is-here

Dreams, Demons and Desires is by me.

Enjoy

Almost a year had past since he'd last seen Nightmare. The skeleton couldn't say he had mourned him, but the news of his death had been unfortunate to say the least. Who could have seen someone like Nightmare dying in such a preventable way? Not him, that's for sure.

He was a friend... Or at least a friendly acquaintance, clearly he'd not been quite close enough to Night's inner circle to be invited to the funeral. He'd never even met Night's brother. Despite that, the news of his parting had deeply saddened him and every so often, he thought of him with a sigh.

A good customer and a good person.

This evening, Nightmare played at his thoughts again, probably drudged up by the anniversary of the accident approaching, he hadn’t meant to make note of the day, but he had. a few weeks would be the anniversary of the day he heard the news.

He thought back to a year ago, a few weeks before his death. The words he’d said about his brother and the increasing frustration about his sinful thoughts. Killer didn't judge him for such feelings, he was no stranger to sin.

Other then that, there was nothing at all strange about this night.

Tonight, just like any night, he was in his shop and the counter. It was a cold October and pretty soon he'd be closing up.

It was dark and chilly in his shop and had a strangely pungent smell, which hit the moment you walked in. A mix of crushed herbs and spices, old books and stale coffee.

An old set of scales sat on the counter top in front of him, as did a till, several glass jars and containers and a large collection of dirty coffee mugs.

Behind him there was a large book case full of many strange books. Ones with faded titles, ones with thick leather bindings, some with large strains spreading across the covers or pieces missing. If you asked him, he'd liked to have said that he'd read all of them... But there were a few he hadn't. He wasn't much of a reader outside of this collection.

As he nursed yet another cup of coffee from the café next door, he tapped his slender skeleton fingers on the counter top. He was bored.

With a glance at the clock, he decided today that he could close up early. It was his shop after all, he made the rules. A small collection of trinkets and charms hung around his neck and clinked together against his old coat, as he got to his feet.

Just as he prepared to take today's earnings from the till to count it, he heard the door and a jingle of the shop bell, indicating someone had entered.

He set an empty eye socket in their direction as they froze, looking nervous.

The person was new, but also something about them was strangely familiar. After scanning them for a moment, his face twisted into a sly smile upon realising who the new comer could be. He turned his face to them fully, staring his pitch eyes right through them. They tensed, which amused him slightly.

"well hello Little Light.... How may I help you"

Dream seemed taken back slightly by the pet name. It wasn't something he was used to. His hands fused with the fastening on his coat.

"uhh Hello.....I’m..... Uh.."

The shop keep chuckled again. Such nervous behaviour wasn't something he saw often from his customers. Looks like it was going to be an interesting night and to think, he was going to close up.

"nervous Lil light?"

Dream once again tensed and shuddered slightly.

"Please.... Don't call me that" he stammered slightly before taking a breath "My name is Dream"

The shop keepers grin got even wider and it made a chill run up Dream's spine. There was something extremely unnerving about this skeleton. Maybe it was the emptiness of his eyes or the strange carvings around them, but Dream was sure that it was more then that.

The atmosphere of the shop was very unsettling and kind of cramped in Dream’s opinion. There were many trinkets, stones, crystals and small animal bones stacked neatly on the shelves. It was this, along with bags of salt and bundles of sage and garlic, that reassured him he was in the right place for what he needed.

"Dream huh?.... Thought so" he said in a low tone "I'm so glad to finally meet you"

The nervous shifting of his hands continued, as Dream once again tensed even further. He was acting friendly, but it still felt ever so slightly...off.

"h-how do you know me?"

"I knew your brother and I'd recognise that pendant I sold him anywhere" he said, with his eyes looking at Dream's chest.

Dreams fingers quickly shot to the star charm hanging from his neck, and gripped it tight. Looks like this was the right place.

"Not to mention there's your golden eyes" he continued, shifting his gaze straight into Dream's eye sockets. It was strange how Dream knew where he was looking, even without eye lights.

"he often talked about them......He was right when he said they were very beautiful if I do say so myself~"

Dreams face blushed slightly, but he felt a familiar twist in this chest at the mention of Nightmare and a sinking feeling when he was reminded how Night felt about him. His brother had often complimented his eyes.....

He'd just never really understood it was more then brotherly affection. At least until now.

"I.... Uh" Dream said before clearing his throat "You're Killer.... Aren't you?"

Flexing his fingers, Killer nodded. The grin didn't leave his face.

"looks like my reputation proceeds me"

Dream let go of his necklace and a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I thought it might be you.... Based off something he wrote in his diary".

Before Night's accident, Dream had never even considered reading his diary. That was just a basic code of conduct. However, after his death, it became something Dream had often thought about. The diary, and everything else Nightmare owned, now belonged to him. For that reason he'd taken the book out of Nightmare's room.

However, he'd just kept it on his bedside table for almost a year before he finally had the courage to read it.

It had mostly been a fond look over some old memories, some good and some bad. But there were also passages about his feelings for Dream, sometimes written confessions addressed him. Every word was full of truth, longing and pain. Dream had felt it all.

Those had been hard to read, but he'd not skipped a single page and read them each through several times.

Nearer the end of the book, Nightmare had started talking about his interest in the supernatural. Dream remembered his twin getting fascinated in that and spending long evenings talking with him about it over tea and biscuits.

One thing Dream hadn't known about, where his trips to the next town over, where he wrote about finding this shop and the shop keep. This had been where the interest started. It was this that had lead Dream to come here.

"right..." Killer said, downing what was left in his coffee mug and setting in on the counter top.

"well.... What can I help you with?"

Yeah.. Nightmare had written that Killer was always one to cut to the point. Dream knew that what he was going to ask sounded insane and he wasn't even fully sure if Killer was the right person to ask. But at this point he was desperate, he just needed to know. With his grip returning to his brothers pendent, he remembered who he was doing this for.

He took a deep breath.

"Can you bring people back from the dead?"

Killer didn't react visibly to that. But he drew out a long silence. After a little Dream was sure he saw his jaw clench. The silence was completely deafening, broken only by the sound of Killer's fingers tapping the counter top. Dream figured that he was probably struggling to think what to say. After what felt like a life time, he spoke.

"I specialise in charms and equipment for preventative measures to stop spirits inhabiting homes....I do not....." he paused

"I don't try and bring the dead to the living realms".

Dreams face fell. He really shouldn't have been so disappointed, it was a crazy ask. But with the way Killer spoke and what he sold in the shop, he'd felt so close to what he wanted. But maybe it really was just impossible.

He felt tears threatening to spill, he just couldn't take all this guilt anymore. All he wanted to do was tell his brother he was sorry. That night. That kiss. That dam horribly wonderful kiss...and that car.

"however...." Killer continued.

Dream felt hope flush through at those words and stood up slightly straighter. Killer turned his back to dream and started looking over the bookshelves behind the counter.

He didn't say a word, as Dream curiously watched him. He ran his thumb across the spines of several of the oldest and most dusty looking of them, eventually plucking out a large leather bound book with silver straps.

He walked back over, blowing dust off it as he did, and set it down on the counter with a light thud. The cover was extremely dusty and the leather was cracked and split in several places, yet the title still read fairly clearly and Dreams felt his heart skipped a beat.

The Practice of a Necromancer. Vol one of three. Summoning, Controlling and Banishing.

"I've not read this one fully, but it's been in my collection for years.... I suppose this would be the right place to look"

With that, he slowly opened the book and very carefully started to turn its pages. The paper was completely yellowed and clearly very fragile. There were no photographs, only hand done drawings of various items and also what looked like people, but with strange and uncanny faces. There were also other frightening images that Dream was trying not to look at.

Killer eventually stopped and ran his finger across a page.

"ah ha" he said "to summon a spirit into the living world"

He read over the text for a moment, as Dream watched impatiently. Killer knitted his non-existent eyebrows and narrowed his eyes.

"this stuff sounds overly complicated to me..... so I guess I'm not sure really"

But Dream didn't really seem to be playing much attention to Killer's words now. He was so desperately trying to read the text upside-down. Reading was something that Dream always struggled with anyway, so reading upside down would be near impossible. He reached forward to try and pull the book to him.

But he jumped back in surprise as Killer slapped his hand across the book, sending some dust into the air.

"now now now not so hasty Lil Light" he said returning back to a sweet tone, as he said the a pet name that made Dream's toes curl.

In his haste Dream had forgotten that this was a shop, not a library, so of course he wouldn't just hand it over.

The smaller skeleton knew that the book was probably pricey so it's not like Killer would just let him have it. It was clearly very old and Dream worried that he wouldn't have enough for it, but if he had to pay all the money he had to buy it. He would.

Reaching inside of his pocket, Dream pulled out a bundle of paper money and placed it on the counter and next to the book. Killer looked at it for a moment, before he took it and counted how much money was in the bundle. He ran his fingers across the notes, looking as if he was very tempted and contemplating his next move.

But then, much to Dream's disappointment, he put it back down on the counter.

"I don't want your money dream... That's not what I meant"

An unhappy wine left Dream's mouth, as Killer proceeded to hand his money back to him. Just as he was about to ask why, Killer cut him off.

"it's not for sale"

"but what if I just borro-

"or for rent or loan"

Dreams soul twisted. This felt so Incredibly unfair. He wasn't ever one to really get angry or feel hatred for people. But why had Killer gotten this book down if he didn't intend to sell it? Was he just trying to mess with him?

It was that moment that he wasn't sure he really liked Killer all that much.

He sighed.

"h-how come? Can I do anything to change your mind?"

Killer sadly shook his head.

"Dream....... I like to read the stuff for research purposes not for a practical use"

Dream opened his mouth to object, but killer silenced him.

"and I don't care what you say... but I don't think you're just interested in the topic"

Dream tried very hard not to show disappointment on his face, but of course Killer picked up on it. It upset him that his intentions were so easy to guess. Then again he'd opened with 'can you bring people back from the dead'.

He really should have asked in a different way. Feeling like an idiot, he tried to say that he wasn't intending to use the book in practice. But Killer once again shook his head.

He stood up slightly and gave Dream a sympathetic look, or a sympathetic as he could make it through his cold eyes.

"look....I know you miss him and that's ok I've lost people myself to" he said in a uncharacteristically gentle tone, which sounded fake.

Dream looked at his feet.

"but the dead need to be left dead. Trying to bring them back never ends well, Nightmare wouldn't want you to get hurt trying to help him"

Dreams eyes stayed fixed on the floor, not wanting to look at killer any longer. He didn't want him to see him cry. He didn't want to look like a baby. Just as he was going to try arguing again, behind him he heard the shop door open and the bell ring

He looked back at Killer seeing he'd straightened up.

"K-killer...." came a soft but slightly panicked voice.

Curiously, Dream looked over his shoulder at the source of the voice. It was another skeleton stood by the door.

In all his life, Dream had never seen someone look to tired. They seem to be slightly younger then Dreams age but it was hard to tell how much. Their appearance was clearly young, but the huge bags under their eyes aged their face several years. The most notable thing about them was that their eye lights where small, indicating that they were on edge.

They were wearing a oversized cream knitted sweater and had a maroon scarf decorated with a paw print pattern tide around their neck. They fiddled with it as their eyes a looked at Killer and then to Dream.

From where he was, Dream could also see them wearing several of the necklaces and charms that Killer a sold, as well as a few layers of bandages around their arms.

Killer hastily exited from behind the counter and approached them.

"Hey Cappuccino......." he said, trying again to sound soft.

Ccino wasted no time in burying his head to Killers chest and wrapping his arms around him.

In response, Killer stumbled slightly and looked momentarily taken back and very uncomfortable. After a moment he sigh, before gently placing an hand on his back.

"hey.....it's ok ya wimp... I'm guessing they're back right?"

Ccino simply nodded, Killer sighed.

"Dream can you show yourself out? I've got to take care of this, we're closing anyway. I'm sorry I couldn't help you better"

As Killer attempted to comfort the shaking skeleton, Dream turned his attention back to the book in front of him. It was just within his reach, the page was tantalising.

It was so clear, a set instructions of the exact thing he'd need to do to reach his goal.

Killer's warning played in his mind.

But he knew what he was doing right? It was his brother, what did Killer really know about what Nightmare would have wanted. He didn't know how.... Close... They were. At least he thought he knew.

It was a split second choice.

As Killer continued to try and comfort his companion, he saw Dream hastily exit the shop without saying another word. He stared at the door.

It didn't feel right.

He narrowed his eyes and stepped back from Ccino slightly.

"hang on"

He walked back to the counter and was relieved to see that the book was still there, however a moment later he noticed something else that make him freeze and curse under his breath.

"what's wrong?" Ccino asked, walking up next to him.

Killer didn't answer and instead picked up his book and looked at it closely to confirm what he saw. When he saw he was right, he near growled.

"Killer?" Ccino asked not seeing the problem.

"look....."Killer said quietly.

He ran his finger down the spine where the pages joined together. Once you looked closely you could see the remnants of torn paper sticking out.

"he took the page"

references coming soon.

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dorotharry · 4 years ago

Text

tiny dancer ; chapter two

Pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: torture, nightmares, angst, let me know if there's anything else :)

Summary: After being drafted for the war in 1942, Bucky goes to the ballet a week before having to leave with his best friend Steve. There he becomes infatuated you with the prima ballerina of the show, and he just has to meet you before his last week in Brooklyn is up. He hopes one day you would meet again; little does it know it will be 72 years later.

A/N: honestly I have no clue where I’m going but I’m hoping you’re all still following. There’s still soooo much to go into readers past and yep, it’s gonna take a while but I hope you enjoy this. Please feel free to give feedback, like and repost it would mean a lot! :)

MY MASTERLIST

*gif not mine

1943

Your head felt groggy, as you woke up. Not enough energy from an ounce of your body to open your eyes for the time being. The more your body woke up from the darkness of slumber the more the pounding of aches and pains became less subtle and started to fill each and every muscle. You weren’t sure where you were or what had happened, but you suddenly became aware that your surroundings weren’t familiar. The air was too cool and there was an eeriness from lack of noise.

Finally, you were able to pry your eyes open. The colours swirled around you into one, until they became to create recognisable shapes. Although this wasn’t somewhere you recognised, just as your mind had thought even before getting to look around.

You were laid down on a metal ‘bed’ if you could even call it a bed. The coolness of the metal began to get to you a shiver running down your spine and you attempted to get up. Only to be restricted. It was now when you noticed you had straps holding your ankles, down, but not only this; there was a limpness to your form. In fact, you didn’t have any real connection to your muscles. As if a switch had been turned on in your head you realised, this wasn’t a bed. It was a table.

Suddenly your anxiety rose. In an ill attempt to do something you turned you head groggily to the left, only to be met with machines, and hospital devices. You took in a sharp breath. This definitely wasn’t a hospital so why the machines? Rolling your head to the right with just as much difficultly as last time you were met with darkness. The faint sound of feet shuffling in the distance, and the whirring of more machines.

Almost as if whoever it was had realised you were awake, a bright white light turned on above you causing you to groan from the sudden contrast to the previous darkness. The footsteps became louder, as whoever it was approached you from their hiding spot.

“Ah you’re awake,” the voice started, “you know you gave our men quite a difficult time back there. Are you going to behave this time?”

Your voice barely was able to respond, only a hushed whisper came out, “Who are you? Where am I?” This worked to rejog your memory as you saw flashes of men running after you, as you had leapt from this same table. You had gotten pretty far and fought back fairly well but this place… whatever it was; was a maze. Realising now that amongst being kidnapped and knocked unconscious. Your first attempt to escape was probably why you were in pain all over. A vision of a few men jumping on top of you and beating you unconscious. Again. That must have been why you were tied down this time.

“I think you know the answer to that.” the small man with glasses responded appearing finally out of the darkness. “…We’re HYDRA, and you y/n...” He spoke reaching under your chin in a condescending manner. “…Were firstly going to be a pawn against your stupid Captain America. But you’ve shown promise, something our other soldiers don’t have. Neither your American ones. My guess is it comes from your ballet training.” He shrugged as he moved away from you, turning and looking for something. Suddenly his hand was on a switch and machines began to rumble.

“Please,” you responded choking on your own words, “please just kill me!” You knew something was coming, otherwise why would be so aloof.

He chuckled at your words as he stood behind you. “The red skull doesn’t want me to do that, he needs more soldiers, and that’s exactly what we’re going to make you.” And with that you saw a metal machine slowly being dropped down over your left eye, and below your right jaw, causing your panic to rise. As quick as the unbearable pain started, so did darkness.

Present day ; 2017

You woke up screaming as the pain of what had happened almost a century ago shot through your entire body. You fumbled out of bed in a sweat like you did most nights. Heading towards your small kitchen in your small apartment. It was filled with greys, no life within in, you felt there was no need, why celebrate a life with no life?

Your life had changed in so many ways after 1943. You were one of HYDRA’S many toys, the many men that surrounded you called you tiny dancer, but not in a kind way, in a misogynistic arrogant way. Most people at that time though saw you as a weapon, something to be feared of, and they should have.

After you had stumbled upon the Winter Soldier on a mission in 2014 working as a freelance agent having cut your ties with HYDRA mere months before hand, it was only a few months when so had Captain America. From what you had heard amongst assassins under the radar living in Madripoor like you, it hadn’t gone well for HYDRA and now the Winter Soldier was nowhere to be found, invoking fear within many who had made themselves enemies to him. But you were sure his best friend would be looking for him. Whilst you had decided to go against helping him, Steve was not that kind of person.

Time had not been kind to you, you were no longer the frail girl who could fall in love in a week. In fact, you weren’t sure if you actually could feel love anymore. HYDRA had to make sure there was no collateral. Still once you saw him that night you wondered how amongst your many years with HYDRA, how you had never run into Bucky: The Winter Soldier. You had heard of the winter soldier, but you never knew it was Bucky behind the ghost of a person. Probably on purpose, HYDRA had been in your mind. Tthere was no doubt they knew who he was to you back then.

Not only did it invoke these thoughts, but it had led to your retirement. Well not your retirement, you were still about 25 years old on the outside, and though nor Steve or Bucky knew you were alive you knew how it felt to be in their position.

Hiding out in your small apartment in Madripoor was where you had spent most of your life since 2014, staying on the down low in case HYDRA somehow re-emerged, looking for revenge on a project they had wasted so much time on. You.

You weren’t sure why they were so surprised people like you hated them with so much anger. They had taken your life, Bucky’s life and made you weapons against your will. You didn’t hold their values, it was forced upon you.

You shook yourself from your thoughts again. You only got sentimental after nightmares, and the nightmares had been pretty continuous after seeing Bucky those few years ago, so really you were sentimental most mornings. You think it had something to do with seeing him and how it brought back memories you didn’t even know you had.

Reaching for a bottle of water, you took a sip looking over at the clock that read 3am. You groaned, knowing that you’d probably never have a good night’s sleep again. Terrible payback for a terrible past. No sleep for the wicked.

You shuffled yourself back to your room getting into bed and turning on the tv as a way to mindlessly distract yourself until you actually had to do stuff.

A few hours past until it was 7am, and you decided you could at least go for a shower before your day at work. Working at a bar that opened at 9am wasn’t exactly high class living; especially when you had to deal with drunks so early in the day, so it definitely required more motivation than most jobs. You couldn’t do what you were originally good at, dance. And you’d decided you probably shouldn’t be doing what you were trained for. Killing people.

Turning on the shower to allow it to warm up, you rid yourself of your clothes, suddenly aware of how stiff your muscles were after another bad dream. Stepping in you let the water try and wash it away, and though it did help you knew it would only reappear tonight in another form of a nightmare. You closed your eyes sighing in content, and it did last for a brief moment until you heard banging on your front door.

At first you tried to ignore it, but it got louder and more aggravated and suddenly your heart had fell to your stomach, resorting to thinking of the worst that could be behind that door. Getting out you threw some clothes back on. You reached under your bed grabbing your shot gun, holding it close to yourself as you slowly walked towards the door that had started banging again. Times like this you wished you had a peep hole to look through.

You turned on your best poker face and opened the door abruptly to be more hostile. Only you were met with someone you didn’t know, though for some reason you felt you recognised. On the other side of the door stood a woman all in black, her hair was in a blonde bob and for a brief second you thought you saw a reaction flash across her face like she knew you too.

“Is this y/n?” she spoke firmly and with poise.

You raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

“Is it?” she returned her poker face staying on her face.

“Yes.” You huffed, the half-amused face falling from your face, returning back to the glare you constantly wore. “Who are you?”

She raised her hand for you to shake her face accompanying it with a small smile, which you hesitantly took.

“Nice to finally meet you y/n, I’ve been looking for you under Fury’s instruction for a while, my name’s Natasha.”

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