#we can ignore that I didn’t add all his scarring probably…

[jadetheblueartist]

“Ehehe… Still the face man.”

I finally read the neon void and I knew it was good but I didn’t realize it was THAT good. Holy cow @sugarpasteltmnt you are a fantastic writer. That being said this is based on the chapter “Mosaic.” I just really really like the Leo’s perspective, it’s so so good fhshdhjdjdjdhdnjf thank you for helping me out of my creative rut :D

And have a couple different versions under the cut (warning for glitch effects)

[raichett]

Free

Scar’s got a selkie coat kept in a magical safe in his shop, hoping that its owner might come to retrieve it some day. Grian just so happens to be a selkie.

Content warnings: implied/referenced forced marriage with all that entails (i.e. non-consensual or dubiously consensual sex, etc.) but this is very much in the past and not between any character actually on screen, past murder, non-humans eating humans for their crimes.

This fic can also be found on AO3.

‒

FREE

As soon as the man walks into his shop, the bell above the door ringing with a double note that no non-magical human could ever make it produce, Scar knows who he is.

He’s never met him before, mind, but he’s been – expecting. Hoping, maybe, that there would even be someone to retrieve the coat still.

Scar slaps on his best grin, making his voice bubble up with energy as he calls across the store, “Welcome to Convex Curiosities, good sir!” He doesn’t add on the next part of his usual script – How may I help you today? – and instead gestures with his fingers to beckon the man up towards the counter.

The man hesitates, glances around at the shelves of items – as though Scar would ever put his coat there – and trails up towards Scar. His shoulders try to hunch, but then he seems to catch himself, squaring them again. He looks… worn, ill, his wrists too thin and stress lines creasing across his face. He has soft light coloured hair, but it’s dulled and unhealthy, gone from sandy to mousey, and his eyes are shifting and flittering, scanning around as though expecting an ambush.

Scar pulls the seal skin coat out from under his counter, the press of his fingers unlocking the magical safe below with blue sparks. He lays it on top, one hand resting on the silky fur, watching as the man’s breath hitches and he leans in, desperate, before he suddenly flinches back, because one never reveals a weakness to a potential enemy. “This is yours, I believe.”

The man – this poor selkie with his coat stolen, living a half-life of pain and fear – licks his chapped lips. He looks – gods, he looks crushed. He ducks his head, squeezes his eyes shut briefly, and says, still some fire left in him, banked though it is, “Well, at least you’re more handsome than my last husband.”

Scar blinks. Then his heart lurches, his throat closing and sickness swirling in his gut. “Wha – no, no, no!” he corrects, frantically. His fingers fumble a moment before he manages to shove the coat right into the man’s arms. “This is yours – this – this is yours. Take it.”

The selkie man grasps onto his coat with a white-knuckled grip, dark eyes wide and lips parted, looking shocked. Scar swallows at that face, at what it must mean for whatever nightmares the selkie is dragging around with him, but he steps back from the counter, putting more space between them and placing the seal skin coat out of his arms’ reach.

The selkie also steps back, curling his arms around his coat and clinging tight. He so obviously didn’t expect to walk away with it freely – hoped, perhaps, for an ignorant shop-owner and buying his life back. Feared the prospect of a knowledgeable one and the power that knowledge holds – the power to make this selkie bend to another’s will.

“She’s in the harbour,” Scar blurts out before the selkie can make his understandable escape. He feels that the other would want to know. “The – er. The woman who tried to sell that to me. Crab food.”

The man stills, eyes locking with Scar’s. “You’re certain?” he asks.

Scar remembers it quite well, actually. It’s not the first dispatch he’s ever done, and it probably won’t be the last, but it is the most recent. He puts another smile on his face, this one a bit truer, but he doesn’t hesitate to bare his too-sharp teeth to the other, to invoke his own inhumanity. “I might have taken a bit of a nibble myself before we sank her,” he admits. Cub, too, but his co-owner isn’t here today.

“She was my mother-in-law,” the selkie says abruptly. “She – she didn’t know, but. She definitely deserved it. If she had, I think I’d be married to her right now…” He shivers. “I mean, my husband didn’t die for no reason, and she was like that for years – and at the funeral…” He falls silent and clutches his coat tighter to him. “Should’ve saved a bite for me,” he says, eyes narrowing, lips curling back from his teeth.

Aaaaannnd – Scar’s not touching that with a barge pole, thank you very much. “Sounds like the whole family was a piece of work,” he says instead, which it does. “And congratulations on your widowerhood.” Hoping to bring a more light-hearted feel to the room, he pulls a white handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs at the corner of his dry eye dramatically, waving it about with his hand after in an old farewell gesture. “Safe trip back to the sea, good sir.”

That pulls a huff out of the selkie, not quite a laugh, but headed that direction. The selkie then does something quite unexpected: he steps forward again, towards Scar.

“Your name,” he demands, not quite making it a question. His face is intense, but so animated compared to the resignation and misery of before. It’s good to see.

Scar tilts his head – why is the selkie sticking around? He should be running for the shore right now – but answers easily, “Scar.”

“Scar,” the selkie repeats. “Scar...” He smiles, then, small and rusty, an expression unused for quite some time – but still so pretty. He rubs his fingers over his coat, rocks back on his heels, and says, “Thank you, Scar. My name is Grian, of the North Sea.”

Oh, you’re far away from home, Scar thinks. But to say that would probably be rubbing salt in a wound. “You’re welcome. It was my pleasure, truly.”

“I’m sure it was,” Grian replies. “But still… thank you. I hope she didn’t give you indigestion.”

“She didn’t,” Scar confirms cheerily. “Though I cannot speak for the harbour crabs, of course.”

“Dinner is dinner, down below the waves,” Grian says. He takes a deep breath, white knuckles his coat again, and says, quiet but earnest, “Why don’t I buy you dinner some time?”

Scar’s mouth drops open a little, stunned.

“Not right now, obviously,” Grian hastens to add, clearly feeling the bite of something dark and sad and horrible nipping at his heels, echoed in Scar’s concerned face. “But maybe in the autumn, when we migrate back this way. I need – to see my family first.”

“I’m sure you do,” Scar answers, some meaningless silence-filler as a stand in for a response he’s not quite sure how to structure yet. Grian is a pretty man, no lie, but Scar has some decency in his heart, and as a veritable veteran of bad ideas, he thinks that rushing into anything with a newly-freed selkie would be one of them. “Um. Well, if you still feel the same way in a few months, you know where to find me!”

“So I do,” Grian says. He looks relieved, though, that Scar is refusing to try to pry his word out of him, not trying to spin it as a debt owed, leaving it an open-ended possibility. He smiles that rusty smile again. “Perhaps – perhaps I’ll see you again.”

“Perhaps,” Scar repeats. “Goodbye, Grian – may the stars be bright and the currents be kind.”

Grian’s eyes soften at the sea-folk blessing. “See you later,” he says, and leaves, slinging his coat around his shoulders, the bell above the door ringing as he steps out onto the street and is lost in the waves of people.

“See you later,” Scar echoes into the empty shop. I hope so.

[the-ace-with-spades]

5 times Jake crossed paths with Fire Lieutenant Bradshaw and 1 time he met Maverick's son

Part Two (b/c I forgot to post it here when I posted on ao3) + new Part Three | read on ao3

The Breakfast | 3.2k

Jake isn’t having a good start of the day, obviously. He and Javy wake up, have to be on base at ten, so they make breakfast. Javy cracks the eggs into one of the pans, Jake places bacon into the other and there are toasts in the toaster. And then Javy leaves to put some clothes on before the grease sparkles burn his chest and Jake forgets he is supposed to be watching the thing and goes take a shower.

The fire alarm in the kitchen goes off and they’re both in there within seconds, smoke filling up the room high on the ceiling and they’re opening windows and trying to let it all out. Javy grabs a chair to turn the detector off but the stupid button on the side is not working.

By the time Jake tries, too, the room is only a little bit foggy and smells like charcoal bacon.

It’s not turning off and the goddamn fire alarm is so loud he almost doesn’t hear the sirens going off outside, louder and louder the closer they get, until he hears a horn around that intersection at the end of the road.

“It’s been what, ten minutes? They wouldn’t be here so fast,” Javy says and he’s starting to sound embarrassed about the whole situation.

But then the siren stops right outside of their house and Jake hears heavy doors closing

“I can go tell them if you want me to,” Jake tells him.

If anything, Javy looks more embarrassed. “I think you’ve talked to firefighters enough for another few years.”

He hears Javy open the front door, shouting over the beeping, “This is a false alarm, we just can’t turn it off,” 

“Everyone, stand by. Possible false alarm,” the firefighter says, probably into the radio, and Jake—

Jake knows that voice.

“Mind if we come in and check for ourselves?”

He gives up on the fire alarm, jumping off the chair and waiting on Javy to come back. Maybe he’s just imagining things. There’s no chance that’s the same guy. It’s seven in the morning the next day, there’s no possible way, even Jake isn’t that unlucky.

But sure enough, Javy rounds the corner, followed by Bradshaw and the kid Jake went off on the day before.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, to himself and to Javy, and adds louder, at Bradshaw. “Do you live in that fire truck or something?”

Javy twists to him, wide-eyed, so fast he’s surprised his head doesn’t fall off his neck. Looks at Bradshaw, then back at Jake, and opens his mouth a couple of times.

Bradshaw turns his head from where he is looking at the ceiling, taking in Jake for the first time.

He’s in full turnouts again, the jacket unzipped — he’s not wearing a button-up but an SDFD t-shirt that’s still, somehow, at least a size too small on his chest. He crosses his arms and Jake looks up, at his face, no longer covered with soot smudges, his jaw sharp and tight, the curve of his nose curious, almost as much as the clearly visible scars on his cheek. 

He grins, that fake, mean smile wide on his face, making Jake’s legs wobble a bit, as he says, “Look at that, kid, we have the honor of meeting a real lieutenant again.”

Jake doesn’t falter, not even when Javy’s eyebrows raise up on his forehead.

“Our shifts are twenty-four-hour long,” the kid answers Jake’s rude question and then turns to Bradshaw, leaning in so he’s barely hearable over the fire alarm. “Should we be talking to them like that? That seems like an—inappropriate way to talk to a civilian…”

Bradshaw doesn’t look away from Jake, shaking his head. “Not if you almost arrested them on the same shift.”

And okay, Jake was an idiot the day before, but that bit wasn’t intentional. “I didn’t know it was illegal—”

“Ignorantia iuris nocet,” Bradshaw interrupts.

Jake’s brain kind of freezes because whatever he said, sounded hot in that firm but lazy tone. “What?”

“Ignorance of the law excuses not,” he explains and he’s still not making the words any less attractive.

There’s something wrong with Jake. “What are you, Yoda?”

Javy mouths at him, “Jake.” At that point, he could throw a brick at him and his mind would still have a tunnel vision set on Bradshaw.

Bradshaw shakes his head, snorting, like he can’t believe someone like Jake exists, and tells the kid, “Go for the hand ladder.” Then, not even waiting for him to be out the front door, brings his radio up and says, “Dispatch, this is Lieutenant Bradshaw, I’m confirming the false alarm.”

“Copy that,” he hears back.

“Ladder 13 and Medic 13 are staying at the scene, but you can put us back online.” He switches the finger on the radio buttons and continues, “Everyone, false alarm.”

There’s groaning and a “Come on, Lieu, again?” that makes Bradshaw roll his eyes.

He unclips the radio from the front of his jacket and clips it on the leather belt on his chest. He looks up at the fire alarm over them, still beeping in that screeching kind of noise.

Bradshaw licks his lips, “Mind if I use the chair?”

Jake stares at him until Javy just waves his hand.

Bradshaw takes the chair from under the fire detector and pushes it back to their kitchen table instead of using it. He slips his shoulders out of the turnout jacket, lying it over the back of the chair and leaving him just in the turnout pants and his helmet. The suspenders, Jake doesn’t know why, but they’re fascinating, to say the least, and along with that leather radio strap, pull Bradshaw’s t-shirt tight.

It’s the first time Jake’s seen his arms, fully, and they’re huge. His biceps are literally bulging out of the sleeves, and he can see the very fine curve of his collarbone, how thick his neck seems in the shadow of the helmet.

Jake makes himself swallow and then breathe through his nose for a couple of heartbeats. Counts to ten, very slowly. The fire alarm is still beeping but there are all sorts of different alarms going off inside his head.

That t-shirt has to be at least a size too small — his chest and shoulders are bursting out of it, every single line of his muscles clearly visible, right there in front of him for Jake to trace the shape with his fingers or maybe with his tongue.

Javy nudges his side with his elbow but he isn’t quite fast enough and Jake is already halfway through asking, “Would you like some breakfast?”

“This breakfast?” Bradshaw asks, pointing his thumb at their now black pans.

Because he truly has Jake’s back, even when he’s being an idiot, Javy adds, “We do have some crackers and jam.”

“I just hope I don’t have to give you a lecture about leaving food on the stove unattended,” he says.

Just then, the kid comes in, a ladder as tall as him in hand, a couple of screwdrivers in the other. Bradshaw takes it away from him, checks the screwdrivers, chooses one and puts it in the pocket of his pants.

And those goddamned suspenders are still doing things to Jake.

“Now, you both come here and look because you’ll need it again.” He moves the ladder under the detector, the kid steps in to hold it for him before he goes up. He reaches up, adjusts the plastic visor that slides down from his helmet back up, the t-shirt straining, and turns the alarm in less than a second. “Most automatic alarms give you from three to five minutes to turn them off before they send out a call. Like with security systems.”

Now that the beeping is gone, the deepness and raspiness of his voice hit Jake with a vengeance — it’s smooth, it’s heavy, it’s music to his ears. He turns to them for a few seconds, checking they’re observing, and his arm flexes when rests it on top of the ladder.

His arms go up and Jake takes a deep, deep breath.

“Normally, if you don’t have a switchboard or don’t know where it is, you should call the system’s company infoline and inform them it’s a false alarm so they can turn it off. We both know a fire truck would be here before you even spoke to a person, so this particular alarm can be reset by clicking the button here,” he continues and it kind of goes in and out of Jake’s ear, “and pressing a screwdriver in that little hole underneath it.”

This conversation is probably the weirdest turn on Jake’s had but apparently, Bradshaw, his lazy words, firm tone, firmer arms and shoulders, and that too-small t-shirt could work wonders.

So Jake takes his eyes off the wide expanse of Bradshaw’s back and bites his lip, asking, “How do you even know all this shit?”

He pointedly avoids Javy’s gaze, too, just in case.

“We have automatic false alarms to military housing all the time — empty houses gather dust, dust sets detectors off, no one to call it off and here we are,” Bradshaw says, stepping off the ladder. He folds it up and adds, words easy on his lips, “I’ve been doing this job for some time.”

“I probably should go for the report forms,” the kid notes, looking to his lieutenant.

“I’ll grab them, kid, it’s fine,” he says, clapping him on the back. “Just grab all the tools and go back to the truck.”

There isn’t much — Bradshaw is barely out of the door and the kid is done with putting the screwdrivers in the right spots in the mini tool belt. He stands there, suddenly realizing that Jake and Javy have been there the whole time, watching him.

Javy stands there awkwardly and tries about three times before he finally breaks the silence, “So, how long have you been a firefighter, kid?”

He straightens up, like a deer caught in headlights, and admits, “It’s my third shift.”

Go figure. Jake would bet he really was a literal kid, nineteen years old, tops. 

“And you got stuck with that hardass,” Jake says and the look Javy sends him says a lot about Jake’s choice of words.

The kid puffs up, just a little bit, and it’s the most confident Jake’s seen him so far. “He’s a good officer. I was very lucky to be placed in his company for my probationary year. He’s the best of the best.”

Jake knows a thing or two about being the best of the best. Bradshaw wouldn’t be such a smooth bastard if he wasn’t the best of the best, it checks out that Jake noticed him, specifically, and let his brain shut off.

“You a fan?” Javy asks.

“He’s been a firefighter for over thirteen years and his records still stand in the Academy. He’s a bit of legend,” the kid admits, licking his lips but still evidently proud. “San Diego’s Firefighter of the Year, twice.”

Javy whistles, giving Jake a shit-eating grin, and Jake feels it on a spiritual level, among with how warm his face is. Fucking checks out, all right.

There’s a crackle on the radio on the kid’s hip and Bradshaw’s voice comes on, “Everyone, if you look under the captain’s seat, you’ll find exactly twelve chocolate bars — you can have six. I find even one more missing and I’m setting up a cooking schedule again.”

There is a slam heard over the radio and the kid sighs before Bradshaw’s voice comes over again, “Go get yourself one, too, Nate. I’m going to make the report and we’re going back and I’ll get some proper breakfast into you all.”

The kid perks up, grabs the walkie-talkie into his hand, clicking on the button, “Yes, sir.”

“I told you—”

“Not to call you that, I’m sorry,” he finishes for him, actually sounding shameful. Like he’s being scolded by a parent, almost.

“And?”

“And I won’t do it again, Bradley …” he says, taking his hand off the radio.

Jake snorts. The guy’s first name is Bradley and it so does not suit him.

“It was, uhm, nice to meet you,” the kid, Nate, says, and it doesn’t sound like it was nice at all. “Lieutenant’s cooking is too good to, you know, so I’ll just—”

“Just go, kid,” Jake tells him because really, that kid is so pitiful Jake would feed him himself if he could.

Nate gets out of their kitchen, giving them a shy wave before they hear him gently close their front door. There’s a minute of silence as Jake stares at the jacket that’s laid over the chair and reminds himself that Bradshaw is coming back and he needs to get a fucking grip.

“So, this is the firefighter you mouthed off at,” Javy quips.

“Yeah,” he replies only, not liking where this is going already.

“He’s so out of your league,” he notes.

“Thank you, Javy, thank you, your kind words give me so much confidence, in fact, I’ve never felt better about myself than right now,” Jake says, sending him a glare. 

Javy shrugs. “Just saying it how it is.”

“He’s probably not into guys anyway,” Jake says, shifting on his feet and crossing his arms.

All the hot guys Jake is usually into are straight, nine out of ten times. Bradshaw is a firefighter and even as a public servant, the amount of machismo has probably made him one of those guys who feel violated if a guy flirts with them the same way he flirts with girls.

Jake’s dating history, to say the least, is poor.

“Haven’t you noticed the bracelets?”

He was a bit more preoccupied with his body, and his face, and his voice, to notice much aside from that. “What are you talking about?”

“Silicon ones? On his left hand? I’m pretty sure one of them was in the bi-flag colors.”

He hears Bradshaw at their front door again, sends Javy a look that says shut up, and sighs internally.

Bradshaw comes in, and yes, on his left wrist, he has two silicon bracelets — a blue, pink, and white one in pastel colors and a darker one, in pink, purple, and blue. They’re definitely Pride bracelets — Jake has a couple of his own. Which means he does have a chance. Or would have had, if he hasn’t made an absolute ass out of himself the day before. And today. And probably in the next few minutes.

He’s holding a clipboard, takes out the pen and places it on the table as he sits down.

“You should call your housing and tell them about this as soon as I leave. Kitchens should be equipped with heat detectors, not smoke detectors,” he says, writing down the date in the corner and filling in the top of the page. “Now, which one of you wants to be on the report? I need an ID, preferably a photo ID.”

Javy kicks him on the shin and Jake moves to get his wallet off the bowl on the microwave. Javy fidgets, uncrossing his arms, and nods toward the kitchen table.

Jake sits down, a chair too close if he is honest, and takes out his driving license, absolutely loathing himself for using the same photo since he was seventeen.

He hands Bradshaw his ID, watching as he writes down things in different columns, sound-speed fast, and moving onto the others, all in block letters. “Why do you even need a report?”

“If an individual is responsible for many false alarms, his lack of actions can be deemed willful and they can be prosecuted under California Penal Code 148.4. A fire inspector will determine whether the individual needs to be investigated based on a database of incident reports completed by the fire department and if not, the area might be mapped to determine frequent false alarm spots to relieve the fire services.” He looks up from the page, straight at Jake, and holds their gazes locked. “Does that answer your question?”

Jake like his lips, suddenly feels dry, opens his mouth and Javy jumps in before he can say something, something stupid probably. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Thank you, but no,” Bradshaw says and Jake can hear he’s holding back a laugh. “Now, it's just your phone number left and a signature in the bottom right corner. You can read it first, of course, check if the incident was described correctly.”

Jake looks at him, just looks at him, and he’s definitely more relaxed and more amused by Jake’s dumbassery than anything. The bracelets are still there, on his thick wrist, and Jake can’t help looking at his huge bicep again, curled nicely as Bradshaw leans on the table.

It’s now or never — he’ll probably never meet him again, anyway.

“Will I get one back?”

He blinks, raising an eyebrow. “Come again?”

From behind Bradshaw’s head, Javy gives him thumbs up.

“A number, will I get one from you?”

“Sure,” he says and he hands Jake the pen and the clipboard.

He writes his number and signature on autopilot, looks to Bradshaw, smirking when he hands him the clipboard back.

Bradshaw rolls his eyes but Jake can see that he’s charmed — cheeks going up no matter how hard he’s trying not to smile back at him. He takes the pen out of the clipboard holder, clicks it, his gaze keeping Jake’s eyes in a lock. He takes Jake’s hand, moves it closer over the table and writes there, slow and small movements giving Jake goosebumps.

And then, in that deep, sluggish voice, he says, “I’m off shift in an hour,” and it feels like he’s whispering in Jake’s ears.

“Ladder 13, Medic 13, we have two trapped in an elevator for you. I’m sending you the address,” comes through the radio, making Jake shake off the shock.

Instantly, Bradshaw is up from the chair, clipboard snatched off the table, his jacket in the same hand and he grabs the radio belt, answering, “Copy that.”

He gives them a nod and moves toward the front door. By the time Jake and Javy follow him, they’re watching the passenger door to the truck slam, the siren starting to blink and coming alive as they pull off of their curb.

Jake couldn’t see him, hidden somewhere behind the driver, but he damn sure tried to catch him before they drove off.

“You got his number,” Javy says, sounding just as dumbstruck as Jake feels.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“I can’t believe it,” Javy adds, blinking at him.

Well, Jake doesn’t believe it either, but Javy could’ve at least pretended he has more faith in him. “Thank you, Javy, once again, for the confidence in me.”

“You better get that written down on something else before you lose it,” he says and Jake looks down, instinctively, cursing at his sweaty hands and erratic heartbeat, and— “What? Is it already gone?”

So Jake shows him his hand, the 9–1–1 written there, big and bright against his tanned skin, feeling like a fucking idiot.

The laugh Javy gives him is louder than that goddamn fire alarm in their kitchen was.

Part 3: The Hard Deck (or The Naval Aviator) | 2.2k

“Isn’t that your firefighter?”

The question Javy asks doesn’t register at first — the Hard Deck is already really loud, even though the evening is only about to begin and there are some people waiting for them to free up the darts so the chatter is constant  — so his brain freezes for a second.

“He’s not my—Wait, what? Where?”

Javy grabs his arm before he can turn around toward what Javy’s been looking at a second ago.

“Play it cool, Seresin,” he says. “You don’t want him to think you’re too crazy about him.”

“It’s not like I’m stalking him,” Jake defends half-heartedly, fidgeting.

He could, technically, stalk him — he knew his full name and his workplace, the station's number and a little googling would tell him the station address. Jake, so far has shown amazing restraint and didn't even look for photos on Facebook.

He wants to look, god, he wants to look so badly. Bradshaw won’t disappoint, he knows. “Are you sure it’s him?”

“He’s out of uniform but I could recognize that mustache a mile away,” Javy remarks as he lets go of Jake’s arm. “He’s not looking so you can take a peek. Just act normal, I beg you, act normal.”

Like Jake could ever be normal about Bradshaw.

It’s Bradshaw, he’s standing at the bar, talking to Penny and some old-timer, turned half-away from them and—It’s Bradshaw and Jake now can see his hair, too — dirty blond, curly, curling behind his ear a little, a sweaty strand flopping onto his forehead, his thick neck sharpened by the fade.

Jake licks his lips.

“Be normal,” Javy repeats. “Assholes aren’t sexy.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Jake walks up to the bar counter, winks at Penny when she notices him, and leans on his elbow, a confident grin on his face.

Third time is the charm, after all. It’s not like they’re going to keep meeting each other forever.

“As I live and breathe,” he says because it feels adequate.

Penny’s eyes widen but she quickly goes back to pouring the drinks. The old man that sits near Bradshaw stares at Jake for a second before turning away, leaning his chin on his hand.

Bradshaw turns toward him — he’s wearing a leather jacket, a Harley Davidson one, with flames on his sleeves and Ride Free on the back. There are droplets of sweat on his chest, it’s too hot for leather, and his white t-shirt is skin tight, almost see-through. He’s wearing an ugly Hawaiian shirt underneath, too, a blue one with obnoxiously orange palm trees.

His jeans are very tight. In fact, Jake thinks leather pants would be less tight. They’re hugging his hips in all the right places, too, and Jake can only bring back to his memory the sway he was walking with, the last two times they’ve met. Jake licks his lips again.

Bradshaw gives him a look, for a second, going from Jake’s smirk to the rank pins on his collar, to the wings of gold and ribbons on his chest. His gaze comes back to Jake’s face and it shows absolutely nothing about what he thought of Jake.

“Lieutenant,” he says, in that smooth, lazy tone, amused eyebrow arched already.

“Lieutenant,” Jake replies, making the effort to sound nonchalant, too.

The corners of Bradshaw’s lips quirk. “Oh, I thought I wasn’t real.”

It might have been a bad first impression but it’s nothing he can’t fix. “You’re too good to be true, for sure.”

Bradshaw huffs a little, shaking his head. It means it’s working — the raised corners of his lips are rounding the apples of his cheeks and he licks his lips still looking directly into Jake’s eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry, for, you know,” Jake says, waving his hand. Almost face-palms at his words because that was such a great apology, really. “What do you say about a new start with an apology drink?”

“I’m driving,” he says and he doesn’t even sound like an excuse though Jake is sure it is an excuse.

He is not saying a clear no. He still looks relaxed, if not a bit amused, looking at Jake like he is the greatest entertainment. That’s how all the charming begins, always, and Jake lets himself grin a little bit more, smug.

“A mocktail, then. Penny here makes a mean one,”

“I’ve already ordered,” he says, leaning his head on his elbow, all his attention focused on Jake.

He’s leaning on the counter, his other hand on his belt buckle, his arm moving his jacket and shirt back enough that Jake can see the clear curves of his abs and his pecs, through that thin white cotton — he’s wearing a tank top and as much as Jake thinks the jacket is hot, he wishes he wouldn’t be wearing it just so he could see the full extend of his huge arms and wide shoulders.

The tank top is skin-tight because of course it is. Bradshaw can’t apparently have clothes in a non-distracting size.

“Well, what about something else?” Think of something impressive, is all his brain tells him. It’s very unhelpful.

They’re in a Navy bar. Bradshaw is clearly a civilian.

“You see those wings?” he asks, hand lying on top of his ribbons, framing the gold pinned above — people rarely know what the ribbons mean but everyone knows what the wings are for.

Penny clears her throat. The old man behind Bradshaw coughs and moves slightly further away, shoulders shaking, leaving them more space. Jake doesn’t care what anyone thinks — all of Bradshaw’s focus is on him, he’s not running away or telling Jake to fuck off; that’s what counts right now.

“I do, lieutenant, I do,” he says and he is smiling while he says it, eyebrows both arched, but there’s something in his tone that makes the sound saccharine sweet.

“Well, they ain’t for decoration,” he continues, moving closer, mirroring Bradshaw’s posture — leans on his elbow, cocks his hip out, a grin on his face. He can see the little golden sparkles in his eyes, they’re so close. “I’m a naval aviator, sweetheart, a fighter pilot. Could give you a nice stroll in the sky, wouldn’t even have to worry about bumpy rides — I’ll make it smooth all way.”

He chuckles back, steady gaze never leaving Jake’s. “You gonna smuggle me into an F-18?”

For a second, Jake is almost impressed. People rarely know what the Navy flies, much less what naval fighter pilots fly — but they are in a Navy bar. Bradshaw must be at least a bit familiar.

There is no way Jake could actually take him up in the air in a jet, but he could rent a plane out in the aeroclub for a couple of hours. It’d be the most expensive first date in his life but if Jake is honest, he’s not even hesitating — he says yes and he’ll knock his shoes off.

Before he can find a way to say he could lose his wings if he did that and still sound hot, Penny is back with them with a tray of a couple of beers, cocktails, and a glass of whiskey. So much for Bradshaw’s ‘driving’.

“Thank you, Penny. I’ll see you around.”

He steps away from the bar with the tray and Jake trails a few steps behind him, saying, “Come on.”

He is fast and he maneuvers around the crowd like a pro, not spilling even a drop of any of the drinks, his legs are fucking gorgeous but also a bit longer than Jake’s so he only catches up with him when he stops at the pool table.

The pool table a group of naval aviators Jake will be training with the following day is standing at, too.

Javy gives him a curious look but Jake shakes his head behind Bradshaw. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Bradshaw leaves the tray in the empty space in the middle of the pool table and pats Natasha on the arm to get her attention before moving to the window, where, next to Payback, a red motorcycle helmet is lying.

No one, except for Jake and Javy, seems surprised by his presence. Either Jake is going crazy or they must have missed something when they were playing darts.

“Rooster,” Nat says, raising her head from where she’s observing Bob’s cue. “Thought you made a run for it, you took your sweet time.”

Bradshaw, to Jake’s amazement, answers her stupid nickname, “Don’t expect more, I’m only paying off my debt.”

Jake’s brain decides to malfunction as he snorts and speaks up, “Rooster? Were all the other bird names already taken?”

“No, Fire Hose was too explicit,” he replies, tone deadpan and still steady and smooth. He sends Jake a wink, too. 

Jake’s cheeks do not get red. Jake does not look down. Jake does nothing, actually, until Bradshaw turns to him and asks, “You’re still here?”

“I haven’t heard a no on that offer yet,” “Come on, Rooster, wouldn’t you like to know how it feels? Just you and me in the cockpit, the air speed pushing you in the seat as we go up, butterflies in the stomach as I get us up enough to do all the fun maneuvers, wind in your ears, the lower gravity getting you a bit weak in the knees…”

“You going to do some barrel rolls for me?”

“If you feel ready for that, sweetheart. Flying in light aircrafts is different, takes a toll on you, on your body.” Wiggling his eyebrows, just a bit, he adds, “Maybe I’ll even let you hold the yoke, for a bit.”

Nat is coughing into her hand, not very subtle, and everyone is making fun of him internally, waiting to make fun of him externally, he is sure, but Bradshaw grins, one raised eyebrow aimed at Jake. He actually looks a bit adorable like this — round cheeks showing up, a rosy tint to them, eyes shining. Jake might be bold enough to say Bradshaw seems a little eager, like that.

“You can’t even turn off a domestic-grade fire alarm,” he points out. Javy, the traitor that he is, snorts so loudly in the background it can be heard over the chatter and the music. “That gives me so much confidence in your aviation skills.”

Jake knows he can do it. He can charm Bradshaw, just a little. He tries again, “Come on, you’re in a Navy bar, you can’t tell me you didn’t at least hope to meet a handsome naval aviator that could sweep you off your feet.”

“I’m waiting for my dad, actually,” he says, finally losing eye contact with Jake and looking around the crowd. Jake glances behind himself but can’t see much aside from Penny at the bar. “And he’s almost done.”

Bradshaw grabs the helmet and takes out a folded yellow high-visibility vest. He slips it on over the jacket, straightening the collar and clipping the front. 

It’s so fucking ugly. And he still looks good in it, somehow.

“Thought you’d like to show off the jacket, not look like a walking neon sign,” Jake says because apparently, he can’t shut up.

“You laugh it up but the chances I die if an accident occurs are eighty-nine percent lower than without it — it's an airbag,” he replies. 

Jake is slowly discovering statistics and penal law can give him a bit of a hard-on if it’s said in that low, unimpressed tone Bradshaw uses.

“My cue,” Bradshaw says after the chant of overboard, overboard starts. “I’ll see you around, Nat, everyone.”

Jake barely glances away to see what’s happening — the old man that was sitting next to Bradshaw is being thrown out, apparently — and when he looks back, Bradshaw is already maneuvering around the crowd, close to the exit.

“Shit,” he mumbles to himself because he lost him again — five minutes more and Jake swears he’d have had a date. He turns to Nat. “So, how do you know each other, Phoenix? Bonded over shitty bird names?”

Natasha smiles, and it’s a smug as hell smile, and she says, looking Jake directly in the eyes, loud and clear over the music, “We met when I was at Top Gun. I know him from the aeroclub.”

Everyone laughs because of course they would — he’s pretty sure he hears Fanboy whistling, too. Jake can feel the tips of his ears go red, a bit. Bradshaw didn’t say a word the whole fucking time, just let Jake babble about.

“He has a commercial license, does commercial flights as a side gig once or twice a month,” Natasha continues, when everyone quiets down, just to torture him a bit. “So yes, Bagman, you just tried to impress him — or whatever that was — a commercial pilot, with how to fly an airplane.”

At least he won’t have to rip off the embarrassment in their next conversations — he won’t meet Bradshaw again. He’ll be too busy training for whatever mission they have to walk around San Diego looking for too-hot-to-handle firefighters that make his brain freeze.

[bookworm-2692]

And here we are everyone! The final update to the Life Tracker with all the chaos at the end! Apologies for the delay here - most of my timing notes were done by Sunday, and then the graphs were complete by the middle of Tuesday, and now it’s Thursday morning. I have no good excuse this time, but here it is!

Previous posts: Session 7, Session 6, Session 5, Session 4. As usual, below the cut is close ups and data and commentary!

There were 37 deaths I counted this session up to Pearl’s permadeath, and then Impulse died twice more before some off-camera life exchanges occurred (Scott showed the first two, so they’re here with their timings, but then after that no one showed when Impulse gained an hour (so got two more kills), Martyn lost an hour (so died once), and Scott gained half an hour (so got a kill), and as you see something doesn’t add up and given that immediately after they get down to their final life I have elected to ignore it and just adjust the time anyway). Then there are the three consensual lava deaths, and then the three final deaths... so there were 45 on camera deaths this session, plus some extra off camera time shuffling.

I actually missed two deaths from Session 7 as well - I had them in my notes so my number of deaths matched what should be, but I somehow forgot to put them in the excel data, so I put them back this week. They were when Impulse fell and Cleo got the kill credit, as when as the Grian double kill on Bdubs and Cleo. I have also removed the 30 minutes I awarded Bdubs for his wolf killing Scar so that he could permadie at the correct time - though I left the 30 minutes Bdubs got for killing Joel in self-defence as a Yellow, as Cleo’s timer shows that she still had this, so I wanted consistency there.

Close up of Sessions 6-8 together

Close up of Sessions 7-8 together

Here you can see all the permadeaths together! It was far harder to label these lines than when players were alive and in a nice orderly line, so I hope this is fairly clear. And a close up of Session 8 alone:

Crazy how Pearl was briefly the one with most time, and Impulse’s habit of keeping his mouth shut about his time served him well - two hours into the session he had 4.5 hours, while Scott and Martyn were both down to 2 hours (and Grian on 1 and Pearl and Etho on half an hour). Scott wasn’t kidding when he said he stole all of Impulse’s time there.

I also decided to acknowledge Martyn’s /kill at the end there, and made him lose the rest of his time there.

Another interesting thing is the fact that Etho and Pearl’s mutual killing of each other, where they both net lost half an hour, didn’t actually effect their final placements. They were on under half an hour when they died, but if they hadn’t killed each other, they still would have been under an hour, and still would have permadied. Grian was definitely on the most time at his permadeath, and BigB got so damn close to it before being saved. If it had taken Mean Gills + TIES even a minute longer to find them and kill them, BigB would have died then (and Pearl may not have lost as much time as quickly as she did).

I do want to acknowledge that Pearl did gain an hour from permakilling Cleo. Because it was PvP, the half hour got automatically added. However, because Cleo permadied, her death message took up the entire screen and completely hid the message telling Pearl she gained 30 minutes, so Pearl then gave herself another 30 minutes. Which means she may have otherwise died when Etho pushed her, but I’m willing to let it slide - Martyn also gained 30 minutes for an unknown reason back between Session 3 and Session 4 that was never acknowledged or removed. He also never fell below two hours until they agreed to equalise, so it probably didn’t effect anything, but I do want both to be acknowledged here.

I also created the graph for the average time per team again, in two forms.

First: where dead people are included in the average

And the Session 6-8 close up of this

And the Session 7-8 close up

And below is the Session 7-8 close up of the version where dead people are removed from the average

I don’t have much to say here other than I think it’s interesting comparing the two. The first one suppresses how much time Impulse has on account of Skizz and Tango both being dead, but the second one shows it loud and clear.

Now is time for the data screenshots! This session was longer than every session except for the first - they had been averaging around two hours, but this time was an hour and a half. Presumably, this is because at the 2 hour mark, there were still 6 people alive, and three of them had an hour or less to live, and 15 minutes later there were only three but at that point you may as well let it play out.

The first 50 minutes of Session 8:

The next hour and 10 minutes of Session 8:

The final 30 minutes of Session 8:

As usual the red and green boxes indicate deaths and kills. The blue boxes is what I’m using for the “time equalisation” the three of them did off camera. I really tried to work out who would have killed who there but something didn’t work and then I decided it didn’t matter lmao. I did do their three lava deaths separately though because I’m still being anal there.

After doing all that, I finally worked out a better way of zooming in on the graphs, by remembering I can actually force the axes to be smaller, which means more detail can actually be seen. So here those are below.

Life Tracker Session 1-4:

I also finally worked out how to rotate the text boxes because it wasn’t working earlier, and I think it looks so much better there!

Life Tracker Session 5-8:

Here unfortunately the text on the left had to be huge for the spacing to work, but then on the right the text had to be much smaller so I could try to space all the names out at the point of death.

Life Tracker Session 6-8:

I actually made the 6-8 one before the 1-4 or 5-8 ones, so before I worked out the angled text, but I think this still works with just the names at the point of death (the start of the name is at the point of death, unless there’s commas in between and then they’re all at the same point)

Life Tracker Session 7-8:

Lots of little details here! We’re close enough that Tango’s death can separate from Scar and Cleo. You can see vertical lines close together rather than overlapping as well which is nice!

Life Tracker Session 8:

This one I did forget to change the title, but you can tell it’s Session 8 only. Tango, Scar, and Cleo died within two minutes of each other, it’s so tight. And Impulse and Scott were within six seconds of each other, so that was always gonna be impossible to separate.

Team Average Time Session 1-4:

Team Average Time Session 5-8:

Team Average Time Session 6-8:

Team Average Time Session 7-8:

Team Average Time Session 8:

I also have a copy of the above four with the dead people excluded, which I can share if people are curious, but this post is maybe getting a bit long right now, and I think the version where dead people are included is the better one to show - more accurate to team strength.

I also made some other graphs while procrastinating this post (because I was procrastinating making a decision about some of Bdubs’s deaths/kills to make the time work), but I will include those in their own post as this one is absolutely far too long right now.

I definitely had fun making these graphs each week, so I hope you guys enjoyed too!!

[lunarfly]

Essay: Harry and Hermione’s chemistry

We all know that Emma and Daniel had excellent chemistry so Harry and Hermione naturally had great chemistry in the movies. It was quite obviously visible. But many book readers have claimed that Harry and Hermione’s chemistry only exists in the movies and they felt they lacked chemistry in the books. It can be quite tricky at first since the book scenes are only imagined in our heads and we can’t see the author’s imagination and her views on the scenes and interactions. But, luckily, canon has provided us with plenty of evidence that Harry and Hermione had excellent chemistry, visible to many people around them. Let’s take a look:

“That was a really horrible trick of Hermione Granger’s,” said Cho fiercely. “She should have told us she’d jinxed that list —” 

“I think it was a brilliant idea,” said Harry coldly. Cho flushed and her eyes grew brighter. 

“Oh yes, I forgot — of course, if it was darling Hermione’s idea —” 

“Don’t start crying again,” said Harry warningly.

It’s very obvious that Cho has noticed how close Harry and Hermione are and she’s jealous, even suspicious that there’s something going on between them. It’s clear that whatever interaction between Harry and Hermione Cho has witnessed, they had chemistry. 

If this was all of our evidence of H/Hr’s chemistry, I’d ignore it and assume Cho was only jealous because of their disastrous date when Harry left Cho to see Hermione. Perhaps most of her jealousy came from that scene. But this isn’t all of our evidence. We see even more people being jealous and getting suspicious about H/Hr’s relationship:

When at last they had reached a quiet stretch of ground a short way from the Beauxbatons horses’ paddock, Krum stopped in the shade of the trees and turned to face Harry. 

“I vant to know,” he said, glowering, “vot there is between you and Hermyown-ninny.” 

Harry, who from Krum’s secretive manner had expected something much more serious than this, stared up at Krum in amazement. 

“Nothing,” he said. But Krum glowered at him, and Harry, somehow struck anew by how tall Krum was, elaborated. 

“We’re friends. She’s not my girlfriend and she never has been. It’s just that Skeeter woman making things up.” 

“Hermy-own-ninny talks about you very often,” said Krum, looking suspiciously at Harry. 

“Yeah,” said Harry, “because we’re friends.” 

He couldn’t quite believe he was having this conversation with Viktor Krum, the famous International Quidditch player. It was as though the eighteen-year-old Krum thought he, Harry, was an equal — a real rival —

Very interesting indeed. Not only is Krum so jealous that he’s “glowering” (”have an angry or sullen look on one's face; scowl”) at Harry, he also doesn’t believe Harry that he’s just friends with Hermione, even after he explained it very clearly. He still adds how much Hermione talks about Harry, he’s looking suspicious and feels the need of a reconfirmation that H/Hr are not dating. It’s possible that Rita Skeeter’s articles are influencing his thoughts and sure, Hermione talks about Harry a lot (already indicating that she’s very passionate about Harry, we talk about things we like, or feel strong emotions about) and that could be the only thing that makes Krum “suspicious” about H/Hr but would he really still be that jealous if there was absolutely no chemistry between Harry and Hermione? This is definitely a clue on Harry and Hermione’s chemistry in the books.

 Another extremely interesting detail is that Harry is enjoying this. He likes the idea of Krum being his equal, a rival! This has nothing to do with their chemistry, of course, but it’s definitely suspicious...

Still think there’s no chemistry between them? Here’s another person who noticed that Harry and Hermione were very close, a little too close:

Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.

So Colin Creevey noticed how much time they spend together, but I just can’t believe that’s the only thing making him believe they’re in love! There has to be some noticeable chemistry between them to come to this conclusion.

I know it’s Rita Skeeter assuming that H/Hr are so close only because they’re dating, but Colin probably told her more than it’s written here. Would Rita believe Colin that Harry and Hermione are boyfriend and girlfriend merely because he said they hang out often? I don’t think so. I think Colin elaborated on his suspicions of H/Hr. But maybe it was just one of Rita Skeeter’s exaggerations. Either way, there’s more proof of their chemistry:

“Are you going to tell us — ?” 

Hermione shook her head warningly and glanced at Mrs. Weasley. 

“Hello, Hermione,” said Mrs. Weasley, much more stiffly than usual. 

“Hello,” said Hermione, her smile faltering at the cold expression on Mrs. Weasley’s face. 

Harry looked between them, then said, “Mrs. Weasley, you didn’t believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in Witch Weekly, did you? Because Hermione’s not my girlfriend.” 

“Oh!” said Mrs. Weasley. “No — of course I didn’t!” 

But she became considerably warmer toward Hermione after that.

So even Molly believed that Harry and Hermione were boyfriend and girlfriend (and Hermione had ‘broken Harry’s heart’)? Come on, their chemistry was so noticeable that even Molly thought it was believable enough. ...Although Molly does believe everything that newspapers and magazines say. And maybe she didn’t know them well enough because she assumed Hermione could break Harry’s heart.

Still don’t believe that Harry and Hermione had lots of chemistry in the books? Maybe you’re right, we need to actually see the chemistry, not just have others notice it. And guess what? We do get to see their chemistry. This often happens when Ron becomes suspicious of a possible H/Hr relationship. Ron, their closest friend who knows basically everything about them, suspects that Harry and Hermione are secretly in love. And he is quite rightly suspicious of them when we have moments like these demonstrating their perfect chemistry in the books:

“We’ll go down after Quidditch,” Harry assured her. He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “I dunno why the team’s this popular all of a sudden.” 

“Oh, come on, Harry,” said Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.” 

Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry. 

“Everyone knows you’ve been telling the truth now, don’t they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they’re calling you ‘the Chosen One’ — well, come on, can’t you see why people are fascinated by you?” 

Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy. 

“And you’ve been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. . . .” 

“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” said Ron, shaking back his sleeves. 

“And it doesn’t hurt that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finished, ignoring Ron. 

“I’m tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.

Wow. Hermione really made up a whole monologue about Harry being fanciable and attractive! If this conversation doesn’t convince you that there was chemistry between them, probably nothing will. Let’s analyze this scene:

Hermione starts talking about Harry and how fanciable he is, how interesting he is, how attractive looks and qualities he has, going on and on... Hermione is clearly showing her interest in Harry and basically flirting with him. But what interests me is this moment:

Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.

He’s actually blushing. Hermione’s compliments have a very obvious effect on him. But something that fascinates me more is the way this is written. He isn’t just blushing, no. Harry never said something like:

Harry was feeling his face growing very hot all of a sudden.

Instead, we have the Great Hall going “very hot”. It isn’t just his face and his blush, it’s the whole hall. This indicates clear tension between Harry and Hermione. 

You could say that all of these compliments that Hermione is giving Harry are just facts and reasons why other girls find him attractive. But this isn’t the case. There’s obvious romantic tension between them.

Another thing to note is Ron’s jealousy. He “gags on a large piece of kipper” and he keeps interrupting Hermione, saying and showing why he is fanciable too. The chemistry is undeniable at this point. 

You could argue that Hermione was complimenting Harry to make Ron jealous, that his suspicions were expected and intended. And it does seem so at first sight: Hermione compliments Harry in front of Ron, also being very impatient as if she had been planning this conversation, as well as pointing out lots of “fanciable” things that apply to Ron as well (the scars, the height), ignoring Ron to make him more jealous. You may be tricked into thinking so. But this isn’t the case. 

First of all, if she wanted to make Ron jealous, don’t you think Hermione would’ve been enjoying the reaction? Why is she giving him these “looks of disdain”(note that this isn’t the first time she has given him nasty looks)? Wouldn’t she be looking away from him, smiling to herself? At least looking a little pleased? 

And if she really wanted to make Ron jealous, why would she use Harry of everyone? Maybe because he and Ron had a lot of similarities that could be convenient for making him jealous? But this isn’t like Hermione at all. This isn’t her technique of making people jealous. 

“What’s happened to you?” asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil’s Snare. 

“Oh, I’ve just escaped — I mean, I’ve just left Cormac,” she said. “Under the mistletoe,” she added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her. 

“Serves you right for coming with him,” he told her severely. 

“I thought he’d annoy Ron most,” said Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —” 

“You considered Smith?” said Harry, revolted. 

“Yes, I did, and I’m starting to wish I’d chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. Let’s go this way, we’ll be able to see him coming, he’s so tall. . . .”

Hermione picks the people Ron despises the most to make him jealous - like Cormac McLaggen and Zacharias Smith. Hermione had no reason to use Harry to make Ron jealous. She had no reason to make Ron jealous at all. So that argument is definitely debunked. 

Could Hermione have told Harry all of these things because she really didn’t mean them and was just pointing them out from a different teenage girl’s point of view? That just can’t be the case. Otherwise she would’ve been complimenting Ron too. If the only purpose for this speech was to show Harry his attractive traits, she would’ve laughed at Ron’s remarks and agreed that he was fanciable too in other girls’ eyes because he had many of the same “fanciable” traits. 

So Hermione was definitely showing her attraction towards Harry which is also made obvious by Harry’s reaction to it and the romantic tension between them that even Ron couldn’t deny.

Believe it or not, this isn’t the only moment when Harry and Hermione are literally flirting. Take a look at another scene of Ron third wheeling Harry and Hermione and looking suspicious:

As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione’s arm and held her back. 

“What?” said Hermione defensively. 

“If you ask me,” said Harry quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting.” Hermione blushed. 

“Oh, all right then, I did it,” she whispered. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he’s got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn’t get in — you wouldn’t have wanted someone like that on the team.” 

“No,” said Harry. “No, I suppose that’s true. But wasn’t that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you’re a prefect, aren’t you?” 

“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped, as he smirked. 

“What are you two doing?” demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious. 

“Nothing,” said Harry and Hermione together, and they hurried after Ron. The smell of roast beef made Harry’s stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

Try denying their chemistry here.

Just imagine two (straight) friends of the opposite gender, the boy grabbing the girl’s arm and turning her around (the tension!!!) and her acting all defensive, and then the boy telling her something that makes her blush and admit something while whispering. Then the boy jokingly teasing her about it and smirking while the girl tells him to be quiet playfully. Yeah, that’s called flirting and they have extremely obvious chemistry. 

The funnier part is Ron noticing this and suspiciously confronting Harry and Hermione while they quickly say “nothing” at the same time and catch up with him.

I don’t think an explanation is even necessary, anyone who denies their chemistry in this scene is basically lying to themselves and is willingly blinding themselves.

Here’s another interesting scene from HBP with Ron getting jealous of H/Hr’s chemistry once again:

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, “Did you really tell him I’m the best in the year? Oh, Harry!” 

“Well, what’s so impressive about that?” whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. “You are the best in the year — I’d’ve told him so if he’d asked me!” 

Hermione smiled but made a “shhing” gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

Here Harry and Hermione’s chemistry isn’t really made clear but just look at the way Hermione turns to Harry. He literally sees her expression as “radiant” (this adjective has also been used to describe Ginny’s smile) and Hermione looks simply delighted. They were clearly having a great moment here, so good, in fact, that Ron becomes jealous and annoyed and tries to pretend Harry’s compliment wasn’t a big deal. He compliments Hermione the same way as Harry did but she doesn’t have such a “radiant” smile this time, does she? Instead she shushes him(poor Ron just wanted attention from his future wife!). Ron has every right to be disgruntled in this scene.

This is the third time in HBP that Ron is third-wheeling Harry and Hermione. Whether anti-H/Hrs want to admit it or not, Ron is a third-wheel to Harry and Hermione very often and becomes very jealous of their chemistry. JKR, it really isn’t funny, where are the R/Hr flirting moments? They’re supposed to be the endgame couple, aren’t they? Why do you have so many moments between Harry and Hermione when they’re clearly flirting and demonstrating what excellent chemistry looks like?

Apparently, Harry and Hermione have had such chemistry in the past that, even when they’re not flirting, Ron still becomes suspicious of Harry and Hermione’s ‘possible secret relationship’:

“Because she was crying,” Harry continued heavily. 

“Oh,” said Ron, his smile fading slightly. “Are you that bad at kissing?” 

“Dunno,” said Harry, who hadn’t considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. “Maybe I am.” 

“Of course you’re not,” said Hermione absently, still scribbling away at her letter. 

“How do you know?” said Ron in a sharp voice. 

“Because Cho spends half her time crying these days,” said Hermione vaguely. “She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place.”

Ron suspected that Harry and Hermione had kissed before. His suspects are quite obvious, judging from the tone of his voice. No matter how insecure Ron is, he is still their best friend, he should know that they’re not interested into each other romantically. But it seems like it’s so apparent to everyone that Harry and Hermione have something going on.

Here’s another moment showing us Harry and Hermione’s chemistry:

“Harry!” Hermione cried. 

“I know!” Harry shouted. Unable to contain himself, he punched the air; it was more than he had dared to hope for. He strode up and down the tent, feeling that he could have run a mile; he did not even feel hungry anymore. Hermione was squashing Phineas Nigellus’s portrait back into the beaded bag; when she had fastened the clasp she threw the bag aside and raised a shining face to Harry.

 “The sword can destroy Horcruxes! Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthen them — Harry, that sword’s impregnated with basilisk venom!” 

“And Dumbledore didn’t give it to me because he still needed it, he wanted to use it on the locket —” 

“— and he must have realized they wouldn’t let you have it if he put it in his will —” 

“— so he made a copy —” 

“— and put a fake in the glass case —” 

“— and he left the real one — where?” 

They gazed at each other; Harry felt that the answer was dangling invisibly in the air above them, tantalizingly close. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told him? Or had he, in fact, told Harry, but Harry had not realized it at the time? 

“Think!” whispered Hermione. “Think! Where would he have left it?” 

“Not at Hogwarts,” said Harry, resuming his pacing. 

“Somewhere in Hogsmeade?” suggested Hermione. 

“The Shrieking Shack?” said Harry. “Nobody ever goes in there.” 

“But Snape knows how to get in, wouldn’t that be a bit risky?” 

“Dumbledore trusted Snape,” Harry reminded her. 

“Not enough to tell him that he had swapped the swords,” said Hermione. 

“Yeah, you’re right!” said Harry, and he felt even more cheered at the thought that Dumbledore had had some reservations, however faint, about Snape’s trustworthiness. “So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade, then? What d’you reckon, Ron? Ron?” 

Harry looked around. For one bewildered moment he thought that Ron had left the tent, then realized that Ron was lying in the shadow of a lower bunk, looking stony.

 Just look at the intensity of this scene!

Firstly, when Harry and Hermione find out exciting news, they figure it out themselves and alone, they didn’t even think of Ron. Then look at how happy Harry and Hermione are feeling, their hopes high, their spirits lifted, their excitement causing the tension! Hermione’s face is “shining”!

Then they start discussing, knowing what the other is thinking and finishing each other’s sentences! The way they interact is precious, they’re “gazing” at each other, feeling something “tantalizingly close.” They start whispering. It’s so intense and full of tension and chemistry. They’re so excited. They even completely forgot about Ron(I feel so bad for him), Harry even thought that he had left.

This is one of the strongest Harmione scenes ever, the chemistry between them is incomparable to anyone else’s. Just imagine being Ron right now, watching the love of your life have this intense conversation with your and her best friend, sharing this exciting moment, experiencing all of this without you. And you just sit there and watch. Just watch. Ron’s jealousy, intensified by the horcrux, was the one thing that made him leave Harry and Hermione in the tent. And Ron did have a reason to be jealous. 

So they do have chemistry in the books, everyone sees it, including Harry and Hermione’s dates, their closest friend, their “families”, their fans. Everyone except for anti-Harmiones. I tried making up excuses for why others assume Harry and Hermione are together, that maybe I’m misinterpreting something and it’s not because of their chemistry. But when you put everything together, it should become obvious. You have to be insanely biased and willingly ignore everything to come to the conclusion that they don’t have any chemistry. 

I’m not even going in detail about physical contact between them. It would take too long. They grab each other’s hand/arm, they hold onto each other for strength and protect each other, they’re very comfortable with hugs and kisses and their physical connection is another piece of proof of their undeniable chemistry. 

Even JKR has admitted that they had some “charged moments” in DH in the tent, which is her way of saying that they had intense chemistry:

[Kloves] felt a certain pulll between them at that point. And I think he's right. There are moments when [Harry and Hermione] touch, which are charged moments. One when she touches his hair as he sits on the hiltop reading about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and [two] the moment when they walk out of the graveyard with their arms around each other. Now the fact is that Hermione shares moments with Harry that Ron will never be able to participate in. He walked out. She shared something very intense with Harry. So I think it could have gone that way.

In conclusion, Harry and Hermione have excellent chemistry in the books, even better and stronger than in the movies. None of the movie scenes showed their chemistry with this intensity. Their romantic tension was much better in the books. Harry and Hermione have chemistry.

[kiwi-cult]

@isalisewrites​ here you go, as promised. I’ve probably missed a lot bc I didn’t have time to reread all the books so these are all the scars from the movies (except the locket) so if I’ve forgotten any, please tell me so I can add them :)

-The killing curse scar, ofcourse.

-Then the basilisk fang on his forearm. 

-The dragon cuts. I actually do think that these would scar, including the one on his face as these were pretty deep. You can see the one on his face a little better in the orange juice scene with Cho Chang and you can see the ones on his shoulder in the bathtub scene with Moaning Myrtle. 

-I don’t know if the Grindylow bites and scratches would scar, although I do think the one on his forearm would because a Grindylow full on bit him there, as you can see here. 

His legs are completely covered in yellow because (even though the wounds weren’t shown in the movies) the Grindylows kept biting and scratching him there to pull him down, so I personally believe he’d have quite a lot of scars there. Ofcourse, you can decide wether you want to add them or not :)

-Then the scar on his forearm from when Voldie was resurrected. And you were right, the cut was on the same arm as the basilisk and nagini scars but if it seems like there’s too much going on on that one arm you could just switch this one (and possibly the Grindylow bite) to the other arm. Who cares about canon right?

-Then we have the scars from his detention sessions with Umbridge (I must not tell lies) on his left hand. 

-Then the snake bite from nagini when he fought her in Godric’s Hollow. It was quite hard to see exactly where she bit him, but this was around the area where she bit him. 

-Then the locket. I didn’t know if the chain would leave a scar too, so I just added it but if it’s canon in the books that it didn’t leave a scar, you can just ignore that :)

-Lastly we have some small cuts and wounds that were probably just added to add some epicness or drama to the scenes, but if you’d count them they’re probably small silvery lines that only show if you focus really hard, stretch the skin or if the light falls on Harry’s head in a certain way (also I’m sorry for the weird random face I just needed some reference as to where the cuts were exactly.) 

Alright, that’s it. I hope this helps for some visualization during your writing, now if you’d excuse me; I must go and reread Terrible, But Great for the 8th time :D

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficmas22: Day 9: Mad Girl's Love Song

Happy Day 9!

A quick note, I have unexpected travel to do tomorrow, and if I cannot make it home I may not be able to post tomorrow - I'll have my iPad, but I'm unsure if I can make it work. I'll be back with Day 11 if that happens, though <3

Today with have Mad Girl's Love Song, named for the Sylvia Plath poem I've been meaning to write a fic for since I was 13. I finally figured it out! This is a WIP, but I thought this is a pretty deent start.

I hope you enjoy it!!

mad girl’s love song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I lift my lids and all is born again.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The rumours find him in one of the Dakotas, after he feeds from a reeking drunk who blinks at him and cries for someone. He wonders if it's a parent, a lover, or a child. That’s a dangerous tangent to follow, but he does it any way, the weight of grief and regret a steady drip down his spine. 

That’s how Eugene finds him. Wallowing in a sea of misery, wondering about forgotten little girls, forgotten women, worried mothers, with dried blood on his face and wrapped in a filthy, stolen coat. 

(Eugene is about six feet tall, skinny as a string bean, and rather sly looking. In another life, he’d be selling watches from a trench coat or asking ladies in furs to pick a card. In this life, he is mercurial as a tiny river fish, and slyer than an old street cat. Jasper nearly kills him twice before Eugene finds a perch and demands they use their words.)

It should be noted that the Dakotas haven’t had a coven since 1897, and anyone with their ear to the ground knows exactly what happened to Kosa and her coven, and no one has been foolish enough to claim the Dakotas since. Those states are transient areas, where people pass through for a time, and the only territory that can be claimed is that which you are standing on. The same in New York, in Louisiana (blame the Southern warlords), and oddly enough, Nevada. 

Eugene jabbers at him in nearly indecipherable ‘30s slang, sucking on a blood-stained cigarette that Jasper recognises as a desperate attempt to cling to his past, to himself. He longs for something to hold onto just the same, but he’s too old now. Nothing he carries with him is anything he had as a human. Hell, he’d be dead and buried by now, probably having lived out his life. But Eugene, Eugene would still be alive now, if not for a woman with red lips and eyes to match. Probably still doing card tricks, sleight of hand to part people with their money. 

Eugene half tags along with him, half hustles him across the Dakotas to introduce him to the current residents - Ilse, Bowie, Duncan, and Valerie. All solitary nomads, who range from almost welcoming of Jasper (Ilse), to clearly irritated (Valerie). 

That’s how Jasper, Major of the Monterrey Army, ends up sitting in a shit-covered alley in Bismarck and making some kind of friends. They aren’t Peter and Charlotte (he should have told them he was leaving, that he didn’t want to hang around them like a storm cloud of misery. They deserved the happiness that came with freedom), but they are … amicable. 

(He’s confused, later, that he was so… calm and accepting of so many strangers around him. Why it isn’t just one giant shit fight. Ilse laughs, and tells him, “that’s all Eugene. His thing. We all have one - Bowie’s got theories. But Eugene, his is creating friendship or piecing together people who fit together. We don’t know, and he’ll ignore you if you ask.”)

He doesn’t tell them much, and they don’t press, but Valerie doesn’t trust him. She watches him carefully, and he watches her back, mostly because he’s never seen the kind of scarring Valerie has over her left eye; the eye itself is clouded over and dead. Vampires are supposed to be able to heal from almost anything, and yet she stays at him, one blood red and one milky white eye. 

Ilse, Bowie, and Eugene egg each other on with outrageous stories, whilst Duncan adds sarcastic comments at random intervals. 

He and Valerie are mostly quiet.

“Whose the weirdest you’ve ever met, Eugene?” Ilse asks. She’s pretty, like all vampires, with long dark hair and eyes. He sees the necklace she wears, and holds back his questions. After all, she’s told them all she wishes to share, though he can infer what she means when she tells him she was dead either way. 

Eugene pulls the stub of his cigarette and looks thoughtful for a few minutes.

“Weirdest that I’ve met would be Delia-Rae,” he said. “Walks around California in her old wedding dress arguing with herself. Can’t get a straight word out of her. I think she was the one that got destroyed last summer, by the old Italian bastards. Harmless but totally crackers. Should’ve kept a closer eye on her.”

“I ran into her,” Duncan muttered, leaning against the brick work. “Sad lady.”

“Very,” Eugene agreed. “I hope I’m wrong, and she’s still arguing with the voices in her head, but…” They all sit in silence for a moment; sometimes it feels like the Volturi’s reach is too absolute, too unyielding to be truly just. 

“Like that case down in Biloxi,” Valerie finally speaks. “Can’t believe that gets to happen.”

Biloxi is too far down south for his comfort, and he looks away from her one-eyed gaze.

Ilse lights up at the possibility of another story, and leans forward. “Tell us!” she claps her hands. 

Valerie looks uncomfortable at being the centre of attention. “Old factory or something; big fire there years ago. Bit of a local legend, thought I’d go poking around - apparently it’s haunted and once you go in, you never come out again, according to the locals.”

They all look at her, waiting for the punchline, the discovery.

“And?” Bowie prompts, tapping his fingers against his knee. 

“You could smell the bodies when you got close, smell whoever is there,” Valerie turned back to stare at Jasper. “I left. Not getting involved with shit like that. The place stunk of crazy.”

“Wow,” Eugene looks curious but also thoughtful. “D’you see them?”

“No. Glad I didn’t,” Valerie scowled. “Didn’t even going inside. Should’ve set the place on fire.”

“I wonder why no one does anything,” Isle asks, leaning back to look at the stars and he wonders the very same thing. 

It’s a thought that lingers.

—

He expected the factory site to be swallowed up by the forest, a forgotten and haunted place swallowed up by moss and kudzu.

He’s very wrong.

It’s definitely a haunted place, he wasn’t wrong about that. 

The forest keeps well enough away from it, a fucking wound in the middle of nowhere. The iron and stone fence around the property have long since collapsed into the grass, like something great and terrible has given up the fight. The remains of the building jut out from the ground, ugly grey concrete and smashed windows. Most of it is devastated by the fire, crumpled and forgotten - the stains of smoke still blistered on the remains. But the entrance building is somehow, just barely, standing. 

Broken furniture, even rotting doors, are scattered in the long grass around the entrance like bones jutting out of earth. Whatever figure - a saint, an angel, a god - that once adorned the cracked fountain out the front of the entrance has been rendered to rubble and dust, leaving behind only a pair of barely-recognisable feet. 

Factories don’t usually have fountains. Or bars over the windows. 

He’s amazed it’s been left like this; that no human has come forward to rebuild, to tear down, to make anew. It’s odd and uncomfortable that it is left in such a way. 

The gardens are dead and the trees withered. The grass snaps and crunches under his feet, dry and brittle. There is no moss, no mould. Some dead vines have entwined themselves through windows and the pockmarked holes in the walls, but there is nothing alive here. This is not a place where things live and thrive, almost unreal in how … how angry this place is. 

It wants him gone. It wants to chase him away and simmer in its rage. 

But for some reason, he keeps moving, pushing through the rotting doors carefully. 

And it’s like the whole building takes a breathe.

—

The bodies aren’t hard to find. 

Not that there’s a smell; well, there’s a lingering smell, but that’s the blood that has pooled on the ground and dried, the top layer powdery and metallic. These bodies are old, a collection of bones inside rotting cloth that still smells like fat and sweat and piss and blood. But nothing fresh. They are scattered around, five of them, decomposing where they fell. A single bloody handprint rests on the wall, luminous against the soggy-looking grey wallpaper. 

It’s the same throughout the first floor - more than a dozen forgotten rooms, several of them laid with bodies. He finds bones snapped clean, ground to a dust, fractured and sharp. A bloody footprint, a discarded shoe. 

One of the rooms is covered in shelves of books that dissolve at his touch, let alone have decipherable titles. But the evidence appears in the rows and rows of filthy jars. He’s not foolish enough to open one, but several have exploded (or perhaps been smashed) and left a pulpy organic mess behind, rotting fantastically, discoloured and difficult to look at, even for a man who is intimate with most forms of dismemberment. He smears off the dust of those  jars somehow still intact and is unsurprised to see a human brain, a swollen heart, a curled over foetus.

It confirms his suspicions. Some kind of medical setting, most likely for women. The desk is little more than kindling and it feels odd that these have somehow survived, unmarked. That so much of this office is untouched. The dust is layered in such a way that he can tell someone has ventured in here, but not for a while. 

A file is scattered on the floor, and he stops to pick it up. Most of it is indecipherable from the elements, but a smudged photo of a woman - naked and haunted and emaciated and with enormous bruises overlapping has survived. Even in a cloudy photograph, her eyes bored into his. 

Some kind of medical facility, and not a kind one. 

— 

The basement is a place he doesn’t venture.

The doors hang limply from the frame, the glass broken and long gone. The cold air that blows up the rotting stairs smells fouler than anything else. He can’t see anything in the darkness, and something about it just makes him turn away. 

He’s not a superstitious man, even if some of the men he had soldiered with as a human were. Maria had her own beliefs and traditions, usually from hard-worn experiences. 

But this place, this fucking tomb… the anger that this place wraps itself in… it makes him wonder about a lot of things he would have dismissed in the harsh light of day.

Another room, more bodies. 

But younger, this time. Fresher. Newer than many of the others. 

That makes him pause. The clothes are a giveaway, how modern they are. The heads thrown back against the wall, limbs entangled, the dried blood stain blooming on the wallpaper behind them like some kind of demented halo. A plastic hair ornament clings to a clump of brittle hair, a bag open at their side and the items scattered around. 

He’s not foolish enough to write off all the bodies he has seen as victims of a fire. But these ones… they make him wonder. This is not the practice of someone who wants a long life. This is a huge mess, one the Volturi will be forced to clean up. 

They’ll have to come soon. There are just too many bodies. 

—

He looks back once and nearly trips over as he spins back around to regard the older building. 

A split second of a face, pale and bloody, appears at a window. Fast enough that even with his senses, he wonders if he really saw it. 

Them. 

Her.  

He watches a while longer before he turns to leave the hospital behind to its rage, the glimpse of her face. 

He tries to pretend he’s not planning on coming back. 

Who are you?

—

She watches him leave from the shadows, behind a filthy window. 

(He wasn’t supposed to leave.)

Her head starts to ache again, and that means the pictures will return soon and it’s very, very bad if she’s out of the dark when that happens. 

And she folds herself back down into the dark of the basement, hair stiff with rotting blood and dotted with maggots, black eyes wide and barely seeing as her fingers guide her back down to safety. 

She’s glad he’s gone. 

(But he wasn’t supposed to leave. That’s not how it happens.)

[mimi-cee-hq]

Wildfires - Atsumu x f!reader

Summary: You're burned from last year's rumours, now fearing any hint of smoke. Yet you can't help, but fall for the childhood friend who's a balm to your wounds.

Genres, tropes, etc: angst with a satisfying and happy ending, angst to fluff, hurt/ comfort, exs to lovers (but not the usual kind), secret dating, drama and romance, but it's still somehow cute because that's just how I write lol

Warnings: false rumours about cheating and an illicit relationship, so it still technically mentions those things.

Words: 1.9k

Author's Notes: Hi Lia (@chimielie)! I'm your ☀️ anon. 🥰 You suggested exs to lovers and hurt/comfort for this prompt and it still technically is those things, but it's probably not what you expected.

If anyone is new to my blog and doesn't want to read angst, here's a cute fluff Atsumu x reader instead. :)

This fic is for the Heatwave Fic Exchange (@heatwave2021). Thank you for hosting this!

~*~*~

"I hadn't realized you two were still together."

Not even the overworked fan's whirring can drown out the strained silence that follows.

"We're not."

The air is dry and sweat forms on your brow. With the sun beating down, it's the perfect combination for a wildfire.

Atsumu's chin sits on his fist as he avoids your gaze. Lowering your eyes, you stare at the wooden table.

"Did he still care?" you ask yourself.

~*~*~

Plaid skirts sway as two students peek into their new classroom, attempting to be discreet. You hear their whispers from a distance, waiting in front of your own classroom.

"Look! We get Kinjou-sensei this year!" one exclaims.

"Are you serious?" the other asks after letting out a gasp. "I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I might end up staring at his face all day."

"Maybe it'll help you pay attention," her friend snickers.

You clench your jaw as heat rises in your body. They're able to indulge in frivolous remarks, ignorant of how you're left scarred from one fleeting gesture, a tiny piece of kindling that ignited into uncontrollable flames.

Cool hands cover your ears from behind you. Your jaw relaxes and the tension dissipates from your shoulders. You turn around to see Atsumu wearing a scowl on his lips. Sighing as you cross your arms, you ask, "Atsumu, what are you doing?"

"Well if only there was a way to make 'em shut up," he replies with a sharp tone.

You lean away from him and swat his hands back. "You're too close," you tell him.

"Alright!" he says, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'll go!"

As he walks away, he crosses his thumb and index finger behind his back, forming a little heart. You smirk at his hidden gesture to you.

"I love you too, Atsumu," you silently tell him as a smile graces your lips. However, it vanishes like the mist in the sun when yet another person calls after him, someone he doesn't know.

You skirt around the other students, avoiding their path, and rush to your desk. There are too many dry leaves around; a single spark can burst everything into flames.

Why does everyone have to know Atsumu?

~*~*~

"I wish you could've been my partner for the project," you say.

Atsumu pours a glass of water and places it on the table in front of you. "You ended up with that new girl, right?" he mentions and you reply with a nod. "She should be safe to work with."

You're startled once again when you hear the chimes from the front door. A rattan room divider obstructs your view of it, but you hunch down anyway as you finally pick up your spoon.

Atsumu sits across from you, sharing something about his team. His eyes dim when he realizes you haven't been listening.

"This isn't working," he tells you. "I thought this restaurant would be better because people can't see us from here." He runs his fingers in his hair, a sign he's frustrated.

"I– I forgot people can still hear us," you say in a low voice.

Atsumu sighs. "Let's just watch a movie at my house," he says. "Osamu already knows anyway."

"You know we can't," you protest. "Not when Hana and Haku drop by so often. They're going to realize we're together."

"But how are we supposed to have any fun when you're so scared?"

"I–" You lower your gaze, eyes unfocused towards your untouched bowl of rice. "Sorry, Atsumu."

"It's not your fault," he reminds you yet again. This exchange has become all too familiar. "Maybe we should finally tell Hana and Haku what happened to you."

"And have them find out the guy in the rumours is their beloved brother?" You cross your arms over your chest and rub your hand on your sleeve. "I still want to be comfortable around them, Atsumu. Ignorance is bliss right?"

His mouth twists before a groan escapes from it. He slouches in his seat and stares at the food in front of you, which remains the way the waitress left it.

"Let's take the train to Tokyo next time," he mutters. "Nobody'll know us there."

Your eyes grow before looking up at Atsumu. "What?" you slowly enunciate just above a whisper. "Don't you know how expensive that is?"

He presses his lips together before sharing his next suggestion. "I know where 'Samu's secret stash of money is…"

You narrow your eyes at him. "No, we're not stealing from him to go on a date, Atsumu."

"Alright," he says, lowering his eyes and dropping his shoulders.

Seeing his expression, you offer another idea. "How about Osaka?" It's only one city away.

Atsumu's eyes light up, excited at the chance of finally getting to enjoy some time with you. Although your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, you hope leaving the vicinity of last year's wildfires would be enough, for Atsumu's sake and yours.

~*~*~

Your heart beats faster and your throat becomes dry. You weren't getting enough air.

"You're okay," you tell yourself. "She's not talking about you."

"Seriously! That happened at my old school," your project partner snickers as she recounts her story to you. "They even got the kiss on camera too! I felt so bad for her, but it's her own fault for cheating on him."

You begin to feel dizzy, catching a whiff of smoke from another victim's fire. Her words add fuel to a fire that cannot be stopped. Wildfires burn and burn, and are never satisfied until they run out of kindling.

"Oh! I've been meaning to ask. Are you dating Atsumu? The two of you seem really close!"

Your throat struggles to take control, attempting to keep your stomach down; it doesn't want to burn either.

They'll say you're cheating on Kinjou-sensei.

The tongue is a powerful weapon, causing destruction by those who are both untrained and ignorant as well as the truly malicious.

Your knees buckle as you pant for air, your grip weak on the knob. You need to get out.

Atsumu's figure is before you and you relax as he catches you. You never would have imagined that this guy would be your fleeting oasis.

~*~*~

"Let's break up," you tell Atsumu.

You both knew this was coming, yet a bucket of icy water chilled to the bone regardless of whether or not it was expected. Speaking those words aloud shocked you back into reality.

You hesitated dating each other in the first place, but you couldn't help but caress his strong hands when he admitted his feelings for you. Growing up together in your group of five, he was by your side from snotty noses to acne breakouts.

You didn't expect to fall for the hot-head of your bunch when rumours of you dating Kinjou-sensei spread. Atsumu attempted to extinguish every flame he spotted, witnessing your anguish each time you got burned.

"Maybe we can still do this," you say, contradicting your previous words.

"And what? Have ya pass out again every time someone asks about us?" Atsumu protests. He lowers his eyes as he clutches your hand. "Do ya know how worried I was about ya?"

Your heart flutters for a moment before you remind yourself that you can't keep him, the boy who has been by your side for so long.

"Aghhhhh! This is so stupid!!! Why are we suffering because of this made up crap?! 'Kinjou-sensei' had put a bandaid on me a thousand times more than he did t' ya! But nobody gives a crap about that!"

"I'm sorry Atsumu."

"Why the heck are ya sorry?!" he says, raising his voice.

"I– If I was just strong enough... If I could withstand their stupid words"–your lip trembles–"maybe I wouldn't have to choose between you and having some peace."

There's another silence between the two of you. Your fingers are loosely intertwined together, barely holding the fragile string between the two of you, as if it were a wick that would combust and disappear in a split second.

"Maybe we should just run away," Atsumu mumbles aloud.

"What?"

"Ya know, transfer schools. Or even drop out if we need ta."

"Atsumu! You can't! We can't! You have volleyball! And I... this is the only school that gave me a scholarship."

"Agh! Why is this so frustrating?!"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, ya idiot! Ya did nothing wrong!" He presses and rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I just… I wish I could do more for ya." His arm drops at his side. "I wish I didn't feel so useless."

Your tears drip down your face. Could they be counted any more? If only you didn't fear getting caught dating Atsumu, terrified that last year's fires would morph into a raging beast. But another wildfire would not only destroy you but also the man you loved. If only your sores healed by now, you could have shown off your boyfriend, disregarding any of the flames.

If only you were fireproof.

But you weren't and now you're forced to loosen your grip on Atsumu, the balm to your wounds, and let him fall out of your hands.

~*~*~

"I hadn't realized you two were still together."

Not even the overworked fan's whirring can drown out the strained silence that follows.

"We're not."

It was three years since you talked to Atsumu, four since rumours first raged through the school. The two of you went through cycles of getting back together and breaking up again every time you learned that fear was still crippling you. Cutting off contact was the less painful option.

Years later, you're at a friend's cottage and Atsumu comes along without knowing you're here as well. Now that high school has come and gone, the smoke has dissipated and the fires have finished their course. You can finally breathe.

But does Atsumu still want you?

To anyone else, Atsumu is bored out of his mind, resting his chin on his fist. Nobody sees his thumb and finger forming a tiny heart.

Your heart flutters and you blink back tears. You attempt to hold back your growing grin, but you have no reason to hide it anymore.

You wrap your arms around him, almost causing him to topple off of his chair, Atsumu letting out a yelp. "What the heck are ya doing?"

You can finally release your feelings for him, openly and freely. The dam opens and waters rush to engulf him before you settle into his embrace.

"I love you too Atsumu," you tell him without a care in the world.

Osamu tells you he changed when you cut off contact. He desired to be a man, not wanting to feel so powerless, and poured himself into things he could do. It paid off.

"Did ya want to go somewhere together? I could even take ya all the way t' Rome if ya want."

The two of you hold each others' hands as the ocean's edge cools your feet. You lean against his shoulder, cherishing the moment that at one point seemed like an inaccessible dream.

You give him a peck on the cheek and smile. "Tokyo seems like a nice place for a date for now."

~*~*~

I hope you enjoyed this fic. :) (And I hope you liked it Lia!!) I guess I can be poetic if I try. lol. I had a whole commentary written out for this fic, but I decided against posting it here and making my author's notes as long as the fic itself. 😂

If you enjoyed this fic, I don't really have any similar pieces of writing at the moment. The only one that's similar is the hurt/comfort Kunimi WIP I've put off writing for so long because I didn't think I could pull off this type of fic. (And also because I think only one person will read it.) The theme in that one is pity/pride because pitiful is Kunimi's most hated word.

Anyway, if you want to see my usual style of writing, I have a cute tooth-rotting fluff Atsumu x reader one-shot. I currently also have an ongoing fake dating chaptered Suna fic, which is probably my best planned fic with the hints and foreshadowing and a nice mix of humour, fluff and shoujo-type angst. :)

I also have a Google form for my taglist if anyone is interested.

[honeymooneyy]

my sirius

summary: sirius loses his memories due to a potion mishap and james fails to tell him that he’s been dating remus for two years 

Sirius had never really been good at potions. 

He wasn’t one to follow the directions, and that reflected in his potion-making skills. He liked to make changes to the recipe, despite his lack of skills to make executive decisions like that. 

So when he had been brewing a particularly tricky potion with James - one that renders the drinker void of any memories for an hour, he probably shouldn’t have tweaked the recipe. 

But as Sirius stared down at the murky green goop, he wished for some pizazz. So he took matters into his own hands. A funky potion like this should look a lot cooler, he decided. Granted, it probably wasn’t a good decision to add that mystery white powder in the back of the cupboard. 

The second it touched the surface of his potion, it erupted out and onto Sirius. What happened next, was utter chaos. 

Slughorn was screaming at James to scourgify the cauldron, which he did with a shaky wave of his wand. Remus and Peter were on the floor in a fit of laughter, much like the rest of the class - even Snape was smiling. And Sirius, well poor Sirius wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. Or who he was. 

He turned to the tan boy next to him, who’s dark eyes were locked on his, worry evident in them. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Sirius?” 

Serious?

“What?” Was the only reply he could muster. What was happening? What was serious? Who was this boy, and why did he look so concerned? 

“Did you, y’know, get any in your mouth?” The boy questioned, tilting his head a bit. His glasses reflected a bit when he did so, no longer allowed him to see his eyes. 

“Who are you?”

James deflated, turning to the man who was quivering in the corner. “Professor?” 

“It’s all fine,” The supposed Professor announced, holding his hands up. “I have  a couple counteractive potions. James, son, what did he put in there?” 

“Er, I’m not sure, I didn’t see.” The boy, James, turns back to their cauldron before reaching for a small bottle of white powder. “I think it was this.” 

The Professor squints at the bottle before sighing. “I’m not entirely sure what that was. We could try all three of the counter acting potions? They don’t mess with one another, and I’m sure one of them will work. Alright, I think we’ve had enough of this, class dismissed early, James stay here with Sirius. Please clean up properly!” 

The class began to put their materials away, whispering different cleaning spells as to not disturb the silence that had descended upon the class. Sirius assumed his name must be Sirius and James must not have been speaking of the emotion earlier. He stood at the small table with the dark cauldron, awkwardly shifting his weight as the Professor sifted through his drawers. 

In the end, he pulled out three small vials and handed them to James who brought them to Sirius. He flashed him a bright grin. “Drink up!” 

Sirius didn’t ask very many questions, though he felt as if he was bursting with them. He simply tilted his head back to swallow the liquids back, one after the other, cringing at the taste of the last one. 

James and the Professor continued to stare at him and Sirius stared back.

“What’s my name?” The Professor questioned after a moment of silence. 

“I don’t- I don’t know, sorry,” Sirius apologized, his ears burning as he shrunk under their inquisitive gazes. 

James sighed but the Professor didn’t seem to put off. “No worries, Black. I’ll take a look at that powder and I should have an antidote whipped up soon enough. Besides, if too much didn’t go wrong with your potion, you should get your memories back within the hour. James, why don’t you take him down to the medical wing to wait?” 

He must’ve messed up the potion because an hour later, he was still unknowing to who he was. 

James had filled him in on where he was - Hogwarts - and who he was - Sirius Black - but hadn’t given him too much information. He had assured that he’d get his memories back soon enough so there was no point. But the outcome was starting to look pretty bleak and soon enough, the nice nurse lady was sending Sirius away with James seeing as nothing could be done. 

“It’ll be fine, Sirius, Slughorn will get you back to normal soon enough. I reckon you’ll remember everything by tomorrow, no worries. And Remus and Peter will love this!” James seemed extremely enthusiastic, despite the fact that his best friend had no memories. 

“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Sirius was barely keeping up with James’ quick pace as he tried to absorb the castle he seemed to be in. 

“Losing your memories? Not to any of us, but I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. We’re always getting into trouble. We’re kinda known for our pranks.” 

James seemed pretty proud and Sirius smiled at the thought of pranks. 

“Anyway, we’re in Gryffindor. There’s four houses, but I don’t think you need to know the others, right now. The password is Ficklepuffs, don’t forget that or else you can’t get in.” 

Sirius nodded, mouthing the word and hoping he’ll be able to remember it. 

“Okay, let’s not stay in the common room too long. Better if you don’t have to deal with all the questions. Let’s go to our dorm room. We share it with Remus and Peter.” 

Sirius followed him up the stairs wordlessly, ignoring the stares from the others in the common room. James pushed a door open and Sirius stepped into the warm room, his eyes flitting around before finding a boy sitting on one of the four beds

The blonde one looked up at him before directing his gaze towards James. “Is he all fixed up yet?” 

James grimaced a bit, “No, we’re waiting for Slughorn to make an antidote. Poppy told us to bring him up here and make him comfortable until the potions wears off or whenever Slughorn makes the antidote. Whichever happens first.” 

Sirius just stood in the center of the room, unsure what exactly he was supposed to do. All four of the beds looked exactly the same, and though James had taken the bed next to the blonde boy’s bed, the other two seemed too similar. James must’ve noticed his discomfort because he nodded his head towards one of the beds before speaking to the other boy in hushed tones. 

The bed was large with thick curtains around it, probably for privacy. The bed was made neatly and Sirius felt bad as he settled on top, wrinkling the sheets. On the bedside table was a book or two that seemed pretty untouched, and a dog toy? 

“Hey, Sirius!” The blonde boy waved to get his attention. “I’m Peter.” 

“Hi Peter.” Sirius waved back only for the other boys’ jaw to drop open as he shot James a look. 

“He can talk?”

“Of course he can talk, you dolt. He lost his memories not his knowledge. I bet he can still do maths and stuff. He just doesn’t know how he learned it, I think.” James turned to Sirius with a thoughtful look. “What’s four plus four?” 

“Eight,” Sirius replied immediately, much to his surprise. 

“See! You know how you learned that? Who taught you?” 

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. “No, not really.” 

James gave Peter a knowing look. “See. James is always right, that’s why we don’t question James.” 

“Oh quit it with the third person.” Peter rolled his eyes though his lips were quirked up a bit in a smile. 

James continued to speak in third person and Sirius watched the banter with a small smile. Eventually Peter shoved James away, speaking of some essay he needed to finish, so James came over to bother him. 

“I know you don’t really remember me, but we’ve been best mates since first year. That’s when we were elven.” James fills him in, perching on the edge of his bed. 

“And now we’re...?” 

“Seventeen. Er, well you are. Your birthday was about a month ago, November third. Remus and I are still sixteen.”

Sirius nods, soaking in this information. “And we’ve been dorm mates since then?” 

“Yep! Actually, you live with me now. But don’t worry about that, you’ll get your memories back soon enough,” James reassured though Sirius didn’t fully believe him. 

His thoughts were broken by the door slamming open as another boy stalked in. He was muttering angrily and when he saw the Peter, he turned toward him. “My blasted book was on the other side of the school! This is what I get for trying to study for Charms!” 

Sirius just watched, mouth agape, because he had never seen someone this attractive. He knew he hasn’t seen very many people in the past hour, his only memories, but he’s sure no one else could compare. Though his side profile is all Sirius can see at the moment, he still marvels at his golden brown hair and the flutter of freckles splattering his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, probably from his journey to the other side of the school, and matched his lips that were moving rapidly as he complains. 

And then he seems to realize that Sirius is there because he turns to him, and Sirius squirmed under the intensity of his amber eyes. “Did Slughorn’s antidote work?” 

Sirius can barely manage a shake of his head. 

This seems to upset the boy further because he groans and falls back onto his bed, hands dragging down his face. Sirius can’t help but follow his actions as his jumper hitches up to reveal a patch of pale skin. A jagged scar peaks out from under it, and though it’s faded to a silvery white, Sirius internally flinches at the thought of how it felt. 

Though James was still on his bed, he couldn’t help but continue to sneak glances at Remus. Something about him, and his presence, seemed comforting. But he seemed in distress and Sirius wanted to offer that same comfort he found.

“If he’s Peter, you’re Remus, right?” Sirius can tell Remus is upset and maybe he just wanted to talk to his friend? While Sirius isn’t really Sirius, he can try. And then he stupidly introduces himself, “I’m Sirius.” 

“I know,” Remus replies flatly, still stretched out on his bed. “And you’re the biggest idiot I know.” 

Sirius cringes back, regretting the choice to open his mouth. He glances at James who just waves it off. 

“He’s not mad, it’s just Remus.” James leans back as he stretches his leg out to prod Remus with a toe, then squealing when Remus grabbed said toe and yanked him so he almost slid off the bed. “Oi!” 

Sirius waited for him to get situated again before leaning in to hiss, “You didn’t tell me I was gay! Or that Remus is so attractive! What the fuck, mate?” 

To his surprise James just laughs, “Oh, right. Sorry, it’s not something I thought I would have to tell you, I dunno, I didn’t think about it. And what? I was supposed to introduce Remus as the hot one?” 

“Yes,” Sirius replied, genuinely. “This is important information!” 

“Right, sorry. But you don’t have to whisper, it’s not really a secret.” 

Sirius narrows his eyes, “Being gay or thinking Remus is attractive?” 

“Both. They go hand in hand, really, if you think about it.” James nods thoughtfully before smiling again reassuringly. “You’ll remember soon enough.” 

“Right. So he knows I think he’s hot?” 

“I would hope so.” 

Sirius frowns at this, “You hope so? What, does everyone know?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

“Wait a minute, what exactly are we?” This time the question is directed to Remus who has been lying on his bed, quiet but no doubt listening in on their conversation. 

Remus turns his head over to look at Sirius, his eyes flickering over his face before a smile is pulling at his lips as he says, “Friends. Since first year.” 

“Yeah, yeah, everything since first year.” Sirius visibly deflates at this information. What was Sirius With Memories doing? How could he bear to be just friends with someone like that? And now he had gone asking dumb questions, no doubt a problem that will soon arise. 

It took a mere couple of seconds before the problem rose. 

James stood up, dusting off his pants in a big show before turning to Peter. “Let’s head down to dinner, yeah? I think it’s better if we leave Sirius back here, Remus, you’ll stay?” 

Remus hummed a reply, now turning to lie on his stomach, burrowing his head into his arms. He looked so cuddly Sirius itched to wiggle into his embrace. 

“Wait! I want to come, I want dinner, I’m hungry.” Sirius stood too but James waved him off. 

“Nah, too many questions. We’ll bring you back some food, Remus too. And Poppy said to make him comfortable so Remus, I dunno, tuck him into bed or something.” James didn’t leave much time to argue, slipping out of the dorm door with Peter close behind him. 

Sirius just stood there, awkwardly, now unsure what to do. He glanced at Remus who still had his head burrowed in his arms, and then at the door, considering just running after James and Peter. Why did he have to say something about Remus being attractive? Even if James was right and Remus already knew, it was so awkward!

“Are you going to change?” Remus asked, pulling Sirius out of his thoughts. His eyes flickered over Sirius’ figure before glancing back at him with a small smile. “You’re covered in that goop. I can clean off your bed, go get changed.” 

Sirius assumed the trunk at the foot of his bed must have his clothes, and much to his luck, he was right. He just reached for some random pants and a shirt before spotting a fuzzy jumper in the corner. He grabbed it too. 

Remus was muttering some sort of spell on the bed and the green patches were slowly disappearing. Throwing him one last glance, Sirius entered the bathroom and quickly changed out of his soiled clothes. Once he was clean, he grimaced at the state of his hair. Thankfully, it had been spared from the potion, for the most part, but was a tangly mess, no doubt from his nervous fiddling. He tried to rake his fingers through it but it didn’t do much so he just returned to the room. 

Remus had cleaned his bed and was on his own now, fidgeting with a comb. When he spotted Sirius his eyes brightened and his smile grew a bit as he waved him over. “C’mere, I’ll fix your hair.” 

Sirius ducked his head bashfully as he approached Remus’ bed before gingerly crawling onto it, sitting down in front of him. He was acutely aware of how close Remus was too him and butterflies erupted in his stomach. Sirius forced himself to sit perfectly still as nimble fingers began carding through his hair, working through the knots. 

“Oh, Sirius, how did this even happen?” Remus murmured, his voice quiet enough that it made Sirius blush. This whole thing felt so intimate and it didn’t help that Remus kept brushing against his back as he fixed his hair. 

“I dunno,” Sirius whispered back.

“S’okay, love, I think I can get the knots out.”

The nickname slipped out so naturally it sounded as if he said it every day, but it didn’t stop Sirius from freezing, his leg pausing in it’s bouncing. Remus must’ve noticed too because his fingers stilled in Sirius’ hair. 

“Shit, I couldn’t even go fifteen minutes, could I?” He tutted, before continuing to work through his hair. “Sorry, Sirius. Your face when I walked in was too priceless, I couldn’t not have some fun with it. I loved your reaction to me saying we’re just friends.” 

Sirius wasn’t completely sure what was happening, but he found his voice. “So we’re not friends?” 

Remus snorted at this, “No. We’ve been dating since fourth year. Almost two years, now, I think.” 

“Oh.” 

Sirius’ head was whirling. He was dating Remus? And the others really didn’t bother saying anything about it? Again, this seemed like important information! Your name is Sirius Black, you’re gay, you have a hot boyfriend...the basics! 

Remus laughed again and ran his comb through Sirius’ now tangle-free hair. “All done.” 

Sirius turned around so he could face Remus who was now settled back down and was leaning against his headboard. “Thank you.” 

“Look at you, so polite. If only Sirius could be like this every day.” Remus shook his head but his words held no venom. “Do you want me to braid it so it doesn’t get tangled again?” 

Sirius didn’t really know what to say to him, seeing as they were boyfriends though he had no memory of this. So he just nodded mutely, turning back around so Remus could braid his hair. He worked in silence and Sirius greatly appreciated it. 

When he was finished he patted Sirius’ shoulder and he turned around again. Remus was watching him with a warm smile and it encouraged him to voice his thoughts, “Do you think Slughorn will we be able to make an antidote?” 

“For you memories? I’m sure he will. He’s pretty talented,” Remus assured, his hands reaching out to brush a couple loose strands out of Sirius’ face. “Don’t worry too much. We’ll work it out tomorrow.” 

Sirius nods but he doesn’t feel very confident in the Professor’s abilities. “This is scary. I don’t know anything or anyone. It’s weird, though, I kind of still have emotions associated with people? So I feel things but I don’t know why.” 

“I’m sure it’s terrifying. But you’re safe with us, I promise you trust us when you’re normal. And for the emotions? It’s probably like muscle memory but with feelings? Can you describe it? Like me for example?” 

Heat crawls onto Sirius’ face and he dropped his gaze to his lap. “You’re warm. Like, my chest feels all warm on the inside. But also kind of swirly, I don’t know. It’s positive, I know that. I cared about you a lot, I think.”

“You did. I care about you a load too.” Remus reaches out to gently link their fingers together. “I was kind of scared about you never remembering me again, but I don’t think Dumbledore would let that happen. He’s the headmaster here.” 

“I wish I could remember you. You seem worth remembering.” 

Remus’ mouth fell open a bit at his words and then he was pulling Sirius into a tight hug, holding him against his chest. “That’s so cheesy but so sweet, oh my god, Sirius.” 

Sirius laughed at this, but wrapped his own arms around Remus, laying his head onto Remus’ chest. The embrace felt so natural he couldn’t help but melt into it, sighing softly. 

And that’s exactly when James and Peter burst through the door, holding plates of food. When James caught sight of them he exclaimed, “Remus! Get away from him! He doesn’t remember anything, poor Sirius! You’re a stranger! He’s a stranger!” 

“He’s not a stranger,” Remus protested, continuing to hold Sirius, chin tucked over the top of his head. “He’s my Sirius.” 

Sirius smiled into his sweater at his words. He quite liked the sound of that - my Sirius. 

[labarch]

Witch Hats and Prejudice Part II

<-- Part I

Olruggio, my love, my man, I’m sorry your proposal to Qifrey in chapter 40 didn’t go as you hoped, let’s sit down and discuss your workaholism, temper issues and saviour complex, yes? Yes. It’s couple therapy time at last, we’ll have a look at Qifrey and Olruggio’s relationship and at chapter 40 in particular through the following points:

-Panelling in the Orufrey conversation in chapter 40

-Prejudice and power imbalance in Qifrey and Olruggio’s interactions

-Help as a collaboration between equals (spoiler: they haven’t made it to that stage yet)

-What Olruggio wants from Qifrey

 Panelling in the Orufrey conversation in chapter 40

The conversation in chapter 40 is never framed as a happy reunion. If we reuse the analysis of the panels from Coco and Qifrey’s conversation I made in my previous post, we find the same markers of unease between Olruggio and Qifrey. Most of the panels are narrow, and get darker and darker as night falls. Qifrey and Olruggio rarely share a panel, and even when they do, they rarely make direct eye contact: Qifrey looks down, or Olruggio walks away from him, or they are curled in on themselves or standing on a slope at different eye level. For a while Qifrey is up in the air and mostly talking to himself. Oh yeah, and there’s a hat that gets in the way at some point.

It gives the sense that they are having two separate conversations, and that they never truly achieve the connection that we saw between Qifrey and Coco. On top of that, while the conversation is supposed to be about comforting Qifrey and earning his trust, Olruggio never manages to get a smile out of him, except for wobbly, miserable little grimaces. So what’s going through both of their heads, and why are they failing to meet halfway?

The chapter has an outward pull to it. The scene takes place on a slope that leads away from the atelier. The chapter opens with a herd of dragons flying away and into the night. Then Qifrey takes flight to look into the distance, while giving a very contradictory speech about how fulfilling yet dull his life is here, how happy yet trapped in an illusion he feels. He has to hold on to his cape as it flaps in the wind. It brings those dragons back to mind, like they are a metaphor for the side of him that wishes to escape. Qifrey’s migration season is just starting folks, it’s a confusing time for him okay.

In contrast to Qifrey looking ahead into a dark wilderness, Olruggio in this chapter is almost always looking back. He walks away from Qifrey to talk to him over his shoulder, or he looks back towards the atelier. In the only scene where he faces Qifrey full-on, the past is so present on his mind that he de-ages them both. It’s interesting, because it adds a caveat to his pledge of listening to everything Qifrey has to say: he is not so much trying to adapt to Qifrey’s new situation as he is trying to bring them back to the childhood stage of their friendship, when they were always together and kept no secret.

This whole looking ahead / looking back dichotomy brings me back to the mentality of the Great Hall, a society obsessed with keeping itself in an insulated bubble, wrapping itself in good intentions and noble ideals, and ignoring its own inner darkness and complexity. Qifrey, because of his inability to be content and stay in place, threatens that delicate balance. That sends the other witches around him into such a state of panic and outrage that even those who genuinely love him end up lashing out at him with uncharacteristic brutality.

Prejudice and power imbalance in Qifrey and Olruggio’s interactions

I have described in my previous post how vicious and oddly personal Beldaruit got in his attacks against Qifrey in chapter 36, but you can make the same case for Olruggio, especially since the two scenes run in parallel. There is something excessive about the violence with which Olruggio confronts his friend. For one, he is choosing a hell of a time to do it: the girls are safe, there is no urgency to press Qifrey for answers right this instant – except if he is hoping to shock Qifrey into honesty while he’s disoriented. Qifrey has just woken up from a three-day coma; he is half-naked in a place Olruggio knows worsens his nightmares; his scar is exposed; he is half-blind because Olruggio has taken his glasses; Olruggio is literally an angry dark blob looming over him. I’ve often heard it say that Qifrey is manipulative towards Olruggio, but in return Olruggio isn’t above using intimidation tactics against him, consciously or not.

There is also the staggering lack of empathy of the approach: what started this whole thing is that Olruggio learnt about Qifrey’s impending blindness. And his knee-jerk reaction was to attack Qifrey about it. Like, um, my dude, your friend almost died, he is going to go blind and lose his job, you wanna try being sensitive about it? (Note that Qifrey running after the Brimhats didn’t trouble Olruggio that much at first: after his interview with the Knights Moralis he is mainly concerned with “getting his story straight with Qifrey”; it’s only later on, when we see him staring at the glasses he’s just repaired, that he starts voicing his doubts about Qifrey’s intentions). He may be right to suspect that Qifrey is hiding things from him, but there’s a pretty big leap between “you are keeping secrets” and “you are wilfully using your own child as bait”.

This whole suspicious climate, that makes Olruggio jump straight to the ugliest conclusion possible, is once again a feature of the Great Hall mentality. The mind of a person who has been in contact with forbidden magic is forever corrupt, and his actions are forever suspect. Had Qifrey been anyone else, he would probably have been given the benefit of the doubt for losing track of his students while he was, you know, extremely concussed and suffering from blood loss. Interestingly, Olruggio’s concern – whether, when faced with a chance to go after the Brimhats, Qifrey would choose his quest over his students’ safety – is addressed as early as chapter 22: after an instinctive movement to rush into danger, Qifrey pulls himself back and takes measures to keep Coco and Tetia safe, and even plans to call Olruggio and the Knights Moralis as reinforcements to help rescue the others. Then he gets hit in the head by a giant snake golem, and the rest is history.

In general, Beldaruit’s and Olruggio’s accusations that Qifrey is using Coco as bait without caring for her wellbeing just don’t hold up. First, all the attacks by the Brimhats so far have occurred in completely mundane, teaching-related settings with other adults present (at the stationary shop, or during an exam), so pushing blame onto Qifrey clearly comes from prejudice rather than evidence. Second, if Qifrey’s sole aim was to get clues on the Brimhats, he would pressure Coco into taking the Librarian test as early as possible, but we keep seeing the opposite: he encourages her to take breaks and to enjoy her training rather than be laser-focused on her goals. Hilariously, out of the two tests Coco passed so far, Qifrey gave his approval for none, thinking it was too early for her (extra-hilariously, Beldaruit is the one who speed-ran Coco through her second test). I’m just saying, if Olruggio hasn’t noticed any of this and can’t take it in consideration before bringing out the accusations and threats, maybe he’s not doing that good a job as a Watchful Eye.  

Another thing about this climate of suspicion, added to the power imbalance between Qifrey and Olruggio, is that it prevents them from having a healthy fight. Olruggio invokes his duties as Watchful Eye to berate Qifrey whenever he steps out of line, but when Olruggio lets his temper carry him too far and misuses his own power (when he drags Coco out to the Knights Moralis even though she had already been officially accepted as an apprentice in volume 2, or when he accuses Qifrey of using Coco as bait in volume 7 without proof), Qifrey never criticises him for doing so. It’s not that he is shy about speaking up to power – he is more than happy to yell at Beldaruit and Easthies when they mistreat his students. But when it comes to Olruggio, Qifrey is compelled to shoulder as much blame as he can, and seems almost afraid of saying anything negative to him.

It would have been justified for Qifrey to start chapter 40 by getting mad at Olruggio for his earlier accusations: Olruggio had been insensitive, unhelpful and completely out of line. But instead Qifrey pretty much encourages Olruggio to attack him again: from his “I thought you might be mad at me” to frantically denying that Olruggio might have ever done anything wrong. In return, there is something defensive in Olruggio’s delivery during the “I’m angry that I wasn’t someone you could trust” segment: he walks away from Qifrey as he gives the non-apology, and it comes out sandwiched between criticisms of Qifrey for being reckless and a long speech of Olruggio praising himself, and how everything would be alright if only Qifrey behaved himself and relied on him more. It’s an issue that this old distribution of roles is so well-entrenched between them, with Olruggio as the golden student and Qifrey as the eternal problem child.

Qifrey’s exaggerated gentleness and praise towards Olruggio participates in the feeling of wrongness that weighs on chapter 40. The memory erasure scene is framed like a kiss, and Qifrey keeps complimenting him even after sending him into an unnatural sleep. It would come across as condescending and manipulative, except for how fervently Qifrey seems to want to believe that Olruggio is perfect, and that any dysfunction in their relationship has to come from him.

Qifrey, focused as he is on his own dark secrets, is utterly unwilling to see any darkness in Olruggio. It makes sense when you consider that Qifrey has also been absorbing the prejudices of the Great Hall: he thinks very little of himself, and has probably been looking up to Olruggio as a moral compass ever since Olruggio took him under his wing as a child. He must also comfort himself with the thought that, when/if his quest drags him away from the atelier, Olruggio will be a perfect teacher for the girls. Having to come to terms with Olruggio’s flaws must be terrifying to him. But what about Olruggio’s perspective in all this?

Olruggio is an example of how even those who materially benefit from an elitist, close-minded society are damaged by it in some way. He grew up in the Great Hall as a bright-eyed, idealistic genius, and even as an adult he clings to the principles of that society like a mantra: “bring the blessings of magic to the people”. He is successful and respected by his peers, popular with the nobles and well-liked among the commoners. Yet somewhere along the way he became a ragged, workaholic hermit.

I have mentioned in previous posts that I suspect Olruggio of grappling with his own, deep-seated fear of being unwanted and left behind. He betrays that fear in the way he is attacking Qifrey: his concerns about Qifrey’s treatment of Coco aren’t based on evidence, and underneath that veneer he is mostly complaining that Qifrey is neglecting him. “Be straight with me”, “Don’t lie to me”, “You wouldn’t even tell me about it”, “You took her as a student without a word to me first”. There again, Olruggio is being a bit hazy on how far his influence goes as Watchful Eye: from what we know, Watchful Eyes are meant to ensure that students don’t get mistreated, but they don’t get a say in who teaches whom: it’s the disciples who choose their masters. Olruggio grumbling about Qifrey adopting more and more children behind his back is cute when we treat them as a couple. But from the perspective of their professional relationship, Olruggio is claiming the right to veto Qifrey’s students and take them away from him without any evidence of abuse.

The problem is that Olruggio is very bad at expressing his feelings without using his job, and therefore his authority, as a crutch. It’s endearing when he uses it to explain away his gifts to the girls (“I just want them to test a prototype”) or his marks of affection and care (“Drying your hair so you don’t catch a cold is part of my duties as Watchful Eye!”). However, it adds a layer of threat to his arguments with Qifrey, because he is constantly dangling that authority over his head, even when he is urging Qifrey to trust him. In his more agitated moments, it turns into a one-man good-cop / bad-cop performance (“Step out of line and I’ll report you” / “Why won’t you confide in me? I’m your best friend!”). Sure, he is willing to side with Qifrey against the Knights Moralis when he deems it appropriate, but here’s the catch: Olruggio gets to decide where the line in the sand lies, and that line seems to shift depending on how hot his temper is flaring at any given time.

It’s no wonder their conversation lends them in a dead-end when it is so one-sided. Thourghout the manga, and in volume 8 in particular, the author explores the idea that help should be a collaborative effort between equals, that encourages both parties to grow and learn more about themselves. Trying to unilaterally “save” someone is almost guaranteed to miss the mark and come across as condescending; it might even cause further harm.

Help as a collaboration between equals

Therefore, Qifrey and Olruggio can’t really come to any connection unless they make it clear that they are helping each other, not just endlessly acting out their roles as the golden student who knows all the right answers, and the problem child who must be saved from himself.

Aside from the framing, help as an equivalent exchange is the other key difference between chapter 40 and Qifrey and Coco’s dialogue earlier in the volume. In order to counter Coco’s doubts and growing self-hatred, Qifrey reinforces everything he admires about Coco: from her social skills and capacity for teamwork to her practical skills and her straight lines. He reminds her of all the things that she achieved so far. He also strongly hints that her fight is his fight, too, and that they should hold onto hope for each other’s sake. Finally, he makes a (pretty dramatic, unnecessarily literal and definitely unsafe, but still awesome) leap of faith by letting her decide what direction she wants to take next. His support isn’t conditional on Coco making the “right” choice, but freely offered. In return, Coco makes a display of saving Qifrey as well, saying she wants him right by her side while she figures out her path. The rescue itself is symbolic (it would actually have been safer for Qifrey to go back on his own), but Qifrey’s gratitude is genuine, because Coco made him feel valued, irreplaceable, just as Beldaruit and Olruggio were making him doubt his place as a teacher.

By contrast, Olruggio’s speech of friendship contains a grand total of ONE compliment, served in such a back-handed way that it sounds almost like a warning: “To Coco, you are a good teacher, so don’t betray that trust”. This is weighted against a slurry of criticisms about Qifrey’s recklessness, and heaps of self-praise. Olruggio is making a case for why Qifrey needs help and why Olruggio is best-qualified to deliver that help, like he is making a sales pitch to a client. It’s probably not a coincidence that Olruggio is remembering his successful bout of diplomacy in chapter 39 as he gears himself for his conversation with Qifrey. Olruggio, look, I get that you have more faith in your professional persona than in your regular self, but you can’t talk to your best friend like you are doing customer service, it just doesn’t work that way.

The help that Olruggio offers leaves no room for Qifrey’s input: once Qifrey has confided everything and laid himself bare, Olruggio will pick apart “where he needs the help” and “when he is about to do something stupid”, and either support or stop him as he judges appropriate. It reinforces Qifrey’s inferiority complex and interiorised guilt, by implying that his moral compass can’t be trusted. It also places the blame for Qifrey’s rash actions solely on his lack of judgement, rather than on having to grapple with complex, life-threatening situations and being caught in a pincer between a terrorist group and an oppressive system. There’s no mention that the definition of what’s “lawful” and “responsible” and “just” has gotten a bit messed up lately, and that Olruggio himself has had to compromise with his duties to cover for the kids. Olruggio fakes confidence in his capacity to fix everything, and pretends that things can go back to the way they were, but it would have been more honest of him to ask Qifrey to work with him so they can form a united front to face their new, complex reality.

Instead, by claiming that he is helping Qifrey out of a sense of duty, as Watchful Eye and as a friend, Olruggio reinforces the feeling that Qifrey is a burden to him. This gives Qifrey more incentive to keep his friend away from his investigations, and to see himself as expendable. In that light, since their friendship brings Olruggio so much trouble and so few benefits, betraying him and stealing the memories that relate to Qifrey’s secrets start to look like the lesser evil.

The only way that the conversation in chapter 40 could have gone well is if they both freely admitted to needing each other. However, it is too early in Olruggio’s character arc to be honest about his own feelings and worries. And it is too early in Qifrey’s character arc to see past his own self-loathing and recognize that his “perfect” friend also needs support and guidance. Yet, when they do, it is hinted that Olruggio can draw inspiration from Qifrey, and help Qifrey in a more meaningful way by highlighting how Qifrey matters to him, letting them reach this stage of true collaboration.

What Olruggio wants from Qifrey

I think Olruggio is repressing a sense of disillusionment about his work, the fairness of the system, and his usefulness as a witch. We see glimpses of his anxiety in chapter 39 notably. While he says that his true role is to help the commoners, circumstances keep reminding him that like it or not, his main function is decorative. He gets dragged in on short notice to be yanked around by petty nobles and arrange light shows at weddings; he has to act in secret to help the destitute, and even then can only do so much before the rules of magic society get in his way. So far he manages to keep his head above water, using his talent for diplomacy and showmanship to keep the nobles appeased, and finding small, creative ways to help commoners without breaking any law. But it leaves him with the feeling of being trapped in an increasingly constraining role, and is slowly pushing him towards a burn out.

He seems to feel a kinship with princess Mia, who like him is used as a tool in petty squabbles between nobles. He even metaphorically puts himself in her shoes: after likening her situation to being trapped in the spotlight in a dance she doesn’t want, he applies the same metaphor to himself and his inability to act outside the narrow constraints of witch rules, of being constantly watched and judged. And then, adorably enough, Olruggio actually brings Qifrey into the metaphor. He muses that Qifrey, who has gone against established rules before, might be the key to escaping that dance.

For all that the “problem child” / “star student” dichotomy has been weighing on Olruggio and Qifrey and warping their friendship, there is a flip side to it as well. As a prodigy who always pressures himself to perform perfectly (to the point where he will work himself to a zombie-like state and then hide behind a mask to look perfect and pristine in front of his clients at parties, Olruggio no), Qifrey provides a chance at escapism. For all that he berates him for causing trouble, Olruggio seems to fondly remember their old adventures. It’s possible that he valued the opportunity to do rebellious, forbidden things without having to jeopardise his reputation. His fear of being left behind by Qifrey is then also a fear of losing his hope that, when the pressure of being the perfect witch becomes too much to bear, Qifrey will be there to break him free.

In summary, Olruggio wants Qifrey to be his rebellious prince who breaks him free from the ballroom, and we respect him for it. Qifrey had his reasons for not being able to confide in him, and they both have a lot of character development to do before they can reach a stage of actual collaboration and trust. But I don’t dispute that taking his memories was a dick move. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.  

[startanewdream]

The road home

Summary: Lily watches Harry and Ginny finding their way back to each other following the end of the war.

Note: For @madhulika18, who asked for more Hinny moments as seen by James and Lily. I could never decide if this is really part of Eyes Glistening (because Harry and Ginny have drama really, and I don't like them having drama), but it works either way, so I hope you enjoy these moments (also, I have a soft spot for Lily and Harry talking, so...)

_______

It’s all about the words that aren’t being said.

Once, a long time ago, Lily lived that with James. But it was different and, though, of course, it didn’t seem like that at the time, it was easier too. Her problems were unknowing her feelings, not understanding why she enjoyed his company and why she craved his smile, his light. She had fancied him for a long time before she understood what it was what she really felt for him — and until then it was only her heart beating faster when they would touch each other without meaning too (a brush of hands, sitting together closer than necessary), enjoying the perfume he’d left on his trace, finding excuses to be with him.

But after she had understood what she felt for him, somehow it had been easy. Awkward, sure, that first date when she was feeling stupid near him — until she remembered this was James, and being with him was good and blissful and then kissing him had felt as natural as breathing —, but there was never a question about how they felt about each other, never doubts that they would be together.

They had fought over many things, until they perfected the art of compromising, of understanding each other’s view, but there was never a breakup, never something that really kept them apart.

They are lucky on this, she knows.

Especially when she sees the look on Harry’s face, the way his eyes can’t help but follow Ginny as she walks around between the tables of the Great Hall, stopping to share words with her friends.

They haven’t talked yet. Lily knows this because Harry was gone with Ron and Hermione after the battle and then he slept for a full day. When he woke up, he called his parents and they talked then — the most difficult conversation Lily had ever had in her life and the one she knew she needed most. She and James. They needed to understand what had happened, why it had cost Harry’s life and what it had meant, but nothing had really prepared her to know her son had died.

Only the thought of it sends shivers through her body.

Harry is fine now, having come down to the Great Hall to lunch; there are fewer people at Hogwarts two days after the Battle, so they manage to find a place for them to sit quietly. It’s almost peaceful.

Except Harry is clearly not at peace.

‘Go talk to her,’ she whispers to him, and Harry turns to her with those eyes that are full of ghosts lately — he has seen and lived and died too much.

‘She doesn’t want me,’ he answers, breathing heavily as if the words are physically hurting him.

‘How do you know?’ James asks, exchanging a confused look with Lily.

‘Because she hasn’t come to talk to me.’

Lily thinks Harry didn’t go to her either, so maybe this is just a case of miscommunication. But she doesn’t say anything, because she believes things have to happen at the right time. And she has been watching Ginny too; every time Harry looks the other way, she glances in his direction, an expression on her face that Lily cannot understand exactly.

It seems to be ablaze.

_______

Later, Lily will define it as a dance where the dancers aren’t supposed to touch each other but still they synchronize their steps perfectly.

It’s unnerving, really, and she doesn’t know how they are really managing it, but if there is a quality she could attribute to both Harry and Ginny is stubbornness.

They can’t ignore each other, not really, not with how much they encounter each other — funerals and homages and dinners over the Burrow and rebuilding Hogwarts —, so instead they adopt a sort of relationship that’s just a shadow of how much they got along together.

Lily saw them before they even dated or had acknowledged their feelings for each other, and Harry and Ginny had shined together with chemistry as if they were two ingredients in a potion that demanded to be together. It was only friendship but there was sparkle and understanding and compassion and brightness. Lily remembers thinking that even if they didn’t develop romantic feelings for each other, they were truly soulmates.

And this is just one of the reasons why their current formal courtesy with each other bothers her so much. If they wanted to be only friends, there wasn’t much she could do. But they are not even friends lately, just two people who had gone through so much and hadn’t been able to share anything with each other despite wanting very much.

That’s the other thing that annoys her. They want more. Both of them.

She knows Harry, of course — he shares the same expressions and he wears his feelings on the same sleeve Lily does, so it’s easy —, and Lily likes to think she knows Ginny too, for the times they met, for all they’ve talked and for the fact that Ginny is usually blatant on her feelings when they are at the edge.

Usually. This time, it seems their stubbornness is getting the better of both of them.

They are alone most of the days of May. Hermione has gone to Australia to find her parents and Ron went with her, and Lily thinks this would be perfect for them to get together again – to have time to talk and to truly live their relationship without the threat of a storm above their heads.

But they don’t go to each other. They stay apart, even though Lily sees the cracks in their stubbornness when Harry breaks a glass after hearing Ginny talking about exchanging letters with an ex-boyfriend, and when Ginny suddenly leaves the room after Harry mentions Kingsley’s proposal to start the Aurors course.

James sees it too. He is always frowning when they are in the same room, and Lily knows no one rooted more for that relationship than James. So she is not surprised that he approaches her one morning when they are cleaning the mess the Death Eaters made in her office.

‘Do you remember when you forbade me from intervening in Harry’s love life?’ he asks in a nonchalant voice, cleaning a stain that looks a lot like blood on the carpet.

Lily nods with her head.

‘Maybe it’s time to change that rule?’ James asks then, now sounding hopeful.

Lily throws him the briefest of the looks, without turning away her attention from the cauldrons she is supposed to check if anything is worth saving.

‘Harry would hate it if we did anything.’

‘Harry would hate it if he knew we were doing anything.’

‘And James Potter can be discreet? How many detentions did you get just because you couldn’t help but flaunt your work?’

He raises his eyebrows challengingly.

‘That Slug Club dinner on my birthday. I was so discreet no one ever found out what we were doing.’

Lily blushes. He was absurdly quiet that night, indeed, despite her attempts otherwise.

‘Fine, you’ve got a point. Go on, but I’m warning you, if Ginny realizes what you are trying to do, she will hex you and I won’t stop.’

‘As long as she hexes me on their wedding day, I won’t complain,’ James says unabashedly, and Lily has to grin.

She is not feeling much confident — James’ love plans took him three years to her agree to date him, after all, and even then she had fallen in love with him when he had given up on any plan at all —, but she can’t deny James is creative and it’s better trying anything than watching Harry sigh all over the place, heartbroken and unhappy.

During the year they were out, their house has been searched over and over; their furniture is broken and there are spots of red ink — or blood — in every room, with curses or slurs written on every wall. They could just easily destroy the house and build a new one, but it feels good to clean the place; it feels like a new beginning.

Maybe this is what James is hoping to give Harry and Ginny because he asks for her help in rebuilding their house. Ginny accepts surprisingly quickly, probably guessing that Harry will still be occupied with the work at Hogwarts.

‘Thanks for the help,’ Lily says after she and Ginny manage to clean the debris away from the stairs, so now the first floor is available for them to start cleaning up the rooms.

‘No problem, it’s good to be out of the house,’ Ginny notes, drying the sweat on her face. ‘Sometimes it feels… too claustrophobic there.’

Lily raises her eyebrows, indicating around the hall, where the number of things still to be organized makes the corridor seem a lot smaller than it is. Ginny gives a small chuckle.

‘It’s just — Mom is trying to compensate, I think. Ron is not here and I am the youngest and she needs to take care of something, after — after everything that happened. So, yeah, I need some time to myself.’

‘Are you sure there is nothing else you would like to do?’ Lily asks, concerned now. Ginny just shrugs.

‘Since I can’t fly, this seems like the best available option,’ she says. ‘And it feels good to be doing something — and there is so much to do here. The Death Eaters made a mess.’

‘That could be said for everywhere.’

‘And everyone,’ Ginny adds softly, and she returns to the cabinet she is trying to fix without saying anything further, but Lily doesn’t think she needs to. She saw Neville’s bruises, she saw Luna’s scars and she has a pretty good idea of how it was at Hogwarts under Voldemort’s regime.

But Ginny keeps her marks quietly, and Lily knows there is only one person she will be able to talk to.

The next day, James comes home earlier from Hogwarts with Harry. There is an awkward moment when Harry and Ginny meet in the kitchen and James mentions that now the main work over Hogwarts is done, Harry volunteered to help get his home back again.

‘Any problem?’ James asks genially, making both Harry and Ginny jump.

‘No,’ they say at the same time, and it doesn’t convince anyone.

Lily never noticed how big their house was until she realizes Harry and Ginny still manage to avoid each other except during mealtimes, so she decides they can get past subtlety. She and James start to ask them for help for the same rooms until they eventually are paired in the same tasks.

She doesn’t hear them talking, but it seems to work, albeit at the slowest pace ever.

‘You won’t believe who asked Sirius for an interview,’ James says one night after they settled for the day and they are having dinner before Ginny returns to her house. ‘Rita Skeeter.’

‘What scoop does she want now?’ Harry asks, rolling his eyes. ‘I am still awaiting her biography about me.’

‘What will be called?’, Ginny asks, and Harry turns to her with his eyes already shining with the joke.

‘Easy. Harry Potter, chosen or undesirable one?’

She laughs – it’s a short tentative laugh, but it’s there, and Harry smiles too. James exchanges a look with Lily, but she shakes her head warningly to him.

‘What Skeeter wanted with Sirius?’ she asks, putting the conversation back into place. It was just a shared joke. There is still a long road ahead.

‘Oh, gossip on you and me, actually, which unfortunately is something Sirius thinks it’s too funny to pass – and also he has a soft spot for Skeeter.’

Harry chokes on his drink.

‘Soft spot?’

‘Oh, please, don’t tell me –‘ Ginny raises her eyebrows, exchanging a bewildered look with Harry. ‘Sirius and Rita Skeeter?’

James chuckles.

‘No, he just likes her because of the animagus stuff. He says he can’t fault her for being one.’

‘Oh, much better,’ Ginny sighs. Then she bits her lip before looking back at Harry. ‘Can you imagine them together? Rita Skeeter as your godmother?’

‘I would have to quit Sirius from his job as godfather,’ Harry says, pretending to gag. ‘He would clearly be underqualified.’

There is another small giggle and that’s it for the night.

They are talking again at least, even if it is still not like it used to be. There are no whispered words during their time together during the day and they don’t seem to be secretly snogging. But they talk sometimes, and once or twice Lily hears a laugh when she passes the room they are in.

But it’s only two weeks later that something seems to happen.

Lily is in her room, finishing to set up the bed so she and James will finally be able to sleep there, when the voices catch her up on her window.

‘You are bleeding.’

‘It’s just a cut, Harry, no big deal.’

‘It was a splinter, there can still be something there.’

‘I told you, I took everything off. I will just press it, it will stop bleeding in a minute.’

‘I can help you, I – I know a lot of healing spells.’

There is a pause.

‘Me too, but I also know that the bleeding will stop. It’s not deep.’

‘How do you –‘

‘Same way you know, Harry.’ There is a note of tension in Ginny’s voice. ‘I had to learn.’

‘Ginny –‘

‘What? Do you think you were the only one who had a hard time?’

And she storms inside, giving him no time to answer.

Harry is subdued that night, even more reserved than natural, and when she passes his room late at night, she sees the light is on. For a second Lily wonders if she should call James, but then she sighs and knocks on his door.

‘Harry?’

In answer, the door opens quietly. Lily enters his room to see Harry fully clothed on his bed; he is holding something and, with a start, she realizes it’s the Marauder’s Map. That’s a weird thing for Harry to be consulting in the middle of the night.

‘Can’t sleep?’ she asks, sitting on the edge of his bed and running her hand through his hair comfortingly. He shrugs. ‘Anything to do with that fight with Ginny?’

He raises his eyebrows.

‘Hearing behind doors, Mum?’

‘No need, you were talking under my window.’

‘Next fight I will make sure we are far,’ he says with a grimace.

‘There will be a next fight?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits, and this prospect doesn’t seem to make him better. ‘If I asked you something, would you be honest with me?’

‘Wasn’t I always, Harry?’

He smiles for a second before his expression is grave and uncertain.

‘Do you think I am self-centred?’

Lily blinks.

‘No one would accuse you of being selfish, Harry, I mean –’

She doesn’t know where to begin, considering all the sacrifices she had seen Harry make over the years — he gave his life —, but Harry shakes his head.

‘Not selfish, I mean – the summer after my fourth year, when Voldemort was back, I said plenty of things –’

‘You were under a lot of stress, no one –’

‘I know, but I was complaining about how everything happened to me and now I am thinking that maybe, somehow, I never stopped to think that things happen to other people too.’

Lily squeezes his hand.

‘It is not a suffering competition, Harry.’

‘I don’t know if I see it that way. I mean, when I saw Neville for the first time, with all his bruises and looking so hurt, I still wished it could be me, staying at Hogwarts and fighting because it seemed easier and it never occurred to me that she could – they could – have had a difficult time too. It still seemed… just school.’

He pauses to pick up the Marauder’s Map, opening it even if there is no map showing there.

‘I used to take the Map last year to watch over her,’ he whispers, his face flushing. ‘And I saw her dot and I never thought that she could be in trouble. I knew they were rebelling, but… it didn’t feel like it was something real.’

‘Well, that’s why you should talk to each other. None of you will understand if you keep avoiding each other.’

‘She is mad at me.’

‘Of course she is. You are avoiding her.’

He doesn’t answer.

‘You need to talk, Harry. Go there. Try it.’

He blinks, a hint of a smile on his lips.

‘Are you suggesting that I go visit my ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night?’

‘I’m pretty sure you will just talk if she doesn’t hex you first,’ Lily says brightly. Then she smiles softly. ‘You could wait until tomorrow, Harry, but I have the feeling you both have been waiting too long. And this isn’t any of your styles. You are both people of action.’

Harry grins now, standing up.

‘I will go then. Thanks for the tip, Mum.’

Lily accepts the soft kiss he gives her on the cheek.

‘Just be safe, Harry.’

_______

Harry seems to be in a better mood the next morning, despite the fact that he slept a few hours that night — Lily knows he returned by five, just as the sun was rising.

But she doesn’t say anything, just smiling to herself when Harry’s face lights up when the fireplace erupts into emerald flames and Ginny appears, dusting her clothes. They exchange a look that it’s still not there yet, but it’s soft and promising. James looks in her direction, surprised, and she promises to explain later.

It’s not Summer yet, but the days of May and then June get warmer and then Harry and Ginny are spending more time outside, though there isn’t much to fix there.

At least, not material things.

James keeps an eye on them — he wouldn’t resist not doing so —, telling her that most of the time they just seem to be taking long strolls and talking.

One day they return from their walk holding hands, and Lily has to lock James inside the room so he doesn’t say anything. Harry and Ginny are still not there.

The road home takes time.

On the second weekend of June they have the hottest day yet and they take some time off; James transfigures a pool in the backyard that neither Harry nor Ginny seems to enjoy other than to sit at the edge of the pool and take off their shoes to wet their feet. Instead of helping to ease any tension, the pool seems to create some weight over them, making them more silent than usual, so James suggests they go flying instead.

‘My Firebolt is gone,’ Harry remembers, wincing, and Lily knows it’s not the broomstick he is really missing right now. Harry lost a friend that day.

‘Mine was burnt by the Carrows last year,’ Ginny adds, her voice casual as if it’s nothing important.

They don’t end up doing anything after that.

In the afternoon, James gets a call from Sirius and Lily decides to just stay home, finishing the Wolfsbane Potions she will need to deliver to Remus by the end of the week. She is quietly lost in her favourite potion world when she hears the voices, and it’s just because they are whispering, rather than talking normally, that it draws her attention.

‘Are you sure?’ Ginny is asking, her voice unusually hesitant.

‘Only if you are,’ he whispers, sounding just as unstable.

Lily approaches the window and withdraws the curtains as little as she needs. Harry and Ginny are still by the pool, standing facing each other, and without looking away from Harry, she takes off her shirt, to reveal her bikini under it.

Harry gasps, but Lily knows that what is taking his breath away are the marks on Ginny’s torso — faint scars of cuts and small yellowed bruises that remained from the battle, over a month ago.

Ginny bits her lip, her arms trembling as if she wants to cover herself. Harry finally takes a step in her direction, looking her in the eyes now.

'Thank you for showing me,’ he whispers and then he sighs. 'My turn'.

His hands are shaking as he goes to unbutton his shirt, until Ginny raises her hands.

'May I?'

Harry nods slowly.

Ginny keeps her head high, not looking away from Harry's eyes, until she finishes opening all the buttons from his shirt and taking it off.

Then her eyes fall to his chest and Ginny freezes.

Lily knows what she is seeing, even though Lily can't see it from her angle: Harry's new lightning scar, across his chest, over his heart, where the Killing Curse hit him for the second time in his life.

'Harry,’ Ginny sighs, pain evident in her voice. She raises her hand, looking at him, questioning him silently. Harry nods once more.

Then Ginny takes a step closer to him, touching his chest, and Lily knows that she must be feeling his heart over it.

She lets the curtain fall and returns to her potion.

She is not surprised when they return home holding hands and she only tells James later (so he doesn't say anything during dinner because she knows her husband) that Ginny kissed Harry softly on the lips when she thought no one was seeing them.

[shepard-ram]

Sickly Sweet [Yandere!GTWScar x Reader]

(Fluff, [a bit of hurt] Request: Howdy,🦷 here!! :D I just saw that you opened up requests again..and I don't even have a proper request™, but I'd love if you'd write something with scar again (ahaha fellow simp)..maybe something sweet but also dark? Kinda with the yandere themes again? I think you know what I mean, I don't know how to use words today >∆<

Anyways, whatever you write, as long as you're happy with it, all of us are gonna love it, so do with this request what you will ig? :) Also, don't overwork yourself with all the requests coming in now, ok? ^^ Sending you all the good vibes, 🦷)

Yandere fluff is my lifeblood so I enjoyed writing this more than usual, also I made this during a weekend trip with my family so take that as you will lmao Tw. A little Yandere/manipulation, as a treat

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

Life is good, perfect even. You were perfect together.

You had joined the wonderful server right at the same time as Scar. You were both trying to find your footing in this new world, and so you found each other. You had been lucky enough to join because you had shown your abilities to create marvelous works of art on your own. When you decided to create together however, it was nothing short of awe inspiring.

To think that it all happened years ago was unreal. You never left his side all this time. As far as your fellow hermits were concerned, you might as well have been the same person. Wherever one was the other was never far behind.

No one really knows when your partnership melted into the picture perfect love that's been burning strong for so long. At one point you even decided to get married. A tiny wedding, with some simple rings you made yourselves. Who cares if it even counted as "official". Calling him your husband just felt right, and God did he adore every second of it. Much more than you could have ever known that's for sure.

You never knew hermitcraft without him, the two concepts were always deeply connected in your mind. From his struggles with the vex to the aftermath of Third Life and everything before, between and after. It was so much fun, and he couldn't wait for another season of adventures with you by his side. However you had a an idea for a change of pace on your mind.

It was barely a few days after everyone split off to get their start on whatever starter bases and farms they wanted. Scar was giddy setting up his first wagon in the newly established Boatem town. He wasn't worried that you haven't showed up yet. He was used to you wandering around the early days as you collected resources for you two.

He stood back looking at the completed build, it was perfect. Just like all his homes it was made with the idea of two residents in mind. Not to mention every luxury he could add to such an early creation, only the best for the love of his life of course.

Luckily for him, a set of extremely familiar foot steps was approaching. He gleefully spun himself around to greet you, "Darling! It's so good to see you again!" He spoke with a cartoonishly bright smile. Squishing you in a hug.

You chuckled at his ever familiar affection before returning his welcome and hug, "Hello sweetheart!" You let each other go so you could step back to take in his work, "That's one hell of a starter base!" You genuinely shouted. "You've really been doing some work hm?" You nodded towards him with the rhetorical question.

Scar stood behind you to pull you back into a hug. "Well I can't have you spending one more night in anything less than great." He proudly declared letting his head drop on your shoulder.

You took a nervous breath before talking, "Well I actually had a bit of a different idea..." He perked up, giving a curious hum in acknowledgment.

"Well you know we've spent every single season together?" He nodded, quickly delving into a daydream about the memories. If his expression was anything to go by. "Well, what if we stuck to our own projects. Just for this season! Of course we're not going to completely ignore each other... just take a little break you know?" You didn't look at him while waiting his response.

"Wait why now- did I do something wrong?" Surprised you looked back. He was looking forward at nothing in particular, with an expression like his world was falling apart in front of him.

"No! Not at all dear!" You quickly tried to comfort him, "I just wanted to try something a little different." You adjusted yourself to press the side of your face into his neck.

He seemed to gather himself "Oh I'm sorry! I was just so worried that you're trying to leave me..." He confessed. "I just, I don't know if could go a month without you. Let alone a whole season. I need you."

You didn't know exactly how to respond, "It's okay love, we don't have to that. It was only an idea." You continued to comfort him.

"Gods I can barely sleep without you, I think I might've stopped breathing if you decided you were done with me." He went on, nuzzling into you was he muttered it.

Running your hand through his hair you gave an exaggerated look at the sky, "The sun will be setting soon, let's get to bed hmm sweetie?" He gleefully nodded at the suggestion. Moving to guide you up into the wagon.

-----

Scar was sleeping silently, clinging to you as he did most nights. Usually you would be fast asleep happily tangled in his arms, but you couldn't help but replay the conversation.

Might've stopped breathing... obviously it was just a hyperbole but there was some small voice telling you there was something more to it. Maybe it was just the fairy tale loving side of him playing the "I'm incomplete without you" story up.

As you kept fighting drowsiness off Scar turned in his sleep to cuddle and press his face into you more. In spite of all the worrying thoughts that same familiar warmth that's built over all your time together couldn't be stopped.

Letting yourself decompress in his hold you gave up thinking about it. It's going to be okay, it's not like he'd ever do anything to hurt you right? You're ment to be the ride or die couple, and you've never been not happy together. You're probably the one overreacting, yeah that's definitely it. Satisfied with your conclusion you let yourself join him in slumber.

This could never go south, definitely not.

[physicalturian]

[G] Gentle summer - Rengoku Kyojuro x GN!Reader - Part 1

[Contains spoilers from the movie, and the manga] [No pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] Words : 8533 Archive of our own

Warnings : Blood / Injuries / PTSD

Summary : After the event of the Infinity Train, the Fire Pillar is staying at the Butterfly Mansion where you take care of him. The path to recovery is long, which leaves time for some feelings to develop between you and Rengoku. Proper courtship is what the swordsman has in mind once he set it on you.

A slow burn of two people letting time do its work the more they spend it together.

If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask

--

It was one of those rare quiet nights at the mansion. Crickets in the summer night could be heard in the well-tended gardens along the sound of the water in the ponds. The cool air the late night provided felt refreshing, it gave some respite before the summer heat returned in the early morning, but it was appreciated, nonetheless. It was relaxing, so relaxing it could almost make one forget of the danger looming over them. Big plans were being made, new recruits were being trained and the ones used to it all… well, they were resting the best they could before the big fight.

Among those resting were a few Pillars, those who weren’t at the mansion were doing their best to get out of their head by doing some missions. Giyuu was one of the few who stayed, he wasn’t so lucky as to be alone in his room; The new recruits, who counted among their ranks a demon girl, were sleeping by his side, snoring and taking too much space on the futons spread on the tatami mat. As I stood by the door, I noticed the light was still on and tip-toed inside the room to turn it off, avoiding luring the mosquitoes in.

I stopped dead in my tracks when the floor creaked, I waited a moment before going back to the door, hoping I hadn’t woken anyone up. Once out, I slid it closed gently and padded away to my room, knowing full well I wasn’t going to be able to sleep with all the stress I was feeling. On my way there, I noticed the flickering light coming from the Fire Pillar’s room. The shadow of the lantern was projected on the shoji doors, I waited a moment to see if there was any movement but when I didn’t see anything, I opened the door. Not wanting for him to wake up during the night to turn it off, I stepped inside carefully but stopped when I couldn’t see him around.

For a moment, my heart jumped out of my chest as I considered the possibility of him having been kidnapped by the demon who wasn’t able to finish him. Maybe he even left to the forest to fight with him, he would do that to avoid getting us in danger. No, no… No demon ever found the mansion, I don’t see why they would find it now.

Blowing the light out, I found that the moon’s glow was enough to brighten the room with a fair white color all over the room. As I stepped towards the door that led to some green patches outside, I paused when I noticed a form leaning on one of the wooden posts outside. Approaching soundlessly, I quickly recognized Rengoku’s haori on the ground. The man was sitting on the wooden veranda outside, his head was leaning on the post, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t wearing his Pillar outfit but instead wore a lighter traditional kimono, that suited him perfectly.

“Rengoku?” I called his name softly, hoping to get his attention without surprising him too much. Perhaps it was too tender as the man did not respond. With just as much care, I stepped closer and saw his relaxed face, deep in slumber, the usual determined frown on his face gone from how peaceful he was right now. Still, it mustn’t be comfortable to be sleeping here, I thought as I stepped in front of the man and considered my choices.

Mirroring him some way, I crossed my arms over my chest and took a good look at him as I considered what to do. While doing so, I also enjoyed his features. The fresh scar on his forehead was never hidden by his hair, seeing as he styled it in a mane-like fashion. I’d still feel a pinch in my heart when I’d see it, remembering how the three young recruits sent their crow to get the medical people on the field.

Both of them were crying, thinking the man was gone, I had to keep my composure as I checked his pulse, desperately wishing he was still alive.

I held my breath, then felt the slight pulse. The man was a strong-willed fighter, but as I took care of his wounds the best I could, I started to believe strong-will was not going to get him through it. When my crew and I gave him the first care treatment, we brought him back to the mansion where he was passed out for a few days. When he finally woke up, I was changing the flowers on his bedside. As I pulled them out of the vase, a strong hand gripped my wrist. I gasped loudly at the touch, then at the realization he had woken up.

“Rengoku, you’ve awakened. I’ll bring you-“ “You’re the one, right?” He uttered, his mouth still not used to speaking just yet. Giving him a confused expression, he chuckled lightly, then painfully before getting his composure back. “The one who’s been singing to me, so many times-“ “I do apologize, I was not aware you could hear me. I hope I haven’t troubled your sleep much, and that you are rested,” I bowed, feeling my cheeks burn from embarrassment. Yet, I had to keep some professionalism with the Pillar in front of me, for his rank was higher than mine.

“Your voice, it’s soothing, can you keep doing it? Singing, I mean! I’m awake now, but I really enjoyed hearing you,”

Chuckling nervously, I placed the fresh flowers in the vase once the man had let go of my hand and threw the dried ones in the bin. “I don’t think so, it’s not professional, disturbing you wouldn’t-“ “It helped me, I found myself sleeping more peacefully upon hearing you delicate singing. Without it, I wouldn’t be as well-rested,” His voice was a lot louder now. He must have strained himself with the energy he put in his whole attitude since he leaned forward a bit, a hand on his stomach.

“Alright, I’ll keep singing, only if you stop moving. You haven’t healed fully yet Rengoku. You should rest some more,” I told him softly. I pried his hand away from his stomach and asked if I could check, he allowed me. “Maybe quiet down, even for a moment, you’ve only been asleep for a few days, your wounds haven’t healed enough for you to move that much,” When he didn’t say anything, I looked up at his face and saw him with his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. He was focusing his breath on the healing, which I would not allow.

Calling his name, I tried to get his attention, but he ignored me. Now, I might be a healer, but I knew how to deal damage and how to deal with strong people. With a hand on his stomach and the other on his shoulder, I put some pressure on the latter to make him lean back. His eyes opened wide as a breathless gasp left his mouth in surprise. “Don’t start this. I am asking you to simply, stay in bed and do nothing, is that too much to ask?” I asked him as I let go of his form.

His beautiful wide eyes stared right at mine, unrelenting, with an expression I couldn’t decipher. As uneasy as it made me feel, I matched his stare and did not move. That is until he smiled, “Only if I am allowed to have some food, I am starving! Food would help with my healing, right?” He added my name at the end of his question, surprising me. The amount of time I interacted with the Pillars could not be counted on two hands, I remembered them, their wounds, their fragile state when in their weakest state. I saw them train, I myself was trained by one of them. And yet, I was surprised when the Fire Pillar remembered my name.

I didn’t let it slip, that I liked it, that it caught me off guard, nor that he had the gentlest tone when saying my name, a tone that made my heart skip even for just a second. “I will bring you food. I’m only asking of you to stay put, can you do that?” Nodding, he put his hands a bit higher from his stomach and stood still, his eyes looking at the ceiling. “For you, I will, I won’t move an inch-“ “Not for me, for you. For your health, Rengoku.” I huffed while standing up, a hand on the mattress. As I turned around, a hand quickly grabbed mine, just like before. I didn’t pull back, fearing the man would lean in with.

Turning to face him, I quirked a brow and asked if he needed anything else, “Kyojuro, call me Kyojuro, you have taken care of me enough time to be familiar with me. I owe you my life,” Chuckling lightly, I unhooked his hand from my wrist and smiled, “It’s my job, I will try my best to call you by your name then, Kyojuro.” With a nod, I left the room to get his meal that the younger recruits were probably already making. They would always sit by the door of the wounded, waiting for anything to happen, their ears ready for any sudden sound.

My suspicions were correct when I found the tray right in front of the door, they must have left the moment they realized he had awakened. Smiling to myself, I grabbed the tray and entered Kyojuro’s room once more. “It seems we-“ I hurriedly put the tray on the bed next to Kyojuro’s when I saw he wasn’t in his bed. “Rengoku! Where did you go,” I mumbled the last part as I slipped on my geta and trotted to the veranda. I was quick to let a sigh of relief when I saw the man in question, practicing with his sword, the sun illuminating his gorgeous mane.

As beautiful as he may be under the sun, the jinbei he was wearing to sleep had a growing red stain on his stomach. His wound had reopened, and he did not seem to mind one bit. I did. “Rengoku, would you please come back to bed?” I asked with some softness. When he did not hear me, or ignored me, whichever it was I did not care, I called his name more sternly. His stances and actions got a bit more intense in his practice.

Taking a deep breath, I calmed my breathing and sped to his side, hearing his surprise. Not wasting time, I hit one of the spots on his hand to make it go numb as he dropped his sword. I took it in my hand, stepping away from him quickly to avoid him taking it back. He looked at me in defeat, as defeated as a man like him could look like. The Fire Pillar looked at me in awe, then smiled. “Well done! A good practice, perhaps we could train more together-“ Putting the sword delicately on the ground, I approached him and pressed on his stomach wound, making him groan in pain as he bent forward, pushing my hand away.

“You are in no condition to fight, train or move. Go back to bed, or I will have to use force to get you there myself,” The look he gave me broke my heart, that was defeat. That was a man so out of his comfort zone, he did not know how to cope. Known for always standing, always be the last one with will, ready to fight and to get everyone’s hopes up. He closed his eyes a moment, then gave me a stern nod. “Very well,”

It needed convincing to let me help him to the bed, where I had to change his clothes and bandages, but he let me. Perhaps I had gotten to him, perhaps he was now fully aware of how dire his situation was. “If you stay put, you’ll be back on your feet in no time,” I told him while finishing wrapping the bandages around his stomach. I hummed to myself, trying to convince myself too. I had no idea how long it would take, because I knew he would not listen. Yet, I hoped it was enough to get him back to his hype.

“Will you sing for me?” The ginger asked once I handed him a fresh attire on my way to get the tray from the other bed. Stopping in my tracks, I returned slowly to his bedside. “You should eat first, slowly, please,” I told him with a short smile. Once he had dressed up, albeit groaning upon moving to slide his arms inside the sleeves, I put the tray on his lap and gestured for him to go on.

The peace of the moment did not last when he started eating like he hadn’t seen a meal in years, portions after portions, too big to fit his mouth, I had to stop him and take the chopsticks from his hand. “Are you purposedly doing the opposite of what I tell you, Kyojuro?” I asked, slightly annoyed.

“Those are small! I am hungry, can I have my chopsticks back, songbird?” He asked, his hand extended. I had to hold back from choking when I heard the nickname he had given me but decided against saying anything. It had some charm, and if I said anything he might stop, I liked it for now…

Instead, I sighed. “This,” I scooped some food with the chopsticks and showed him, “Is an adequate portion, you have to be careful-“ I stared at him in awe when he leaned in and ate the rice from the chopsticks I was holding. Once he was done, he looked back at me with smile, “More,” was all he said.

I blinked a few times, considering telling him off but I felt like he would still gobble down the whole meal if I didn’t do it myself. With a roll of my eyes, I took more rice and placed my hand under it as I brought it to his mouth, “You are a chaotic man,” there was a huge grin on his lips as he ate, speaking before he even finished, “Delicious! More!”

There was no helping the smile that drew itself on my face, “I’ll tell them you enjoyed it,” I huffed, feeding him some more. Every bite he would tell me to give him more, as annoying as it was, it was also growing on me in an endearing way. He did ask for another portion, which surprised me considering how much he ate but I complied. Once we were done, he seemed to be a lot calmer than he had been since he had woken up. His mind was somewhere else as he stared at his battered hands, there were a few cuts on it from his fight and I was afraid he was thinking about it too much.

“Now that your stomach is full, perhaps you should rest, Kyojuro,” Fluffing his pillow, I asked him to lay down, but he wasn’t in the mood for that. No, he was still staring at his hands, lost in thoughts. I put the tray outside and came back, placing my hands delicately on his. It seemed efficient enough since he looked up with wide eyes, a look that pierced a soul for simply coming from him. “I still have a lot of energy, would you mind staying?” He asked, his tone loud, his hands gripping mine. I hid the surprise of his actions and laughed lightly.

“I have things to do, it is still the morning, I will come back by noon-“ “What do you have to do? Can you do it here?” He apologized just as fast as he interrupted me, then he laid down with a groan. “I should rest, please wake me up when you come back,”

Finding his attitude odd, I stayed between the bed and door, half-way to each. Could he be sleeping badly? Could he be in the need of company? I looked around and pondered a moment. All I had to do was train and take a look at everyone in the mansion. The latter having been done for the morning, I only had one thing to do for now. So, I went back to the ginger. “I have to train, while you are not fit to do so yourself, perhaps would you like to help me out? Give some pointers of things I could improve? Would that suit you?”

The speed at which he sat up mad me rush to his side as I held onto his shoulders and told him to calm his enthusiasm. He only smiled in return, telling me he could not contain the joy it brought him to leave the bed. “You have only been awake for so little time, you are quite easily bored,” I stated as I told him to wrap an arm around my shoulders so that I could help him move to the veranda, making sure he took a pillow with him. “I’ll let you sit outside, but you don’t move from there, understood?” He nodded firmly in response as he dropped the pillow on the ground. I helped him sit down with care, then, albeit hesitantly, brought him his sword from the ground and set it beside him.

“Don’t move,” I extended my hand as a gesture to keep him on the spot, “You stay put, and you don’t practice, you stay right- there,” I continued while stepping back. When he laughed oh so charmingly, I almost tripped on the tatami. “I’m not moving!” It’s not without a side-glance that I left the room, only to come back just as fast, changing from a heavy kimono to a lighter jinbei. It wasn’t light-colored like the one we let the wounded wear, it was dark blue and nice to wear.

As I positioned in front of the veranda, in the grass, I couldn’t help but glance at the pair of eyes watching me. “I don’t usually train in front of others, it’s strange,” I chuckled, maybe more self-conscious than I thought I’d be. This was not the time to feel as such, so I reprimanded myself internally and got myself together.

“Don’t mind me! I love sword training; I won’t bother you!” He said loud enough for me to hear, perhaps even to become deaf if I was close enough. Nodding, I started my usual training, feeling very aware of the intense stare of the man. He wasn’t looking as carefree as before, he was observing, gauging all my movements, the way I held my sword, the way I positioned my feet, each of my slashes. A knot formed in my throat, a need to prove myself arose. This was a Pillar, after all.

Just as he said, I ignored his presence the best I could. It was hard to not glance at him every time I felt like I messed up, when I would peek, he would be looking at me intently. His gaze would stay on my mind as I focused back on my training, I was taking a liking to it. As much as it pressured me some way, unvoluntary to him, I found his face too beautiful to feel fear from the intensity of his look.

While thinking of him, and my movements, I trained until noon. Not a word was being exchanged between us, but I was glad it kept him from moving. I could have gone on and on once I was in the proper headspace and I was able to tune out the Fire Pillar’s strong presence, that was until Naho came in and tugged my sleeve, asking me to lean in. Crouching to her height, I listened carefully then let her go.

“I have tasks that need my attention, I will have to leave you-“ I stammered at the end when I saw the look of awe in Rengoku’s eyes, it elated a nervous laugh from my part as I leaned in to help his arm around my shoulders. Once he was stable, he looked at me with a big smile, “I’ve never seen such sword style, it’s so beautiful! I can see the way your heart is set ablaze once you are focused properly, you enjoy fighting and it shows,” He said it with such astonishment and appreciation that it made heat rush to my face, I only mumbled a thank you in response.

“Would you mind bringing me to my room? Sickbay is uneventful, if I get to my room perhaps one of the recruits will come barging in and bring entertainment with them!” Staying in the infirmary would be better for him, but I knew that every passing second he was focused on his breathing to make the healing process faster, tiring himself on the way. Giving him a curt nod, I said, “Very well, this means I’ll have to come visit you more. The three girls are afraid to go in the Pillars’ wing and won’t be able to watch over you, make it easier for both of us and be good, Kyojuro.” I paused before saying his name, not yet used to it.

He laughed loudly in response, only to grunt in pain quickly after, “That hurt- you made me laugh too hard,” The man seemed out of breath, which wasn’t reassuring for the little he had moved but we were closing in on his room. It wasn’t too far from the infirmary and also had a view on the garden that surrounded the mansion. “It was not in my plan to make you laugh; may I ask what brought that fit of laughter?” I was curious, I’ll admit.

“You said it as if it was a pain to have you visit more often, but I find your company relaxing. I will gladly appreciate each second of your presence by my side,” Upon hearing his words, I choked on my saliva but hid it behind a clearing of my throat as I looked to the side, a neutral expression on my face. “Sleep and you’ll find me by your side a lot sooner than expected, does it sound fair to you?” I asked as I slid the door open and helped him inside, asking him to stand still, wordlessly. “The excitement of seeing you again will keep me restless!” He said while I laid his futon on the ground.

“You have two choices then, you sleep on your own accord or I find that one spot in your neck to make you pass out. Which would it be?” He blinked in response, laughing breathlessly as he ushered to the futon, leaning on me as I set him down. “I will try to sleep, if you promise to sing for me when you come back,”

Rolling my eyes in response, I agreed. “I will see you in a few hours, rest well. And stop the focused breathing, you’ll only get tired more,” Rengoku’s eyes widened, as if surprised by my guess. The man thought himself slick enough to not get caught being sneaky, if sneaky was the adequate word. He was putting a lot of effort in his healing, but also slowing it down since his body was too tired, which rendered it all in vain. He nodded, a serene expression on his face while a small smile displayed on his lips. “Sleep it is, wake me up once you are back,” Another curt nod was what I gave him before departing.

For some reason, as I checked up on the patients in the medical wing, my mind kept wandering off. There was this feeling inside my chest that I could only describe as excitement at the thought of seeing the Fire Pillar again. His aura was so welcoming and warm, one could only feel drawn to it, to him, to his strong-willed attitude, his delightful albeit loud laugh and his oh so bright smile. As I was finishing up my tour, I had time to dwell in my thoughts no more when the young recruit in front of me tried to get out of bed.

“Tanjirou, you are to stay in bed until tomorrow. Should I call Aoi so that she keeps you bound to bed?” I knew the younger healer had some affection to spare for the newest slayer, I was not yet sure if he felt the same way, but he was well-enough aware that she was strong enough to keep him unmoving until the proper time. Her goal was to see all the injured slayers back on their feet, and while she wouldn’t admit it, she made it her top priority when Tanjirou was part of those injured people. “I’m fine! Look, I can move, I have to train! Being bed ridden is not enough of an impairment that it’d stop me from getting better, I have to-“ “If you leave this bed I won’t tell you what I know about a certain Pillar,” I trailed off, holding back the mischievous smile from my lips.

The brunette stopped everything and looked at me with wide-eyes, his scarred hands gripping mine, “Where is Rengoku! How- can I see him? His wounds, are they-“ “Let’s take a breath first, hm? He is awake-“

“I have to see him! I need to see him, please bring me to his room nurse-“ I made an exhausted face, “I’m not a nurse. The closest you’ll get to nurses would be Naho, Kiyu and Sumi, also Aoi but she is a strong fighter. I am here to treat your wounds, that is it.” He quickly apologized then fell silent. His state was not as bad as Rengoku’s, physically, but seeing the Pillar almost die in front of his eyes had an effect on the young man that was clearly visible if you paid enough attention. “He is bored and bed-ridden, but…” A glint of hope lit up in the young slayer’s eyes. “He wishes some company, if you promise to let me help you to his room, and to stay put once there, I am willing to bring you there. Only if you promise those things, is that clear?”

Nodding vigorously, he threw his legs to the side of the bed and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I quickly realized he was in a better shape that I thought, for he did not need to lean on me much. On our way out I grabbed the crutches one of the girls had left and made our way to Kyojuro’s room. “Kyojuro, can I come in?” I called out once we arrived at his door.

“Yes you may!” So he is awake… does fatigue mean nothing to him? “I’ve been thinking, perhaps we could-“ He stopped mid-sentence when he saw Tanjirou by my side. I was also caught off guard when I saw the ginger kneeling on his heels, waiting expectantly while facing the door in which I stepped in. “Young Tanjirou! A pleasant surprise indeed, it is great to see that you are well-“ once more he could not finish his sentence as the brunette threw himself at him and hugged him tight. A loud huff escaped the ginger’s lips, but he hugged back, for a second I wondered how it’d feel to be wrapped around his inviting arms, but it was only a mere moment before I rushed to their collapsed form on the tatami.

“Tanjirou, Kyojuro is in no shape to get tackled yet. Would you mind getting off of him?” I tried to pry him away from the Pillar, but he was holding tight.

“It’s alright! It is a very welcomed hug! Would you like to join in, songbird?” My heart skipped a beat once again when the nickname rolled of his tongue after his invitation. It brought a smile to my face, but I only shook my head in response, “You are both too brute, I’ll wait until you’re done worsening your state, then I’ll step in,” I joked, making the Pillar laugh loudly. For some reason, it brought great pride in my heart to have made him laugh as such.

After a few minutes, Tanjirou moved away from the Fire Pillar, his eyes red and his cheeks stained with tears. Rengoku was in a better state, but if you paid closer attention, his eyes were watery from tears threatening to fall. I let them talk a while, when a few hours passed and Tanjirou’s eyelids were drooping, I interrupted them, “I believe it is enough for today, wouldn’t you agree?” I asked both men, but only one answered, the other one was kneeling next to him, sniffling. “The young man needs some rest; It was quite the adventure to see me it seems!” “I’ll bring him back to his room-“

“I’ll do it!” Aoi suddenly entered the room, a frown on her face. “He shouldn’t have left the bed in the first place, but you seem to be bending the rules a lot today,” She threw me a glare that quickly softened when she looked at Kyojuro then at me. A smug smile followed, “The things we do for lo-“ “And now you leave, I’ll see you at dinner. Refrain from bothering me any more than necessary, understood?”

With the same smile, she gave me a thumbs up, “Oh I understood very clearly, very very clearly. No interruption, no, none!” She then ushered away, Tanjirou at her side as she berated him lovingly on her way out. Once they were gone, I sighed.

“How is your wound?” I asked the Pillar as I knelt beside him, it was exhausting how prone he was to do exactly the opposite of what I would tell him. And yet, he was still a real sunshine to be with. “You are very worried, why is that? It’ll heal, it has not reopened, I am fine.” He said, lifting the shirt to show the wrappings still intact.

It’s with a deep breath that I explained one of the reasons I needed him in good health, “You are very valuable, and even if Master Ubuyashiki said he did not want you to fight you’d join fight anyway. The same fight that is in preparation, the one you’ll have to be ready for. I want you to be able to fight at the best of your abilities, because I trust you are powerful enough to tip the scale in our favor. So, make it easy for me, for both of us... I do not wish to be the reason you lose your life during the fight just because I did not treat you well enough, please…”

There was a short silence, sincerity was the best way to go with a man like him. He wanted that, he needed truths, not matter how it went, so I gave it to him. I was expecting him to be stubborn and tell me that he was fine, but he surprised me instead, “I will do my best to ease the burden of treating me!” “You’re not a burden- I did not mean it as such, I meant-“

“I am joking! I will stay put. Would you mind staying a bit longer? Having some company keeps me in check, it stops me from needing to do something to distract me from my thoughts,”

It caught me off guard, how blunt it was. I could have guessed something was troubling his mind, a lot could be doing so, but admitting he did not want to be alone… That was surprising, I could only accept. “I do owe you a song, do I not?” A huge smile made its way on his lips, it made my cheeks heat up from the undivided attention he now brought to me. I cleared my throat, when I was about to start he leaned in and held the side of my face, his thumb brushing over my right cheek. “You are embarrassed! Don’t be, I genuinely enjoy your voice, please don’t feel shy,”

There was no way I could tell him it did not help now that he had touched me, and that I felt my whole body set aflame. Instead, I moved his hand from my cheek and held it in mine, then started singing one of the many songs I was taught as a child. It always threw me back to my childhood, a wave of nostalgia hitting me. I closed my eyes, picturing old memories from when I was in my childhood home, running around with the other kids, summers, such as this one, spent in the fields, catching beetles. Helping my dad bring back wood to the house, it all came back to me.

Slowly, the song ended, I opened my eyes again and, in front of me, Kyojuro had tears rolling slowly down his face. “I’m sorry, did that song bring bad memories?”

“It was beautiful, it made me think of my little brother. I often helped him train with a wooden sword, before I became a Pillar. I miss him dearly, but plan on visiting my father’s house once this is over, maybe show him my breathing technique.” He paused, then smiled kindly, “You have a delicate voice, it felt like you were telling a story with such beautiful words. Would you care to sing another one?” A knot formed in my throat at the compliment he directed at me, not hearing his request at first. There was a delay in my response, but I nodded.

I patted his futon, “I’ll sing as many songs as you need until you fall asleep, I know you haven’t slept since I left,” “I don’t want to miss any of them!” I chuckled at his enthusiasm and went to grab a pillow from the closet to get more comfortable. “That is a problem, you are keen on not sleeping. I will not ask the reason why, but is there any way to convince you to sleep?”

The soft chuckle that left his lips made me uneasy, I saw the way his eyes looked askance as he slowly laid back on the futon. “Awful dreams plague my mind, it makes me restless, I found some respite when hearing your voice in my dreams… But it seems it’s not enough to keep them at bay,” He paused and huffed a laugh, “It is nothing I can’t get through, do not worry-“ “I’ll stay by your side until you’re asleep then, I’ll make sure to come check up on you throughout the night if you wish.”

His eyes widened, I caught myself off guard too. I should leave him; it was not a requirement to make sure he slept like a baby. It was not a requirement to care that much, but I felt a pull. Like planets around the sun, I felt right, it felt reassuring. “There is no need! I could never ask this much of you, I will be fine.”

I huffed and gesture for him to wait as I left the room, to only come back a few minutes after with trays of food. “Let us say, it is like I’m staying over for the night. Like when we were children, staying at a friend’s house,” Putting the trays next to Rengoku’s futon, I went to the cabinet and pulled out the other futon that was tucked away, and the small tables to keep the tray at a proper height. “Sumi will bring us tea, and you,” I placed his tray on the table next to him, “Will eat slowly, or I will make sure you don’t fight at all, understood?”

Relief flooded my body when he laughed loudly, nodding as he sat up. “Promised! Although, it would mean you would take care of me longer, I would not be against it,” My breath hitched in my throat, I looked at him without speaking. Then he let out a breathless laugh, “You are getting very playful, but your determination could not withstand being bed-ridden longer than necessary,” I started, opening the shoji-doors to take the teapot from Sumi’s hands, “You yearn for a fight, you would never let me worsen your state,” I said lightly as I knelt by my small table and poured tea inside Kyojuro’s cup.

“I yearn for something, someone, worth defending, protecting. I do not enjoy fighting aimlessly, I fight to protect the innocents and the ones who make my heart burn with passion,” He stared right at me as he said so, I felt how strongly he meant those words he had spoken. The need to apologize for assuming he was but a hot-blooded fighter was too strong, so I did. I apologized to him. “Do not, do not! It’s alright, I know a few Pillars who enjoy a good fight. If they ever ask to fight me, I will gladly accept, it is always a good practice,” He added, grinning as he brought a good portion of food with his chopsticks.

Feeling the need to lighten the mood, I ate a bit and told him, “Naho told me you enjoyed sweet potatoes, she is going to make some tomorrow, that ought to brighten your spirit-“ “Absolutely! Will you eat with me?” Looking up, I quirked a brow and smiled softly, about to explain, “I usually eat with-“ “Until I get back on my feet! After that, I will let you go back to Naho, Sumi and Kiyo. It would be an honor to have you eat with me while I get back to health!” He cut me off.

Closing my mouth, I weighed his words- how did he know I usually ate with them? “I am surprised you know of my evening routine, should I be worried of the extra pair of eyes watching my every movement?” It was a first, to see his face turn red in embarrassment. I had said so playfully, but it seems it made him a lot more bashful. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable! I see you around the mansion, often around the same time in the evening you eat with them, that is all! I may have asked them to tell me when you are free, too. To no avail, they are silent as a tomb regarding your person,”

Sipping from my cup, I was now the one embarrassed as I asked, “Why would you want to know when I am free? I do not bite, you can ask me. Since Tengen is very curious, I told them to not tell a soul anything about me, that is all,”

Instead of replying, he shoved as much food in his mouth, before pointing at it and making me understand he couldn’t speak if it’s full. “I did tell you to eat small portions, Kyojuro. You’re going to-“ Choke is how I finished the sentence as I handed him his cup to help him swallow what he was choking on.

Once he was good, he cleared his throat and stared at me, a big smile on his face. The pink dust on his cheek had not left, “You are very busy, and resolved!” I laughed at that, nodding. “It shows when you train, even under the rain! You are not thrown off by such things, you are tenacious and strong. I like that!” The more he talked, the more I was becoming aware I was not the only one who would try to catch a glimpse of him, he would look my way too. I never caught him looking at me, we talked many times when crossing paths in the mansion, or when I’d treat his injuries. But here, it was different.

Here he was admitting he would try to find the right time to come my way, strike a conversation. Make it seem accidental too, but he was, as per his words, also very determined in his own actions. Perhaps too subtle, which was ironic coming from such a loud man, in his endeavor. “You admit you’ve been gawking when I train?” I asked jokingly, elating a silent gasp as he looked to the side only for a moment before looking at me.

“I am, yes! I wish to get to know you better and being bed-ridden seems to be the best way to do so,” I hummed in response, he continued, “I also see you lurking! You are bad at hiding your presence, but it’s alright. I can help you with that, if you’d like?” This time I was the one to choke on my food, he was just as fast to hand me his cup, instead of mine. I hesitantly took it, and drank some of his tea, handing it back to him with a thank you.

“I do not lurk, I come across your training and- and simply get fascinated by your movements. When Pillars are at the mansion, they leave just as soon, you do not, I take every opportunity to better my skills, that is all… And I do watch them train too… A bit,” I shrugged, putting my chopsticks horizontally on the bowl once I was done. It was a half-truth, it was part of the reason, yes. But when the others were training, I would let them be. When the Fire Pillar was part of the equation, I’ll admit I was gawking, drinking in the sight when he’d attach his long sleeves with a ribbon and tie his hair back. His eyes focused and sharp, he could see everything. No wonder he caught me.

“I asked the others! They sometimes catch you glancing at them, but that’s it. You only watch me, I do not mind! It’s cute, maybe we could train together if you are so willing to better your great skills,” He said genuinely, as if he hadn’t exposed my longing. Maybe he had not understood how much I enjoyed looking at him, craving to get closer and talk to him. But he had said so too, we both wanted to get to know one another.

Putting his chopsticks down, he was about to help me tidy up without saying anything more, but I told him to stay there. “Don’t, I’ll do it. You should lay down,” I said as I stood up, cleaning everything. “Lay down? Do you not know that if you go to sleep right after eating, you turn into a cow?” He said jokingly. “That is a superstition, as a child I believed so, but I know better now,” I walked to the door and placed everything outside, calling for the girls and hearing their socks against the well-waxed parquet as they rushed to the room. “I will be spending the night here, do not disturb,” I whispered to them. It earned me reddened cheeks as they ushered away, giggling and murmuring to each other.

Once I went back inside, Rengoku was standing with the crutches as he looked at me, beaming, “We should go for a walk! I do not wish to turn into a cow,” He said with conviction, a playful gleam in his eyes as he gestured with his head to follow him. “You…” I squinted my eyes, in a threatening way.

“I am not ready to go to sleep just yet, I wish to spend more time with you! Join me for a stroll?” Sighing, I reached his side and stood close to him as we wandered to the veranda. I was ready to catch him at any time if he tripped but he seemed to be managing well, “You do not really believe you’ll turn into a cow, do you?” I broke the silence, elating a loud laugh from the Fire Pillar. “I do not! Perhaps Senjuro believes it still, he is afraid to whistle at night in fear of attracting serpents,” Wanting to fool him a bit, I looked at him in shock, “Does it not?” His eyes widened as he stood still, looking at me in surprise.

Bursting out laughing, I held his arm and waved my arm in front of him, “I’m joking! You should have seen your face,” I laughed, trying to stay as silent as possible. “I am not a very superstitious person. But do not tell Master Ubuyashiki, he is a firm believer,” I told him discretely, noticing Kiyo at the corner ahead of us. She was eavesdropping, probably curious since I told them I would be staying in the Fire Pillar’s room tonight. “We have company,” I whispered, glancing subtly towards her. Without looking, Kyojuro smiled beautifully, “I am very aware, hopefully they will not tell Aoi that I am out of bed, bad things happen when we go against her orders,” His tone was lower than I’ve ever heard it, I even believed he did not know how to whisper. But he could, visibly.

“You are under my responsibility now, she has nothing to say with what I do with, or to, you,” I said in a playful tone, hoping to convey that I could do anything if he did not listen to me. Warmth filled my body when he threw me a side-glance and smirked. It was quick and gone like the breeze, but I caught it and it made me feel very much alive. We then both talked at the same time, I told him to go ahead but he encouraged me to go on, which I did, “They spread rumors like wildfire, those three girls, if Aoi is in on it, it’s going to be quite fast,” I said off-handedly, looking around to see if they were still here.

Laughing, Kyojuro stopped and leaned against the wall a moment, smiling my way, “The saying goes: rumors only last 75 days. All we will need to do is turn that rumor into truth! If it’s not a rumor, it’s not a problem!” I turned around, my eyes open wide in surprise as my mouth opened only slightly, speechless. Chuckling nervously, I did not comment on it and simply changed topic, clearing my throat as I nodded his way, “Let me help you back to your room, you seem exhausted,” Did he not realize what he was saying? How blunt, how forthright, and yet he seemed to be liking the idea a lot since he was smiling from ear to ear.

“I am not tired, maybe I’ve thought my recovery better than it actual is,” He laughed, letting me help him. He kept one crutch as we made our way back, while leaving the other behind. I was sure Kiyo would take it back to his room before we even arrived. “I forgot to ask you, what did you want to say earlier?” “That I wish to court-“ Repeating ‘no’ many times, I quickly interrupted him, ignoring the direction his sentence was going. “When we both spoke at the same time, you were going to say something,” He went silent a moment.

Then he laughed lightly, he moved his hand holding the crutch, losing his balance a bit. He seemed to stammer as he tried to find his words then found himself and said with confidence, “I would like to hold your hand, unfortunately it would be hard in the position we are in right now,”

A sound left my throat, out of surprise. Followed by a nervous laugh, before I moved my hand that was holding his elbow around my shoulders, to holding his hand. It was a strange position, the back of my hand was in his palm, our fingers intertwined. His hands were rough but warm, it felt comforting. None of us spoke until we arrived at his room, that’s when I gently removed his arm from around my shoulders to let him lay down, but he did not let go. Looking at him, I noticed the redness of his cheeks as he spoke, “I meant what I said, I wish to properly court you. Perhaps a few steps have been skimmed over already since you are in my chambers-“

I couldn’t help the embarrassed laugh, thinking he meant that since we were in the same bedroom we could have sex, but he quickly let go of my hand and moved them in front of him in panic, “Not in the way we should do anything! I find it funny that you are staying tonight, and I am grateful for it too-“ He paused and rubbed the back of his head before looking at me, “I am not good at this! But I like you!” He said loudly.

I snorted as I moved the crutch Kiyo brought back, next to his futon, then the penny dropped. I hadn’t paid attention to the last part, and it was now being assimilated in my brain. Keep your cool, get to know him, then see how it goes.

“I accept your courting, I would also like to get to know you…” Trailing off, I sat down on my futon after having blown the light off, “You are interesting Kyojuro, you’d be even more interesting if you listened to me once in a while,” I said playfully while laying down, facing his futon. He did the same, but did not seem exhausted at all, he was staring at me with wide eyes and a smile. “I am so excited to recover fully to finally be able to train with you!” He reached out across the tatami, his arm not long enough to reach my side with the distance between us.

My hand clenched the pillow tight, then I let go and reached out for his hand. I didn’t say anything, only continuing the conversation, but I stuttered as I spoke when I saw the content smile on his lips once I wrapped my hand around his. “I’ll see if Shinobu can help with your healing, I cannot promise anything… It’s funny because all you have to do is: nothing, and yet you’re struggling,” I huffed, laying on my back, while still holding his hand, “You mentioned someone called Senjurou, is that your brother?” I whispered, directing the question to the only person in the room.

Yet, I did not receive and answer. Calling his name softly, no answer was given again. I looked at him from the corner of my eye and saw he had fallen asleep, “Already?” I breathed, facing him once more. “Good…” When I tried to free my hand from his grasp, he held tighter but did not wake up. I let out a breathy laugh and squeezed back, thinking that there was no leaving him tonight. There were worse predicaments than this one, like having to take care of Sanemi’s wounds, right.

With how quiet the night was, sleep easily came to me. Deep inside, I was not convinced it was the quiet of the night that made it so easy to sleep, perhaps it was the comforting presence of the Pillar by my side. Whichever it was, I did not care.

[Part 2]

[topazy]

Silent bloom

Pairings: Finn Collins/ Reader Bellamy Blake/reader

Warnings: swearing, and character death

Chapter: 2.03

"They want you. If we want a truce, we have to give them Finn."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Raven asked, stepping forward.

Clarke avoided making eye contact with any of you, "That’s their offer."

"That’s not an offer," you snapped. "That’s a death sentence."

"It’s punishment," Finn squeezed your shoulder lightly as he brushed past you. "For what happened at the village. Blood for blood."

—

Murphy walked towards where Finn was standing with a complex look on his face. "Hey, man. Byrne actually gave me a gun. I guess we really are screwed, huh? Look, we kicked their asses last time. We’ll do it again."

Finn looked at him blankly and said, "A lot of people died last time."

You chewed on your bottom lip as Bellamy and Finn continued talking, completely zoning out. Would the grounders really take Finn as a trade? The thought made your stomach turn. Your biggest fear right now was that someone would betray Finn and turn him over.

Hearing Clarke’s voice, you looked up again, to see Finn and Bellamy walking in another direction.

"Hey," Murphy said, stepping forward. "Any orders for me, princess?"

The blonde glared at him, "stay away from me."

You were surprised at the look of hurt on his face. "Just trying to be helpful."

It was obviously by the venom in Clarke’s voice that she blamed Murphy for what happened in the village. "You were with him at the village."

"I tried to stop him."

"Not hard enough!"

"You know, you want to start blaming people, Clarke?" Murphy stepped closer to her. "He wasn’t out there looking for me, was he? It’s not my fault he went batshit crazy."

He was out there looking for you.

You stepped in between them, stopping this before it went any further. "Enough! Both of you. Clarke, go do whatever it is you need to do. Yelling, and arguing isn’t helping anyone."

You watched Clarke walk away before turning to face Murphy, who looked slightly guilty. "What?"

"I…I didn’t mean it was your fault."

You shrugged, pretending his words didn’t strike a nerve. "Whatever, we have more important things to think about. Like how the hell we are going to save Finn."

"He’s a dead man walking," Murphy raised his hands defensively when you raised your brows at him. "What? I’m only pointing out the obvious."

You looked back towards the fence, and slowly walked towards it as the chanting got louder. You felt a lump at the back of your throat, as tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

Murphy stood beside you, "jus drein jus daun, Jus drein jus daun."

"Blood must have blood."

You looked back around to face Abby, and Jaha who were talking to some guards. "You don’t trust them, do you?"

"Do you?"

Murphy scoffed at your comment. Of course he didn’t. Nobody who has been screwed over by them should.

"Well, angel eyes, if we leave it to them, we are definitely screwed."

"Yeah," you agreed. Besides Abby, none of them would care what happened to Finn. "We’re going to need a miracle to happen."

—

"What’s the plan?" You asked, stopping beside Finn.

"The dropship."

Clarke shook her head. "You know that this is the safest place for him right now.”

"It isn't if they're turning on him," Bellmay pointed out. "We can protect him at the dropship until we figure this thing out. Grab your gear and meet at Raven's gate in five minutes. She’s already working on cutting the power to the fence."

Bellmay was right. Going to the dropship would probably be the safest place for him right now. It would also give you time to try and figure something else out.

"Okay," Finn nodded. "But nobody's coming with me."

You frowned, "of course we are. This isn’t up for discussion."

Clarke pressed her lips together. She still didn’t seem convinced that it was a good idea. "We are surrounded by Grounders."

"It will be easier if we split up." Noticing others starting to shout at a Finn you gripped his arm as Bellamy knocked the boy called Gruff out. "We need to go, now."

—

You nervously gripped the gun tightly, praying you didn’t make too much noise as you walked through the forest.

"I know I’ve said it before, but-"

"Shh," you stared at Finn wide-eyed.

He has been mostly silent since you caught up with him, and now wasn’t the time to start talking. You knew by the look on his face that he wasn’t going to let whatever was on his mind go.

"I was scared... when you disappeared. I thought I’d never get the chance to say I’m sorry, and I needed you to know that I love you."

"Finn," you stopped walking and turned to face him. "We have talked about this. None of it matters now, all that matters is getting you through this. We find a way to save you, and then we rescue Monty and Jasper, along with everybody else who the mountain men took." You let out a small laugh, "Who would have thought it would be grounders that saved me from them? "Ironic, huh."

"What were they like, the grounders who took you?" He whispered.

"Eh…good as far as kidnappers go. They gave me clean clothes, food, and water." You let out a sigh, "I was afraid they were going to torture me like they did Murphy."

“You have a soft spot for him."

"No I don’t."

For the first time in a long time, you saw Finn smile, "Oh my God, you have a crush on him."

Him teasing you reminded you what life was like back on the ark before everything went to shit. It made you almost forget when you were in the forest in the first place.

You shoved Finn’s arm playfully, "shut up. I just feel bad for him."

"You do like Bellamy though."

You shot Finn a look, "let’s not."

"He’s a good guy, he’d keep you safe. I’m sure of it."

"And who’s going to keep you safe from me? Because once this is all over, I have no issue raising hell if you don’t stop teasing me, Collins."

"What do we do after the dropship? Where do we go? You think the Grounders will just leave when they find out I'm gone? Is this the best way to help our friends inside Mount Weather? "

You gave him a sympathetic smile, "will figure this out."

The last thing you remember seeing is the horrified look on Finn’s face as a loud yelling came from behind you.

—

You let out a loud groan as you sat up. Looking around, you were confused. The last thing you remember was walking in the forest.

"Y/N," Clarke knelt down beside you. "Take it easy when you sit up. You got knocked out."

Of course you did.

"How’s your head?" Finn asked as he helped you stand up.

"Never been better."

"It will be another neat scar to add to your collection," Murphy shrugged.

You ignored his comment as Finn spoke to you in a hushed voice. "When you went down... I thought you were dead. Because of me."

"Finn," you say softly. "I’m right here."

"I’ve killed so many people."

You shook your head, "things that we've done to survive... they don't define us."

"What if you're wrong? What if this is who we are now?"

Not knowing what to say to comfort Finn, you pulled him in for a hug at the same time that Bellamy rushed into the drop shop. "We got company!"

"Oh fuck. We’re surrounded."

As everyone made their way to the outside of the ship, Bellmay stopped to face you. "I’m glad you're okay. You had me worried for a moment."

"Thanks. But honestly, I’m still worried."

—

"They’re not moving any closer."

"Staying out of range. Probably waiting until it's dark."

Murphy looked up at him, "If we hit them now, at least we'd take them by surprise."

You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Murphy's idea made sense. You didn’t like it, but he did have a point. "The problem is, we don't even know how many of them are out there."

Murphy rolled his eyes, "I’m not hearing any better ideas, Daisy."

Raven stepped forward. "We’ll give them something."

Bellamy looked at her, confused. "All they want is Finn."

Raven looked away from the rest of the group, as her eyes landed on Murphy. "Finn wasn't the only one at the village."

"You can’t be serious! We aren’t handing anyone over to the grounders."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Raven, I came here to protect him. You were the one who wanted me to come." A hurt expression crossed over Murphy’s face. "You... That’s why you asked me to come along."

The brunette glared at him. "Enough Grounders saw him at the village. They’d believe he was the shooter."

"Sick bitch!" Murphy spat.

Clarke tried to calm her down. "Raven, you don't mean this."

"You know what they do to people?" you said, stepping towards her. "They want Finn, nobody else. We can’t protect him if we are fighting among ourselves.

Raven ignored what you said and pointed her gun towards Murphy. "They want a murderer, we'll give them one."

Hell no.

You shared a knowing look with Finn, before moving to step in front of Murphy. "Raven, this is insane! Put it down."

"Daisy, move out the way, I don’t want to hurt you. Murphy drop your weapon!"

"Raven, stop this before somebody gets hurt!" You yelled back at her. You knew deep down she wouldn’t actually shoot you, but you weren’t so sure about Murphy.

Ravenstill refused to lower her weapon, "I said drop it."

"Stop! Stop!" Finn pushed her hand down so the gun was no longer pointed in your direction. "We're not doing this. They’ve got us surrounded. The only thing we can do is stay. And defend this place. Murphy?"

"Yeah?"

"Go upstairs with Daisy. You two watch the rear. I'll take the lower level. You three, take the front gate. That’s the plan. All right?"

As Murphy walked ahead, you hugged Finn again, saying, "We’ve got this."

"May we meet again."

"We will." You pulled back from him, "I better go make sure nobody else tries to kill him."

"Yeah. Be careful."

—

When you joined Murphy, he glared at you. "Are you insane?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You stepped out in front of me! Raven could have shot you!"

Taken aback by his yelling, you shuffled uncomfortably. "She wasn’t going to-"

Murphy cut you off, "you don’t know that. Don’t ever do something like that for me again. Ever!"

You turned and faced the other direction, to avoid looking at him. Why was he so upset? You were only trying to keep everyone safe.

Hearing yelling, you quickly made your way towards the other side of the ship. "What’s happened?"

Bellamy looked at you with fear in his eyes. "Finn’s handed himself in."

—

You stood on the edge of Camp Jaha by the gates, squinting. Grounders were putting a large post into the ground. "What is that?"

"It’s for Finn," Clarke confirmed. "They want us to watch."

As others talked about what to do next, you noticed Clarke getting ready to leave. "What are you doing?"

"I’m gonna talk to the commander."

"Okay," you stepped beside her. "I’m going with you."

Bellamy stared at you both. "What else do you have to say?"

You sighed. "I don't know, but we need to try."

Raven stepped in front of you. "Give me your hand. If she won't let him go, kill her. Things will go crazy, and we'll grab you and Finn. Daisy, you and Clarke have to help him. I owe him my life."

Before you had a chance to say anything, Raven slipped a small knife into your hand.

—

As you and Clarke walked into the commander's tent, a grounder stepped forward and pressed a spear up against your chest.

Clarke seemed to know who the grounder was. "We are here to talk to your commander. Let us through."

Looking down, you noticed small drops of blood appearing on your top. The grounder has cut you.

"Let them pass," the commander said before looking you up and down. "You bleed for nothing. You cannot stop this."

As Clarke pleaded with Lexa to spare Finn’s life, you noticed Ada standing guard. When she noticed you walking toward her, she frowned. "You are here to beg for the traitor's life?"

"Finn’s my friend. He did an awful thing, something he can’t undo, but torturing him won’t bring anybody else back."

"He killed Zelda."

"I’m sorry…" you whispered. "It’s all my fault. He killed all those people because he thought they had taken me."

"You can’t save him, blood must have blood." Ada said harshly. "If you try to save him, all of your people will die."

Tears spilled onto your cheek. You turned to face the commander, "can I say good-bye?"

The commander paused for a moment before nodding. You were surprised that she was allowing you to talk to him, but you didn’t have time to overthink it. It was probably because of Clarke anyway. You needed to help him. You couldn’t let Finn die by the death of 1000 cuts.

You rushed towards Finn, and kissed him. "I love you, Finn, I never stopped."

"I’m scared."

You wiped tears from his cheek. "You’re gonna be ok. I won’t let you suffer." You kissed him once again, before showing him mercy. "You’re ok."

"Thanks, Daisy."

Stepping back, the only sound you could hear was your own sobs, mixed with Raven's screams, as you stared at Finn’s limp body.

Season two

[fantasy2739]

Jamie Prompt: Nightmares during an overnight trip so one of the teammates or multiple hear and help him. OR they find old bruises/scars from his dad's abuse. Just want to see the effects of the abuse and the team seeing those effects/helping him.

Hahahaha angst my favourite.

Gonna be honest not sure I nailed this.

Enjoy!

They just won a match against Nottingham Forest. It was a brutal match. City Ground was filled with jeers and cheers from both sides. Probably inspired by the horrific loss at Wembley. Richard nearly got taken out by one of the Nottingham players, Dani had received a dubious yellow, Sam was covered in more scrapes and bruises than should be possible, and Jamie had gone full prick without even waiting for a signal. It was a shit match. Roy grumbled the whole way back to the hotel how they were probably going to have to flee in the dead of night. Jamie just feels like shit. They should be happy. They won. Jamie thinks it’s because maybe some of the insults got a bit too personal. Maybe because at half time after one of the players had shoved Jamie and called him a pussy, the whole team had shot him looks of concern. Jamie had ignored the looks, the pounding of his heart and tried to listen to Ted. Maybe because it was just a shit match. The point is Jamie feels like shit.

“Movie night?” Ted asks, lightly, like he wouldn’t mind if they said no. There were nods, murmurs of agreement, because none of them wanted to go out really. They all cram into a big room and settle in for a movie. The choice is given to Ted, who always seems to nail the film choice. He puts on My Neighbour Totoro, probably because it’s all cute and shit. Jamie’s got to admit, it’s pretty hard to stay angry watching some fluffy thing be stupidly cuddly and friendly. It’s just a nice movie. He’s a bit apart from everyone else, half curled onto a pillow he nabbed from his room. He’s dead sleepy. If he closes his eyes just a little, it’ll be fine.

It fucking isn’t.

Jamie’s had nightmares for years. They’re pretty fucking consistent actually. His fears haven’t really changed from childhood. The same man appears. The same insults. Injuries. Pain and memories swirl into one.

Years of experience have ingrained it in his mind and body to not be loud. The vulnerability that comes with sleep keeps his mind in a state of stress. He’s never been a heavy sleeper. Too wary of footsteps in the night. If he wakes the sleeping horror in his house he knows he’s in for worse. Apparently though, he moves, a lot. And whimpers. It’s pathetic really. He’s an adult. He shouldn’t be fucking like this. He’s always in motion anyway, so it occurring in his sleep doesn’t seem like a big deal. The odd twitch is probably ignored. The violent twisting, whimpers, and arms raised in defence are not.

He’s not sure how long he’s out but there’s hands on his shoulders as he almost bolts upright. He nearly takes Isaac out. Jamie’s breathing heavily. He wrenches himself from Isaac’s grip, hands on him too much to bare.

“You alright bruv?” Isaac asks, almost gentle. Jamie just nods, not trusting his voice to come out strong.

“The fuck you are.” Roy growls. Jamie can’t help the way his body tenses. Can’t stop the way his eyes flit around in panic.

“Jamie.” Someone says hesitantly. It’s Sam, crouching down next to him. “Are you sure you are alright?” Jamie’s eyes slowly make their way to Sam.

“Yeah, fine mate.” Jamie manages, glad he sounds tired rather than scared. “Just tired yeah.” That’s enough for some of the team who drift away slightly. But Sam stays crouching next to him. Isaac barely moves from his spot almost directly above Jamie. Roy slumps in a chair slightly away, most likely because of his knee. Dani has a frown marring his face, Zoreaux appears to be debating the benefits of crowding Jamie with the others, Richard cocking his head at him almost thoughtfully. Jan is fixing Jamie with a look reminiscent of an x-ray, while Bumbercatch is chewing on his lip in apprehension. Colin is sitting right behind Jamie, face almost carefully blank.

“You were making strange noises.” Jan says bluntly. There’s lots of way Jamie could reply. He could crack a sex joke, ease the awful tension. Brush it off as not important. Instead he shrugs.

“So?” He asks. He’s not a fan of the looks exchanged between his teammates.

“You sounded like you were… having a nightmare.” Sam says cautiously. Jamie scoffs like that’s complete bullshit. Like he didn’t just have exactly that. It’s stupid to act like this. But that childhood fear of pissing someone off remains forever present.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Colin asks softly. Jamie hates it. They’re treating him like one wrong word will make him shatter. He’s not fucking soft.

“I’m fine.” He insists. He’s getting really tired of the looks.

“It’s okay to have nightmares man.” Bumbercatch interjects. “It’s not like embarrassing.” Fuck no it is. It’s shitty, embarrassing, frustrating, and probably many other words.

“Talking about these things usually helps.” Sam offers quietly.

“Don’t worry amigo, we won’t judge you.” Dani says, Jamie just wishes he’d smile. Dani not smiling feels like a sign of the apocalypse.

“We’re here bruv.” Isaac adds.

“Was it the dickbag?” Roy asks with a low growl. It doesn’t exactly narrow it down. The Nottingham fans? The Nottingham players? His dad? Jamie shrugs again.

“I’m just gonna go to bed yeah.” He tells them, twisting away slightly. He almost trips getting to his feet, Zoreaux reaches to steady him. He flinches, hating himself slightly. He grabs his pillow and tries to leave again. Roy stands up to block him.

“Was it James?” He asks, voice lowering. Like it’s just him and Jamie in the room. “Look Jamie if you need to talk about what that dick did to you-.”

“I don’t.” Jamie says quickly. “I don’t need to talk about him.” There’s a tension in the room that you could cut with a knife.

“We didn’t talk after Wembley.” Roy says, clearly remembering how Jamie had just shut everyone off when anyone asked. “Let us fucking help you.”

“Is your father always terrible to you?” Jan asks bluntly. Jamie’s eyes shoot daggers at him.

“None of your fucking business.” He snarls. Internally he cringes, thinking it sounds too much like James. Jan merely raises an eyebrow.

“Jamie if he hurt you when you were younger then maybe you should talk about it.” Sam offers. Like bringing up the past is going to make things better. Like talking ever fucking helps. Jamie wants to scream.

“So he beat the shit out of me when I was a kid. So he was a useless fucking parent. ” Jamie snaps, tears prickling at his eyes. The open looks of horror on some of his teammates faces makes him cringe. He can’t stop though, can’t just leave it as is. “He’s my fucking problem.”

“Fucking hell Jamie, he shouldn’t have done that.” Roy growls. Richard grumbles something in French that Zoreaux nods in agreement with. It’s sounds angry and Jamie’s pretty sure he hears the name James muttered.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jamie insists.

“Of course it matters.” Sam replies. “You matter.” He probably shouldn’t scoff but Jamie can’t help it.

“Jamie, do we need to talk?” Roy asks, voice low. Jamie drops his pillow and flings his arms up.

“Fuck sake can’t we just drop it yeah? My dads a dick. We all know that.” He snaps. If the conversation continues he knows he’s going to cry. He’s going to sob like a little kid, fucking embarrassing. Roy steps closer, making Jamie shrink back. He wants to disappear into the ground. There’s nervous eyes all around.

“Let us help you amigo.” Dani says. “We are a team yes?” He offers Jamie a small smile. Jamie wishes he was yelling. Or that someone was angry, mad. Any fucking negative emotion. He knows how to deal with those. Instead everyone insists on huddling round him, offering support, caring about him.

His dad isn’t here but he can hear him calling him soft.

“It’s not… I don’t…” Jamie struggles to find the words. The ones that won’t make him cry and get everyone to leave him alone. “I just want to go to bed.”

“No way bruv.” Isaac shakes his head. “Not until you talk to us.”

“It’ll just be quicker if you do.” Colin says with a shrug, his face soft as he looks at Jamie. Jamie shoves his hands into his hoodie and blinks hard. “Otherwise we’ll just hound you til you break and tell us anyway.” Jamie stares at his team, that are standing round him like they’re worried he’s going to break if they get too far away.

“We won’t judge you.” Zoreaux says. “We just want to help.” Jamie is weak. He’s weak to them caring, with sad eyes, horrid glances. He doesn’t deserve a team ready to catch him when he falls but he’s lucky. He takes a deep breath.

“I’ve had nightmares for years.” He mumbles. “Bout him. I don’t… I’m not gonna talk about what they’re like about.” The team is nodding in understanding. “I just get so scared. And it’s stupid. I fucking hate it. I hate it so much.” Jamie sniffles, Sam and Dani move closer, both offering comfort. Jamie moves slightly out of reach, dropping onto his pillow and pulling his legs to his chest. “I don’t wanna talk about him.” It’s said into his legs but he knows they hear him. He hears a horrible cracking sound as Roy sits next to him. An arm snakes it’s way around his shoulders, he can’t help but tense. He feels someone else sit on his other side.

“Puppy pile.” He hears Bumbercatch say and suddenly there’s nine grown men leaning on him as he’s pushed close to the floor. Jamie’s pretty sure Isaac is behind him playing pillow, Colin’s on his left shoulder. Sam is on his left leg and so is Dani. Bumbercatch is somehow across both legs. Roy is looming by his right shoulder. Zoreaux is half resting on Jamie, half on Roy. Richard has managed to curl up practically on Jamie’s stomach. Jan is somewhere around his knee.

“Fuck Richard, ease up a bit.” Jamie grumbles. “I can’t breathe.”

“No.” Richard says sweetly even as he adjusts a bit so that Jamie’s lungs can actually work.

“Bro you have really bony ankles.” Bumbercatch says.

“Fuck off.” Jamie mumbles. He twists slightly, leaning into the collar of Roy’s jacket. He feels safe in the pile of people. Jan complains that he is too much person to be forced into such a cramped position. Colin cracks a joke about being too much person to handle. They’re giggling a little, letting Jamie feel at ease.

The nightmares stay away for once.

[ieattaperecorders]

May You Find Your Rest

Somewhere else. Two men who were not born in this reality lie in bed together, hold one another and unpack a few things. (Just 4k of cuddling and talking about feelings, really.)

Read on Ao3

---

It's dark in the small, quiet room where they sleep. Not completely, neither of them feels entirely safe in the dark anymore, so the curtain is always parted to let a sliver of light in.

Curled against Martin, Jon is warm and still and finally thinking of nothing. He's just starting to drift off when he feels him reach over and plant light, careful kisses on his cheek, on his temple, on the top of his brow. He sighs with pleasure. It would be so easy to keep drifting, to let himself sink into sleep as the one he loves kisses him softly and sweetly. But instead he opens his eyes, not really knowing why he does it.

Maybe it's the way Martin moves, slow and deliberate. Maybe there's a subtle a hitch in his breathing, something Jon senses without seeing or understanding. Something that tells him he shouldn't go to sleep. Not yet.

So he lies listening to the silence as Martin's hand moves over his side, outlining him. It nudges itself under the hem of his nightshirt, tracing the softness of his waist. Then, as if this hadn't been its destination all along, it brushes the wide, ragged scar over his stomach. A twinge (not sharp, not much more than a tingle) runs through his body. His breathing barely changes – it's not a gasp, just a slightly deeper inhalation. But Martin notices, hand hesitating, drawing back.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, and he sounds so horribly solemn.

"Not really," Jon says quietly. "Just a little sensitive. Scar tissue."

Gently, he places a hand over Martin's and presses it down into his abdomen, until it's covering the center of the scar. Jon has scars that are sensitive in other ways. Martin has learned to be careful around the thin line that cuts across his throat. Knows there are days when the chewed circles that pockmark his body itch uncontrollably, when he'll scratch himself bloody if he isn't thinking.

(In the safehouse, Martin had pulled the hand from his face and whispered don't. Had kissed his scars over and over, until he couldn't feel the itch, could only feel the gentle pressure of his lips and his kindness and love.)

He wants to say, it doesn't hurt when you touch me here. To show Martin that his body won't flinch from his touch. It wouldn't be his fault if it did. It wouldn't be either of their faults. But it doesn't, and he needs him to know that.

The hand relaxes against him. It moves in a slow arc, finding the edges of the wound, mapping and knowing it. Jon keeps his own hand in place, letting it move with his.

"I'm sorry," Martin says.

Jon brings a hand to his cheek. "So am I."

He wonders what Martin is apologizing for. For cutting the tether, letting them out? For the wound that could only be made by his hands? For not being able to let him go? No . . . Jon doubts he would be sorry for that.

Maybe it isn't an apology at all . . . maybe he's just sorry. Sorry he had to be hurt again.

"So am I," he repeats. "But it's done. We're here, now. Together, and alive. Despite it all."

Martin's head rests on the pillow, gaze turned to the side. He's subdued in a way that feels meaningful but that Jon can't identify. So he says nothing, lies still and lets his hand trail up the side of Martin's face, over his temple, around his ear. Affectionate touch, easier and less confusing than the jumble of words and questions swarming in his brain.

After a long silence, Martin says, "I wish you had trusted me."

" . . . What do you mean?"

"In the Panopticon. I just wish you'd trusted me enough to go along with the plan."

Jon frowns. "I . . . don't know if that was about trust."

"Wasn't it, though?"

"I didn't do what I did –" he pauses, rephrases. "I didn't kill Jonah because I thought you were lying, or going to betray me, or – or controlled by spiders. I didn't think your intentions were anything other than what you said. But I couldn't bear the thought of what we were doing . . . or I thought I couldn't. Clearly I could. In the end."

"Yeah. Well. Turns out both of us did things we didn't think we could," Martin says bitterly, thumb still tracing the scar.

"Funny how often that happens."

"You could have trusted that I knew what I was doing."

"But you didn't. None of us did . . . no one could in that situation."

"That includes you, you know," Martin frowns. "You kept going on about all you knew, but even you said you weren't unbiased. You don't think maybe the idea that the only way out was global euthanasia had anything to do with your own baggage?"

Another twinge, sharper this time. Without realizing, he'd pressed Martin's palm down harder than he should have, in where the nerves were still healing. He eases off.

". . . Maybe," he says eventually. "Probably. I doubt any of us were unbiased. How could we be?"

"But it was your biased plan you decided to go with. Like you always do. You always think you know better than everyone else--"

"I don't think that's entirely fair."

"It's not entirely unfair either."

He feels something stirring defensively in him. Then he stops. Assesses. "No," he says eventually. "I suppose it's not."

The hand is warm against his stomach, and he can feel the dampness of sweat just forming between their skins. It's not pleasant or unpleasant, just something he can feel, and he focuses on it for a while.

"You didn't trust me either, you know," he senses an objection coming, and he heads it off. "You were right not to. I wasn't trustworthy. You thought that I would go behind your back, and I did."

The tension that was rising deflates a little at the admission, and Martin's voice is gentle when he says, "you did."

"But I don't think you were lying when you said you trusted me." Jon adds. ". . . Do you?"

" . . . Fine, I get it. Trust is complicated and all that," Martin sighs, "it just. It hurts."

". . . I'm sorry."

Martin nods, is still for a moment, then leans forward and kisses him once. He kisses back.

"Do you regret it?"

"Which part?"

"Killing Jonah. Not waiting for us. Trying to go the other way."

Jon thinks of the hours before it happened. Of whimpering into Martin's chest, almost pleading, begging him to see. Horribly aware that Martin was as deeply set in his feelings as Jon, that there would be no budging for either of them.

He thinks of the moment he spent watching Martin's sleeping form, just before he climbed those stairs. Seeing his brow creased with unquiet dreams, and knowing that he was about to hurt him. He thinks of the terror, the dawning horror that fell over him as he saw what it all had been leading to.

"I don't know," he finally says. "I regret the pain you went through . . . I regret making you feel that."

There's a curved line trailing over Martin's forehead, just above his eye, which Jon follows with the edge of his thumb. The one on his shoulder is larger, took ages to heal, and there are more that travel down his back and arms. Places where the rubble struck him, before they both unraveled.

The scars aren't really what Jon is referring to when he talks about pain. But he supposes they're a part of it too.

". . . Do you?" he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Regret any of it?"

"I'm not sorry that I didn't let you stay in that tower and kill the entire world, if that's what you mean," he says firmly. "I'm sorry, but I'm never going to regret that."

"No . . . I wouldn't expect you to."

"I wouldn't have told the others to start if I'd known you'd already done it. But if I'd known that . . . that would've been it, right? We'd be stuck there."

"Unless the others went behind both our backs."

"What, you think Melanie wanted to stick a knife in you that badly?"

"I don't know about wanted. But I think Basira could have done it."

"Yeah . . . maybe."

". . . I'm sorry that I went behind yours."

Martin breathes into the space between their bodies, a long and expressive exhale. "I know. . . And I know you were hurting. And scared. I do know that."

"We both were."

"Yeah. Yeah . . ." he sighs. "I forgive you for it. I do. I don't want to hold onto that."

Jon finds Martin's hand in the dim light, pulls it closer to himself and kisses it. He hesitates – not sure if he should say this, should even acknowledge it – before linking their fingers together and pulling the hand back to his stomach, over the place where the knife went in.

"I don't need to forgive you for this. That is – I, I don't believe there's anything to forgive? It was what you had to do, and it was what I asked for. But . . ." he pauses, hesitates. "I know guilt can be an insidious emotion--"

"Oh, do you?" the lilt of sarcasm does not go unnoticed. Jon ignores it.

"–And I want you to know . . . if you feel like you need to be forgiven for it, you are. Entirely and unconditionally."

Martin nods, moving his hand off the scar and over around Jon's side. As he leans in for another kiss he grips him a little more firmly, his touch seems less hesitant and Jon is glad that he said something after all.

"Anyway, I was right, wasn't I?" Martin says after a moment. "We're here. We're in another world, and things are fine. It's normal. Maybe the fears are here, but it's not an apocalypse. Maybe it never will be."

That makes Jon frown. "You don't know that."

"Neither do you."

"And we never will," he says firmly. "We won't ever know the cost of what we did. Maybe it balances out. Maybe it doesn't. Either way, you and I won't have to feel it."

"At least it's normal here. You're not even an avatar," Martin says, and Jon nips back the impulse to quibble about the nature of that term. "You haven't been having the dreams, and you haven't needed a statement since we got here."

". . . I'm still feeding the Eye." It isn't until he sees the look of confusion on Martin's face that it occurs to Jon he didn't already know. "I don't have the power I once had, or the same needs," he explains. "But I feel it sometimes, using me as a conduit. It's as if the signal's fainter, but the receiver is so much more sensitive."

"Do you know it's happening, though, or are you just guessing?"

"I'm not sure how it happens, exactly. Maybe it just grazes off the fear I witness when I see something terrible on the news, or pass by someone in distress. Maybe in time it'll push me to seek out more, to force myself into other peoples' tragedies in service of the Beholding. Or maybe it never will, and I'll stay this way for the rest of my life."

Martin's brow furrows, and his voice is insistent, pushing back with some need Jon can't quite understand. "Okay, but it's not like you're actually hurting people--"

"No . . . I am," he says firmly. "And I am certain of that. It might be more subtle now . . . a lingering feeling of invasion, or paranoia. Or a trauma that would have otherwise passed leaving a decades-deep mark." He stares thoughtfully at his own thumb. "It feeds through me, and I give it strength. On some level, my existence still depends on the suffering of others. That's one consequence we can't avoid."

Martin is quiet for a long while. ". . . Guess it doesn't matter, right?" he finally says. "It's done. Can't undo it."

"No. Not any of it." He shakes his head. "It's funny, really. All my paranoia and suspicion, all my worry that the Web would slip an agent in under our nose, and the whole time I was looking in the wrong place. Seeing and seeing and never understanding."

"What do you mean?" Martin fidgets, and Jon wonders if he's said something he shouldn't have, though he can't guess what. "Looking in the wrong place?"

"I mean myself. The mark when I was a child. The lighter I could never remember. Even the tapes they sent to press on my wounds, keeping that anger fresh. All of it leading to that moment."

". . . Oh." Martin sighs. "Yeah, Jon. They manipulated you, that's what they do. They manipulated all of us."

"They did. And I was more theirs than I ever realized."

He feels Martin's fingers tapping against his side, thoughtful. After a moment, he speaks. ". . . She said that about me, too. Annabelle. That I was suited to the Web, or something."

"I imagine she'd say anything she knew would rile you up."

"She was right, though. At least a little bit . . . ." he takes the edge of Jon's sleeve between his fingers, twisting and fidgeting with it. "When we were down there, waiting, I could feel you coming through the web. The vibrations just spoke to me, I knew Basira was with you even before I saw her."

That surprises Jon. Startles him, even. He feels Martin fidget again, and in his mind he plays back what do you mean, looking in the wrong place. Notices the quiet nervousness in his voice. Considers how deep and old Martin knows his hatred of the Mother of Puppets to be.

"I always knew," he says, voice light and casual, "that there had to be a reason you'd defend anything as vile and repugnant as the common house spider."

Hearing Martin laugh, feeling that tension release in a sudden startled lungful – it's beautiful, it's a victory, and he smiles as Martin nudges into his shoulder. Halfway between a gesture of affection and a headbutt.

"Arsehole," he mutters. "It's not just that. I know I'm . . . well, I'm not always great at being direct. And maybe I can sometimes be passive-aggressive . . . ."

"Well—"

"You don't have to agree with me."

". . . Right."

"But that's sort of Web stuff, isn't it? And I – I was always good at telling Peter what he wanted to hear. I know why she said what she did."

"Mmm." Jon lifts Martins' fingers from where they're worrying at his sleeve, rolls them between his own. "You've learned that it's safer to nudge and suggest than to be direct. To make yourself look smaller than you are. I can see the . . . thematic overlap, I suppose. Imagine it drawing the attention of the Spider."

". . . Does that bother you?"

"Well I'm not worried you're some spider-controlled double agent," he says, then adds something under his breath.

". . . What was that last bit?" Martin lifts his head.

"Nothing."

"Did you just mutter ‘anymore?!"' he asks incredulously.

"My point is, we call to them in countless ways, often without knowing or wanting to," he sighs. "Besides . . . I'd hardly be in a position to judge. They had their strings on me from the start."

"That makes you a victim of them. Not an agent or an avatar."

"Martin . . . ."

"Don't ‘Martin' me, I'm right."

"Do you really think the two are incompatible? Being a victim of a power, and being a channel through which it feeds on others? After all you've seen?" his voice softens. "After all you've been through . . . after the Lonely?"

Martin goes quiet. Jon runs his fingers over his shoulder, absently stroking.

"In the end, I chose to be theirs. With it all falling down around us, I saw what they'd known I would do from the very beginning. I witnessed my fate laid out for me and instead of defying it, I ran towards it."

". . . You still regret it, don't you? Letting them out."

"I don't know, Martin. Truly, I don't," he says. A smile starts, then dies on his lips. "There's so much I regret nowadays, it's honestly hard to keep steady how I feel about most things."

A vague, hmm sound, an expression of some emotion that Jon can't guess at, though he suspects that wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. He brings both his hands up, cupping the sides of Martin's face between his palms. Martin startles, but says nothing.

"Most," Jon says, looking back at him seriously. "But I know how I feel about you. That doesn't change. And I don't regret staying with you."

The beginnings of tears form in Martin's eyes, and there is quiet in the room as Jon brings his face to his. Brushing a soft kiss over his mouth, the trails on his cheeks, the space above each closed eye. He doesn't stop until Martin shudders, swallows, and speaks again.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," Jon says. "And I'm glad that I'm here. I'm glad we're together and alive . . . whatever else comes with that."

Martin shudders again, a weak and pained sound coming out of him. It's all Jon can do not to pull Martin's face into his chest and let out a thousand desperate apologies, to self-flagellate, to beg forgiveness for ever allowing any pain to come to him. He sensibly quiets that urge, because he knows it's the last thing Martin needs. It's the last thing either of them need.

"Do you promise?" Martin whispers.

"Promise what? That I love you?" Silence follows, and Jon frowns, confused. ". . . I do promise that, if that's what you mean."

Instead of answering, Martin silently reaches between them, fumbling for Jon's hand and squeezing it tightly.

"Some nights I pretend to sleep," he says after a pause. "Or, well. Pretend's too strong a word . . . I just lie quietly in bed. But I'm waiting for you to fall asleep first."

Jon's fairly sure he lost the thread of this conversation, and he doesn't know where or how. ". . . Why?"

"Because I'm scared I'll wake up and find you gone."

"Oh. Oh, Martin . . . ."

"I don't-- it's not that I really think--" he shakes his head, "just sometimes can't let go of the thought of it, and it scares me." A wry smile crosses his face. "Which power feeds on that, you think?"

"I mean –"

"Not actually looking for an answer, Jon," he sighs, a mixture of affection and irritation. "Anyway, I think we both know which one it'd be."

He nods. Holds Martin's hand, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb. "I don't know what I can say . . . I can tell you that I won't leave, that I'll be here when you wake up. But I don't suppose that helps unless you can--" he hesitates, not wanting to say trust. It's starting to feel like a deeply troublesome word, both imprecise and emotionally weighted, the sort Jon tends to despise. ". . . believe me?"

"I don't actually think you're going to just vanish in the night someday. It's hard to explain."

"It's unlikely that we'll live to see another ritual for me to be the apocalyptic tipping point of."

"There's still more . . . ordinary things."

"Don't tell me you think I'm going to run off with one of the locals?" He raises his eyebrows, smiling, lets a teasing superiority into his voice. As if he considers the people of this reality to be below their station.

Martin doesn't laugh or smile. He gives him a look, like he's being stupid on purpose. Jon half wants to tell him it's completely involuntary.

"You don't need a bottomless coffin or an all-seeing eye to run off and martyr yourself. People do it with their own hands every day."

And now he understands. Now the thread comes back, winding itself directly around his throat.

". . . Come here," he says, though there are scant inches between them. Martin does so anyway, fitting himself into the space between Jon's arms, head tucked into his collar, legs twining with his. Jon's hands run over his shoulders, through his hair, down his back. He kisses the crown of his head over and over, pouring it all into touch and action until he can find the strength for words again.

"I love you," he whispers. "I'm not going to leave. Not that way . . . not in any way I have control over."

"Seeing his body there next to you . . . it felt like when I was coming back from the shop, and the sky went dark, and the ground started reaching and –" he swallows. "E-everything had gotten so horrible but we finally had a way out, a chance to start over. And then it was just gone again."

And Jon's heart is breaking, and he's afraid if he speaks he's going to start crying, but he can't be silent after that. So he tries.

"I'm so sorry . . . ."

"I know . . . I know." Martin sniffs. "It's not . . . I'm not looking for that. Honest. I just . . . ."

He goes quiet for a while.

"I know you were in pain," he continues. "The night before it all happened. I know – I knew that it was killing you, what we were about to do. It wasn't that I didn't care. But I told myself that someday – even if it wasn't right away, someday you'd be glad we'd done this. Because there'd be a someday."

". . . Maybe I would have been."

"And maybe you wouldn't have. I didn't know. I don't know. We'll never know. But I know you were hurting, and that's just it. Because I also know it . . . s-still hurts."

"I couldn't do that to you."

"We've both done things we thought we couldn't do," Martin says humorlessly.

"Right . . . I take your point."

"I know you feel guilty," Martin whispers, "and you – you just said that while you're alive others are suffering –"

". . . Yes."

"I know how tempting it can be. To just give in to it."

"I know you do."

"So . . . ."

Martin trails off, helpless. Jon feels helpless too. He clumsily feels for Martin's hands and brings them up against his own chest.

"Whatever else I feel, I promise you that I'm glad I'm alive," he says, holding their hands over the place where his heart still beats, steady and warm and living. "Even when it's difficult to bear it all, I'm glad that I'm alive and with you. I want to build a life together, here and now, more than anything. To take whatever chance we've got."

He wonders what Martin is looking for as his eyes trace over his face. Whatever it is he seems to find it, or maybe just trusts that it's there, because he takes a shuddering breath and nods.

". . . I believe you," he says.

"Thank you," Jon breathes deep, feeling the sharp heat behind his eyes fade as he blinks his own tears away. "And . . . I can hope that we made the right choice. Really it's all either of us can do, anymore."

"True."

They lie together in the silence. Martin slides his arms around Jon's sides, resting his head against his chest, and Jon feels the rhythm of his pulse next to his ear. His body is heavy and real, meat and bone, tangled up together with one that he loves. He feels the heat of Martin's breath as he sighs, the gentle weight, the tickle of hair, the hard ridge of skull beneath it. Abject, bloody systems of life.

". . . Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you . . . for coming back."

In the dark he feels a smile against his body. ". . . Which time?"

"Any. All."

"I always will," he whispers. ". . . Thank you for staying."

"That's the deal."

"Yeah. . . yeah." Martin lets out a long, steady sigh. "That's the deal"

Jon feels Martin's limbs relax around him, grip loosening as eyes tiredly close. He twines his fingers through Martin's hair, stoking softly and sweetly as his beloved drifts. Jon doesn't close his eyes just yet, instead watches the face that rests against him slowly go slack in the moonlight. Thinking that maybe tonight, Martin will fall asleep first.