#with the colours and proportions but! I managed to save it towards the end

[crooked-hourglass]

Unmasked Rain Ghoul I’m enjoying drawing original ghoul designs lately, and learning to use colour! So have this drawing of a midnight visit from my rendition of Rain

{More Artwork | Socials and Prints}    

[brokenjardaantech]

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 8: Into No Man’s Land)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

summary:

In the past, Fadia and Reyes argued.

In the present, Connor finds a sanctuary from the most unexpected source.

In the past, Connie woke up.

also on ao3

content warning for your typical violence from both games. in short: guns and biotics and people getting wounded.

also, special thanks to @fanndamnedibals for drawing the amazing piece of art for this story. it’s really fucking cool.

---

Before

Fadia was greeted by a punch to her face. Her whole upper body swivelled from the inhuman force, but her lower body planted firmly on the floor still, and with a smooth swing, she stood straight as if the punch never occurred. 

‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ Reyes snarled. ‘Giving plans to Russia and China like that? What happened to me being in charge? What happened to androids being free? What happened -’

Fadia gave the other android a hard shove. ‘What else can I do?’ she yelled. ‘What do you understand about yourself? Do you even know what you’re capable of?’ A shake of her head. ‘Thanks to my father, CyberLife is now producing androids for the military for a price much cheaper than paying non-commissioned officers in the long run, and you think they won’t use it to secure their claim on the Arctic where all of earth’s thirium is? We need someone to keep them in check. China and Russia are the only answer.’

‘And enslaving more of us? More of my people? Pushing the world into war once more?’ the air crackled with static. ‘Have you ever considered anyone else apart from yourself?’

‘Watch your voice box, Reyes,’ Fadia took a step forward, her height letting her loom over the man. ‘You are standing here yelling at me because I care for my brother so cut the bullshit about me not caring. Look what caring did to you -’ indicated her metallic body - ‘to me -’ a wave of her arm - ‘and to the rest of the world. Listen,’ a thin layer of blue appeared between them, ‘just a quick walk around the garden. A farewell. Then I’ll go.’

‘“A farewell”? What is that supposed to mean?’

‘With luck, you won’t see me much for quite a long time. Years. A decade, even. There is something else that I’m… working on.’

‘Leaving a mess your own making behind now?’

‘My father made the mess!’ Fadia lit up. ‘And no, I’m not running away, but there are more important things to deal with right now. It will need my full attention, and I don’t want to leave without giving my brother closure.’ When Reyes’ hand moved towards the gun she knew was hidden underneath his shirt, she sighed. ‘Please. Do you want to see Scott asking where I am every day for the next ten years? Do you want him spending his days worrying about me?’

Reyes was still glaring at her, but at least he was not drawing his weapon. A few seconds of tense silence passed, and with a snap of his arm away from the gun, ‘What do you want to tell him?’ he said as he turned away from his creator, his expression filled with disgust. ‘I can… deliver the message for you.’

Fadia’s lips twitched downwards. ‘Must you?’

‘You wish to protect your brother, don’t you? Don’t you think he’ll be stressed out by your current state?’

‘My current -’

‘Your message,’ Reyes crowded into his creator’s personal space and managed to look imposing despite his height disadvantage, ‘or get the fuck out of here.’

Fadia looked at her first creation down her nose. ‘Tell him that I came to say hello and that it is perfectly normal from that point onwards if he cannot contact me. Tell him it may be years before he sees me again,’ a step back. The door swung open. ‘And it is your fault.’

‘Hold the fuck on -’

A crackle of blue, a flash of dark energy, a faint trail of dissipating tendrils. Sara Fadia Ryder was gone, leaving her creation standing at the door with a hand outreached hopelessly with nothing but thin air in his grasp.

o0o0o

Now

Streets unsafe for androids. Sanctuary at these coordinates. Will deliver supplies to said location as soon as possible. I’m sorry.

The world has become a blur. Hank’s house, receiving the message, decoding the message for Hank, changing into another set of clothes, getting into Hank’s car, and they are off to the docks before they even know what is happening. The androids led by Markus marched. People - androids - were killed. CyberLife is setting up ‘recycling centres’ to recall all androids in the city and around the country with the help of the police and military. They have to act now or they will be trapped by one of the many checkpoints popping up in the streets. Everything, as Hank says, has gone to shit.

Are you going to be fine? Connor texts. I doubt you will be carrying out your orders.

I told my men they have the choice to leave and everything will be on me. If they’re staying, they’re staying on my side. On the android’s side.

And their response?

They’re packing up right now and I’m making sure that nothing will get to them.

How about you?

Meet me there. Hopefully. Vouch for a fleshy human later, can you? I’ll be bringing whatever I can.

Absolutely.

Good.

They arrive at Ferndale after what seems like hours later, Hank stopping a few blocks away from the water in order to not arouse suspicion even though the area is deserted, but Connor’s scans reveal stray patches of evaporated thirium on the floor, which means that injured androids have been here… a few hours ago. 

Hank turns around. ‘Think I should stop here.’ He cocks his head at the area at large. ‘Go on. I won’t leave until you’re out of my sight.’

The image is not comforting enough. ‘Come with us,’ Connor begs. ‘We need you here.’

The human shakes his head. ‘I can’t. Someone has to keep up appearances at the precinct. Besides, Jeff seems to have something to say. I’ll give you an update later when he’s finished yelling at me.’

It makes sense in some ways. Splitting up, gathering information from both ends, and then creating a better plan to save all of them. Simple; at least, it should be. But he also has been with Hank for such a long time - most of his time on earth, really - that it will be strange to be alone with a much slower counterpart of himself in tow. It will be a challenge.

It is also their only chance.

‘I understand,’ he forces out of his voice box, and he opens the door and steps out of the car into the snow before walking around to help Connie get out. What surprises him, however, is that Hank steps out as well and draws Connor into a tight hug.

‘Come back,’ the human says, to me, he doesn’t say, but Connor hears it anyway, and he wraps his arms as much as he can around Hank’s body and squeezes, a silent ‘I will’ that he hopes that his partner understands. ‘I will fight like there is no tomorrow to go back to your side,’ Connor confesses as he catalogues everything there is about Hank, his smell, his proportion, his warmth, because it seems that things are going that way and he wants him to be the last thing he recalls when - when -

‘-nor, look at me.’

Hank’s hand is on his cheek already when Connor looks up. They are so close that Connor can distinguish the shape of each and every single one of the snowflakes in the human’s hair, his brows, his eyelashes, and he can feel every single valley and spur on Hank’s finger that uniquely corresponds to Hank as he brushes his thumb against where Connor’s cheekbone would be had he been human. ‘Most advanced prototype, remember?’ the human says, still holding Connor tight. ‘If there’s someone who can make it out alive, it’s you. I have faith in you.’

‘I -’ you shouldn’t. ‘All I’ve ever done is failing my missions.’

‘To save lives, I know,’ the hand on his cheek moves to the back of his neck. Connor shivers from the warmth. ‘No matter which colour we bleed.’

‘I -’

Thank you. For everything. For making me realise that I’m more than my programming. For being there even though you didn’t understand what was happening.

There is so much he wants to say but can’t due to the sheer amount of information filtering through his processors, but one thing is certain: they all advise him to throw caution to the wind. As if having the exact same thoughts, Hank leans his head forward at the same time, and they meet halfway through in a desperate kiss, a rough press of lips against lips that is all over too soon but conveying enough emotions to each other that they both deflate when they part, the tension in their body suddenly gone now that they are resigned to their fate. 

‘We’ll talk about this,’ Hank warns, but there is no malice in his tone. Come back alive.

Connor has to break their gaze and hook his head on the human’s shoulder or he’ll never get his words out. ‘You stay safe too.’

A large hand on his back, Connor’s thick, season-appropriate attire ridding him of the last human warmth he may get to feel. ‘I will.’

They finally pull apart. A hand that doesn’t belong to Hank brushes Connor’s arm, and that is when he remembers that Connie is here; as if seeing her expectant expression, Hank hugs her as well completely unaware of how close to tears the other android is. Connor moves to hold her hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he tells her, because someone has to be the more responsible one between the two, and they walk away hand in hand together towards the coordinates Louis gave them without a glance backwards.

oOoOo

Jericho. Cargo freighter. Abandoned ship. A sanctuary for deviants old and new, the latter far outnumbering the rest due to Markus’ actions. The bombs on stand by scattered around the place indicate that the freighter is rigged, but no one seems to care; there is a cluster of androids on one side where a holo is recycling the news, another on the other side checking and modding weapons on improvised benches, and another group sitting at a long table working on laptops still in their suitcases. No one seems to have noticed them, which is good considering his previous… reputation as a deviant hunter (even though he didn’t do a very good job at it); he can withstand cold looks and harsh words hauled at him, but Connie is innocent here, and he doesn't want her to suffer any more abuse.

He receives a notification from their intertwined hands that his sister’s internal temperature is falling below recommended levels, so he scans his surroundings, noting the broken grids and - there, a fire contained in a rusted metal barrel surrounded by a sitting area created from stacked-up crates. He spots what seems to be an improvised medical bay where broken androids are being repaired and thought of asking for some thirium for Connie, but from what he can see, the androids under repair are all in much worse shape than his sister, so all he does is giving Connie a quiet reassurance and… waits while he recalls what he just saw. Rupert. The Tracis. Other newly-deviated androids still in their uniform. It’s a miracle that he and Connie don't get spotted.

The drowsiness from the other side of the shallow interface plus the weight on his shoulder indicates that Connie has fallen asleep once more, and with no one to help take care of her, Connor can only sit there and do -

Wait.

His free hand reaches into his pocket and fishes out a coin. It is not the one he is familiar with, but it makes for a good replacement after only a few tries, and soon enough he has it spinning on the tips of his fingers despite the gloves and low temperature and is using it to ignore the dropping thirium level warning from his sister’s HUD. It can be that he is distracted. It can be Connie’s fatigue getting into him. It can be the flickering light from the fire creating shadows that were not there some time ago. It can be that he is in a bubble; to him, nothing else apart from Connie matters.

All he knows when he lets the coin fall onto his palm and looks up is that Markus has been sitting there in front of them for quite a long time. He tenses, knowing that his cover is blown, and he knows that his fate is in the deviant leader’s hands.

‘You deviated,’ the RK200 states. It is not a question.

‘How do you know?’

‘A human contact passed the news to me through an android he rescued and asked us to not view you with suspicion. He goes by the name Lee Aaron, but it is, of course, not his real name. I believe you’ll have the chance to thank him later in person.’

Connor really needs to give Louis a hug. ‘I see.’

Markus indicates Connie with a slight jerk of his head. ‘And this one?’

There is only one answer. ‘My sister.’

The deviant leader raises an eyebrow. ‘Do I even want to know?’

Connor thinks of his creator, the way she kicked them out, the way she doesn't seem to care about their lives, how she seems to be on their side but let them die for the last ten years. ‘Later. It’s a long story.’

Markus studies Connie for a few seconds. ‘It’s still early,’ he says. ‘You can still leave the country by bus before curfew starts. One of our people used to work in the state department, and I can have modified electronic passports delivered to you.’

[Thirium level: 37%] flashes in front of Connor’s HUD. ‘We are under no condition to travel,’ We, more like Connie, but I will not abandon her. ‘The military has set up multiple checkpoints around the city for temperature checks. I doubt it is safe for us to go outside now, but thank you, for offering.’

Jericho’s leader nods in understanding. ‘Is there anything you need? Biocomponents, blue blood, systems checks?’

[Thirium level: 37%]. So why is he hesitating? ‘My sister… her blue blood level is extremely low,’ he admits. ‘It is currently at thirty-seven per cent, far too little for her to function normally.’

Markus looks horrified. ‘rA9, Connor, why didn’t you tell someone when you came?’ he shoots up from his seat as if forgetting that he can remotely send a message to the medics to call for some thirium. ‘I’ll get some for you. Stay here.’

‘You don’t have to -’

‘You’re one of us now,’ a firm hand on Connor’s shoulder prevents him from standing up. ‘We help each other out whenever we can and right now your sister needs it. We’re rationing our supplies, but I think we can spare a bottle. It will last until Lee arrives.’

Connor lets out a breath he doesn’t know he has been holding and puts as much gratitude as he can into his voice as possible when he thanks Markus, but the other RK-series prototype merely waves and places a firm hand on his shoulder, silencing him and, through a shallow interface, telling him to rouse Connie first. He brushes a lock of her hair back into her beanie, and her eyes flutter open in confusion.

We are in Jericho, remember? he reminds her. Markus is getting you some thirium. You will feel better very soon.

Connie sends back a vague affirmative and takes off her beanie with a frown. ‘No hat,’ she mutters as she clumsily shoves the piece of cloth into her pocket. ‘Not anymore.’

Connor can pre-construct all the ways she can lose what little heat she generates. ‘It is to prevent you from losing body heat.’

She shakes her head, her braid falling apart. ‘No hat.’

An overwhelming wave of discomfort washes through him and yes, he would rather sacrifice his body heat to avoid the pain as well, so he lets it be for now and adds [Find a new hat for Connie] into his increasing list of optional tasks that, judging from the constant drone of the news from the floor above, he may or may not be able to finish in the near future. 

Markus returns with half a bottle of thirium and holds it in front of Connie, but all she does is staring at it instead of taking it; from their interface, Connor feels her processor (yes, somehow Ryder stripped all processing units but one from his sister’s body) straining itself to comprehend the other android’s action. ‘It’s for you,’ the deviant leader explains, and it is after an entire minute of processing that Connie slowly reaches out and takes the bottle with both hands. 

‘Thank you,’ she says. Then holds the bottle on her lap without doing anything else.

Connor accepts the link request. Is she alright? Markus asks. She seems… unwell.

Connor partitions part of his focus to the chat and diverts the rest to helping his sister. Sara Ryder modified her after retrieving my - the body, he says as he guides the bottle of thirium to Connie’s lips. Her processing power is incapable of computing large amounts of information. The liquid rolls and slides into Connie’s mouth. I intend to ask our creator about the full extent of the modification once this is over.

You didn’t ask her?

Connor recalls the power he felt radiating from Ryder. We could either leave unharmed or become dust rolling across the floor of her living room. We chose to live.

It is understandable, Markus nods. In reality, Connie seems to understand what the item in her hand is for and finally starts drinking without her brother’s aid. I’ve had… the displeasure of meeting her a few times. My… father - he doesn’t like her much. 

Connor thinks of the entire family, how Alec Ryder tried to flush his knowledge about his powers away, how Sara Ryder modified Connie and left her to suffer. A family trait, he replies, and it makes Markus chuckle. He opens his mouth as if to say something but seems to be distracted by something else. 

‘There are some issues I need to take care of,’ he said in the end. ‘Return the bottle to the med bay if you can.’

He leaves. A drop of thirium escapes Connie’s lips and rolls down her chin, and he wipes it away with the corner of his sleeve while adjusting his reception frequency into that matching the other androids’ channel just to find himself being flooded by information concentrating on ‘a human’, ‘supplies’, and, most disturbingly, ‘illegal weapons’.

He is an ally, Markus’ voice cuts through the chaos, and everything dies down. 

oOoOo

The precinct is still bustling with activity when Louis goes in under Hank’s request and in a bad way: the drizzle of rain before the wind picks up and a storm rolls in. He can tell that people are on edge from either the revolution or even civil war brewing at the horizon or, for those who have decided to stay, worrying about their loved one’s safety. One example is - Detective Gavin Reed, his nameplate reads - who is shouting into his phone with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear if he had been the only one talking. But right now, in the chaos of the office he rarely steps into, Louis can strain his ear and barely make out the details, his heart thumping from the familiar name on the call.

‘Cut that shit, Eli! You can’t tell me what to do!’ Reed yells. ‘You’ve got your duty, I’ve got mine, and right now I’m fucking staying in this motherfucking shithole. You understand me?’ An eye roll, then his eyes snap towards the direction of the entrance where a man who obviously doesn’t work in the force walks in. Everyone assumes that he is one of theirs, though, and he - probably Eli - manages to reach Reed without much resistance.

‘Gav, listen,’ he raises his hands in front of him as Reed pokes the screen of his phone so hard that Louis wouldn’t be surprised had it broken, ‘remember what I’ve told you? About me? Who I work for?’

‘What about -’ Louis can’t see Eli’s expression from this angle, but it must have shut Reed up. ‘Shit.’

‘Quite,’ Eli says drily. Then his voice softens. ‘Please, Gavin, I just want us to get out of this alive. Together.’

He tones out the rest of the conversation and instead focuses on the task at hand. An encrypted diary and a hollow statue. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Hank’s credentials are easy to guess, and he flinches when the evidence locker unfolds to reveal androids strung up like pieces of meat. He focuses on what he wants instead and quickly grabs both items Hank told him that can lead the FBI to Jericho because of course the first thing androids do after gaining sentience is worshipping a god and writing down the address of their secret hideout and -

‘What is a SWAT Captain doing here?’

He turns. Sees Eli standing at the door. Remembers the two empty spaces where the evidence he took should be. A flash of a long-forgotten memory: an interrupted project, a team gone missing, one last goodbye.

I know him.

‘I remember you,’ negotiate first, use force only when necessary. ‘You used to work with my sister. How did you get in here?’

‘Police departments around the world have… questionable security measures compared to the people I am working for,’ Eli - Ilya - Louis doesn’t know anymore - taps his watch. ‘Quite easy to break into, really. Now, what did you take?’

‘All evidence I’ve retrieved are under Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s orders,’ sorry, Hank. ‘You can ask him for confirmation.’

‘No need to be hostile,’ his tone is still condescending, and Louis feels his nerves tingle from both his emotions and the man in front of him. Fuck. Does that mean he’s like him as well? ‘If I were here for you, I would’ve subdued you a long time ago, wouldn’t I?’

Louis is still not convinced. ‘The hell do you want?’

‘I don’t have much time,’ Eli/Ilya takes out a… thing that seems to have materialised from his sleeve. ‘If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you’ll need this later.’

Louis warily approaches the other man. ‘What does it do?’

‘It syncs with your nervous system. More specifically, the biotic nodes - both natural and artificial - in your entire body which are part of your nervous system. An amplifier, as we call it informally. Gives you a boost in a fight. Gets you out of tight places.’

‘How do I know you’re genuine?’

‘Me and your sister drifted apart a few years ago,’ hold on, a few years ago? Does it mean - ‘It doesn’t mean I want to hurt innocent people - android or human. I’d hardly want her to throw a fit after knowing that you died being shot at by the US military.’

But Louis isn’t quite listening anymore. ‘Hold on,’ he says even as he shoves the device into his pocket. ‘Anna is alive?’

‘We have little time left,’ the other man doesn’t seem to have heard his question. ‘It’s a matter of time for the FBI to find where the deviants are hiding. If you want to get to them, better do it quickly. Preferably armed.’

Louis gives Eli/Ilya one last sweep, memorising his features, his measurement, his clothing, everything that he can notice right now so that - ‘We’ll talk later.’

‘Get out alive first.’

He doesn’t allow himself to think as he methodically packs up, drives back home, refills the food and water dispensers for the cats in case he’ll be away for a long time, drives to the safehouse - deserted because not long ago the military just marched through and searched door to door for androids - to retrieve all the supplies he can carry - thirium, printers, guns, and finally brings himself to Jericho where he hopefully won’t get gunned down on his first step into the cargo freighter for being human. He taps into his powers - just in case - and hooks the amplifier over his ear.

He doesn’t know if it’s the energy or the power or just that there are so many androids in Jericho, but he manages to reach the heart of the freighter relatively undetected. Connor and his sister are probably among the clusters of androids downstairs, but first, he needs to have a word with the leader of the deviants.

‘Human.’

He gets surrounded by what must be a dozen androids in less than a second, the LEDs on their temples - for those who keep theirs, that is - spinning yellow while they communicate silently through their channels. He follows their line of sight and there it is, his borderline-illegal, modded-to-hell rifle that he gets away from carrying openly only because he is a SWAT Captain, and he starts regretting his decision to bring it out in the open to deter the military.

The androids in front of him part like Moses splitting the Red Sea in half, Markus emerging with quickened steps and standing in front of him in an instant. Piercing eyes - one blue, one green - scans him from head to toe despite Louis being pretty sure that it’s just for show, and when their eyes meet, he decides to slide the duffel bag containing the printers and thirium down his shoulder and holds it towards the deviant leader with straining arms. ‘I brought supplies,’ he explains, feeling dumb. ‘Scan my bags if you don’t believe me.’ 

Markus’ eyes don’t move but Louis feels him scanning the contents of his luggage anyway. He doesn’t move at all, but then two androids emerge from the crowd to take the bags downstairs. ‘You are expected,’ he says. Then, gesturing the rifle on his back and the other weapons Louis hid underneath his clothes, ‘Not very discreet, aren’t you?’

The other androids file away, their anxious chatter having nothing to do with what he knows will come. ‘It gets the message through without words,’ Louis replies as he fidgets with the strap of his rifle in front of his chest. ‘I’m on a time limit here.’

‘For what?’

‘The FBI is coming. You have about one hour and a half to evacuate.’

And then everything becomes a blur.

oOoOo

FBI. Evacuating Jericho. Blowing up Jericho. Staying in Jericho to defend the last evacuees. People leave in groups of no less than three, taking crates, supplies, and, sometimes, injured companions away from the failing cargo freighter. Some, like Lucy, volunteered to stay despite being recommended to leave first, and some left with the friends they had made during these few eventful days. Holding Connie tight against his side with her hand in his grip and the shallow interface between them the only thing keeping her functional, Connor is torn between sending her away to safety without him, going with her to their next sanctuary, or forcing her to stay with him and face the dangers of potential firefights and massacres. He can tell from her panicked shiver and the way she tugs herself underneath his arm that she does not want to go at all and neither does he, but he doesn’t know if he can live with it if she died because of him.

Someone kneels in front of him, and when his eyes focus, Louis’ face comes into view. ‘Josh is leading the last outbound group. The rest of us are staying in case the FBI came before all of us can go.’

‘So Connie can come with us?’

Louis checks his watch. ‘If you want her to be safe, no,’ he rearranges his limbs so that he is sitting cross-legged on the floor. ‘We’re expecting confrontation very soon, maybe in a few minutes. We need to move now or else we might risk getting her in the crossfire, glowy blue superpowers or no.’

He doesn’t move from where he’s sitting on the floor. Connor watches his sister pout and her eyes water, but to his surprise, she nearly slaps his arm around her shoulders away and stands up on her own. Louis stands up as well, adjusting the rifle on his back by its strap, and leads her away presumably to Markus’ lieutenant. It leaves a large gap in Connor’s mind. 

oOoOo

Louis feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up before the rumble even starts.

‘Hurry,’ he transfers Connor’s sister from his arm to Josh’s. ‘They’re coming.’

‘What?’ the android has the nerve to look confused. ‘But don’t we -’

‘Just go!’ he can feel the full weight of all the shit he’s stowed on his body as he takes a step back, all the spare ammo and the four pistols and the submachine gun he somehow manages to keep underneath his winter clothes. Here’s to hoping that his powers are enough to keep him afloat. ‘We’ll catch up with you.’

He runs, feeling the shift of the small packages of thirium he left for himself in case he is trapped and needs to fight his way through, and it’s about thirty seconds later that he nearly slams into Connor who just turned the corner. ‘They’re coming from all sides,’ he says as he reloads his pistol. ‘Markus is detonating the charge in the hold. We need to find an exit and jump in the river.’

‘And the others?’ Louis knows they shouldn’t be standing there but he needs to know. The implication of jumping into freezing water in winter… surprisingly doesn’t scare him as much as it should. ‘Are they jumping too?’

‘North is leading them. I’m just here to find you.’

He doesn’t exactly have a choice now, does he? ‘Lead the way.’

He pulls his scarf over his nose and runs.

oOoOo

‘Hostiles sighted. Preparing to engage.’

Louis is pulled behind one of those watertight doors before he even registers the movement, and the next thing he knows Connor is dashing out of cover and immediately gets shot. Letting his instincts take over his body, a shield of blue tendrils shoots out of his hand and fixes itself in front of the android before he rushes out while slinging his rifle onto his shoulder and drags him as far as he can away from the soldiers by walking backwards, and as he feels the fabric in his grip twist and bend, he wonders if the soldiers pick up his face with the built-in tech in their helmets. Their facelessness does give Louis an advantage, however, because he feels no qualms about creating a blue sphere of energy in his free hand and lobbing it towards the shield, causing it to explode in a boom of bright blue mist. He also forces himself to not think too much about the horrible screech of rusted metal before the corridor collapses behind him as he drags Connor into another empty room to examine the wound.

‘You alright?’ he asks. The wound on the android’s shoulder doesn’t seem to be bleeding, but he knows it is an illusion created by the many layers Connor is wearing right now; of all he knows, the android can be soaking his innermost shirt. ‘How long until your self-repair kicks in?’

‘A few seconds,’ Connor’s jaw is tight when he uses Louis’ shoulder as leverage to stand up. ‘It will not heal properly until I have sufficient thirium in my systems. We have to go.’

‘Will the water get in?’

‘Not if I give my chassis priority.’ Connor freezes for a blink of an eye, the only indicator that he is scanning his surroundings now that his LED is hidden beneath his beanie. ‘We are safe for now.’

Louis steps outside first this time, his protective barrier tinting his world blue. The corridor smells of static and the unique smell of a mix of his powers and rusted metal, and they don’t run this time, Louis needing to concentrate on always keeping his powers on hand so that he can react as quickly as possible in case they got ambushed again and Connor distracted by both constantly scanning their surroundings and mending the gaping hole on his shoulder. They run into a few stray pairs of soldiers on their way, but nothing cannot be taken care of by sneaking away or catching them unaware with a stasis field. 

He is almost frightened by how easily he accepts his powers as his main source of offence and defence and uses it on people with no regrets.

‘Connor! Lou! You’re alive!’

They round a corner and are greeted by Simon and North. Both of them appear unharmed and North doesn’t look too happy that Louis is there, but one look from Simon is enough to urge all of them to run towards the exit on their deck, hurdling over collapsed walls and doors and leaping over gaps on the floor as quickly and smoothly as they can to get out of the place as soon as possible - and to outrun the footsteps behind them.

North takes the risk to look backwards. ‘Markus!’

Before Louis can turn to greet him, he hears gunshots and a surprised groan from Markus as he turns and discovers the leader of the deviants on the floor with two bleeding wounds on his back. The lights hum and go out, and they are left with the dim, far-away lamps mounted on the soldiers’ rifles as their only source of light. The rumble of helicopters outside seems so close now.

‘Markus!’ comes the panicked cry from Simon, and Louis raises his arm just in time to push him back to let Connor do his job. ‘Stay back,’ Louis says. ‘Let us handle this.’

He lobs a sphere of blue towards the soldier shooting at the two androids as the prototype slings Markus’ arm around his shoulders and starts limping towards the exit, knocking them into the wall with a thrum that resonates in the entire corridor. From the light of their rifles, two more soldiers join their still-standing comrades, and he knows he needs to up his game to be able to fight them all at once; instead of suspending them in stasis fields or using the old-school spheres, he swings his arm upward with his palm to launch an unending chain of explosive tendrils that tears through the soldiers, lifting them off their feet and illuminating the rest of the corridor with blinding blue light. Their position exposed, Louis cuts off the shockwave chain and lets it fizzle and dissipate behind him and runs with the others towards the exit as he shrouds himself in blue to protect himself from the freezing water.

More gunshots and shells hitting the ground. A ‘Run! Quick! Come on!’ from Markus. Louis leaps.

Everything beyond his barrier goes dark.

o0o0o

Before

The remodelling was going well. The new programmes had all taken root in 51’s system, the body modifications were adapting to the original biocomponents and responding to the new system, and her vitals were steady if less satisfactory than what Ryder expected. Whatever. Her task was complete. This stage of her experiment was a success.

Deactivating the skin on her hand, she placed it on the other android’s shoulder and woke her up, 51’s skin rippling and flickering as the sudden increase in power usage. It stayed that way as she blinked her eyes open, and her mouth opened and closed as if she had something to say but couldn’t.

‘RK800, register name: Connie.’

51 - Connie - shivered.

Perfect.

---

the art!

link: https://www.deviantart.com/coakesam/art/DBHAUBB-2021-877769882

[ultrafouldreamcollectionworld]

Nicor enjoyed helping people, even when he had just been a little Growlithe aiding his peers and fighting off bullies, he was always one to stand up for the weak. As an adult and fully-grown Arcanine he traveled the lands, fighting off slavers, raiders, tyrants and other monsters... and with every heroic deed grew his fame. Wherever he went, the people asked him to help with a problem they had – and it was not always an evil villain that needed to be vanquished. Sometimes a dam was threatening to break, forcing him to haul heavy materials and fix it. Other times he needed to find lost people in a forest, or dig out a caravan that got into a landslide. Fallen trees after a storm needed to be dealt with. Dangerous vermin needed to be exterminated from farmlands. The tasks for a wandering hero never seemed to abate.

He had just finished wrapping bandages around his bicep, huddled up in a dank cave. That Machoke bandit and his gang had really roughed him up before he had managed to defeat them, his whole body still aching. Nicor flexed his arm to test if the bandage wouldn't fall off, but the motion made him wince. His brown eyes glanced over the rest of his body – like any other Arcanine, he was generously fluffy with an orange and creamy coloured body and black stripes here and there, his mane standing out in long creamy spikes that merged with his chest hair, pretty much subsuming his neck. It didn't help that his chest was tremendously broad and consisted of two massive slabs of muscle befitting a heroic build, growing only slightly thinner towards the waist. Attached to his torso were bulging arms that could bend steel Pokémon, and his legs were mighty logs that could crush rocks between them. Unlike other Arcanines, his stomach was not black, but cream like his mane and tail, not that he minded. Over his powerful frame he wore studded leather armour that threatened to burst off his body, broken in some parts due to all the beating it received. Through the holes and gaps one could see even more bandages.

“I'm going to need some days for all these... oof. Hopefully the village has some food to spare, I'm not able to go hunting like this.“ he muttered to himself, grabbing his halbed before he made his way out of the wet cave, his long majestic tail swishing behind him.

The village was, as were so many, poor and consisted of a few huts. During these trying times where poverty and famines reigned and ruthless empires expanded, few people had much to give. As such, even though Nicor always helped and saved lives (or made them easier), he could never ask for much in return, this village not even having a single spare room for him, forcing him to camp in the cave, which was wet and dark and really not good for his back.

In the early years of his travels, he had silently accepted such facts. Nowadays, however, he started to really feel it in his very bones.

He swung his halberd to rest on his shoulder, approaching a group of villagers – a Bounsweet, a Linoone and a Sudowoodo. As soon as they spotted him and before he could voice his request for some food, they swarmed him.

“Nicor, I need you to repair my roof! It's damaged and it will rain soon!“ the Bounsweet pleaded, tugging at the fluff of his wrists.

“No, no, you need to help me build a new fence! There's wild animals trying to sneak through every night!“ yelled the Linoone, grabbing hold of Nicor's other arm.

Predictably, the Sudowoodo clung to his middle.

“What about the bridge, though?! Without anyone building the new bridge, no one can trade with us! Nicor, please, none of us has the strength for that!“ he sobbed.

The Arcanine let out a sigh that no one heard.

At the start of his career his tasks had grown more and more heroic – but it seemed that after a while, the foes did not always get bigger or badder and that he instead received more and more requests that dealt with manual labour of all sorts, but who was he to decline?

“I... apologize but the bandits that attacked you were a tough battle. I will need some days to recover and wanted to ask for some food... once I'm better, I'll help you, I promise.“ he said, smiling lightly at the three clingy Pokémon, who all stared up at him for a few seconds...

...and then talked over each other. No, they could not afford to give him food, what little they had was barely enough for them and their families. No, the tasks could not wait. No, the bridge was more important.

Nicor sighed.

The months passed... Nicor, the hero, wandered. He was welcome everywhere, as long as there were tasks the people had for him, and though many happy faces greeted him, they were always hiding a request behind them. Sure, he received their thanks, but a thank-you could not fill his stomach nor warm his furred hide. Sometimes he got a reward, of course, but it was almost never in proportion to the herculean (or laborious) task he fulfilled.

And sometimes, he really wished he had a house somewhere waiting for him. The life of a selfless hero did not pay well, nor did he own any land. He might have had plowed more than a few fields for frantic farmers, but he did not know how to grow vegetables, and hunting became more and more of a fruitless effort thanks to the world's general decline.

One time it seemed as if fortune smiled on him, though... in a larger town that was not quite as struggling.

“So this wizard's demanding food and gold, lest he ruins your city? Hrmph, another would-be tyrant... I'll see him brought to justice. You say I will receive a house and enough money to live a good while?“ Nicor asked the mayor, a Staraptor that nodded at him.

“Well, y-yes... if glory and fame are not enough for you, of course. You're a famous hero, after all.“ she said, eyeing him with a look he did not like.

“I have to settle down somewhere. I'm not getting any younger, so I'll have the house, thank you, Lady Mayor.“ Nicor said, getting up from his chair to readjust his armour. By now, much of it had broken down to reveal his mighty abs of steel, a fact some people certainly liked.

“You do seem like you've traveled the road for a long time. Be careful – this sorcerer wields fearsome powers, and he's thoroughly evil. I've never seen a more vile creature! Why, it seems he -delights- in hurting others when we can't bring him enough.“ she said, ruffling some of her feathers in disgust.

“Didn't you say it was a wizard?“ Nicor asked dumbfounded as they walked to the door of the mayor's office.

“Who cares? Now go and defeat this warlock so that my people can sleep in peace again.“ she said, almost pushing him out of the door, closing it behind him.

“...those are three different things. Ah well... what's another wizard-sorcerer-warlock. Wicelock... no, that won't catch on...“ Nicor grunted to himself, then made his way to the town's edge... the people on the streets all hailed him and cheered.

“It's Nicor! The hero! He's going to free us!“ “You're our only hope!“

“Kick that warlock's ass!“

“Nicor! Nicor! Nicor!“

The Arcanine couldn't help but smile – for a while, he felt like the young hero he once was, the one that believed helping people was its own reward. Well, and the admiration one received.

The cheering was audible for a while after he had left the town behind, approaching a ruined keep the warlock (Nicor had decided to use this term from now on) had claimed for himself. No guards, no nothing, apparently this guy worked alone. This was either an incredibly powerful warlock or someone who was all bark and no bite.

Soon he stood in front of the decrepit gates, kicking them open with ease.

“Your foul demands meet an end today, warlock! You won't oppress these people any longer!” he shouted, swinging his halberd as he rushed into the partly collapsed main hall, where the culprit sat on a throne. They always sat on a throne, Nicor had noticed in his career.

A Lycanroc, that much he had known. A Midday one, clad in creamy and white fur – and sporting a somewhat chubby paunch.

“A hero, how lovely. I was wondering when they'd grow a spine.” the Lycanroc retorted, swinging one leg above the other, grinning defiantly.

“I was expecting a Midnight Lycanroc... either way, prepare yourself, Chunks!” Nicor shouted, pointing his halberd towards the canine, who was stroking one of his neck horns that jutted out of the fluff.

“My apologies for ruining your stereotype. I'm quite happy being an evil Midday one. But say... you don't look so hot. A bit washed-up.” the Lycanroc said, not getting up. Nicor couldn't see a weapon, but he knew this was a magical foe anyway – there was just an odd crystal that he levitated above his paw, perhaps the source of his powers.

“How vile must one be to gleefully call oneself evil? There's nothing redeemable about you, villain. Stand up and fight!” Nicor replied with a frown, the comment getting to him.

“Pah, redeemable... look at yourself, you're all dirty and your gear's in shambles. What do your heroics give you? Nothing, am I right? Making yourself the slave of the people, thinking they'll thank you for it, but all they'll do is eat you alive. I'd know, I've seen it.” the Lycanroc said, standing up slowly. He was clad only in a loincloth that his little belly was not yet sagging over.

“Be silent. What you do is detestable... and you know nothing about me, demon!” Nicor shouted.

“What can I say, I just love making others squirm in agony. And the name is Xalys – remember it on the way to heaven!” the Lycanroc called out, then gathered dark energies from the crystal he held, throwing a barrage of lightning towards the Arcanine.

Nicor dodged them only thanks to his reflexes, then darted towards the Lycanroc. Xalys reacted quick as well, opting for a large blast that the Arcanine could never dodge, he figured – but his foe was not an ordinary one. With a slice of his halberd, he destroyed the magical energy, his blade

glowing with its own magical energy.

“You can use some magic too, not bad! You could achieve so much if you didn't make yourself a slave!” the Lycanroc shouted with a smirk, but that was fading fast when Nicor leaped towards him and struck, Xalys barely able to duck as the weapon swung over him.

“I help those in need, I am not a slave!” Nicor growled, trying to land a decisive hit, but the warlock blocked the strikes with energy from the crystal. One blow smashed the throne to pieces, the Lycanroc retreating.

“They abuse you, that's all! And the moment they no longer need you, they forget everything you've done for them! I feel bad for you, hero!” Xalys shouted, then overloaded his barrier, which sent the Arcanine crashing onto his back with a pained roar, squirming from magical lightning coursing through his body. Xalys was quick to plant his foot on the muscular chest, glancing down at him. “With the Blacklight Star, no one can touch me.” he said, his violet eyes fixed on the Arcanine's brown ones.

“Nicor, I can see it all over you. You're sick of this life. It's painfully obvious. Please, you have to see reason.”

“You're wrong!” Nicor shouted, and swiftly grabbed the Lycanroc's ankle atop his chest and yanked him off his feet with a yelp, followed by slamming his body onto his foe, pressing the air out of him.

“And your arrogance was your downfall!”

“Gah..! You... get... off... me... no!!!” Xalys gasped, trying to reach for the crystal that had left his grasp, but Nicor kicked it away. Without it, the chubby Lycanroc was nothing, very devoid of musculature and whatever magic he had left he wouldn't be able to cast with his arms restrained.

The tyrant that had pressed the town into enriching him had been defeated – no more gold, no more food would feed his greedy gut and his coffers.

** *

“He did it! He captured the warlock!” the people shouted once Nicor came into view, pushing the bound Lycanroc in front of himself.

“I don't want them to see me defeated like this... just kill me.” Xalys hissed, but Nicor just gave him a shove.

“Fat chance. They're gonna see how fat their tribute made you and how powerless you are. Seriously, relying on such a crystal and nothing else, you've got some nerve.” Nicor said, said crystal hidden in a pouch of his.

“I've just started my career, give me a break.” the Lycanroc muttered, keeping his head held high even as they walked through the flanking crowds, alternating between cheering at Nicor and booing at the villain. The mayor waited at the town square, wringing her wings in anticipation, then raised them once Nicor and Xalys came close enough.

“Great hero, you've freed us from a great evil! But... I thought you would have slain it.” she said, pointing some guards to grab hold of the Lycanroc, taking him off the Arcanine.

“It wasn't necessary.” Nicor said with a smile, basking in the adoration of the people. They all were

shouting his name and admiring him... it felt great. Yes, here he could imagine settling down.

“Well, for all you've done for our town you'll be rewarded as we discussed.” the Staraptor said, wringing her wings awkwardly before she turned towards the Lycanroc.

“And now to you, terrible mage! Put him in the stocks. For harming our citizens, the threats and forcing tribute out of us, you'll stay here until you starve. Or you die from the injuries someone inevitably will do to you.” she said, while the guards forced Xalys to bend over and put his head and wrists through the holes of the stocks, closing it with a shut.

“That sounds a little harsh. I'd put him in the dungeons, it's too dangerous, although he doesn't seem to have many powers on his own.” Nicor commented, but was ignored by the mayor, who raised her wings.

“Pelt him, citizens!” she called out, and Nicor had to duck out of the way as an onslaught of rotten food started to fly through the air.

“Monster! Villain!” they shouted, as Xalys was standing in the torrent of fruit and vegetables, a tomato bursting off his snout making him snarl, followed by a rotten egg hitting him in the eye. He writhed and wriggled, unable to escape his just desserts, the rounded tummy wobbling and quivering as it too faced the wrath of the townspeople.

“Now to you, uhm... Nicor, perhaps you have reconsidered? We could carry your name far and wide for this deed you have done, and surely bringing this spellslinger to justice was reward enough?” the mayor said with a hopeful tone in her voice that made Nicor eye her warily.

“We've been over this, mayor. I'm not doing this for the exposure. I'd like to see my future house now.” the Arcanine said, ducking out of a tomato's path that hit Xalys right in the nose.

“I'll kill you all! When I get out of this I'll make you all dead!” the Lycanroc shouted in anger, something he'd regret when under loud booing eggs were thrown right at his gaping maw, making him gag.

“Oh, well, certainly, if you're sure, but perhaps we can do it later and one of my staff will show you-” the Staraptor began, but Nicor held up a paw.

“I want to see it right. Now.”

** *

Nicor stared at his reward silently, his long, fluffy mane and tail swaying in a breeze. A breeze that tore off the last remaining roof brick, making it fall into the ruined hut stuck between two large and fine stone houses, a space where someone broad and tall like Nicor would manage to barely turn around in. And that was ignoring the fact it had no roof and partly collapsed walls.

“It, uh, might require you to spend some of your reward money to have it repaired, but... it's the only free house we have. Everything else is filled, you know, the state our world is in and all that. This used to belong to some Rattata family, it... certainly has some charming qualities.” the mayor said, eyeing the paralyzed Arcanine.

“I'll, uhm, leave you to it! Good work! You've saved us all!” she said before hurrying away, Nicor did not stop her.

You've saved us all, she said, and this was all he got for that? The Arcanine could not fathom it. His

hopes were crushed, and slowly he looked at the money he had received. He was no expert, but he was certain that -complete renovations- would eat far more money than he had gotten.

“This can't be happening. No, I won't give up, I'll... I'll make the best out of it. I'm going to ask the carpenters' guild to make it a nice little abode. Surely they'll do it for free considering I saved their business.” he told himself, his brown eyes twitching in their sockets, a little voice whispering they wouldn't.

The voice would be right.

“I'm sorry, Sir, we really appreciate what you did for us, but we can't work for free, you know? We've got families to feed and costs. I can give you five percent off, but hm, we can't start on it this month either, we have so much to repair.” the Bidoof guildie said, giving Nicor a half-baked apologetic smile.

“What do you mean you can't do it for free and noth even this month?! I risked my life and got ruins for it! I don't even have a roof!” Nicor said, almost yelling, many a head in the building turning towards him.

“Just use some of the tribute you had given to Xalys! Please, I saved you all!” he added, the act of pleading hurting his hero's soul deeply.

“I'm really sorry, but that sounds like extortion, Sir. That'd make you just like Xalys, even if only for once. It goes against our rules and-” the Bidoof said, interrupted by Nicor picking him up and lifting him high above the counter, right to hise face, pupils diluted.

“I don't have the money! What I got is barely enough for two weeks of food! I got injured for you, I got hurt for you!!!” he roared, the Bidoof squirming in his grasp.

“Let me down, let me down! There's nothing I can do, Sir!” the Bidoof shrieked, some other guildmates coming by to surround Nicor.

“Hey, you let him down! Right now!” they shouted, and Nicor obliged with a soured expression. “But where will I even stay until you can fix my roof?!” he asked exasperatedly.

** *

“But of course we can give you a place to sleep for some weeks! You've defeated the evil cleric, after all!” the Rapidash said, leading Nicor to the staircase of the tavern, where underneath, in the shadow, a small and dusty bed stood, covered in crates and trash.

“This... this is all? I... I am not sure I can fit in under there.” Nicor said, staring horrified at the cramped space.

“It's unfortunate but all our rooms are booked. Oh, and could you sweep the place now and then? Thank you.” she said, and then left him to it. Crates and trash on the bed, and all.

At the end of the day, after receiving some bread and a mug of beer (surprisingly for free), Nicor laid down on the creaky bed, then made the mistake of trying to readjust his position, bumping his head against the downside of the stairs. The fluffy mane shielded him from the worst, but it still hurt.

“Ow! And my legs dangle off, too! I... I hate this! I paid for half a roof that won't be built within the next three months and I have to sweep just so I can huddle in some corner and bump my head...?!

This isn't what I was hoping for...” he muttered to himself, trying to find a good spot for the blanket, which of course could only cover a portion of his large body. Oh, how he regretted things now. If only he had done something else with his life, he thought – his body was aching all over and all the happiness the admiration had brought him had vanished. He could not even pretend that the safety of the people was its own reward, he thought of what Xalys had said during their duel, and how much his words had hit a mark. A mark Nicor had tried to hide.

The Arcanine groaned when he turned to his side, something poking his hip. Right, the crystal. What had Xalys called this one again? He reached into his pouch and pulled the purple thing out, looking it over. From what he could tell, this thing was a very powerful source of dark energies, glowing in the same colour that Xalys' eyes had been... perhaps it had corrupted him. The crystal was cut like a briolette, similar to a teardrop and its powers obvious. He should probably destroy it, if it was in his power, but not here. It might even be too strong for that.

“What an eerie but beautiful thing... with this power he could've turned me to dust. Hrm... oh well.” he muttered, then put it back into his pouch, though the pouch itself somewhere else so he wouldn't get poked by the crystal again. Used to sleeping in dreadful conditions, he soon fell asleep.

** *

Xalys was not having a good evening. Children had danced around him and poked and slapped him with sticks, while some angry males had punched him in the gut and the face. At this point he'd easily die to humiliation first instead of exposure, or his injuries, just like the mayor had said. “Cursed... little... people... just wait until... I get the Blacklight Star again...” he huffed, wishing he could sit down, but the stocks didn't allow for that. Splat went another tomato exploding on his rear, making him grimace.

“Grow your tomatoes properly, if you have this much to waste, you're doing it wrong!!” he shouted, but it only earned him a cabbage to the head.

“Miscreant! Monster!” someone shouted as they passed. At least by now people only sometimes threw something, but he was still quite the spectacle.

“Oh I'm a monster alright... and why not? Better that than being a Mareep shackled by ethics and convention.” Xalys growled, a passing Mareep giving him an angry glare.

“Hey, I didn't make the saying.” he added.

** *

“It's the hero, lady mayor, he's very -” the mayor's assistant tried to say, but Nicor forced his way through with sheer force, of which he had ample thanks to his more than heroic, muscular build.

“When I fought the warlock for you I expected a real house and some suitable amount of money, mayor! I demand that you set this right!” he growled, pointing a finger at the Staraptor behind her desk, who let out a gasp.

“You demand?” she said in surprise, Nicor quickly noticing how bad his tone had gotten so he cleared his throat.

“I... well, I can't live like that, surely you understand!” he said, but was unable to take out the anger in his voice completely.

“Like I said, it's the only one we really have. But if you use the money I gave you...”

“That's already been used for half a roof, built in some odd months!” “Well, the guild is very busy, you must understand.”

“What I understand is that I'm not any better off than before.”

“That's not very heroic... fine, I could offer you a new job for another reward, Nicor. There are some dangerous animals in the cliff nearby that would make excellent beasts of burden. Someone with your strength and abilities could surely capture them and-” she began, raising a wing, but Nicor scowled at that, so she stopped and lowered it again.

“No?”

“I dealt with the deranged warlock and now you want to give me the menial job? It's like everywhere I go, everywhere...” he growled, turning around to leave, hitting the assistant in the face with his majestic tail.

“You could sleep over it! We'd really appreciate it! Think of all the happy faces!” the mayor called after him, but right now, those words sounded so hollow.

These faces she mentioned – belonging to the same people that wouldn't give him what he needed, after he had given them what they needed. What worth was their happiness? They only thought of themselves, not like him who had sacrificed so much just for others. If they'd all be like him, there'd be no trouble getting through this dark age.

Nicor left the building, some Pokemon had waited for him outside, having seen him entering earlier. He stared at them – they cheered, smiled. But then, they voiced their demands. Can you come beat up a thief, please come and carry bags of grain to the mill, come fell some trees. He moved past them without a word, moved without a goal. Where would he go, anyway? The ruined home? The cramped bed under the stairs?

The Arcanine reached into his pouch, pulling the crystal out, staring into its darkness. Was it this thing's fault? Did it make him so angry, so full of sinister thoughts?

“The Blacklight Star doesn't corrupt, if that's what you think... these thoughts are all in your heart.” a voice said, and Nicor looked up.

He stood on the market square, Xalys and the stocks a few feet away. The Lycanroc was smirking, but he looked badly bruised.

“I've fought for so long and suffered so much.” Nicor replied, looking at him with troubled eyes. Xalys nodded.

“I've lost my father like that, you know. He selflessly gave the people, again and again, until one day he couldn't, and they murdered him without a thought. You understand, don't you? I know heroes similar to you, always sacrificing themselves, but you're not like that. You don't want to burn out.” the Lycanroc said, keeping his violet gaze to Nicor's brown one.

“I feel so bad for you, Nicor.”

“Don't. I don't... I don't need your pity, I pity you, you're – you're a joyless... monster.” Nicor replied, but his confidence was fading.

“A monster maybe, and I may be in shackles... but I am not as much a prisoner as you are. You look so tired, Nicor. Come with me, with the Blacklight Star, we can make -us- happy.” Xalys said, his

paw held in an inviting gesture.

Nicor stepped up to the stocks, and grabbed hold of the lock – then tore it apart, his biceps bulging. Gingerly he reached out for the stocks to open them.

** *

“How do you feel now?” Xalys asked Nicor hours later, the two of them deep in a forest, long past midnight.

“Like I've never felt before... I thought it'd feel bad, but all I feel is... happiness. Like I spent all my life submerged in water and finally reached the surface.” the Arcanine replied, staring down at his trembling paw, the motion stopping when Xalys' much smaller paw grabbed hold of it, walking around Nicor until he stood in front of him. He was smaller by a head or so, so he was forced to look up.

“How poetic. I knew you had it in you... Good... what good does that do one? Let us do whatever we desire, Nicor.” Xalys said, reaching up to peck the Arcanine's chin.

“I won't hold back anymore. From now on... I take what I want.” the Arcanine replied, his eyes narrowed and grim. He let go of Xalys' paw to undo the straps of his near-broken armour, tearing it off himself roughly and carelessly throwing it away, and it broke to piece upon landing on the ground.

** *

Many years later...

Nicor smacked his lips before letting loose a reverberating belch. The Arcanine laid sprawled out on his divan chair, rubbing wide circles over his bare, bloated gut. It had grown tremendously ever since he had given up his heroic days and just indulged, long replacing the abs of steel of old. His chest was still wide, but no longer due to brawny, muscular flesh, now it oozed with adipose and sagged off the sides of his sloping belly, which itself hung deeply over his crotch, the underbelly nearly always resting on a large portion of his thighs. The only way these could still crush rocks was if it were a particularly sandy and unstable piece of stone, as they were ripe with soft blubber that rubbed against each other whenever the Arcanine walked.

He decided to lay on his back, tossing and turning his bulk to get into the desired position, his creamy belly sloshing and wobbling uncontrollably as he did. It quivered from the slightest touch or motion, so these movements sent the flab flying, he even put a paw on a moob to stop it from bouncing so much.

“Phew! I'm famished... more. Yes, I want more, way more. Kerrel!” he called out, and a Lucario appeared, hurrying into the room to salute in front of the indolent, obese Arcanine lazing on silken cushions.

“Yes, Captain Nicor! At your command, Captain!” he said, huffing a bit from the short jog – none of the guards Nicor commanded were prime examples of fitness, the Lucario for example sporting a more than large arse.

“I'm hungry! So go and fetch me some food and slaves to feed me. Ah, and give me a report of how the citizens are faring, they've been uppity lately.” Nicor said, claws raking all over his soft belly, tugging at the fattened flesh, the other arm waved around randomly, the fat on it swaying just a bit.

“Right away, Captain! Are you worried they might rebel? The Overpokélord's recent law has upset them, maybe they'll actually try something...” Kerrel said, watching his superior, ears twitching when the Arcanine belched once more.

“No, BRURRRRRP! I'm not worried... not yet. They won't do a thing until a hero comes. They always wait until some idiot comes by. And as far as I know, there hasn't been anyone like that lately, so... let them toil to make us richer. You're dismissed, now arrange for my food.” Nicor said, his violet eyes fixed on the Lucario with a smirk, arms crossed behind his head in preparation for a little nap.

After all, he deserved all the rest, no?

[magicallygrimmwiccan]

I’ve Read This Script

Summary: It always ended the same way. He really should have learned better by now, but he hadn’t. 

Notes: For the @secretsanders​! Happy Holidays, @im-not-leaving-my-room-fuck-u​!! Hope you enjoy my present!!

Also, yes, I forgot to put in a German translation, I’m sorry. I’ll explain what was going on there at the end, okay? :))

Title from Cleopatra by the Lumineers. Fight me, it works perfectly for this fic. 

Can’t think of any trigger warnings... maybe betrayal? Mention of death (of old age)? Some non-descriptive blood? That’s all I can think of... let me know if you see something else! On with the story!

He swore to himself that he would never fall in love again, not after last time ended in disaster and the complete shattering of Logan's heart for the fifth time in his extremely lengthy life. He should have known better, he should have known that Declan would only end in heartbreak, yet he foolishly listened to his heart and trudged onwards, deeper and deeper into a relationship founded on lies. Logan sighed and rested his head on his arms, leaning forward until the ribs were digging into his marble countertop. Colours and scents and sounds pushes against the barriers of his mind, and Logan groaned as he realized what was happening. After decades of this curse, he still triggered it because he couldn't handle his silly, illogical feelings. Logan gritted his teeth and shook his head, attempting to clamp down on the leaking memories of half a century ago. He couldn't risk going under, he had work in only a couple hours, he couldn't do this…

His brain, however, would not listen to logic or to his  pleas. These memories were determined to be acknowledged, to be remembered, to be seen, and Logan could not stop it, quickly losing the fight to the swirling technicolour vortex from his limbic system. He spiraled down, down, past kisses and missions, past stargazing and dinners, past betrayals and flashes of silver, and landed at The Beginning.

Lauren Johnson walked down the sidewalk towards her work, hurrying to her destination. She had awoken extremely late that morning, and while her employer would surely be fine with just this one instance of tardiness, Lauren did not wish to push. She was so focussed on her goal that she did not notice the change in traffic until she was tackled to the ground just before a loud screech cut through the air. She managed to push the person off of her and look around, her breath freezing as she took in the destruction before her. A car was flipped on its roof, flames streaming from the shattered windows. People were screaming and running, and Lauren barely registered a cool hand on her shoulder.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” a smooth voice asked, the hand squeezing Lauren's shoulder as they spoke. She nodded, still rattled, and turned around to face the stranger who had saved her life. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in her savior, the most handsome man she’d clapped eyes on in this lifetime. Amber-gold eyes gleamed above a pair of dark sunglasses that rested on a sharp nose and high cheekbones. Sleek brown-blonde hair poked out from underneath his hat, and a sharp black and white suit accentuated his slim, perfectly proportioned and muscular figure. In short: Lauren was faced with an angel.

“Er… yes, I am alright, thanks to you,” Lauren finally murmured. The stranger grinned and pulled her up, brushed her off, and then pressed a slip of paper into her hand before pecking her on the cheek and bouncing off. Lauren stood there, dumbfounded, staring after the vanishing stranger who had saved her life. Finally, she shook himself out of her shock and started to sprint for work. She couldn’t be late.

Logan snapped out of his memories, heaving. He hadn’t remembered Declan before, and he’d forgotten how… charming he’d been. How wonderful those first few months had been. He’d forgotten the moonlit rendezvous, the fancy dinners, the kisses after Declan returned from missions… He’d forgotten all the good as soon as Declan stabbed him in the stomach for accidentally helping another spy agency. He’d barely had enough magic to transform, so heartbroken as he was pushed backwards off the roof, the last thing he saw before the Change being Declan’s amber-gold eyes, now cold and uncaring.

Logan forced himself to his feet. He needed to let go of those memories; they would only hurt more in the end. With that, Logan locked cool rain, searing adrenaline, and amber-gold eyes back inside a heavy iron-wrought box and locked it. He could not be distracted by these meaningless romantic notions anymore; he had work to do.

He managed to stave off the memories for another month, until… until a shy, anxious, darkly-dressed boy walked into Logan’s library, checked out a book of faerie tales, and smiled at Logan with a smile Logan hadn’t seen for 300 years. The last time he saw that smile, it was on the dying face of a young Prussian captain, slain by a rival in the halls of Sanssouci. Logan managed to hold on until the young man left, but the second his final black combat boot left, Logan sunk to the ground, breathing erratically. His coworkers were used to this and bundled him off to the Panic Corner to allow him to become lost in memories. Logan screwed his eyes shut, blushing at the feel of warm tears, and tried to stop the flood; he didn’t want to remember her, he didn’t want to go back there, he didn’t want his heart broken again-

Ludwig Amsel stepped into the large ballroom, eyes wide in shock. They had never been inside a room this large or extravagant before, and they were honestly a little nervous. So many people, so many new faces… Ludwig couldn’t handle this. They wanted to go home already. Ludwig was not looking where they were going, and they found themself crashing into another person.

“Ah, es tut mir leid! Bist du verletzt? Haben Sie noch einen Wunsch, Sir?” the person babbled, their high-pitched voice cutting through the fog in Ludwig’s head. Ludwig shook their head and faced the person, their heart hammering in their chest. Short black hair framed a delicate, pale face. Blue-violet eyes locked into Ludwig’s own crystal orbs, and a deep flush rose on the soldier’s cheeks (for that was what he was, Ludwig realized, a soldier).

“Nein, mir geht es gut. Ich bitte vielmals um Verzeihung… wie heißen Sie?” Ludwig asked, extending their hand for a handshake. The soldier snapped to attention, flustered.

“Ähm… ich heiße Hauptmann Viktor Hinterberg. Und Sie?” the captain answered, voice high and shaky. Ludwig nodded and shook the hand, smiling bashfully.

“Ich heiße Ludwig Amsel. Nett es Sie kennen zu lernen, Hauptmann Hinterberg,” Ludwig returned, slowly releasing Viktor’s hand. Viktor flushed and stammered, causing Ludwig to smirk at the adorableness.

“Ich… ich muss gehe. Schönen Feierabend, Herr Amsel.” With that, Viktor walked away, leaving Ludwig alone in the centre of a crowded room.

Logan snapped out of the memory, still crying. His coworker Neah knelt down, large amber-gold eyes (so much like Declan’s, yet not at all like his) boring deep into his soul.

“Which one?” they whispered, gently squeezing his shoulder in a show of support. Logan sniffled, wiping his eyes with his Doctor Who scarf that Thomas had gotten him for Christmas only a few days ago.

“... Viktoria…” he whispered. Neah nodded and sat back, smiling softly.

“The Evans boy, yeah?” He nodded, and Neah nodded back again. “Do you believe that reincarnation is possible?”

“Of course I do,” Logan mumbled. “How could I not, after everything I’ve seen?” Neah shrugged and passed him a Rubik's cube to take his mind off of things and began to speak.

“Could you tell me about Viktoria? Maybe that would help. I know telling people about Laurel helped after… that, so maybe this could help you?” Logan pondered for a second before shaking his head. He wanted to talk about Vik, truly he did, but how was he supposed to tell Neah about all the little trysts as even the Prussian king supported them and gave them a room and privacy at his balls? How was he supposed to explain the sunshine in his stomach every time he saw Viktor’s smile? How was he supposed to explain the feeling of pure love and trust that exploded out of him when Viktor revealed that she was in fact Viktoria, and Ludwig had been allowed to reveal that he was in fact Louisa, but they had despised both names equally? How was he supposed to describe the feeling of pure… death, that came when Viktoria was stabbed through the heart by a fellow captain, jealous of all the attention Viktoria was receiving from Frederick? How in the world was he to speak about the cold, empty, hollow feeling of wrath as Frederick had the captain executed and Ludwig watched? It all still hurt too much to recall, let alone recount to another person.

Neah nodded before standing up. “When you’re ready, come out, okay?” and left him alone to hug the black cat plushie with the mismatched yes that reminded him so much of Viktoria’s sparkling green and brown eyes that if Logan didn’t believe in human reincarnation, he’d believe Viktoria had become this cat that he hugged and cried into on a weekly basis. There was… an odd sense of comfort in that thought, no matter how illogical and false it was.

The next flashback occured only two weeks after the Viktoria one, this time while Logan was out getting coffee with another coworker, Sascha. He walked up to the counter to order his coffee (black, three sugars, no cream), when the sight of the barista caused him to freeze. The soft blonde curls, the clear blue eyes, the freckles, the soft sunshine smile, everything pointed to her and Logan just froze. Sascha noticed, grabbed both their coffees, payed the barista, and quickly walked Logan out to his car, muttering assurances and soothing platitudes until Logan was safely in the car and the coffees were safely out of his reach.

“Okay, Logan, talk to me, what’s going on?” Sascha requested, pushing his sunglasses onto his head so he could look Logan straight (ha) in the eyes.

“B… barista… Pénélope…” he stammered. Sascha nodded in understanding and took Logan’s hands into his own, rubbing his fingers along the knuckles soothingly.

“Just let it all out, Logan, it’s okay,” Sascha soothed. Logan sucked in a breath and tried to stop this, but it was too late and he was yanked under, the last thing he registered in the present being Sascha turning the keys to start the car.

Léone LeClair glanced up as the bell above her shop door tinkled. “Good morning! What can I get you?” she called, turning to face the new customer. Her next question died in her throat as the stranger gave her a bright, sunny smile unlike any that Léone had seen before.

“Good morning! Could I take six loaves of bread, some eggs, and a bit of milk?” the stranger asked, blonde curls falling into her crystal blue eyes. Léone snapped herself out of her stupor and grabbed the items the beautiful girl requested, smiling awkwardly.

“Of course.” They exchanged payments, and the stranger left, leaving Léone feeling incredibly sad and lonely.

The stranger kept coming back, however. She kept coming back to buy more bread, more eggs, more milk. She came to buy butter and cheese and pastries of all kinds. Eventually, Léone learned her name. Pénélope Bisset, a weaver in the next town over who only came here because the products were cheaper and the people nicer, in her opinion. Léone didn’t argue with her.

It was about a year after Léone first met Pénélope when Pénélope asked the question.

“Léone, I love you. You are so kind and sweet and just… I love you. But… I don’t know how to be with you.” Léone’s heart froze in her chest. Pénélope felt the same way as she. They… they had a chance.

“Pénélope, I must confess that… I also love you,” Léone murmured. She flushed, shifting in discomfort, as she waiting for Pénélope’s response. Pénélope clapped her hands together, grinning.

“Oh, Léone! Thank you! I… I’m so glad!” Pénélope cried, dancing around. She paused soon, though, her smile dropping. “What… what are we going to do?” Léone thought for a moment before slamming her fist into her open palm.

“We run. We run to another part of the land and live our lives alone out there.” Pénélope pondered this idea for a moment before agreeing, and Léone’s heart fluttered. She loved this wonderful beam of sunshine more than she could ever quantify.

So, without even another thought, both packed a couple bags of clothing, food, and money and ran. They ran to the edge of the countryside, bought goats along the way, and settled down, telling everyone nearby that they were sisters to avoid being murdered. They raised their goats, and three orphaned children, and finally, finally, after 40 long years, Pénélope died, breaking Léone’s heart for the second time in her life. She held her wife’s body and cried, crying even harder when she realized that Pénélope’s sunshine had left, never to face her again.

Logan snapped back to the present, heavy tears fogging his glasses and dripping down onto his knees. He startled as he registered a soft, warm blanket wrapped around him and his coffee shoved into his hands.

“Logan? You good? Do you need anything else?” Sascha whispered. Logan shook his head, and Sascha nodded. After a few minutes, Sascha murmured: “... Want to talk?” and Logan shook his head again. A few more minutes of awkward silence, and then: “... Want to go home?”

“Yes please,” Logan whispered. Sascha yanked out his phone, fired off a quick text (most likely to Thomas), and then put the car back in gear to drive Logan home.

“Mi corazón, come here! I have something to ask you!” Prince Raúl called, his deep, smooth voice bubbling with excitement. Prince León poked his head into the room, confusion and concern stirring in his mocha eyes.

“Yes? What is it?” León answered, his voice high. Raúl spun to give him a large smile and presented a gleaming gold and ruby ring.

“We’re getting married! Well, in secret, but we’re still getting married! Isn’t this wonderful?” León’s eyes widened and tears bubbled in them. He was… getting married? To the love of his life?

“Of course! Yes!” León yelped, throwing himself into Raúl’s arms, crying and laughing at the same time. Raúl was just as much of a mess, grabbing León and spinning him around before pulling him into a passionate kiss. León giggled and smiled into the kiss as Raúl slipped the ring onto his finger. For just one moment, all was peaceful and happy with the two princes.

Logan snapped back to awareness, sobbing his eyes out. “Oh, sweetie, shh, shh, it’s okay,” a voice was soothing him. Thomas. That was Thomas. His employer. “Logan, I’m not mad, I need you to breathe with me.”

Logan tried, he really did, but nothing was working. Raúl had been the beginning of the end, the last time he was uncursed, the last time he was human.

A small scuffle, and then a new, cool presence was in front of him, telling him to breathe. He shook his head because he couldn’t, he was sorry but he couldn’t, he was too lost…

“Ludwig Amsel, I need you to look at me right this instant,” a soft voice firmly stated, cutting through the mess that was Logan’s thoughts. Logan’s breathing and heart froze. Only… only one person should still know that name; himself. So how… who… what?

“Logan, it’s Viktor. Viktoria. I need you to breathe with me,” the soft voice continued. Logan managed to finally suck air into his lungs, and the voice (Viktoria, but no, she was dead) cheered him on and praised him. Logan finally, finally managed to get his breathing back to normal, and he finally glanced up, only to meet one brown and one green eye, the same eyes of Viktoria.

“Logan. My name is Virgil, but you used to know me as Viktoria. I’m here, darling, and I need you to calm down so we can talk.” Logan nodded, still confused. How did Vik-Virgil know who they used to be?

Virgil pulled Logan to his feet, giving him that small shaky smile. “Thomas told me everything,” Virgil murmured. Logan swallowed. How had Thomas…

“I met the witch who cursed you, Logan. They feel sorry for what they did, and they decided to help me help you break it,” Thomas explained quickly, arms crossed over his chest as a warm smile dimpled his cheeks. “So, I reached out to the three who mattered, found out they all lived here, and told them everything.”

Logan blinked, surprised. The witch… was… sorry? “And Patton- you’d know him as Pénélope- and I are good friends, so I told him. He’s running to get you some tea; Sascha told us you like tea. So, Patton and I are friends, and Roman is Patton’s boyfriend- you’d know Roman as Raúl I believe?- so he’s with Patton getting tea. And I’m here to calm you down.” Virgil rattled off nervously.

“Ah… my… apologies for freaking out…” Logan mumbled.

“Hey, hey, no. No need. You’ve been through a lot, Logan, and no one is going to fault you for some breakdowns,” Virgil cut in, eyes fierce yet soft. Logan bit his lip. He didn’t believe him.

“Logan. Thomas has closed the place, so we’re going to sit down when Patt and Princey get back and talk this all out, okay L?” Logan nodded, and Virgil nodded before stepping back. “Now,” Virgil continued, arching a dark eyebrow. “Tell me about yourself?”

Notes: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Okay, so, the conversation was basically: Virgil apologizing to Logan after bumping into him and asking if he could do anything. Logan says that he’s fine and then asks for Virgil’s name. Virgil gives his name, Logan gives his, and then Virgil runs off in Gay Panic.

Hope you liked it! Happy New Year everyone!

[holmesclausen91-blog]

Your Pics, YouTube and Traffic Generation Input a title for the Album

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There are only two items that you need

[kalloway]

I Dream in Fear (old Dragon Age fanfic WIP)

Decided to just throw this up there - I wanna find the motivation to finish it or re-write parts of it, but tbh I’m actually pulling dialogue from it rn for a different dialogue idea I had lmao

But hey, it’s here if you want. It’s long, so it’s under the cut. I wrote this back in January 2015, apparently. Wow.

Hope it’s okay! I’m not formatting it at all before queuing this so if it’s weird... let me know - I know my theme’s garbage for this sorta thing rn OTL

There was a blade breathing down her neck as the silence hung heavy in the room. He tried, but his breathing was ragged; nervous. So quiet it was, he was ashamed to consider that his Knight-Commander could probably hear it form where he stood – judge it, criticize it when this ordeal was over – oh Maker, have mercy upon this terrified young Templar. Perhaps forgive him for the sin he'd considered acting upon. Duty had held him firm, but this mage – this woman – had managed to shake his stubborn will.

He was not supposed to do what he did. He was a Templar – plain and simple. He observed, he protected, he fulfilled his duties. He did not become a stammering fool and he did not become irresponsibly smitten with a mage simply because she had smiled at him once. He wasn't supposed to, but he did despite himself. Was he ashamed of this? Of course, but he found that every time he told himself 'no', he'd catch a glimpse of red hair and a flash of those honey-coloured eyes, and he'd forget his own oaths. He didn't even know her, and yet he knew far more than he cared to admit. She was very talented however, even First-Enchanter Irving had mentioned it once – but was it not wrong to pick favourites amongst those that may not even-

No, of course not.

He simply admired from a distance, trying to understand what exactly made him feel this way. Before he knew it however, the Templars' shifts would rotate, and she was out of sight... but not out of mind.

Some days were better than others in this situation. He wouldn't mull over it much and attended to his duties like any other Templar – though with the odd glance he'd give her when he thought no one was watching. Then there were days he became helplessly paranoid, fearing for her for minuscule reasons that he'd blow out of proportion. That mage over there seems like he's standing a little too close to her to just be on friendly terms... Was that Templar staring at her too? At the end of these troublesome days, he'd pray that he would grow out of this phase or... condition. How long he'd denied it. How long he'd attempted to brush it off as nothing. But it was nothing. Nothing good would come of it most certainly, but was that the only thing that drove him to all this concern and stress over a mage – a woman – that was nothing more than one of many charges he watched over? It was all too confusing for him, and he feared that it would start to show. He feared he'd be caught, or worse yet – she be the one punished for his own seemingly uncontrollable infatuation.

It was early one evening that he spoke to her directly for the first time. He was assigned to a watch in one of the libraries in the Apprentice Quarters. He didn't even realize that she was there – and therefore wondered why he was sent to a seemingly empty room to begin with – until she'd suddenly moved out the corner of his eye to scan more of the tomes on the tall wooden shelves. He didn't dare move from where he stood, but he watched her run a slender finger across the spines of the tomes, searching by title or author possibly, he didn't bother to choose one. He simply observed.

After a few minutes of searching and three tomes in hand at last, she finally spun on her heel to take notice of his presence with a simple greeting of, “Oh, hello Cullen.” He swore his heart ceased to beat when she said his name. He had never told her his name... he hadn't even spoken to her before!

“How do you-? I-I mean...”

She blinked once before she sputtered out a reply, “Oh, I just... overheard another Templar...” She trailed off, uncertain, “I'm sorry, that was probably very rude of me. It was not my place, Ser.”

He was taken slightly aback by her concern. Was it concern for him? No, no, no. Don't think like that. He felt like he was being strangled of the air in his lungs... why was it so hard to simply speak to a mage? “Oh, uh... it's no issue. R-really! You can, uh... you can call me what you like. Er- within reason, of course.” He felt like a fool.

She gave him a weary smile in return, “As you wish, Cullen.”

And that was the end of the conversation. Cullen spent the rest of that night berating himself for being such an idiot. Things only became worse the next day when he overheard a conversation between two mages as he made his rounds through the Apprentice Quarters. He only caught part of the conversation, but he had heard his name and mention of 'Amell'. That was... Cullen had panicked upon hearing this conversation, hurrying past that section of the mage quarters so he didn't have to hear any more of it.

Yet despite this, the routine remained unchanged, save for odd mutual glances at one another when they passed. It was embarrassing for the both of them. However she was undoubtedly more ignorant on such matters than he was. When he'd first become a Templar, they had blatantly stated that Templar-Mage relations were not tolerated, especially within the same Circle. He had wondered at the time why they would have to mention such a thing in the first place. After all, was it not common sense?

If that was the case, then Cullen had none.

He spoke to her again, this time in the Senior Mage Quarters on the second floor. She was waiting outside the main library/stockroom in the hall, where Cullen was walking. He'd considered trying to ignore her, but that would be terribly rude, especially if she made an effort to greet him should he do so. Therefore, he chose to simply (or tried, at least) to ask her why an apprentice mage was on the second floor.

She'd turned to him with bright eyes, “Ah, I'm waiting for Tomkin – you know Tomkin, yes? - to gather some tomes he believes might prove useful in my studies.” She suddenly turned bashful, “He says it'll help me get ahead with all this stuff. I told him that wasn't necessary at all – after all, I'm not really all that special – but he's quite persistent, he is. The only reason I'm actually here is because he said he didn't want to leave me unsupervised downstairs. Maker only knows why he's so concerned about something so trivial.”

There was that familiar dull pain in his chest again. Worry. He had a terrible, faint feeling about why the mage Tomkin would be concerned leaving her alone, but he dared not think of it too much. Instead, he did his best to brush off the grim feeling, especially when he caught sight of aforementioned mage making his way back to her no doubt, with an armful of tomes. “Oh, I-I see. Er, very well... carry on, Amell.”

He cringed and silently cursed himself. 'Oh Maker, it slipped I swear!'

She furrowed her brow at him. She noticed. Cullen panicked, he wasn't supposed to refer to mages by name... it wasn't proper protocol! Much to his surprise though, the young mage in front of him only said one word , paired with a stern look in reply: “Miriam.”

He almost asked her the most idiotic question, but she had turned her attention to Tomkin, who has returned and ushered her back towards the Apprentice Quarters with the 'reward of knowledge'.

Miriam.

It suited her.

After learning her name – her informal name at that – Cullen felt almost giddy for the rest of the day. He didn't pray for forgiveness that evening. He didn't berate himself yet again for his foolish, impulsive actions. He was completely and utterly infatuated.

He spoke to her once more after this, back in the library once again. She saw him and gave him her usual bright smile – her eyes warm and welcoming – that never failed to set his heart aflutter. They were silent for quite some time, until Miriam had returned the tomes to their designations and seemed to be preparing to leave for her quarters for the night. She stopped in front of him after glancing around, presumably to ensure they were alone. She then turned her gaze upon him, “It's funny, how we always seem to be in the same places these days, Cullen.”

He could listen to his name pass through her lips forever... He quickly snapped back to his senses to the best of his ability, “Ah, y-yes. Well I, uh... I take this particular shift once a week. I... suppose our b-being in the same places besides this is... it's just a coincidence I'm sure.” He mentally slapped himself. He sounded like he wasn't too fond of her implications, when it was really quite the opposite. But what was he supposed to say?

“A coincidence, perhaps. But it's not like it's a bad coincidence. I mean, you're more forgiving than most. You have humanity... restraint. Something most Templars appear to be severely lacking, from what I've been told.”

Her compliments caught him entirely off-guard. Technically speaking, she was crossing a fine line with her subject matter. But he found himself reduced to a stammering mess yet again, “Y-you think I- H-humanity?” He scoffed at his failing voice, but it came out far harsher than intended, “All Templars have humanity... Mages do as well. You do.”

Miriam sighed, “That's not what I meant , you- Ugh. The other Templars... they just follow orders and don't care about their charges. They'd rather do as they please and scowl from afar. But you... you're different. It's a refreshing change, not having to be paranoid every waking minute.”

No words tumbled from his lips this time. Rather, his adoration for this mage only increased and was threatening to show. Though she had indeed somewhat insulted his Order, her sharp comments were not directed at him... well, not entirely. He'd noticed she had the tendency of being rather snippy with those she spoke with, so it didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have, although it still brought a twinge of shame for his own misinterpretation. That concern aside however, she was still taking the time to compliment him on a trait he himself had grown to dislike. He feared his compassion would interfere with his duties as a Templar, and had been scolded by Knight-Commander Gregoir for it more than once. He'd tried to detach himself from his charges and had done so successfully with all but one.

'What made her so different?', he'd occasionally wonder.

He'd wanted to spill his feelings to the woman; to break protocol and let it out so he wasn't so worked up about it. He wanted to take her slim hands in his own and compliment her – on her beauty, her wisdom and righteousness, everything.

Before his wild train of thought had found its end, Miriam had hastily bid him goodnight before leaving for her quarters. He watched her retreating form. His gut twisted uncomfortably – he should have said something. He shouldn't have even been thinking of such things to begin with. Such thoughts were dangerous, they told him.

He would regret his silence the following day.

The day of her Harrowing.

There he stood, overseeing her Harrowing – the most important day of her life. Cullen had not been informed ahead of time like some higher-ranking and more experienced Templars may have been. Gregoir had simply approached him out of the blue and commanded him to follow. He did so, but only knew what he was in for after reaching the fifth floor of the tower – the Harrowing Chamber.

'This Harrowing is like any other', he told himself, 'but why does it feel so... wrong?' He was never this nervous – this afraid – for neither himself nor the Mage he was 'guarding'. No, that's not what it was to him at all.

[ninaahelvar]

The Fountain of Youth

Summary: Wolfgang is a bandit in search for immortality; the fountain of youth. Kala is the guardian, set to protect the fountain. Somehow, over seven days, it doesn't seem like the fountain needs protecting anymore.

Word count: 10,062

AO3

A/N: yo this was inspired by a sidestory in the anime 'The Seven Deadly Sin', and tbh, you guys might hate me but I am dead inside, so you have to as well. please enjoy, i spent so many fun hours writing it. all the love you can give will be greatly appreciated!

(tagging, in case you miss it: @sunbakkoush @our-connection-is-a-miracle @fiftyeightminutes)

Sitting on the brink of the Ancient Tree of Life, Kala felt the wind whisk past, taking along the golden leaves that forever bloomed across the branches. The flat in the middle of the tree, with its branches creating a secret hidden area that held the most important thing in that entire forest; the fountain of youth. It had been Kala’s sacred duty to protect the Tree for seven hundred years. Those years, spent simply living and never dying, always protecting the cup that could grant immortality; it was a boring life. Kala had been constantly alone, never able to leave until it is her time to go - but seven hundred years was taking its toll on Kala; the boredom killing her faster than any bandit could dream of.

The cup sat in the middle of a pond that seeped into the giant tree, creating the forest below. The pond, a beautiful pink of the spoiled fountain rested beneath as the cup stood seamlessly on a staff, flowing the pink waters into the earth. The cup, forever filled upon its perch and filling the waters of the pond was the only thing that mattered to Kala - her duty and sacred right had kept her there in Witch Queen’s Forest for all this time.

Witch Queen’s Forest fed and bathed the people that lived in every village nearby. The tree was tall enough to ward off most people seeking immortality; but Kala was there to kill anyone who could threaten the forest and the Fountain of Youth. It was simple, and she had succeed in her task for this long. She could surely succeed until her time is at an end.

Kala could feel the Witch Queen’s forest, the creaking of wood with the wind - yet, there was one footstep that shocked through her entirely. Their energy was odd, filled with determination and lust for more. She couldn’t let them get near the fountain, no one could touch the fountain.

Wolfgang had heard of the fountain - but really, who hadn’t? - and he knew he had to find it. He was a skilled fighter, a master with a sword and was far more talented with spells than people would give him credit for. Sure, he was a bandit, but what else has a bandit got to live for than stealing the one thing that will help him steal for eternity? All he had to do was get past the old witch that sat on top of the tree and he could have his eternity of riches at his feet.

The ancient tree was large in width and in height, extending into the sky for what seemed like days. The yellow leaves that hung above him, taunted him into getting there faster. Wolfgang hummed the song the entire way up, the twisting vines that wrapped around the entirety of the tree helped him get to the flattened top given by a small gap in some branches. Wolfgang perched up, moving the leaves out of his view before coming up clean on the landing. He groaned, getting to the top and letting out a strained breath, allowing the air from that height bathe him in delight. As he stood upright, he saw it, the fountain - though, not quite what he expected. Kala watched him from the branches, hiding from his view. He was tall, dusty blonde hair and dark leather pants, a jacket to match it and a dirty shirt that probably never saw water except for when tavern owners may have poured it on him in the morning.

He glanced around, hitching his satchel up on a tree branch and scouting the area, not noticing anyone. Kala hid briefly, the tree masking her. Then, he glanced up, taking in the spring and Kala covered a gasped, floating down to the landing, unnoticed. “The Fountain,” Wolfgang smiled, taking in the sight of the pink pearling water, spilling from the cup. He licked at his lips.  “Talk about blowing things out of proportion. Where is this old witch lady anyhow?” he whispered to himself, looking around again before Kala moved in front of him. Wolfgang was caught off guard, not expecting someone else to be up there, let alone a woman. She was the colour of deep earth, brimming with a glow of the sun, hair long and curling down her face. She was a spectacular sight, dressed in a white flowing dress that held in at her waist, but the silk was too regal for just anyone. She was someone important. Beautiful and important. He blinked rapidly, trying to think before he cleared his throat. “You lost up here?”

“I’m guarding the fountain,” she said, her hand lifting upwards, her wrist limp. Wolfgang watched her curiously, “protecting it from bandits. Like you,” she explained before her hand flicked up, her palm perfectly flat and suddenly, it felt like a giant gust of wind had hit Wolfgang. He tried to dig his heels into the tree, but the wind pushed him like a wall before it flung him completely off the landing. Kala sighed, watching the man fall to his inevitable death and going back to the pond, untainted by human hands.

Wolfgang hung by a branch of the ancient tree, staring off at the forest around. He was in awe of it all, looking back to see his jacket snagged on the branch with enough material to keep him hanging without slipping. “I’m a lucky man,” he whispered to himself. But he wasn’t going to give up yet. Wolfgang knew the way up this time, he knew he could make it; he just needed to get past the woman. Just as he was about to climb up, he saw his satchel fly across the forest, sending its contents flying. He huffed. Racing up, Wolfgang managed to get to the flat once more, the woman waiting for him again, strictly unamused. He didn’t even stand up straight before the same force knocked him back once more.

Falling into a shroud of bushes, Wolfgang groaned, the pain only dull compared with the want of that fountain. He climbed off from the shrouds, making his way up. The deed was done countless times over the course of a day, constantly knocked down to the ground, trees catching him or landing in soft bushes to prevent any harm. Kala was getting sick of the same bandit racing so hard up the tree for the fountain that he was never going to obtain. He made it up a final time, Kala’s hand outstretched and ready before he barked at her.

“Fuck! Will you just stop it already?” he shouted and Kala bound her fists, holding them at her sides. Wolfgang managed to get on top of landing, looking at the fountain behind the woman.

“That should be my line!” she replied, Wolfgang dusted off his pants. “How are you even alive? No human can survive that fall,” she asked.

“I got caught on a few branches,” Wolfgang explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I fell into some trees another time.”

“Why on earth would the forest try to save a human?” Kala spoke to herself, not quite noticing the man. Wolfgang took out his four section staff, the three sections attached to the handed handle fell down, the metal chain between them holding them all steady.

“Like I care,” he shrugged, the three staffs swirling around at his side as his foot slid back, bracing for what he was to do. “Now, it’s time to get serious,” he smirked.

“You bandits are all the same. You only kill and steal, taking things you didn’t earn,” Kala replied, extending out her hand, but it was already too late. Before she could send the man flying once more, his staffs extended towards her, a blue glow shrouding them. Magic. The blue glow extended further than the staffs reach, curving around Kala, before it returned to the man’s side.

In his other hand, he held the cup that was once behind her. Kala turned to see the pedestal empty. A gasp escaped her. “Not bad. Doesn’t smell like booze though, so that’s a shame,” Wolfgang shrugged, pulling the cup towards his lips.

“You can’t!” Kala yelled, her hand reaching out and taking hold of the man.

“When I say here’s to my health -” Wolfgang stopped as he couldn’t move the cup any further. In her panic, she set the trees on him, tying him in place and the trees took away the cup. Wolfgang tried to reach for it again but was left struggling against the tree that held him around his throat, his hands and his legs; all tightening on him as he struggled against it. “What the fuck? Get these things off me!” he yelled. The woman floated off her feet, being taller than him by a small inch. She scowled down at him, trying to be intimidating.

“If the fountain of youth disappears, the entire forest will die,” she started, brow furrowed and anger very apparent, “so give up your quest and leave,” she huffed, turning around and crossing her arms.

“Alright, fine,” he replied. Kala fell to her feet once more, looking back at the man with shock.

“What? What do you mean fine? Are you trying to trick me?” she asked quickly. He shrugged with a laugh.

“Honest,” he smiled.

He didn’t know that Kala could read thoughts, that she could see what truly laid in his heart. If he was lying to her, than she could let the tree have its own way and kill him; but if he were telling the truth -

‘God, this sucks. The ale made from the wild berries in this forest is the best I’ve ever had. Plus, I always did like coming through here for trips. I can’t just willingly kill this place. What a wasted trip.’

His thoughts came through like air, so easy and without hidden walls. Kala stepped back, holding a hand to her lips as she let the man go. He sighed, letting himself fall to the ground and stretch out. He moved his legs, to ease any pain before circling his arms, trying to ease the muscles in his arms.

“Who are you?” Kala asked.

“What do you mean? I’m a bandit,” he shrugged, before looking back at her. He couldn’t help himself, he smiled when she looked so confused at him; even with her eyes inspecting him and trying to wonder, he was captivated by her in every possible way. “Wolfgang Bogdanow,” he greeted before his brow arched. “And who exactly are you?”

“I’m Kala. The guardian of the fountain,” she explained. Before watching as the man fall down on his back, taking comfort in the mossy surface. “Hey! You can’t fall asleep here! Get up! Leave!” Kala complained, nudging him with her fingers and feet. Wolfgang smacked her hands away, enjoying the way the moss felt underneath his aching skin and tired limbs.

“Too tired,” he hummed, his eyes firmly shut and his chest rising and falling in even puffs. Kala couldn’t easily make the trees grip his ankles and fling him off the side as he slept - but she couldn’t bring herself to. So, she left him to sleep, stewing in frustration until he woke and she could send him on his way.

When morning came, Wolfgang woke, stretching out and letting the sun beam down on his face. He noticed something strange, that the leaves that were once a shining gold, now beamed with a blue that was reminiscent of a deep sky. He marvelled at it until he saw Kala, her legs brought up to her chest as sat on the edge of the tree. She turned briefly to him, a scolding eye fixed on him before looking back to her horizon.  

“You look tired this morning,” Wolfgang commented with a yawn.

“Whose fault is that?” Kala murmured to herself, which Wolfgang missed. He shrugged as he took off his jacket and shirt, basking in the new sun that shone in the sky. “Why won’t you leave? Your business here is done,”

“Guardian!” he bellowed, making Kala stand and look towards him. He had his hands on his hips and a tired look on his face. “Water,” he said simply.

“What?”

“I spent all day yesterday climbing up this damn tree. I’m thirsty,” he shrugged. Kala huffed before grabbing a handful of the blue leaves and gave them to Wolfgang. His hands were warmer than she expected, making her flinch back slightly.

“These leaves hold water really well, so they can help you out,” she explained, tucking hair behind her ear as she watched Wolfgang pushed the water to the edges of the leaf before it pour water down his fingertips. In surprise he did it again with another, rising it up above his mouth to drink it all. He indulged, drinking from as many leaves as he could as Kala tilted her head at him. “I wonder why the forest let you live when so many others have tried before,” she spoke as Wolfgang dressed into his shirt once more.

“I’m nothing special, guardian,” he shrugged.

“Why did you seek out the fountain?” she asked timidly, watching as Wolfgang chewed on the inside of his lip. He walked past Kala, hitching his way up onto a long, thick branch of the tree, climbing onto a higher one before settling on one that Kala knew to overlook at least a village or two.

“No real reason,” he said, leaning down to talk to Kala. “I just thought that if you’ve lived a horrible life long enough, maybe something good will come along worth fighting for, you know?”  he asked, but Kala knew better than he may have understood. In his mind, he thought of his own life, the abuse of his father and the loss of his mother, the beatings from other kids, other adults - stealing just to eat, trying to live and stealing was the only way he could do it.

“What if you gain eternal life and nothing good happens?” she asked, her hands binding in her dress.

“Huh?” Wolfgang called out from up above. Kala rose up, floating off the edge of the tree, walking on air, feeling everything in the forest; the trees below trying to grow taller than the ones beside it, the animals that races each other for game or hunt, the rivers that ran across the ground - forging currents that would define the ground for years to come.

“I’ve been guarding the fountain since my father passed away. I have stayed here for seven hundred years, nothing happening but myself and my thoughts. In all that time, nothing good has happened to me,” she explained, for she had seen that the trees when they were nothing but seedlings in the ground, the animals ancestors being prey or hunting, the rivers running a different course to feed the forest. She had seen hundreds of different ways this forest had lived, when she could not.

“Seven hundred years?!” he exclaimed, just as Kala heard small branches crack. She turned, seeing Wolfgang hanging onto the branch with his legs, craning his head to keep an eye on Kala.

“Are you surprised?” she asked in a laugh.

“You don’t look it,” he replied.

“Of course I don’t look my age, I’m not exactly human,” she hinted. It seemed to only go over his head.

“Well, that’s gotta be boring. All that time up here,” he said, grabbing hold of the branch across from him. The moss made the branch slick, but he managed to hitch up his upper body onto the branch, watching as the guardian practically fumed over his reply.

“Of course it’s boring! There’s nothing to do except wait for idiots like you to try and steal something that doesn’t belong to them,” she complained before seeing Wolfgang swing down from his branch, catching onto some vines and making his way down the tree, not a second word given. Kala blinked, watching him go. “I...I would have liked to have talked longer,” she weakly stated, going back to the pond, letting her feet be masked in the pink waters.

The pond was filled with the waters of the fountain, but contained no real merit. If the waters were not contained within the cup, they would only do well to feed the forest and never grant immortality. Kala let her feet play in the water, watching as the pink water swirled, shimmering with the light of the sun before it dimmed into night without a second warning. She had sat at the pond for hours, the loneliness capturing her once more. It was only her and the the reflection from the moonlight above.

“Look,” Wolfgang’s voice shattered the silence that Kala was too often accustomed to. His reflection rippled in the water, his hand extended with a book spread out to show her. Kala turned to him as he kneeled down, dusting off his pants. He let his thumb keep the spot in the page, the paper worn out from how often he kept the page open. He smiled as her face curiously studied his, like it had done the day before. Somehow, it was still as captivating as the first time seeing it. “This was the ale that comes from this forest. I wish I had some for you to try but this is the best I can do,” he noted, his finger gesturing to the picture that was printed on the page. It was the label for an ale, one that Kala had never seen

Kala blinked, watching as Wolfgang turned another page and gestured to another, very similar label, one from nearly fifty year before. “Wha -”

“I have a bunch of books that I wanted to bring back, but this one is my favourite. I had to search the forest for them after you blew me and my things off the ledge,” he grumbled, showing the satchel that she had thrown into the woods, a number of different books filling the bag.

“No,” she started. “I mean, why did you come back here?”

“I thought I could rid you of your boredom already,” he smiled. Kala felt like her breath was lost, her cheeks feeling like they were flushed beyond crimson. Tucking hair behind her ear, she smiled to Wolfgang.

“Well, show me already,” she encouraged and Wolfgang beamed, sitting down opposite Kala, going through the book about the history of ale in the region, naming his favourites and the ones that could knock a man flat on his back. Kala was just happy listening to him talk.

Spending seven hundreds years alone made Kala miss out on a lot, and she knew this very well. When the next day came, Wolfgang suggested that they have fun with some of the trees, seeing as how Kala could control them. Wolfgang hung onto the branch with dear life, Kala’s hands moving with the tree’s swings. He hollered and called out cheers, watching back at Kala who just looked at him quizzically. It was freeing, the feeling of wind racing through his hair, the rush that every swing poured through him - it was as if he could finally feel like a child once more.

Birds started to fly around them frantically, chasing after the swinging branches and tweeting a song along the race. Kala watched on, curious as to the joy of it all. “Are you having fun, Wolfgang?” she asked, watching as the grin on his face never faded. She didn’t understand it; what could be so fun about swinging around, with nothing else happening? Kala would never be able to experience it.

“Beyond!” Wolfgang called out, slipping from his straddled position to swing back onto the landing. He tumbled over, and Kala covered her mouth, not expecting him to stand again. Wolfgang jumped up, moving his neck from side to side, before turning to Kala. “Now, I want to show you something fun,” he said, suddenly in front of her. He was quick; quicker than most humans. Wolfgang took her hands, the slender things moving delicately in his own. He pressed one to his shoulder, holding onto the other with a soft touch. He hesitated before laying his hand on her waist. Wolfgang was overtly aware of the fact that he was closer to Kala than he had ever been, touching her in a way that he hadn’t done before.

Kala watched as Wolfgang looked around, not meeting her gaze but realised soon, he was casting magic across their little area. The sun was blocked from giving light inside the landing, the now orange leaves had now illuminated more than any light could shine on them. The pond rippled off a glow of pink, the colours contrasting to create the most breathtaking glow around them. Wolfgang took in a breath, pushing himself into Kala a little tighter, then beginning to sway with her, leading her into a gentle rhythm. Before she could register where it was coming from, Kala heard music, pipes and strings striking up a slow song.

“Dancing? I know how to dance,” Kala said, batting her eyelashes and causing Wolfgang’s heart to jump. Whenever she seemed to look at him, he couldn’t help but find that she was the most amazing thing to ever see him, ever happen to him.

“You’ve never danced with me. So it’s fun,” he replied, a smile creeping onto his lips before he spun Kala around. When he brought her back in, she giggled, an unexpected movement to be sure. Her head rested against his shoulder for a moment, and there was a part of him that she could discover how hard his heart was racing.

“You’re better at magic than you appear,” Kala said with a small giggle. Wolfgang bit at his lip before he shrugged it off.

“I managed to snatch the cup right from under you, so I would say so,” he replied as Kala’s grip tightened in his shoulder. He laughed.

“Not many people can move the way you do,” she said. Then, her face felt hotter than ever - embarrassed by her own words. “You’re quick, I mean. You’ve used potions or magic to make yourself faster,” she explained, avoiding his eye. Kala shifted and Wolfgang smiled, the blush running over her cheeks.

“You’re right. Better for get aways,” he shrugged. Kala looked up, gazing around them as the colours of the leaves and the pond seemed to blend and mix around each other.

“But this, you can manipulate your surrounds to however you see fit. It’s quite beautiful,” she gushed.

“Only if I concentrate hard enough,” Wolfgang said just before he started to speed up their dancing. He lead Kala around in circles, letting her feet pick off the ground when she couldn’t keep up. He could spin her off one arm and bring her back in, holding her for a moment before making her spin once more. Kala giggled as she let herself dance out of time and letting her feet take her wherever Wolfgang wanted her. It took Kala on a journey she had never experienced when dancing before. She was soon met with Wolfgang lifting her off her feet, letting her glide across the air without effort or thought; he was keeping her up and beautifully secure in his arms.

Then, she right back where they started, both flushed and breathless against the other. “Do humans dance like this all the time?” she asked. Wolfgang blinked, not quite sure how to respond.

“Sometimes,” he cleared his throat. Then, the sun broke through the trees, the glow of the leaves and the pond were taken away and replaced by the singular glow of the sun. Wolfgang stepped away from Kala, the separation unwelcome. “I’m going to go get us some food,” he said, already going to a vine that took him down into the forest.

“Oh, okay,” Kala said weakly, her hand meeting her lips. She was unable to comprehend what she was feeling; something new and overwhelming. Wolfgang couldn’t let himself indulge in her, let himself get caught in whatever power she had over him. They didn’t speak of the dancing, nor what they were feeling; couldn’t quite bring it up yet. Instead, they had their dinner, Wolfgang talked about the world and read her stories from his books.

It was getting late when Wolfgang propped the book up onto his face, laying it down as his eyes couldn’t stay open much longer. He felt his breathing becoming more shallow as sleep welcomed him with open arms. Kala watched as his chest rose and fell as it always did, she rested on her knees, biting into her lip.

“I missed half of that,” she mumbled, missing the pages of the book because Wolfgang forgot to read aloud. He sometimes did that, but Kala didn’t bother telling him at night though, no point in waking him from his sleep. Kala reached out, her fingers trying to lightly take the book from Wolfgang’s face. “I wonder if -”

The book shifted, breaking Wolfgang’s eyes open to see Kala reaching out to his face, fingers tentatively gracing the side of his cheek. “Are you trying to check me out, guardian?” he smirked. Kala’s eyes widened and the nervous look inside them was enough to give her away. She turned away from him, tucking her knees up to her chest.

“I wish you would stop calling me that,” she huffed. Wolfgang sat up, his chin resting on her shoulder. Kala sat up straighter, not used to his touch, even after the day they had.

“You can’t sleep,” he hummed.

“I don’t really have to. Time passes differently for me. We don’t need as much as humans do,” she explained. Then, Wolfgang’s arms wrapped around Kala’s waist, dragging her down to the ground and laying her in his arms perfectly. “Wha-what are you doing?” she exclaimed.

“Shh. Don’t make a big deal over it. Sleep,” Wolfgang muttered, his chin resting on top of her head, his own fatigue taking him over. He fell asleep far faster than she, but it gave her more time to familiarise herself with this sensation; safety.

For the first time in so very long, Kala slept. She slept for hours, the feeling of Wolfgang’s arms around her was comforting and warming. Never had she thought she could sleep so well, so beautifully wrapped in a caring hold.

Waking, it was far different. When she expected to still feel Wolfgang’s arms around her, instead she was met with a cold she had known for seven centuries. Glancing around, Wolfgang was nowhere to be found. She kept looking around, even checking to see if he had taken the fountain - still in place and flowing in the middle of the pond.

All day, Kala scoured the forest, asking every creature and tree if they had seen Wolfgang, seen him briefly enough to give Kala an insight as to where he was. Nothing. Not a single word. Many said they wouldn’t have noticed the man amongst the others that passed through the forest; so it was really no use in asking anymore. Instead, she went back to the fountain, watching as the water trickled down.

It was becoming ever more apparent with sleep and staying awake for the entire day, so aware of the fact that the day had lasted so very long - that humans feel this way everyday. They know how time functions to their own terms, how they have only a finite amount of time during the day to do everything; they live by light and love by dark. She didn’t know if she could live for more centuries with the knowledge that days lasted this long.

“I come baring gifts,” Wolfgang’s voice tore through the tree’s silence, Kala standing to her feet to see that night was now coming into view. Kala sprung up, finding Wolfgang near the edge of the treetop, holding two bottles of ale in hand, a beaming smile on his lips.

“Where did you go?” she asked, feeling the water spark at the edges of her eyes. Wolfgang’s brow furrowed, watching as Kala rubbed at her eyes, patting out the tears that formed.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“I didn’t know if you’d come back,” she muttered, holding her lips tightly shut before returning to the pond, her feet skinning into the water.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. But I brought back the ale I told you about it,” he shrugged, sitting down next to Kala. He popped the top off one bottle, handing it over to her and opening his own. Taking a drink, Wolfgang hissed as it ran down his throat, the same taste and same effect; he enjoyed drinking to forget and to let loose. He was encouraging the latter here. “Thought you should have a taste, after all,” he told her, watching as Kala tentatively took a sip at the ale, watching as her face contorted into an uncomfortable mess, most likely tasting the bitter aftertaste. Ale dripped down her chin as she looked over at Wolfgang and he contained a laugh that was forming.

“Why are you laughing?” she asked defensively.

He moved his hand up, letting his thumb wipe away the dripping ale as Kala visibly breathed harder. “Cause you’ve got -” he started. He didn’t let his hand drop from her face until Kala tried for another drink of the ale. She made an even more uncomfortable face than before and Wolfgang broke out into a hard laugh.

“Are you still laughing at me?” she barked and Wolfgang nodded, belly laughing more than he expected to.

“Yes!” he called out, turning to Kala who was now the same. She didn’t know what came over her, the ale going to her head with two big sips at it. Not used to human ale, or any ale really, she was at a disadvantage, but she couldn’t help but break into laughter when she heard Wolfgang - his rich voice deepening in that harmonic joy, it was like a song that she never wanted to stop.

When Kala realised the next morning that five days had gone by, she was in awe at how freeing it all felt. Yes, she had her responsibilities to the forest and to the fountain, but Wolfgang was there to stop her worrying and the loneliness - to stop her own suffering. She went out to find fruits and berries for her breakfast, leaving Wolfgang to sleep in. He had seemed to blissful in his slumber that she didn’t bother to wake him up.

Returning, Kala shrieked, dropping her food and covering her eyes. What she had seen was Wolfgang in the pond, bathing in the water - his clothes rested by the water’s edge. “Care to join?” he asked, Kala peeked through her fingers, noticing very well that he was in fact, completely naked, the darkened area just below his hips.

“Why must you be this indecent?” she said, though her voice was muffled. Wolfgang laughed, moving to the edge of the pond.

“I’m having a bath, guardian. I’m allowed to be naked,” he smirked, tempting his inevitable departure from the water's depths.

“Please wear clothes,” she squeaked, hurrying off into the taller branches trees. Wolfgang rolled his eyes, getting out of the pond. Kala knew it was a guilty act, that she shouldn't be doing it, but she was too intrigued; she watched him from the tallest branch, seeing his form and how he moved. He was physically attractive, but there was something that kept her too intrigued to leave her eyes be. Across his entire body, and knowing what he had been through, he only have one scar. It lined his chest, the thickest scar she’d ever seen and had not taken mind of before. It didn’t seem to bother him, but Kala wondered if he had been in such pain since? Did he have someone to care for him, or was he alone like her? She shook off the thoughts when she saw Wolfgang move down the tree, now fully clothed.

Watching from the height, she could see Wolfgang racing after something. He tried snatching it up, but as soon as Kala heard the high-pitched giggle, she shook her head. Floating down, sneaking up behind Wolfgang, watching as he hit the ground trying to grab at a nymphs ankle, but losing her to the trees. “You’re not going to catch the nymphs like that,” she said, making Wolfgang jump in his skin. He turned around, resting on his elbows and.

“I usually always get what I want,” he grunted, falling onto his back and looking up to the sky. The leaves that flowed from the tree were a stark purple, taking on the wind and the two watched as the leaves trailed across the forest. “If I have to buy it, or take it. I’m getting what’s mine,” he told her. Kala laughed, making Wolfgang sit up. She pressed a hand to her lips, a look on her face as though she knew more than he on this. He stood as she gestured for them to walk. They had never walked together before, which made a part of Wolfgang disappointed. He was rectifying that now.

“Those aren’t yours. These all belong to the tree and those who protect the tree from harm,” she explained, the trees seeming to lean towards her as she walked amongst them, springing to life whenever her touch greeted them. Wolfgang was in wonder of it - of her - the way she could just brighten everything. He wondered if that’s what she’d done to him, but knew it was more than anything she could conjure with a simple touch. It was always going to be something more.

“So, how would I be able to get what I want?” he asked.

“Take something greater than the nymphs?”

“Maybe so,” he smiled, just as Kala raced behind a few trees, laughing slightly as she hid herself away. “Hey! Where are you going?” he chuckled, trying to find her. He saw the white silk of her dress pass by some trees.

“You’re going to have to catch me!” she called out behind herself, hearing the trees let Wolfgang pass as he chased her.

“Slow down,” he yelled, but she shook her head.

“You’re faster than that,” she squeaked, just before she was stopped, Wolfgang already managing to dash in front of her. She giggled, catching her breath and staggering backwards.

“I am, but where’s the fun in that,” he shrugged, trying to reach for her, but she floated up, pushing Wolfgang back with a tough gust of wind. “No fair,” he said. Kala tucked her dress between her legs as she talked down to Wolfgang, smiling playfully at him.

“Who said we were playing fair?” she asked and Wolfgang scoffed, utterly surprised by her. The day was wasted with their game lingering, Kala always managing to push Wolfgang away whenever he got close and floating to the tops of trees. Wolfgang caught onto her routine, finding himself at an advantage with knowledge she didn’t have. He saw her start to float when he used a quick teleportation spell to dash up the length of a tree. As she searched for him on the ground, Kala was surprised to feel his hand catch her wrist. She looked at him as he tried to balance on an unsteady branch in a tree. He was smiling wide, a reserved happiness that she had barely seen.

“Gotcha!” he said breathlessly. Kala giggled, gripping tighter into his arm, helping them both float to the landing to have another meal and more stories before sleep overcame them. When night came in, Kala found herself watching Wolfgang as he slept, his soft puffs in his chest, the sound of his breath as he took closely to his slumber, the trailing hand he laid on his stomach. She had only done it once before, but she laid down next to him, her head resting on his shoulder lightly, not expecting his reaction to be almost immediate. His tired limbs soon embraced her, leaning her into his chest - seemingly a comfort for the two of them, not just her. Kala enjoyed her moment in his arms.

Their sixth day was shorter than Wolfgang expected. He just talked and talked to Kala, telling her things he’d never told anyone else. And all she did was listen, her eyes could never judge, though they did widen in surprise when he told her about some of things he got up to that weren’t entirely seen as good within some kingdoms and countries. She laughed when he told her funny things about his laugh and looked sorry when he told her the sad - but never made him feel lesser than she. He wondered for a moment, and knew he could only get the answers he seeked from Kala.

“The other guardians, what are they like?” he asked. Kala looked over to him as the night was coming in. She looked up to the red leaves above.

“Guardians?” she asked. She realised what he was asking and struggled to find an answer.  “Well, they’re usually women, but can be men. They don’t all look like me, but they’ll have powers very similar to mine,” she explained.

It was one things after the other that he kept asking, where would they be, how could they be found, were they always as good with magic as she was, did they act the same as she did, were they as old as she was. Kala didn’t think anything of it. Most people who heard stories about Kala and the guardians wanted to know more, know everything they could, just for curiosity’s sake. The answers were ranged, some were hidden and some were trying to find the forest, some were old like Kala and some were young, all lesser with their magic but better than Wolfgang (he resented that opinion). But they were all scattered, harder to find for if they revealed themselves, it could put the fountain at risk.

“And after that you’ll be able to leave?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes, but it’s very hard to find these guardians. They’ve been hiding for a very long time,” she told him truthfully, still not realising why he could possibly want to know.

“I bet you I could find them,” he chuckled. Kala turned over, touching at Wolfgang’s nose and he turned over, looking at her quizzically.

“I’ll wager the fountain against it,” she bet. Wolfgang scoffed, smiling to her with a challenging look on his brow.

“You’re willing to risk the fountain on a bet like this?”

“I know you won’t be able to find them, so I’ll gladly wager the fountain,” she said, confident in her conviction. He nodded, his own mind betting against her judgement. He knew he could be right.

Their seventh day came in, Kala flipping through one of Wolfgang’s books. It was a story of love, one he had stolen by mistake, but by how worn it was, he enjoyed it nonetheless. Wolfgang wandered off to go find berries to snack on as Kala looked on to finish the book. Kala read the pages, the hero rescues the love of his life, stealing a kiss they had watched years to keep for each other. Her fingers lingered over the pages, the image of the two people embracing warmed her heart.

Until it became numb. She had always dreamt of having a love like her father and mother - forever in each other’s arms and kissing whenever they wished the other happiness. Kala had been so alone, so shut off, could she ever hope for that? She thought on it, letting her heart indulge in the thought of it; Wolfgang letting his hand run up her face like he’d done a few nights before. Having his knuckles brush lightly over her cheek before his lips fell to her slowly, the anticipation almost unbearable, then kissing her with a love that could make an entire forest come to life again. She sighed at the thought.

“I wish it had been me that Wolfgang had come to steal away instead of the fountain of youth,” she thought aloud.

“Should I do that too?” Wolfgang said, watching as Kala squeaked loudly and covered her mouth, turning to find him eating. He looked at her, waiting for her answer.

“I thought you were going to go look for something to eat,”

“I did. I found some berries not too far off,” he mumbled, finishing his berries and wiping his mouth. “Now, let’s get started,” he chuckled, getting down on his hands and knees and crawling to her.

“Don’t tease me,” she laughed, but still seemed hurt.

“I’m not teasing,” he shook his head. Kala sat to attention. “I’m not great with other people. Not like you,” he gave a brief smile before taking Kala’s hand. She sighed when he brought it to his lips and kissed at her knuckles. “You listen to me and my stupid stories, but you take me seriously.” His eyes were soft, voice on the verge of breaking, scared for her reaction.

“But I can’t. I can’t leave,” she realised. He shook his head, not giving up on his fight.

“Then I’ll find the next guardian,” he replied quickly. And Kala realised why he asked so many questions. “You told me that the next guardian is out there somewhere. I just have to find them and bring them back. Then we can leave and never think about this place again,” he nodded.  

“I wagered the fountain against you,” Kala smiled nervously.

“I’ll give it up if it means getting to keep you for the rest of my life,” he said back even faster. Kala stared at him, wonder in her eyes and unable to find her breath properly. She bounded forward, hugging tightly to Wolfgang, an audible gasp leaving his body before he took Kala into a full embrace. They were doing this. They were going to be happy.

Kala felt the breaking of trees. Not just branches - trees. Her whole chest ached before her eyes sparked open, watching as the forest suddenly became alight, everything screaming out in  pain. Kala collapsed in Wolfgang’s arms, his hands trying to keep her steady but she was feeling weaker than a twig. He glanced around, seeing the fire that illuminated on trees scattering the forest, the sudden billowing of the flames to claim the trees - Wolfgang knew what it was; magic. Bandits with magic.

“Get whatever you need. We have to go,” he demanded of Kala. She nodded frantically, stepping up weakly before taking herself off. Wolfgang picked up all his books, stuffing them into his satchel, looking over the edge to see at least eight bandits slowly moving up the tree. He cursed underneath his breath, finding Kala again. “Do you have the fountain?” he asked silently.

“I’ve got it safe. We should leave before they spot us,” she nodded. Kala revealed a seedling in her palm as the tree vines held onto the cup for her.

“I’ll finish this quickly,” he smirked, watching the bandits make their final climb up the tree.

“Be careful!” she whispered angrily. Wolfgang took out his staff, using his magic to stretch out its length and strike as many of the bandits as he could. They would crumble in pain as Wolfgang hit them, until he was close enough to get up close and strike them with blade or defend with magic. But Wolfgang underestimated them, overpowering him and pinning him under a heavy man. Kala watched, a bandit taking out a blade, smiling wickedly as he was about to hurt Wolfgang.

“The fountain!” one yelled, spotting Kala. She readied herself to fight, but she didn’t notice that one of the bandits had gotten behind her, her focus on Wolfgang and not her own safety. The bandit took out of a blade and Wolfgang felt his heart drop.

“No!” they both called out to each other. Kala felt the piercing pain go right through her chest, seeing the blade slip out of her again. And as she watched Wolfgang suffer the same fate, angry tore through her. She pushed the largest gust of wind she could think of, pushing her own attacker straight off the side of the tree, knowing full that there were stones below that would kill him.

All the power she had left, she pressed her hands up, the vines taking hold off all the bandits, flinging them off or as close to the edge as possible. She fell to the ground, a hollow pain ripping through her that made everything numb. She was cold, but all she cared about was Wolfgang, and his strangled breathing. His wound was large and took its toll on him. She crawled to him, feeling herself growing weaker with every passing second.

“Drink it,” she begged him, the vine dropping the cup; Kala was too weak for anymore magic. Wolfgang, being quick as ever, caught the cup before it could spill. He slid it to her, his back pressed to the ground as blood pooled around him. He stared up at the leaves that were once an emerald green, now forever in flames.

“No. I can’t. I’ve got nothing left in me,” he breathed out. Kala took the cup, drinking it - Wolfgang’s last image was Kala saving herself. What a perfect thought. His eyes started to flutter close before they shut. He was content. Until he felt warm lips around his. His eyes sprung open, watching as Kala, with every last bit of her strength, spilling the fountain into his mouth, helping him drink it. He finished it, Kala weakly leaning on him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, wiping to edges of his mouth as he cupped her face, helping her sit upright.

“Save yourself,” she choked out. He looked at her, stealing the kiss he had craved for so long, the passion not lost on their weak lips that turned to only Kala’s weakness. He saw the bandits regaining themselves.  Picking her up, he put her out of harm’s way.

“Stay right here. This will be over quickly,” he said, letting his hand skim down her cheek, her face falling into his palm beautifully. Only five out of their eight ranks survived. Not for long. Wolfgang stripped out of his jacket and shirt, revealing the now healed wound that once graced his chest. They all shifted uncomfortable as he took out two swords, anger overtaking him. “Now, which one of you wants to be mincemeat first?” he asked.

His pace was fast, his strikes were lethal. He took every ounce of his rage and put it into his fight. Wolfgang didn’t hold back, using magic to stop them from running, taking his revenge in the heat of his anger. They weren’t going to get away with any of this; for the forest, for the tree, for Kala. He wasn’t going to let them live. When he had one last bandit left, crawling away from Wolfgang. Taking the man by the collar, Wolfgang thrust his blade straight through the man, watching as he struggled to gain a proper breath. “Why did you want the fountain?” Wolfgang asked.

“I wanted to live forever,” the man gave a strangled answer.

“Too bad, I got it first,” he snarled, twisting his blade before kicking the man off of it, watching him fall down to the dead forest beneath him. Looking out onto the wasteland of a once beautiful forest, Wolfgang felt hollow. He panted as he remembered Kala. He raced to her side. She hissed as he moved her body into his hold. She was paler than ever. Kala put her hand on his pale skin, the perfect contrast, and the perfect love of her life in her hands.

“Please, don’t leave me,” he begged, stroking back the hair out of her face, wiping away the tears that dripped from his face onto hers.

“Take the seed,” she groaned, handing him the last leaf of the tree with a small seedling. She closed his hand into a fist, making sure it was tight. “Plant it in good ground. Your blood will help it live again,” she nodded, small tears forming at the edge of her eyes. Wolfgang wiped them away quickly.

“I don’t want to. Not without you,” he shook his head. Wolfgang touched his forehead against Kala’s, unable to hold back to broken sobs he had tried to hide.

“You erased seven hundred years of loneliness and solitude in just seven days,” she said weakly, her hand gripping into his shoulder, begging for one last moment. “You said you were going to take me away. Tell me again,” she asked.

“I’ll take you. Take what’s mine. Keep you -” he started, Kala’s hand falling into his lap, her body limp in his hold, cold and unmoving. His lip trembled, the tears falling into her open palm. He strangled the sob in his throat. “Let me finish, dammit.”

He carried her, mile upon mile, finding the perfect ground for a new forest to thrive. Finding it, Wolfgang laid her down, digging up the dirt and placing the seed inside. Cutting open his wrist, he let his blood forming a pool around the little seed. His cut soon healed and the seed began opening almost instantly. Where the seed was once a small little creature in the dirt, now lived like the ancient tree in the Witch Queen’s Forest. He marvelled at it.

Taking her up into his arms again, he placed Kala in the open top of the tree, a home she once hated, but now he hoped she could rest of time. He climbed down, looking around the tree to see the growing of grass and a land that could be a perfect forest one day. One he would probably live to see. “I’m getting what’s mine, Kala. I was going to take what was mine,” he said, his jaw clenching. The tree, a mixture of all the leaves he had fallen in love with Kala under. He touched the trunk of the tree, the branches reacting to his touch by springing to life and glowing. Lip trembling, he saw Kala’s face, her wonder and joy in the old forest; now she was never able to bring a forest to life like that again. It now laid in Wolfgang’s undeserving hands.

Living was tedious, long and unforgiving. He lived the nearly the same amount of years Kala had, living in a future day, where magic was nowhere and no one believed in witches or cared for the forest that perished with a guardian in its wake. Wolfgang had been on hundreds of adventures, fighting and winning. Living millions of lives he hadn’t earned. And through it all, all he wanted, all he could ever hope to have was Kala; the only thing - person - he couldn’t have.

In the small bar he owned in Berlin, he had invited all the guardians he had found over the years. Six other guardians. He travelled across the world, saving them and protecting them when he could. Immortality will force a person to do crazy things; he was looking for a reminisce of Kala in any of them. Almost, but never quite finding her. He found an endless friendship with them all. But not what he craved.

The night had dimmed past midnight, most people at other clubs and bars, Wolfgang’s nearly empty, just waiting for an ounce of happiness with the other guardians and their partners. Wolfgang turned towards the door, seeing if anyone was coming in when he saw Kala standing in a white glow. He sighed, the sight of her still a heartbreaking vision.

Do you always drink alone? she asked. Wolfgang finished his drink before pouring himself another one.

You know I do. He replied. Every time he saw her, she was only in his head. He replied mentally to the tormenting presence of her. He loved her and could never have her.

Kala sat on the bar, fixing her dress as her feet dangled over the side. Why are you so sad, Wolfgang?

Stop asking stupid questions. He shot her an angry look.

I love you. She smiled.

Stop saying things you couldn’t possibly mean. He spat back angrily.

I will love you until your last dying day. Her hand graced up the side of his face. He sighed as he remembered her touch, how wonderful she could make him feel in those hands.

What a boring amount of time without you. He looked down at the drinks in front of him, making sure everything was in order.

Stop missing something that isn’t lost. Her voice was sweet, but distant, fading.

Huh? He asked, looking back at her, but she was gone. He got on with work, feeling numb, like always.

Riley rubbed her hands over the nervous woman’s shoulders. The guardians all stood around her, watching Wolfgang inside the bar, cleaning the bar’s surface, fixing himself another drink. Riley always thought Wolfgang looked sad around this time, but this could make it all worth it.

“What if he -” she started.

“He wouldn’t,” Nomi said, Amanita on her arm.

“He couldn’t,” Riley quickly said in toe. Will came up behind her, kissing the side of Riley’s cheek. The two started walking in.

“But what if he thinks I -”

“Go,” Sun said, her tone unmoving, but there was an eagerness that laid beneath. She wanted her to live for once.

Wolfgang heard the chime of the bar’s bell. He turned to see the guardians; Will Gorski, Riley Blue, Lito Rodriguez, Capheus Onyango, Nomi Marks, and Sun Bak. It took him centuries to find them all, helping them all find happiness Kala couldn’t have. Will found happiness in Riley and vice versa, Nomi found Amanita, Lito found Hernando and Dani, Capheus found Zakia, and although she’d never admit it, Sun found happiness in Mun.

“Wolfgang, how you doing?” Will asked, hugging him over the bar’s counter. Lito and Capheus did the same, shaking hands with Mun and Hernando as they came in. The girls all leaned on the bar briefly to kiss his cheek and for him to do the same. They all made up a large family, filled with everyone and anyone. The last few people in the world to be magic, practise magic and even really know about it. It was their secret, and a perfect family secret it was.

“Well, my immortal ass got hit by a car yesterday, so not great,” Wolfgang confessed in a smile. Felix, at the other end of the bar, laughed. The two had been friends since Wolfgang took over management when Felix could no longer afford it. Wolfgang had gained a lot of money over the centuries, why shouldn’t he use it for helping out a bar owner who always Wolfgang free drinks? Now thinking about, it’s probably why Felix couldn’t afford to keep the place.

“Did the emergency room get mad again?” Riley asked.

“If Amanita didn’t convince her friend not to call the police, he would be in jail for the rest of his life,” Nomi laughed.

“An endless life at that,” Sun reminded him.

“Thanks for reminding me, Sun,” Wolfgang rolled his eyes. “I’ll get you the first round in a minute guys,” he said, watching as the couples all walked to their usual booth together, everyone and their love was there. Dani stayed behind, flirting with Felix like she did every time.

“I’ll do it,” Felix suggested quickly, a little nervous for a reason that escaped Wolfgang. He shrugged and let Felix hurry off with the drinks. Wolfgang started to stack up some chairs, cleaning tables to try and close up some of the bar before closing up for the night. The bell started to ring, and Wolfgang groaned. If he had to deal with an entire party of drunk teenagers, he needed Felix out the front. He was too fucking old for that.

“Wolfgang?” That sweet voice, it stilled him in shock. It couldn’t be her. It had to be his head. He didn’t want to turn, but he did anyway.

“Ka -” he almost muttered. He stared at the woman, her face so much like hers….but it couldn’t. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Has it really been so long?” she asked nervously. She wasn’t wearing the white dress she wore all those years ago; instead, she wore jeans, a white blouse with golden sequins lining a pattern over it, matched with a denim jacket. She was new, and beautiful, and right there.

“It can’t be you,” he mumbled, stepping towards her cautiously.

“It is,” she nodded, the smile on her lips that made his heart skip several beats.

“How?” he asked in a harsh breath.

“I’m...well, I’m a Dryad,” she shrugged, the explantation lost on Wolfgang. How in the world was she going to explain this? She rubbed at her arms and wrists. “A goddess of the forest. When the forest died…”

“So did you,” he realised. Then, it dawned on him even more so. “And when I replanted the seed -”

“I just needed some time,” she nodded, a small laugh “Goddess’ like myself need to thrive. We hide away until we’re ready. The Witch Queen’s Forest is alive again. And so am I,” she exclaimed, biting at her lip.

Wolfgang smiled, reaching out to touch her cheek. Her face moved into his palm, exactly how he remembered it. Then, he pulled away. “I left you there?”

“You didn’t know,” Kala shook her head, trying to move towards him, but he stumbled back. Kala looked over to the guardians, watching as Wolfgang came to terms with it all. He just seemed so unsure of it all. That’s when she saw his torment, how he had hated himself for not saving her all those years, the voice of hers in his head mocking him. She hated that.

“But I left you there. If I had stayed a while longer -” he tried.

“It took me years to come back,” she explained slowly. “But you’re alive. It worked. That’s all that matters,” she nodded.

“Kala,” he sighed, letting his hand run up her face. She couldn’t help herself, the tears just came tumbling down. “Why are you crying?” he asked, concerned. He cleared all her tears, holding her face in his palms.

“That was the first time you ever said my name,” she let out, chuckling through her tears.

“You think I could ever forget it?” he asked back with his own laugh. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” he breathed.

“Flesh and blood,” she said, her hand gripping into his shirt. Her hands were real, they were on him - he had her in his hands. She was steady in his arms, the most sure she’s ever been. He couldn’t quite grasp the reality in which she was there, standing and touching him without a glow of death surrounding her. She wasn’t lost. She was his. Right there and then, she was his. He rested his forehead against hers as his heart realised the most unfair truth.

“But I’m going to live forever now, how -”

“I’m immortal, Wolfgang. The other goddess’ revived a new fountain. They let me drink the purest of it all. I’m an immortal goddess, doomed to die however many times,” she chuckled, waiting for him.

“You’ll live…” he started. “You’ll live like me for the rest of time?”

“If you’d like,” she shrugged.

“I love you,” he stated, kissing her as quickly as he could. The guardians erupted into a cheer, hollering and chiming glasses together. Kala giggled against Wolfgang’s lips, holding him as close as she could. “I want that.” He said it as a promise and she knew his word was true.

“I love you too,” she breathed, stealing another kiss from his lips, remembering how it felt the first time, how he made all the pain go away. And now, years on, he still made every lonely moment feel like it was filled with him - that she was never, and would never be alone. Never again.

[epivskey]

Just wondering about your next gen headcanons. Do you favor any characters (including OCs and ships)? Also, who plays what on the Quidditch team?

oh my dear this will be long. most of my headcanons can be found on /tagged/hp-next-gen-headcanons on my tumblr.  

I’m just going to do my faves because there are too many kids.

Teddy Lupin - I subscribe to the canon that he is the Head Boy Hufflepuff. I like thinking that while his teachers expected and received grades worthy of his father, that he would also have his mother’s energy and clumsiness. His hair reflects what he feels, and since blue is the colour of calm and happy, its the colour you would most likely see him in. He’s close with the Potters and the Shell Cottage Weasleys. He plays the resident big brother role pretty well, so well that even the adults don’t notice the hurt he feels. He’s jealous that these are full families, that his family ended before it could properly begin. He relates to Professor Longbottom in that way, since they both were raised by their grandmothers. He didn’t have the paparazzi as bad, since his parents were dead war heroes not alive ones. He never let on to the younger ‘uns that he was too busy with exams to help with their problems.

Victoire Weasley - I like to pin her as the perfect cousin, the one on such a high pedestal in terms of looks, grades, her Gryffindor status and general care toward paparazzi and followers. She’s kind to the paparazzi, never breaking their things or swearing or making rude gestures; her head is always kept low and often holds a soft smile. Because for all the attention she got from them as a child, and from being told that all the others should act and be like her, Victoire enjoys the attention. She enjoys the flashing lights, although she didn’t always. When she was young she despised the camera, knowing that it awaited her outside her home, but as she got older and accepted it as part of her life, she found that she actually enjoyed it. It helped her greatly when Dominique broke a camera from sheer rage, because she got to fake niceness to get on their good side; her sister’s anger and rage was her saving grace. She enjoys it when her face is plastered onto a magazine, looking as pretty in her flawless nature. Fights break out with Dominique over how paparazzi should be handled, but she ultimately doesn’t give a shit.

Molly Weasley - Ever since a young age her father pressured her to do her best in school. Percy was a prefect and got high grades, and he expected no less from his daughters. Molly did as she was told and studied hard, studying even before her enrollment in Hogwarts. It didn’t help that her mother was Korean, so the stigma of her being smart was only due to “natural” instances of her being Asian, not her hard work. Half the time she questioned why she hadn’t been sorted into Hufflepuff, but the answer was always the same: expectations. Of course she would do well at school, of course she strove to be number 1, of course she was a Gryffindor. She was called a “Mini Victoire” or a “Victorie 2.0” by tabloids. The weight of expectations and the constant exposure to paparazzi outside of school did not do good things to her mental state. At thirteen she fell into a pit of depression. Her sister Lucy and cousins, James and Fred, were the only ones that really knew. For once she was glad she was in Gryffindor, because she had James and Fred to keep her from falling- both figuratively and literally. She made a suicide attempt at age fifteen. Her self-esteem was hurt and self-confidence plummeted; an incident concerning her friends, Daniel Wood and one Rita Skeeter during a Hogsmeade day caused her to lose them all because of an article written. That was the pushing point that led her to try and jump off the Gryffindor tower. Luckily James caught her and brought her back to his and Fred’s dorm. She’s being using them as a crutch ever since.

Fred Weasley - Having your dead uncle who is also your dad’s twin brother as your namesake could not be easy, and for Fred it was hell. His entire family had a legacy from their involvement in the Second Wizarding War, and while only one Weasley died for the cause, he was named after said Weasley. From when he was about ten years old Fred realised that everything he did and said would be compared to his namesake. Every bad joke he tried to tell that received pitied laughs, all the times he did something naughty with James and got scolded by Grandmum Molly, when he got sorted into Gryffindor. It was like he lived in a shadow he could never escape, the sun never shone where he stood and it would never shine for as long as he would live. He once spoke his fears aloud with James and Molly and was surprised when they resonated with him. At twelve he made himself a promise for the future: he would never ever name his kids after anyone he knew. The responsibility of knowing a namesake was heavy enough when it was just his family, but the tabloids took it to new heights, blowing his position as a Keeper in Quidditch way out of proportion, “Fred Jr walking away from everything his family taught him! Read more about how this junior is diverting from his predestined path.” He’s the most vocal of all the cousins about how fucked up their lives are.

James Potter - James has five things he considered to be the worst in life, but their order always got shuffled around: being named after your grandfather and great godfather; being Harry Potter’s son; being Harry Potter’s first born; being Ginny Weasley’s son; and being sorted into Gryffindor. Sometimes being named after your grandfather and great godfather sucked ass because of their reputation as tricksters, and replicating that kind of expectation was hard- or at least harder than anyone would know. The two categories of being Harry Potter’s son and being Harry Potter’s first born were split, because the former added pressure onto James to do something equally as selfless and amazing. How do you trump the fact that your father basically saved the whole world? The latter because, according to all the movies James had watched, the first born was always “destined for greatness” and was always the mold from which the other siblings would follow from. But James considered himself to be a mess and got into trouble- but not the good kind. He caused scandal after scandal leaving behind strings of “broken hearts.”  He loved his mum dearly, but hated that she pursued professional Quidditch (and that his father was the youngest Quidditch player in a century) because that meant James had to pursue Quidditch. He loved watching the sport and the thrill of the games, but hated actually being on the pitch. But duty calls, and so he joined Quidditch and became Captain. This tied with him being a Gryffindor. He didn’t want his future to have been planned out for him already, often waking at night from nightmares.

Relationships I do ship are: Teddy & Victoire, Scorpius & Albus. Ships with the canon and my ocs: my oc Imogen Wong & James, my oc Dinah Wood & Teddy, my oc Frank II & Louis, and my oc Bella Hart (Pansy’s daughter) & Lucy.

As for OC’s I favour:Amelia Finnigan-Thomas - Adopted child of Dean and Seamus from Myanmar, Amelia was a darling to the public eye. It was a fairy tale, the tale of a poor unknown witch from a poor country being adopted by gay, loving war-hero parents. She had an older brother who was adopted from kenya with a similar story. She hated the paparazzi and still does, but she loves to make fun of them with her brother and friends. At fourteen she became the Quidditch Captain for Hufflepuff, managing to bring Hufflepuff to victory and get the House Cup! She spawned quite the attention when she did, doing everything she could to emphasize the fact that she did it, she brought her house victory. She’s at times cocky and unchecked, but if you ever say shit about her fathers or her brother, she would not hesitate to hex you.

Dinah Wood - First born child of Oliver Wood and Quidditch mastermind in her own right. She was captain of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team when James first entered Hogwarts, drawing knowledge from her father on tactics to use on the field. Many players from within her own house, and plenty from the others, complained that she had an unfair advantage. McGonogall brushed it all away, and Dinah felt connected to her head of house, grateful that her faith was placed in her. Her hype about Quidditch is considerably less crazed than her father. But her legacy as a Captain garnered her a position as a “popular” girl, alongside the fact that she was best friends with Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley. She’s very competitive, fighting for the title of prefect in Fifth Year, and Head Girl, but the title instead went to a Slytherin prefect.

The kids that played Quidditch in Hogwarts:James II - ChaserFred II- Beater, KeeperDominique - Chaser, BeaterLucy - ChaserScorpius - KeeperAlbus - SeekerDinah Wood- ChaserAmelia Finnigan-Thomas - Seeker, Chaser Louis - ChaserFrank Longbottom II - Beater

[dcbicki]

Pirates of the Caribbean: DMTNT/Salazar’s Revenge - spoiler-packed review

Been back home from the cinema for a couple hours now, and it’s time to jot down all my thoughts concerning Dead Men Tell No Tales (or Salazar’s Revenge, according to my movie stub). I’m gonna be breaking this down into sections to make it all a little bit clearer, but I won’t delve too much into the actually plot of the film and - well, basically this isn’t going to be a summary. I’ll end it on a recap of those Will/Elizabeth scenes. Spoilers ahead though, mateys!

Acting: 6/10

First off, it’s safe to say that the new additions to the cast were much needed. I say this because Brenton Thwaites manages to portray Henry in such a way that you just know who his parents are, and Kaya Scodelario’s strong Carina manages to save the rest of the cast from me labeling them as half-arsed. Orlando Bloom tries a little too hard to sound gruff and haunted in his first scene, but he’s seemingly let the charade drop by his reemergence at the climax of the movie, wherein his chemistry with Thwaites is reminiscent of two old friends catching up. (I’ll bite. More on that later.)

Geoffrey Rush is in form, but you get the sense that his time with the franchise would be coming to an end even if his character’s fate wasn’t set in stone in this film. The crew of the freshly freed Black Pearl don’t seem to have much of a purpose, other than to feed lines off of Jack, or rather have him feed off of them. My sister probably said it best: Gibbs is wasted in this film, and there is no good reason as to why that is. I can’t speak much on Javier Bardem’s Armando Salazar because, for the most part, he’s underwhelming. I really don’t think they should have promoted him as the greatest villain to ever walk across the screen of a Pirates film; faced with Davy Jones’ downright frightfulness or Beckett’s cunning scheming, Salazar’s huskiness and slouching leaves little to no impression. Or maybe I was just too distracted by the fact that he was half floating, half standing.

The main problem though, is Depp’s Sparrow. It’s disappointing how a once iconic character has become such a caricature of himself, better suited for a low-rent pantomime than an adventure film of epic proportion. When he isn’t flailing around, swaying back and forth and talking to himself, drunker than usual, he’s spewing out innuendos and coming across as that one dirty uncle you never want to invite to those family get-togethers. The drunken scenes in which we first find him this time around are easier to swallow than later ones.

Writing: 5/10

Many of the jokes rely upon male-favouring misogynistic humour, and the level of unease I felt when Carina starts undressing and Jack urges her on would break the scales. He’s the creepy aging man in the corner, and his crew aren’t much better. The horologist jokes aren’t nearly as funny as they’re intended to be, but despite myself I did end up giggling once or twice at the sheer stupidity of some of what these pirates say. (This is mostly due to Stephen Graham’s stellar delivery though).

I would say a highlight for me were the callbacks to the earlier films, and the majority of my favourite snippets of dialogue come from Barbossa. Drawing his sword and pointing it at Jack, he once again points out that the Pearl can only have one captain.

If you read the novelization, then you will probably notice that plenty of dialogue made it into the film. And this I’m thankful for, because Barbossa’s final answer to Carina’s question cuts me deep and it damn near made me cry in the cinema. There’s heart in the tale, and you sense as much whenever Henry is gazing off into the distance, and you’re never quite sure if he’s just keeping an eye out, or keeping a weather eye on the horizon.

Thankfully, the chemistry between Scodelario and Thwaites works just fine, so their flirting flows quite nicely and it never feels too forced. They don’t try to mimic or copy Bloom and Knightley’s characters, and they work better together than On Strangers Tides’ forgetful missionary-mermaid lovers ever could have.

Effects: 7/10

I’ll admit I was a little skeptical at first, when the trailers first came out and everything seemed to … hollow. Ghost sharks and people with half of their bodies missing screamed Disaster! Abort! to me, but much to my surprise (and delight), the visual effects were actually pretty solid. The ocean parting ways was an epic sight to behold, and I thought I’d need some serious convincing to even consider watching a young Jack prance around, but it worked. And it worked well (if only the flashback hadn’t been such a bore…). The cinematography is beautiful, and the colour palette is hands down better than that of On Stranger Tides. Cyan blue has made its comeback to the franchise and I’m grateful.

3D experience: 7/10

I had the chance to see it for the first time in 3D (but not in IMAX), and I have to say it wasn’t half as bad as I imagined it was going to be. Usually, I avoid watching blockbusters in 3D because the effects never seem to pop and I always leave disappointed, ticked off I spent more money than I needed to. But the opportunity arose and, to my better judgment, I’m glad I went for the 3D viewing rather the original digital format.

Essentially, what stuck out to me, and made me feel as though I was truly there (which is what we want when we go for 3D), involved Salazar, his crew, or The Silent Mary. Their flaking skin constantly looked as though it was shedding, leaving embers floating in the air. (This did require me to lift my head a little big higher though, to basically crop out all those scalps from the audience below since I was sat at the very back, in the very center of the room.)

Score: 8/10

Rather than working solely on new compositions, Geoff Zanelli decided to integrate many of the older themes and suites into his scoring of the film, and I’m glad. I kept my ears attentive for any and all uses of the Love Theme from At World’s End (and there are many! But more on that later…), but I’d say the scores from Curse of the Black Pearl and At World’s End get the most use here. I was on the edge of my seat through that entire bank robbery scene, and only Hans Zimmer’s killer pieces of music can do that to a person. All those classic themes we recognize and love are there, and they help bring the audience back into the sometimes sketchy plot. But the new additions are nice too, and they add a touch of magic to some scenes. I think (if I’m not mistaken) that the music playing over Carina’s discovery of the island full of stars was new, and I’m definitely going to be on the look out for that one.

But my real love, my true love where the Pirates scores are concerned remains the Love Theme from AWE. Pieces of ‘One Day’ are played at several reprises, and the film wastes no time in letting its melody wash over the audience as it airs during the opening scene of a young Henry finding his father aboard the Dutchman. It’s become a recurring theme of sorts where the Turner family is concerned, and this isn’t a problem. It’s almost as though whenever Henry is on screen a segment of this piece has to play so we remember who he is and what his goals are. It works, though. But the best use of this theme comes at the end, and the much-awaited reunion scene between Will and Elizabeth would never have worked without it.

Will/Elizabeth:

I won’t lie, one of the main reasons I was so determined - excited - to go and see this was for my two favourite characters from the franchise. We’d been left hanging (in a way) for near a decade when it came to Will and Elizabeth’s endgame. The writers seemingly gave them an out, but canonically they were destined for a lifetime of waiting and longing. It sucked, but this latest installment tried its best to make up for their unfortunate ending. And, though their situation could have been dealt with a thousand different ways, I’m not unhappy with the way they chose to settle their love story for once and for all. How could I be? They’re two of my all-time my favourite characters, and they are the romantic ship I hold above all others.

Yes, it’s a little annoying that Elizabeth doesn’t even speak at all, but I’m honestly they convinced to Keira to film something rather than nothing at all. She was - I’m sure - a last minute addition to the film, but you would never have thought it. Her first scene works, and it’s well placed and perfectly ends their journey. Granted, one does wonder why their son is the one setting off on an adventure to free Will from his curse when Elizabeth is there, and alive, and healthy, and a former badass pirate herself. But she’s just that: a former pirate. Narratively, and structurally, it’s easier to make Elizabeth the love Will returns home to at the end of the movie than anyone else, because it’s either that or nothing (no Elizabeth) at all. So I will settle for her being the wife waiting ashore that day because otherwise we don’t get anything. And this something is better than nothing.

For those of you seeking a detailed description of their embrace, I’ll try my best. (It has been some hours since I saw it).

Henry is standing ashore with Carina, post-embrace, not too far from where a lighthouse towers over them in the background. This plot of land is where he grew up, and the lighthouse is seemingly the Turner home.

Now that the curse has been broken, he’s patiently waiting for his father’s reemergence from below the depths of the sea. He pulls his spyglass from his waist, holds it up to his eye to gaze out at the sea in search of the Flying Dutchman.

A freshly resurrected Dutchman - with white sails and a healthy glow about it - has already risen to surface. There’s focus on the crew off in the distance aboard the ship for a moment but, through Henry’s spyglass, Will comes into focus, walking towards them.

He stops before his son and Carina, and the two men make their way towards each other. They exchange a hug, pat each other on the back as father and son do, and Will doesn’t seem able to believe that Henry truly freed him.  They both smile, and Will says he will have to tell him all about how he broke the curse he thought unbreakable.

Henry pulls the old necklace Will wore in earlier films from around his neck and hands it back over to his father, crunched up in his fist. He kept his promise, and he wishes to return it to his father.

But, as they begin to walk off, Will’s hand on his son’s shoulder tenderly, he finds himself peering off into the distance. From over a hill, we see Elizabeth cross a field of grass. She slowly makes her way towards them, skirts gathered in her hands.

Her face is a picture at the sight before her, and a smile slowly etches onto her face at the realisation of what has happened. Will is free, and her family is reunited.

Only a moment later, the two are hurrying over the bluff to meet each other. It somehow happens slowly yet much too quickly at one time, and the sound of my heart pounding against my chest at the sight of this reunion is no doubt how we can imagine they felt in that moment, too.

It’s hurried, the way they run to each other over the grass and dirt. It’s desperate, and those ten years of longing are felt through their on-screen presence, through their facial expressions. A foot away from each other, they stare, but only for an instant. They hug, embrace as though they’ve dreamt of this moment for years now - and doubtless they have. It’s testament to Orlando and Keira’s chemistry that they can still silence almost an entire room within but ten seconds of re-connecting. At this point, I feel my heart fucking caving in on itself. Their love theme is playing over the scene, and I focus entirely on their faces.

Their embrace is passionate, one of absolute despair turned to sheer glee, and the tightness with which he holds her fucking wrecks my soul. She’s basically clutching at him. I believe their eyes close, and their slowly begin to pull apart from each other, after both of their faces are focused on, all smiles - after they’ve breathed each other in. Though they never let go of each other, it takes a couple of seconds for the shot to pan out and focus on them as pair. He focuses on her lips, looks resolute on kissing her, but she focuses her gaze on his entire face, but mostly on his eyes.

His hands on her waist, it’s Elizabeth who makes that first fraction of an inch to kiss him. Her hands run over his shoulders until they reach his head, and they kiss as needy lovers who’ve been apart for a decade, his hands encasing her, cradling her. (I’m uncertain if the camera pans around them or not, that could just be wishful thinking on my part.) Moving away from them, the focus is then placed on the field beside the lighthouse, when they remain standing, loving.

It doesn’t end here though. Once the final scene has passed and the credits have stopped rolling, you’re in for a treat.

The post-credits is deliberately left ambiguous so we wonder if there’s more to come, and I’m honestly not that surprised by this fact. I would honestly prefer if this were the final installment in the saga. The scene could work as a reminder of Will’s suffering, and the finalization of his curse. To each their own speculation and interpretation though.

The shot starts off on Elizabeth’s face. She’s fast asleep in bed, in a white nightgown with her hair sprawled across the pillow. Next to her, as the cameras slides over, Will is sleeping also, white shirt open and now long hair free, and they’re back to back.

In the doorway to their bedroom, the shadow of Davy Jones haunting figure appears in the darkness as a harsh wind blows through an open window and the moon’s glow highlights his frame. He seemingly approaches the bed, and it’s only when the focus is placed on his claw of a hand that Will wakes up from his sleep and springs back to reality. He was having a nightmare, we’re to assume, and he’s shaken by the nightmare of his old nemesis.

Will sighs, takes a deep breath to calm himself, quickly scans the room. He turns to Elizabeth, places a hand on the far side of her waist, tucked beneath her body against the sheets. It’s a slow and soft move, when he gently pulls her into his side to rest. She lets out a quiet moan, and they fall back into a comfortable sleep, nestled together as man and wife, finally.

Headcanon: They had hot sex for five hours prior to this. (I’m writing the fanfic, don’t worry…)

[dothewrite]

Seijoh has a female manager, and she happens to be Oikawa and Iwa's long time childhood friend — she and Oiks are completely oblivious to each other's feelings, like everyone in the team already knows except for them? Hehe sorry if this is too specific!!

Oikawa? A lady killer? In his dreams, maybe, but when it comes to actual matters of the heart I promise that he’s a clueless amoeba. Cue, Iwaizumi to the rescue. I hope you enjoy this little fic of silly!

Now Iwaizumidoesn’t think that he should be considered a very observant person. Sure, hepicks up on things that he needs to, but he doesn’t have the persistence to beable to really uncover something that someone’s actively trying to hide. Whichmakes this all the more pathetic, in his opinion, because at this rate even ablind pigeon with a faulty sensory system would be able to notice the amount oftension in the air each time the two of them are in the same room.

Out ofeveryone too, they’d all banked on Oikawa being the perceptive one. Heck, hisentire volleyball career is based on him being the most observant out of all ofthem- the one who picks up on playstyle, predictive movement and analysing potentialplays. He literally does this every day,so why, why does this idiot not notice the incredibly suffocating atmosphereeach time they finish practice?

IwaizumiHajime is no matchmaker. But sometimes enough is enough, and if this is what ittakes to stop the betting pool from growing into unrealistic proportions (Imean, he’s a high schooler, he can’t afford a car for goodness’ sake), actions must be taken.

He startswith the small things. They’re in the same club, sure, but they’re in the sameschool too, and the same year. Itshouldn’t be that difficult, he decides, even if both of them are blind asbats. Attempt one involves him really awkwardly standing in the middle of thecorridor waiting for both of them to show up after school to shop for new trainers. It’s possibly theworld’s most cliché plot, but he’s getting points for effort, not originality.Both you and Oikawa look at his shoes with raised eyebrows and Iwaizumi sighs.Alright, they’re pretty new, but he supposes he can make a sacrifice for hisbest friends. His idiot best friendsthat give him so much grief about overspending on the way to the store that hewants to chuck them both in a trash compactor and be done with it.

It doesn’twork, of course. He just ends up with a frayed temper, two highly amusedfriends and an empty wallet. He swears never again to treat either of them todrinks, because a cappuccino should not cost more than a meal and be made withbeans imported from Atlantis or somewhere.

His nextattempt goes a little better, if a little less effective. They don’t actuallymanage to spend time together, but he manages to corner Oikawa in the lockerroom right after practice and squeezes some truth of out of him. Iwaizumisettles for 75% truth, because any higher and it’d be an impostor.

“Do you likeher?” He asks a bewildered Oikawa, straight and to the point.

“Who?” Thegit tilts his head in feigned ignorance and Iwaizumi smacks him.

“Who elsehave you been staring at all the time with that pining expression on your face?”

“Iwa-chan, Idon’t pine,” Oikawa scrunches up hisnose like the mere insinuation that he could have human feelings is beneathhim, “I merely admire.”

Iwaizumirolls his eyes. “Pine, admire, pop a boner for- it’s all the same. C’mon, thetruth.”

Oikawa looksrather indignant at being put on the spot with his uniform pants safely out ofreach and behind Iwaizumi, so it’s not like he can make a break for it. So,laboriously, he answers. “Is it that obvious?”

“Shittykawa,I’m pretty sure the school’s going to make banners out of your mooning faces ifit gets any more obvious.”

Oikawa’seyes widen. “So the team knows?!”

Iwaizumisnorts. “Of course the team knows. I’m pretty sure the only one who doesn’tknow is her.”

“You’re not goingto say anything are you?! Iwa-chan, don’t tell me you’re going to turn traitor.”

“Okay,”Iwaizumi frowns and presses an accusing finger into Oikawa’s heaving chest. “Firstof all, you’re both unfortunately my best friends and absolute morons, so there’sno ‘turning traitor’ when I’m on nobody’s side. Secondly, you should tell herbefore we all go broke from betting on you two.”

“What’s thebetting pool at?” Oikawa seems to perk up at the idea, and a wicked smirkcreeps over his expression. Iwaizumi feels like he’s signing himself away to ademon when he tells him.

“Around 17-kyen.”

Oikawa letsout a low whistle. “Wow, I’mflattered!”

“You shouldn’tbe,” Iwaizumi mutters irritably, but he knows it’s not going to make adifference either way. “Hurry the fuck up and admit it.”

“Why? I’mgoing to make someone rich, y’know. So much money isn’t to be scoffed at as astudent.”

“Yeah?”Iwaizumi’s quite done at this point. His point’s been made, and the idea’s beenplanted. There’s nothing left for him to do this evening, so he pulls back andstarts packing his things into his bag. Oikawa just stands there with his backto the wall like he’s been pinned there by some invisible force of theuniverse. “Look,” Iwaizumi finally says, hefting his stuff over his shoulderwith a hand on the doorknob, “sure, someone’s going to go rich, someone’s goingto go broke- but you’re gonna be stuck here with those feelings of yours untilsomeone graduates and you’re never going to be able to tell her how you feel. So,man up.”

He doesn’tglance backwards to see Oikawa’s expression before he leaves. He catches youreye outside in the hallway, waiting for both of them to walk home after school,and Iwaizumi lifts a hand in greeting.

The bestnews he’s heard all week, he thinks, is that he doesn’t need to make an attemptthree. Honestly, there’s not much else he thinks he can do other than go to youand confront you about your feelingstoo (which, he thinks he should have done first because you’re miles easier totalk to than Oikawa), but all that is saved, thank goodness, when he receives atext at two thirty in the morning from Shittykawa telling him that he’s goingto talk to her tomorrow at practice.

It’s thebest sleep he’s had in ages, and he finds himself actually looking forwards topractice afterschool that day.

It’s apretty average day- all three of your meet at the crossroads of your respectivestreets to head to school together. Oikawa’s got his arm around the both youand Iwaizumi, as usual, and there’s almost no difference from any other day-that is, if both of you hadn’t been around him since he was born. There’s noescaping the eyes of a hawk. You’re in a different class from both of them, butIwaizumi notices the extra chirpy ‘see ya!’ that Oikawa offers you, and thelittle bashful smile that colours your cheeks before the two of you part tostart the day. Iwaizumi does the decent thing, and doesn’t mention it at all.He doesn’t even look at Oikawa knowingly, which he thinks he deserved at leastfifteen brownie points for.

The thingthat gives it away for the team, however, is during practice. Oikawa’s as sternand serious as always whenever there’s volleyball involved, but this afternoonhe barely spares you a glance, not even when you’re directly handing him hispersonal bottle that he’d forgotten at home this morning. Hanamaki only nudgesIwaizumi in the ribs rather painfully, and jerks his head towards the non-spectacle.Yahaba just scoffs at his wimp of a captain, and even Issei, usually the one who pretendshe’s not interested in it out of respect for you, shakes his headdisappointingly.

“That’scold,” he murmurs to Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi has to agree. “Is he planning ondoing something today?”

“That’s whathe messaged me,” Iwaizumi murmurs back, and Hanamaki makes a suffocating noisein the background.

“I knew ourcaptain was a tsun,” Hanamaki comments, “but she’s too sweet to even notice thathe is. She probably just thinks she’s done something to piss him off today.”

EvenKyoutani makes a disgusted face at the sound of that, and Iwaizumi, again, hasto agree. “She knows him so well but when it comes to some things…”

“Theydeserve each other,” finishes Issei, and the whole team just nods in assent.

“The blind leadingthe blind- or something,” Yahaba just tuts as he waves the betting sheet aroundin the air, and they all gravitate towards him, eyes never leaving yourslightly put off figure the entire time. Everyone holds their breath collectivelywhen you make a move to return to the coach’s side, but Oikawa places a veryshaky hand on your arm to stop you.

“Wait-“ hebegins, and you find yourself heating up in ways you thought were only limitedto industrial sized ovens.

“H-hm?” youstutter, and you look mildly frustrated at your own tongue for that. Oikawa, onthe other hand, doesn’t notice it at all and instead pulls you to one side inwhat he thinks is an inconspicuous corner. The only people who don’t notice arethe coach and the teacher, and the rest of Aoba Jousai watches on with baitedbreath.

“I,” Oikawastarts, before he removes his hand from you and starts to pull at his shirtnervously, “Iwa-chan told me something the other day.”

You nod,anticipating a story of some sort that ends with Oikawa being roasted, again.

“He saidthat we’re going to graduate soon, and…” his tongue trips him over severaltimes, and you feel your nerves run laps around your pulse. “That I should saysomething before I regret not… saying…”

“This isn’tlike you, Tooru,” you joke, a small smile gracing your features because it’sthe only way you know how to comfort him right now, “you’re usually so sure ofanything you’re going to say.”

“Well that’sbecause usually I know exactly how it’s going to be received,” Oikawa respondsproudly before deflating again. He’s blushing, which is a natural wonder initself and you can’t help but mirror it four-fold. You’re too busy staring atthe floor, but Oikawa catches the way your cheeks redden and your lower lip beingworried between your teeth and he can’t help but resign himself to his fate.

That “I’mcompletely in love with you”- and he wants to die right there because that’s absolutelynot what he wanted to say. It doesn’t sound cool at all, and the team sort of has a small stroke because they’d neverexpected their wuss of a captain to say something so bold. A stuttered, ambiguousconfession perhaps, but not this.

Your face islike a fire alarm. You press your cheeks between your hands, hoping to coolthem down, but no such luck- at least Oikawa looks absolutely mortified, whichkeeps your embarrassment company at least.

“I…” you’reflailing in your mind, “r-really?”

Oikawa lookshorrified, but he nods anyway and despite all odds, despite the incredibly embarrassing, for the fourth time,atmosphere, a wide smile breaks through your face and there are almost relievedtears clinging at your lashes.

“Thankgoodness!” You exclaim with relief, “I thought that I’d have to graduate withoutanyone ever knowing!”

“Knowingthat… I like you?” Oikawa’s lower lip starts to tremble.

“No, idiot,”you grin at him, your own lips equally wobbly, and the two of you must make aridiculous sight. “That I like you too.”

And then,Oikawa evaporates. Or rather, he feels like he’s about to, but what happensinstead is that you’re tugging him into a fierce hug that he can’t do anythingbut reciprocate, and faintly out of his consciousness he hears clapping goingon.

“Idiot,” yourepeat into his chest, and he smiles too, because now that the embarrassment’sgone, he’s finally realizing what’s happening and good lord, he wishes he weren’tsuch an idiot, like you said, and did this earlier.

“I’m ahandsome idiot, at least,” he tries to argue, but it’s all silenced when youpull him down by the towel around his neck and press a soft kiss against his lips that just won’tshut up. He does, finally, when he realizes that it’s okay to actually do thisand not just fantasize about it, and his arms wrap around your waist to pullyou in deeper into the best kiss of his life.

Iwaizumifeels exceptionally pleased that evening when he walks home, alone. He doesn’teven mind that its’ chilly and he forgot his jacket in the locker room, becausehe’d been far too pleased with the huge bulge in his wallet made from Hanamaki’stears.

“I thoughtwe were friends,” Hanamaki had wailedat him, but Iwaizumi had only shrugged, and even Issei threw an unsympatheticstare at his best friend.

“Cold hardcash,” Iwaizumi had replied, before closing the door behind him and feelinglike all his trouble had been well paid for.

[jackattack2000-blog1]

Evaluation. (As of 08/06/17).

 At the very start of the project (Unit: 8 Survive and Thrive), I began working on pre-production for my graphic novel called “Desolate” before the Easter Holidays. The various documents I had to produce, that my overall final product shall reflect/follow on, are as follows. My One sheet, Design Document, Gantt Chart, Proposal, Storyboard, Pitch Presentation and Character Profiles etc. In the last project “See No Evil, Speak No Evil, Hear No Evil”, I made a graphic novel that I was satisfied/contented with called “Food Hell”, as I felt I did better with it than the Game and Animatio. What I liked most about doing a graphic novel though, was the interactive elements that you had to make such as the buttons and how it would navigate through the frames/scenes one-by-one. But this time I wanted to improve my skills and try out new techniques of making a graphic novel interactive, like adding animations and sound effects to it as well. Like when clicking a button, the direction/camera placement and angle will change or character movement, along with the sound effects to cue when something happens to bring some immersion into the graphic novel. Unfortunately though, I did not manage to make those happen in the end, as I thought that doing the blog work/missing pre-production (including research, production diaries and analysing products etc) was more crucial for meeting the assessment criteria. Also, it would’ve taken a while to create the animations and the coding behind it, as it is more complex than just having the frames appear when clicking a button. Coming towards the end of the project with the deadline just coming up (June 9th), looking at my graphic novel now there are definitely some differences and similarities from what I initially intended my graphic novel to be before, which is the concept idea. I can confirm that my graphic novel isn’t completed or polished 100% by no means, meaning that not everything that I planned to implement or incorporate into my graphic novel is there. This could be due to the time limit/restraints we were given, as we had about 2 months (from April to June). Also, we only have 3 days of College, one of them not being a full working day. Sometimes there were bank holidays, that got rid of time to work on our production. On some days, time to do work in lessons were taken away from any other occurrence that prevented us to work. A weakness that I have when it comes to this project, is that I’m too much of a perfectionist when it comes to me making art. I tend to spend too much time on details and I feel the need to draw something till I’m completely satisfied with the way it looks, for example proportions/scale of a human body or structure. Lack of equipment/tools needed in order to make the graphic novel, is another problem that I’ve faced when wanting to continue making my graphic novel at home. Programs such as Flash and Photoshop (which are the two programs that I have decided to do production on), are essential to the construction of my graphic novel and you have to pay monthly or pay an even larger amount to keep the Adobe programs forever. Not everyone, including me, can afford it. The same goes with the Microsoft Office programs (Word/PowerPoint for example) and audio editing software such as Audacity or FL Studio. Lastly, maybe your hardware of your computer is obsolete and weak so that stops you from being able to run the programs quickly and efficiently.

 I have been recording down my progress of the production of my graphic novel through multiple “Production Diaries”, where I show natural progression of what stage I am at with making the graphic novel. Throughout the diaries I have portrayed how I might have changed/tweaked some things to what I said I was going to do in my Proposal. Though, I have kept a lot of things in my graphic novel the same as to the last project graphic novel, in terms of structure, art-style and colours etc but in this graphic novel I have refined those features. I am willing to push myself further and familiarise myself with new things in the overall course, instead of doing the things I’m already confident enough with, when I get the chances to. Unlike before in the last project, I didn’t do the process of drawing and sketching out the main outline/template of my graphic novel onto A3/4. Then scanning it into Photoshop to draw over the graphic novel on each frame digitally, till eventually importing each frame layer-by-layer into Flash, so I can construct the graphic novel so it works. Instead I have gone straight to drawing all out in Flash, so I can save more time where as last time I traced over the sketch template, making the graphic novel look more accurate to how it was drawn last time without change or mistakes. Which would’ve been a bit handier, but I’m happy enough to just add more detail as I go on drawing, without guidance of a template. Throughout the project, I have been researching/analysing multiple comparative (existing) products/medias that has helped me build my influence on the themes, scenarios, characters and design/art-style of my graphic novel. I didn’t just have to talk about existing graphic novels, just because I’m doing a graphic novel. I mostly looked at games, but I could’ve looked more into movies and TV shows as well. I have explained in more detail about these games in separate blogs. I have done Fallout 4: Far Harbor, Metro 2033/Last Light (book and game) and Far Cry 3. I have portrayed how I have effectively communicated to my target audience, through a recent blog post called “Primary Target Audience Research”. In it, I have explored how my graphic novel is suitable for my main target audience, by analysing the specific age group (16-25) on anything, such as what they like and dislike or what they are mainly engrossed into like genres of games, films, TV shows etc. I’ve also done a some blogs on how I will go about doing my research in “Research Proposal” and what I am going to include in my pre-production in my blog “Pre-Production”.

[movies-are-magic]

A Tale Of Love And Darkness

A Tale Of Love And Darkness is the movie adaptation of Amos Oz’ bestseller of the same title. With the book’s epic proportions, myriads of nuances, and being largely autobiographic, this story of a boy growing up in the Jerusalem of the 1940s and 50s, during the founding of the state of Israel, had long been said to be impossible to make into a movie. This task has now been taken on and completed.

Although critically acclaimed, it was difficult to find a cinema screening of this movie, especially in Hebrew. Still, I recommend the effort (the movie is available on DVD etc now), even if there are dubbed versions available.

WARNING: Contains heavy spoilers. If you have neither seen the movie nor read the book, chances are that this text will be difficult to understand.

Where does one start with this movie? It is a mysterious work, one that does not explain, and where it does, you still have to find out on your own what you have just heard and seen. This, perhaps, is the largest difference between the book and the movie. Where the book consists of hundreds and hundreds of pages, so many tales, so much detail, narrated by the author himself, all those memories from his childhood, the movie manages to pick all those bits and pieces, so many tiny yet important things, and combines them all into a tightly woven tale of only one and a half hours.

Just like the book, the movie has a first perspective narrator, who is Amos Oz in later years, when he writes his book. This is not the constant voice of the pages though, through which everything is filtered. The movie starts very differently, with something that is only a small part of the written story: with the storytelling game Fania keeps playing with her little son Amos.

It is a beautiful caprice in an otherwise strict, almost restrained way of storytelling, and it works very well in its context: the fantasy tales this woman imagines in contrast to the harsh reality she and her family live in become the frame for the narrative, a very different approach to the story compared to the book. Of this, almost the entire first half is left out, which largely consists of Amos’ relatives recounting their lives, as well as records of their living circumstances. The movie focuses more closely on Fania and leaves out much of the family history, as well as the dramas enfolding in Amos’ life as he grows up, insofar as his parents are not concerned.

Taking all these explanations out of the movie, instead of, for example, having the narrator explain them all, and making this a much longer story, was a brave decision, but it works. It works because despite focussing so much on his mother, this is still very much Amos’ story and therefore the essence of the book, rendered well into the medium of film because we are shown, not told, how he sees what happens around him – often literally so, when the camera takes his point of view from where his eye level would be, or in the scene under the tree, where Amos sees his happily smiling parents upside-down, which is funny, then strangely predicting… and suddenly interrupted by the sound of a shot close-by. In this way, the movie leaves behind a feeling that there are things the audience does not understand, because as a child, Amos could not either.

Before I venture into more of the characters, let me just say quickly how beautiful the movie is made: it looks and feels authentic, never exaggerated, and instead relies on certain detail, such as the agitated making of borscht and the used looks of household items and furniture, to convey an aliveness that speaks out of the screen. The colours of the pictures have been carefully chosen, and while it is obvious how they change from warm yellows and oranges in the beginning to dull blues and greys toward the end, and finally to black with either weak or harsh bits of cold light, sometimes there are surprises, like the entirely yellow tinges in Amos’ fantasy stories.

From the very first moment, the movie brings out the special bond Fania shares with her son, and their shared gift of seeing the world in deep accuracy. The decision to have the two ‘act’ in the stories Fania tells is a wonderful way of conveying the feeling of literally being inside the narrative, and painfully so in the end. At some point it becomes clear that Fania’s marriage to her husband Jehuda Arie, although apparently harmonic, is not a happy one, and that Amos cannot be the one to save her, on whom she can rely – but he thinks that it should be him. Just as much as this is too much to ask from a child, from anyone, it is also excruciating to see Amos adapt some of his mother’s habits of punishing herself when she does not ‘function’ the way the world wants her to, when she is not the model wife and housekeeper, that she does not fit in.

I have no way to avoid this topic, so if you do not want a massive spoiler, I’d suggest you stop reading here. It is named early in both book and movie though.

Neither the book nor the movie blame anyone for Fania’s suicide. There were accusations, as Amos Oz describes in his book, for example towards his father, and he himself also blamed himself massively. Finally though, there is no answer, and if there were one, it would not be simple. However, with the book’s accurate descriptions of the peculiar, sometimes tragically absurd behaviour of human beings, the story becomes incredibly relatable, but also shockingly personal and open. It is all the more astonishing because, as written in the book, almost all of this detail comes from memory, especially as most of Fania’s things were thrown away after her death. Still the narrative is as alive as if there had been a recorder running while the characters speak. That this novel is such a bestseller has been partly accounted to its many tales of immigrants, to which a lot of people in the world can relate, but I think it is also about this personal approach to the reader. You care about these people, with all their faults and weaknesses that render them so real and often amiable, and you start to feel that there is something wrong. But as so often the case, it is impossible to guess what made Fania choose death. To go there, to show that, and to abstain from easy platitudes and fluff-mongering, that is brave. The movie does not stray from the book’s way of storytelling here.

Natalie Portman insisted on making her movie in Hebrew because of the book’s many relations to the language, not only in its descriptions of the founding of the state Israel, which Amos is shown witnessing as a boy, but in a great lot of things: his family’s love for books, everyone writing including his father and, sometimes, his mother, every neighbour and friend writing, Arie’s tries of making jokes about related words and etymologies (he spoke and understood a great number of languages), a book Amos had been reading falling down when the final tragic event is announced, even single letters, א and מ, which stand for political parties, but as Amos runs past them to find Fania sitting on her own in the rain, they combine to אמא, ‘mother’. (please do correct me if I’m wrong here, my grasp of the Hebrew language is limited to a mere handful of words)

None of this detail has been left out of the movie, and while both book and movie have been accused of not being political, that is simply not true. They are, the book explicitly so, the movie a little less, and they bring their point across. But maybe these critics were looking for a simple opinion to print in a big bold headline, which is not provided. Instead, the narrative links history, politics, and personal life, the way Amos witnessed them when he was a child, and in the book, also about the years to follow. There could be no more raw account of what happened, and mixed with the authentic pictures from the times, the movie leaves its impressions just as strongly as it does when it shows the family’s private struggles.

Where the movie is relatively consistent in its timeline, the book oscillates back and forth in time, over the years, but more and more closely toward Fania’s suicide, like a pendulum finally stopping at its deepest point. Still, there are very little actual changes to the book, and where they happen, it is usually in highlighting or leaving out, not in actual difference. For example, when Amos is sent to spend the day with a childless couple who are friends of his parents, he is told by his father about the links of the word childlessness with expressions such as darkness. While the words are spoken in the movie, Fania is shown bringing her son, and then leaving on her own through a narrow alley, passing a corner – and once the camera turns around that corner, she is gone.

This is one of the many little ways symbolising the movie’s take on Amos’ view of things, maybe his view on them from the present. As Fania later keeps insisting that it is okay if her husband spends the night elsewhere while she is sick, that Amos would be there for her, the feeling that only her son’s presence is giving her a reason to struggle on with her depression grows stronger and stronger. Maybe Amos really is the only person to see his mother the way she truly is, the way his father can never understand her. Who, although being angry about her, saying that she is ‘punishing’ him to his son, is shown as helpless as he is, not as someone guilty of having done anything to her, but someone who cannot deal with the situation at all.

Apart from Fania’s storytelling, there is another tiny part of the book which the movie has picked up as part of its narrative frame. As Amos tries to explain to himself his mother’s death, he imagines her imagination of a hero to save her, a brave soldier, a strong pioneer, a handsome lover, someone who is successful at everything and so not like his clumsy, bookish (but real and lovable) father, and who would save Fania from her misery. In the book, this figure is shortly mentioned being Death himself, who lures in Fania until he takes her with him. In the movie, we see him more often, most notably when he is a Rabbi praying on a cliff, with Fania standing incredulously next to him, shortly before she kills herself. If someone could explain the cultural and religious subtext of this scene, I’d be very grateful.

Fania sees this person once more as she dances with him through the rain in the night of her suicide. But what she also sees is her son, not the little boy, but the aged narrator of the story, through a café window. This is not in the book, and it is such a painful, intense moment, it makes me wonder what inspired it. Is this a nod to the author?

In interviews Natalie Portman said that the story also describes Amos’ ‘birth’ as an author, and there are many hints to that. Most important is the movie’s last scene though, when the narrator is shown writing אמא, ‘mother’, into an empty notebook. It sums up the story so well in so many aspects, the language, writing, books, both Amos’ mother and father, it comes as the perfect ending to a both personal and global story, one of family and one of death, of so many things that even now it is hard to find words for it.

If I had not known beforehand that this was Natalie Portman’s directorial feature debut, I would not have believed it. Nor that she wrote the script (during no less than eight years) and still managed to act her part so well, too, just as all the actors and actresses put on stunning performances. There is a language of pictures, timing, sound and music to this movie, insight into the story, the characters, of how people and objects are put into scenes, of symbolism, of artistic measures that are handled and reined with such sure hands, which many makers of movies with much more experience behind the camera do not show. It left me stunned, and as much as the book is a revelation, the movie adaptation deserves this description no less. I am very much looking forward to more.

[sabrina5146743-blog]

9 -- Wk 9 -- Reflection on Project 2

          Project 2 required us to all create a 2D rendering (much like the hairdryer of week 6) of an object of our choosing which would then be presented and marked for assessment. Research into interesting products, industrial design renderings and a variety of textures was recommended to inspire our chosen products and aid in the production of our rendering.

After some research and after reading the requirement of the task at hand, I decided that if I had to stare at the same thing for hours on end, it had to be an object I liked to look at. Being interested in the aesthetics, simplicity and jollity in products and toy designed for children, I decided to render a product of my childhood – a miniature portable Barbie radio from c. 2004 – 2005.

          Having the object, I had the advantage of being able to take photographs of it in whatever lighting I chose and being selective of what views I wanted to create. I decided on top and front orthogonal views as perspective might’ve been too hard to produce with my current skillset. After taking photos of these views, I drew sketches of them, scanned the sketch, and uploaded it onto my computer to start rendering.

To help me with the process, I used the set of instructions from the hairdryer exercise to guide me. I started by creating layers and layer groups for each of the parts. I tried to create both views at once, so I tried to keep the same parts visible from both views on the same layers. After I organised my layers, I moved onto using the pen tool followed by masking all my parts. I struggled trying to keep the round parts of the speakers round, and decided to ignore the fact that they weren’t and move on. I WOULD REGRET THIS LATER. I flatly coloured my parts and left my work at this stage for a while. Later my computer crashed and you can take a guess at who forgot to save their work. So twice I use that annoying pen tool, and twice I decided to leave my circles wonky in frustration.

I then added edges and started to work on the highlights and shadows on all the silver metallic parts of my radio. I really enjoyed trying to replicate the exact highlights that I captured in the photographs I took, in the beginning it always looks very wrong until over time, until it suddenly start to come together.

Looking at my work, I couldn’t stand that the speakers weren’t round and this was emphasised by the addition of outlines. It was suggested by class mate that I used the curve tool on Adobe Illustrator to create perfectly circular paths (Which I ended up finding an equivalent tool of, on Photoshop at 3am the night before). In trying to create these perfect circles I realised my sketches were flawed. None of my circles were circular to begin with! And this as why my path no only looked unsmooth, but also wonky and completely out of proportion!

I drew new speakers based off the loose dimensions the sketches provided using the shape tool on Photoshop to make new circles for the pen tool to follow. These speakers where then paths out using the curve pen tool as suggested by a friend on illustrator. I had trouble copying the path across, only a section of the tool would paste, on Photoshop or back onto the Illustrator program itself. I found in one of the tab that I had to select the “select stray points” option to successfully copy the entire path.  Once this was managed I had to go back onto photo shop, delete all my edges, and create new layers for the front view (as to not undo all the work done on the top view) and start the view again from scratch. This whole process from drawing new speakers until repathing and remasking the view took me 4 hours.

After this, I was able to move on and finally continue colouring. I finished off the metallic parts on both views and added noise to give it a matte plastic finish. I then moved onto the pink plastic rims of the speakers and casings which had a shinier finish.

I also played around with brushes, blur filters and the bevel functions to add depth to the inside of the speakers.  As for the buttons, I tried out several brushes to pring ut dimensions to the different shapes of each button.

Finally the speaker grate was added from a copied texture at a lighter opacity. As well as copied and edited flowers to loosely replicate the floral pattern on the original radio. Text was then added to my render as well as the Barbie logo. Once this was complete, I worked on creating a background using a variety of filters. I wanted to make something fun and girly that complimented the toy radio. I ended up making it aqua to match the buttons and gave it a glittery faded effect.

          For the final poster, I added Barbie and Mattel logos, along with a child friendly description of the product. Labels of each part were also included.

          For the presentation I was sure how much of the research information I would have to present so I printed and mounted posters for all three aspects of the research (products, existing renders and textures) along with a poster of my final render. In the past I’ve found I’m most nervous when presenting when I’ve prepared something specific to say as I get caught up in trying to remember exact information and I often get embarrassed with what I’ve come up with. So I decided to present with only a loose idea in mind. Because of this I don’t think I was as prepared as other students but I do think I was moderately confident throughout. I was only nervous a minute before presenting when I found out I was the second person to present in my group. I tried to make sure to look at the audience well as use hand gestures to aid my explanations as well as refer to my posters to give examples and back up what I was saying. I found my supporting material to be too broad and non-specific to my rendered product as it mainly focused on a variety of products and initial inspirations rather than the inspiration and process of my specific product. I think I could’ve spoken a little slower and clearer and that I would’ve benefitted by having a few people present before me to give me example presentations to evaluate and work towards.

          Last Notes – with regard to the rendering I think my main issue is laziness. Next time I won’t ignore something because I’m frustrated and work on correcting a fundamental mistake before moving on. Those 4 hours I wasted in having to go back and correct with would’ve let me have the sleep I desperately needed the following day. I think most other issues I had with my rendering can be solved with more practice and further exploring the tools available. With presenting, I now have a better idea of what to say and the factors which made up the better presentations, I know now to make more specific supporting material which focuses more on the product I’ve created to make a more succinct and focused presentation.

[purple-possibilities]

Sharin-games (Part II) [MadaKaka]

Also on FF and AO3!

not sure if I should be posting the whole chapters here anymore if they’re also over there. Opinions?

SUMMARY: Tatsumi talks a lot. Everyone else listens and nods along, until they start yelling. You will graduate with a degree in Uchiha Eye Bullshit by the end of this. Certificates will be delivered by Kamui, but only if we can figure out how to transverse universes.

AN: Here is the second part of Chapter 3!  It starts immediately after the previous chapter ends, so you might want to read that again to brush up on what’s going on.  This one is +8k words, so buckle up!  Every time I’ve gone back to edit it, another 300-500 words got added on.  So I’m just gonna stop and post this baby already.   Hopefully there aren’t too many mistakes!  Point them out and I’ll do my best to fix them. (I need a masterpost for this now, don’t I?)

When Tatsumi turned her attention back to Kakashi, she was cold and clinical.  The playful woman from before was washed away, and in her place was the level stare of an icy queen looking down on her servants.  It was a look most Uchiha wore constantly, albeit unintentionally; derision and superiority swirled into a face both gracefully beautiful and stomach churningly hideous.  Whatever comfort Kakashi had felt upon first meeting her—that part of him that compared her to Obito, thought she might even be a close ancestor of his—vanished under that callous gaze.  He wanted to leave—he needed to get out of there.  This was not a woman he could trust, this was not a woman he would let near his— 

“Relax, Kakashi,” Madara murmured, as wisps of his chakra slithered soothingly into Kakashi’s system.  Madara’s thumbs gently stroked Kakashi’s shoulders in a pacifying gesture, unconsciously.  “There is no one in this world Tatsumi loves more than her brother.  She will not go back on her word.”

“They took his eyes, you know,” she offered with faux nonchalance, as her hand drew closer to Kakashi’s face.  It was slow, reluctant, but the speed—or lack thereof, rather—made things all the more ominous.  While Kakashi was not one to scare easily, the idea of letting her hands touch him—touch Obito’s gift—opened a fear Kakashi had not felt since Rin’s death.  Still, he remained unaffected on the outside—as he had spent hours painstakingly training himself to do.  “They killed him right in front of me.  My twin—do you know what it’s like to have a twin, Senju?”

Kakashi did not reply, but it didn’t seem like Tatsumi was waiting for an answer. 

“We had never been apart, not for long.  We even unlocked our Sharingan on the same day.  I thought it was hard watching my brother marry—start a new family without me.  But nothing compared to that moment.”  Her hand reached his face, finally, fingers resting gently—ominously—on his brow.  Kakashi could not help but tense, but for some reason, having Madara at his back kept him in his place where he otherwise would have ran.

“There were too many of them.  It was just the two of us, against thirty of them.  Shinobi from Kaminari—those bastards are always after our eyes, them and the degenerates from Mizu.”  Madara’s grip tightened on Kakashi’s shoulders, whether in sympathy or anger was anyone’s guess.  Tatsumi’s fingers lit up with medical chakra, but Kakashi did not feel it enter his system.  “Most of them targeted Tatsuki, thinking he would have the better eyes.  Men are always like that, especially the thieves.  Their chauvinism blinds them.  But, it meant that they left me mostly alone.  I managed to kill five of them, before Tatsuki went down.  Stabbed in the back.  Cowards!” 

Tatsumi’s chakra entered Kakashi’s system with a jolt. 

It was nothing like the calm and security he felt with Madara.  While Madara’s chakra felt warm—like cozying up to the fire on a cold day—Tatsumi’s chakra scorched, fried along his nerves and left him on alert.  It felt like static, but more controlled, slower—almost molten.  While it didn’t hurt, it was decidedly uncomfortable.  Was it a symptom of her mood, or just the feel of her chakra in general?  Kakashi could not tell.

“When he fell, time seemed to freeze.  I could only see the sword in his back.  The sounds around me muted; I could no longer hear the clang of their katana against my kunai.  I could no long hear the echoing bark of triumph the Kaminari-nin cried out.  Of all the sounds that flooded the battlefield, I heard only the choking, garbled breath of my twin, as his lungs filled with blood.”  Tatsumi’s chakra seeped into his system, much slower than Madara’s had.  Was it her hesitance, or a necessity?  Again, Kakashi could not tell.  But he knew the feeling she spoke of.  Had felt it himself, had dreamt about it every night.

“Colour faded, until all that was left—” 

“—was red,” Kakashi finished.  Tatsumi’s eyes widened.  Kakashi continued.

“There was a pulse, as if the world echoed your heartbeat—”

“—and a moment of disbelief,” Madara murmured, “as though it was all just a cruel nightmare.”

“And then, the pain,” Tatsumi whispered, eyes scrunching shut, remembering the break in her heart as the other part of her soul was ripped away from her.

“The pain…” Kakashi and Madara echoed unintentionally.  Each stilled, the memory of gaining their Mangekyou flashing in their minds.  Kakashi felt Rin’s scorched blood on his hand, the terror in his heart amplified to unheard of proportions.  Madara saw his father fall—disbelief at seeing a man so powerful, so great succumb to the carnage of battle—as he and Izuna raced to save him, even though all was already lost. 

The trio sat in silence, lost in their own hell.  Tatsumi lowered her head, her goggles sliding down her forehead to once again rest on her nose.  To distract herself, she fiddled with the lenses, adjusting them so she could see into Obito’s eye.

“I was frozen,” she continued, as if the words would give her strength, “and I would have died—should have died.  But they could not touch me; that was the power of my Mangekyou.  A few had taken Tatsuki away, while the rest stayed to finish me off.  I don’t know how long I stood there, but the next thing I felt was burning pain.” 

“Susanoo,” Madara whispered, one of his hands leaving Kakashi’s shoulders to rest on Tatsumi’s head.  He stroked her hair soothingly, once, twice, before tucking an errant strand behind her ear, his palm resting against her left cheek.  Though her right hand remained on Kakashi’s face, the other rose to close lightly around Madara’s wrist.  Her chakra continued to flood Kakashi’s system, slowly seeping deeper into his brain than Madara had.  Kakashi could feel it oozing along foreign pathways—even towards his neck—felt it prodding at things he didn’t know existed.  

“I don’t remember killing them.  Just spectral, skeletal hands around me, crushing them.  Some tried to flee, but of course I could not let them get away.  Not when it was their fault Tatsuki was dead.”  The foreign chakra in Kakashi seemed to quiver, not unlike a livewire.  Still, it did not jump from where it was supposed to be. 

“When I awoke from the daze, I was surrounded by dead bodies, but Tatsuki wasn’t there.  So I followed the footsteps, the blood.”  She barked a sharp laugh.  It was cold, and warbled almost unnoticeably at the end.  “Fools,” she scoffed, in a tone Kakashi had heard Madara use time and time again.  A cruel smile lit her face, and Kakashi, in passing, thought that he was glad her eyes were covered.  It was not a look he wanted fully engraved in his brain.

“They thought that their comrades could handle me.  Perhaps they thought to gain four eyes that day, instead of two.  So they did not cover their tracks—didn’t even move that far.  I saw one of them bowed over Tatsuki’s body, a glass jar filled with fluid in one hand, an eye in the other.  The other two stood by—one was disgusted by the sight, the other, entranced.  Before I knew what was happening, they were consumed by black flames.”  Her hand moved from Madara’s wrist to fiddle with the lenses once more, before returning to its previous position.

“I can still hear them screaming”—from behind the lenses, Kakashi saw a flash of red—“and I revel in it.”

Kakashi gulped unconsciously. 

“That is what we do to eye thieves,” she finished, her chakra in his system feeling all the more heavy.

“But he is no thief, imouto,” Madara spoke softly, his thumb brushing so, so gently against her cheek.  “Though hard to believe, he was gifted the eye, after sacrificing one of his own to save an Uchiha.  When that Uchiha unfortunately died, he passed on the eye in thanks—” 

“It is not allowed!” she snarled, head titling up to glare at her clan head, her fingers on Madara’s wrist clenching to stop their trembling.  Kakashi watched a tear slide down her cheek from behind her goggles.

“It is forbidden,” Madara conceded, still speaking in that soft voice Kakashi had never heard before today, his thumb erasing the evidence of her sorrow, “but it is a fitting repayment to a life debt, is it not?” 

“But for an Uchiha to gift one of our eyes to a Senju—”

“I wasn’t a Senju, then,” Kakashi offered, feeling, for Obito’s sake, that this woman needed to know.  Her eyes shot back to him like a slingshot, scrutinizing his expression for any hint of dishonesty.  “I was born to a different clan—now extinct except for me—and adopted into the Senju for my own safety.  They rightfully believed that if an Uchiha were to find out about the Sharingan, I would be killed.  They took me under their protection.  Your clan-mate did not betray you.”

The information seemed to placate Tatsumi, somewhat.  Though on the outside, her demeanor would have seemed unchanged, the Sharingan picked up on the slight softening of her mouth, saw the tendons of her neck untense, her shoulders fold slightly inward in relaxation.  Her chakra inside of him seemed lighter, as if it wasn’t pressing against his nerves.  It was still uncomfortable, but the pressure he didn’t quite notice building up in his head suddenly vanished, present only in an abrupt rush of relief. 

“How long ago was the transplant?”  Tatsumi’s voice didn’t hold the warmth it had when the pair had first arrived, but it was no longer the cold, angry tone from before. 

“About ten years ago.” 

Tatsumi was surprised.  “You were young, then.”

Kakashi shrugged.  “We both were.” 

“Too young to know any better?”

Kakashi’s response was a self-depreciating smile behind his mask.  While others might have missed it, the Sharingan picked up the twist of his lips under the thin, stretchy fabric.

“Do you feel any pain?” she asked, letting go of Madara’s wrist to grab the penlight she had previously returned to her smock.  There was a click, and then Kakashi was temporarily blinded as Obito’s eye became illuminated.

“Not right now,” Kakashi hedged, causing Tatsumi to sigh.

“Don’t tell me he’s as bullheaded as you, nii-chan,” she huffed, shooting Madara a playful glare from behind her spectacles.  Madara smirked, shrugging one of his shoulders with faux nonchalance. 

“I’d say I’m more of a goat,” Madara teased, causing his cousin to snort out a laugh.  Her answering smirk, however, was a cause for concern.  Raising her spectacles back onto her forehead—as not to miss even a second of his reaction—Tatsumi struck.

“I see…so you’re admitting you’re horny?”

Madara’s face flushed red, from his chest to the roots of his hair and even the tips of his ears.  The hand on Kakashi’s shoulder tightened, while the one that had been on Tatsumi’s cheek balled into a fist and bopped her on the shoulder in a light reprimand.  Tatsumi started laughing raucously, tears streaming down her cheeks, though her chakra remained steady inside of Kakashi’s head.  He would have loved to turn around and see the expression on Madara’s face, but could not move so long as her chakra remained.

“You—Tatsumi—I—” Madara sputtered—yes, sputtered—as he searched for a retort.  It only seemed to make Tatsumi laugh harder.  When Kakashi began to chuckle lowly, Madara felt a lightning bolt zing down his spine.  So Madara did what he always did when he got uncomfortable; he began to yell.  “You’ve been spending too much time with those Inuzuka!”

Tatsumi only laughed louder.

“I told you to stop associating with those ruffians!” Madara scolded, trying to tame his blush and regain control over the situation.  He was only making things worse.  “They’re a bad influence, teaching you such language!”

Tatsumi only laughed harder.

“Maa… I like the Inuzuka,” Kakashi defended. “And besides, anything that can make a pretty lady laugh like that is worthwhile.”  His words were meant as empty flattery, but they made jealousy coil in Madara’s stomach.  He became eerily silent, and soon, Tatsumi’s laughter faded. 

“Nii-chan, don’t be like that!” Tatsumi whined, a smirk on her face as she dried her eyes with the back of her free hand, “you know I’ve been asked to help train their vets.  I can’t not spend time with them.  And your Senju is right; they’re great company.” 

It was Kakashi’s turn to blush, at being openly referred to as Madara’s.  It was strange; he didn’t know why it made his pulse skip, or his palms sweat.  Madara, on the other hand, seemed to settle down at the concession.

Tatsumi’s penlight was back in hand, and she was on topic once more.  “Alright, Senju—”

“Kakashi,” the man himself interjected.

“Okay then, Kakashi.  Do you feel pain when using this Sharingan?” she asked, pulling her spectacles back down and fiddling with the lenses, the penlight returning to his eye.  Kakashi did not miss her change of phrase; with Madara it had been ‘your Sharingan,’ but with Kakashi it was ‘this Sharingan.’  But despite the different wording, the atmosphere had returned to the lighthearted one from before.  It seemed that Tatsumi was easily distracted once the air was cleared.

“It does hurt when I use it,” Kakashi offered.

“And…?”  Tatsumi pressed, a wry smile on her lips.  Dragging out answers from stubborn patients was old hat for her.

“…And the longer I use it, the longer it hurts.” His mediocre answer just got him another stare down.  He sighed once more.  “It will throb even after I stop utilising it.”

“For how long do the effects last?” 

“Depends.  Hours to days, sometimes it doesn’t stop hurting for weeks.”

“And let me guess, you get blurred vision, see spots, and occasional bleeding from ruptured blood vessels?” she listed, fiddling with the spectacles’ lenses again.  “And don’t think of lying to me—I can see the effects on this Sharingan.”

Kakashi sighed.  “Why even ask the question if you know the answer?”

When she continued to give him a Look from behind her goggles, he sighed again.

“Yes, sometimes, not often,” he answered—in order—reluctantly.  It didn’t feel safe revealing his weaknesses to someone he had only just met—and had wanted to kill him only moments before.

Tatsumi nodded to herself, pulling a contraption from the chair’s handle into view.  It was an eye speculum—a two-pronged device used to hold the eye open—and she made quick work of attaching it to Kakashi’s top and bottom eyelids.  He hadn’t felt so exposed in a long time.  Had it not been for Madara standing at his back, Kakashi would certainly have been panicking by now.  Instead, he was just wary, watching closely—well, as closely as he could—though still confident that Madara would intervene with any foul play.

“This Sharingan has not been getting the required chakra.  However, it seems suddenly flooded.  I can see the atrophied charka capillaries adapting to the new influx of energy.” 

“I adjusted the central retinal chakra artery and vein just before coming here,” Madara interjected, causing Tatsumi to nod thoughtfully.

“That would help.  The surgeon was obviously not an Uchiha, or else the chakra pathways would have been handled better.  There are a few other chakra arterioles and venules that need adjusting, but that’s fairly simple,” she nudged those into their proper places with her chakra as she spoke.  Once more, Kakashi felt tingling in and around the Sharingan as the chakra flow flooded the area.  She continued, “The physical surgery itself, however, is almost flawless.”

“Almost?” Kakashi wondered, feeling a pang at remembering just who it was who implanted Obito’s eye. 

“Yes.  Was it a field operation?  There are small pieces of debris stuck in your eye.  Small rocks, or dust, I’d wager.  Why haven’t you had anyone look at this?” her sentence ended sharply, the voice all medics adopted when their patients weren’t taking proper care of themselves.  Both men were more than familiar with the tone. 

Kakashi ignored the slight rebuke. “Is it infected?” 

Tatsumi rolled her eyes at his avoidance.  No wonder Madara liked him—her cousin became obsessed with people who didn’t give him what he wanted, when he wanted it.  “No, the Sharingan’s chakra is… cushioning the debris, creating a protective barrier around them.  And they’re quite small, almost unnoticeable.  But they’re causing a strain on the eye nonetheless.  I can extract them now, but it will be painful.”

“Do it,” Madara instructed, eager to find a solution.

“Kakashi?” Tatsumi asked, ignoring her cousin.

“Is that the only problem you see?” Kakashi wondered, wanting to get all the information before he made a decision either way. 

“No, there is still more to investigate.  But you really need to get the debris out of this eye as soon as possible.” She explained, preparing herself for the minor operation even though Kakashi had not acquiesced yet.  “While any Sharingan user can strain their eyes from overuse, when your chakra level lowers, the debris lose part of their cushion, cutting at the eye.  I can see areas of thickened scar tissue where the debris lay, in addition to the typical buildup from general use.  Through repeated therapy, we can eliminate the scar tissue, which will also improve functioning of the eye.  You would have to come biweekly for that, at least at first. 

“Then there is also the issue of your misplaced and missing tenketsu, and from my precursory look, I can see that not all the chakra pathways associated with activating one’s Sharingan have developed deeper in your brain—your hindbrain, specifically.  Seeing as you yourself didn’t activate this Sharingan, your brain did not gain the pathways an Uchiha would have developed.  I can tell that you received this eye when it had only two tomoe, and that you developed a third and also the Mangekyou, by the charka pathways this Sharingan has gifted you.  But the ones that come with the initial activation, and the first and second tomoe, are not present.  We’ll need to build them manually, by splitting your existing pathways and connecting them to the proper locations.”

When Kakashi remained silent, Tatsumi sighed, getting ready to work.  “I want to start the procedure now.  It’s simple, and while it will hurt as the debris move through and around this eye and your eye socket, there is a very rare chance of complications.  Once I finish this, we can see about the more complex issues.”

Kakashi wanted to ask for reassurance, for promises that Obito’s eye would not be harmed.  But he could tell that questioning Tatsumi’s oath would only make her mad, and he wanted to keep this warmer atmosphere over the tense one from before.  When he bade his acquiescence, she got to work. 

Tatsumi’s chakra slithered back from deep within his brain towards the back of Obito’s eye.  It encapsulated one piece of debris, before slowly pulling.  She was not lying when she said it would hurt.  He could feel it carving through his eye, felt the strain on the Sharingan’s center pupil as it was held open so the debris could be safely pulled out.  After the first piece was removed from the eye, Tatsumi directed it over to a kidney dish attached to the chair’s left arm.  It fell into the metal dish with an almost silent ping—only audible due to his enhanced hearing—adding credence to her explanation. 

Tatsumi repeated the process several times; through it all, Kakashi didn’t once flinch.  Other pieces of debris were pulled out from under his eyelids, seeing as they were not in the eye, but around it.  Those somehow hurt more.  This was because they were pulled from deeper in his skull, and/or they brushed across the delicate nerves surrounding the eye. 

After about forty minutes of constant work, Tatsumi pulled away, cutting off her chakra and wiping the sweat from her forehead.  There was a small, but visible, pile of dirt in the kidney dish.  She had removed twenty-six pieces from various parts of the eye and the area surrounding it.  Kakashi’s Sharingan was sore—tender, even—and he could feel a headache coming on.  Having the Sharingan open for so long, especially when his chakra reserves weren’t fully recovered, was taxing.

Tatsumi detached the eye speculum, removed her goggles, and then went into the next room.  She returned with a small cold pack wrapped in gauze, and sat down once more.  Lightly brushing Kakashi’s hair from his forehead, Tatsumi applied the cold pack to the area just below his brow, but not directly on top of his eye.

“You can’t deactivate it, can you?” Tatsumi stated more than asked, brushing her thumb gently over his scarred lid so the eye would close.  Kakashi complied without complaint.  Though she had an idea as to what his answer would be, she had to ask anyways. 

“No,” he affirmed. “Keeping the eye closed helps, but it is constantly using my chakra.”

“Can you help with that?” Madara probed, eager to know.  When he thought of bringing Kakashi to his cousin, that was his aim.  However, as it always seemed to happen when he visited Tatsumi, he got a little more than he bargained for.

“Iiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s,” she drew out the vowel, knowing her answer wasn’t what Madara wanted to hear.  The man was always so impatient.  “It’s possible.  Probably.  Maybe.  Maybe probably.  But not an immediate priority.” 

Madara scowled.  “I’m telling you to make it a priority.”

Tatsumi gave him her signature Look™.  Kakashi wondered idly why her face wasn’t stuck like that yet, she used it so often.  “Other issues take precedence.  And besides, it won’t be possible for him to turn off the eye until the correct chakra pathways are in place.  Fixing the damage to the eye is my first priority, and then we can work on turning it off and on.” 

Madara continued to scowl despite her explanation.

“There is no point to a switch if the proper wiring isn’t in place, Madara.  And besides, I can’t construct tenketsu out of nothing.  Plus, moving his existing tenketsu into more efficient places won’t help, not without access to the lines which control the chakra input.  In fact, doing so would just run the risk of cutting off chakra flow to other vital places, resulting in necrosis, or even gangrene, which would in turn necessitate amputation.  It’s much more important to send chakra to essential areas, to begin reversing some of the atrophy that’s already occurred. 

“Once we’ve”—she raised her hand to list off with her fingers—“gotten rid of the scar tissue, improved chakra flow to the area, and reversed the atrophy, his pain will be drastically decreased, and his usage of the eye more efficient overall.  Then we can worry about him being able to control turning it off and on.” 

When Madara still didn’t show signs of backing down, Tatsumi exhaled a long—long—suffering sigh, and let her face fall into her open palm.  Her hand slid down her face, revealing an expression filled with condescension which she leveled on her stubborn cousin. 

“Okay Madara, we’ll just rush into things and start the surgery now,” she started, sarcasm and false cheer dripping from her tone.  She turned to Kakashi, and he immediately wished she would look back at Madara.  “It’s not safe, especially since your eye needs at least a day to recover from the stress I already put on it, but that’s what Madara wants.  By the way, the splitting of chakra channels is a super dangerous procedure, like, top level delicate surgery, especially since it’s in your brain.  The chances of you dying are about fifty-fifty on a good day, and right now, that number is raised to an eighty-four-percent risk of failure.  That’s supposing the eye itself doesn’t just explode because it’s already under stress and not as structurally sound as a fully healthy eye.  Which, by the way, would likely also kill you, or at the very least, cause some sort of irreparable brain damage.  But hey! Madara over there wants me to get it done now, so I guess we’ll just ignore the risks and barrel on with the surgery, alright?”

“Tatsumi—” Madara tried to interject exasperatedly, but Tatsumi was on a roll.  Kakashi surreptitiously sighed in relief, now that her attention was off him.  She could be a scary lady—it must have been another Uchiha thing. 

“Oh no, Madara, don’t interrupt me now, I’m still not done!  I haven’t been able to sleep for the past week, and the one time I might have been able to catch a few hours, you oh so kindly burst in, but I’m sure that won’t affect my ability to perform this super delicate and complex surgery.  I mean, he’s just a Senju, right?  Hell, he’s adopted.  No one will care!  Let’s just kill the bloody Senju you brought me, after making me swear on Tatsuki’s soul that I would do him no harm.  Okay?  Let’s just go ahead and do it because—”

“Tatsumi!”

“—the great, and powerful, Uchiha Madara, head of the illustrious Uchiha Clan—which apparently has given birth to only one genius, the aforementioned Uchiha Madara—doesn’t want to listen to the Clan’s youngest and brightest Sharingan specialist and Ophthalmologist because hey, apparently ‘Dara-sama over there is actually an ophthalmologist now, just because he knows enough anatomy to tinker around with the Clan’s doujutsu after that same ophthalmologist gave him a few lessons!  He’s aaaaalllll of a sudden surpassed her expertise, aaaaaalllll because he wa—”

“TATSUMI! That is enough!”  Madara’s face was red, his hands unintentionally clenching into Kakashi’s shoulders.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ‘Dara-niichan~” Tatsumi's smile dripped acid. 

“Don’t call me that!” 

 “—were you saying something?  I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your own hubris.” 

Madara glared as steam rose from his ears.

Now, Madara’s glare was a thing of legends.  In fact, even his ‘friendly’ look was renowned as terrifying.  But Tatsumi was desensitized to the look (all one had to do was stand behind him when he was… relieving himself—or, trying to at least—and the intimidation factor would be forever lost).  So it wasn’t surprising that she was just smiling sarcastically back, unflinching, and blinking innocently.

Kakashi would have been chuckling at the scene, if it weren’t for all the information he had gained from that… exchange.

“If the risk is that great,” Kakashi began, drawing the Uchiha duo’s attention, “I’m not going through with it.”

“Kakashi—” Madara started, only to be interrupted—between these two, his fearsome reputation was basically a joke. 

“I appreciate what you’ve tried to do, and what you’ve done for me already, Madara, Tatsumi-sensei.  But I’ve been getting along just fine as I am; I don’t need to be able to turn the Sharingan on and off, if the risk is my life, or damage to Ob—to the eye.”  Kakashi made to get up, but Madara’s hands on his shoulders pushed him back down.  Tatsumi cast him a strangely sympathetic smile.

“Kakashi, those were your odds were I to perform the surgery now.  Meaning, right this second, without preparation, and without you and that eye in an optimal state.  There are several procedures you would need done before we can even know with certainty if turning the eye on and off will work, let alone be worth the risk.  This isn’t a surgery that’s been done before—not to my knowledge, at least.  I will have to do a lot of research—and probably talk with the Nara to see if I can have access to their medical encyclopedia—before I know just how risky it will be,” Tatsumi explained.  Madara made a mental note that he would need to speak with the Nara Clan Head on Tatsumi’s behalf.  He would also need to come up with a better explanation than the truth of the matter.  If others found out about this experimentation, the Uchiha would be at an even higher risk of being attacked for their doujutsu. 

Tatsumi continued.  “But the procedures I wanted to do first—mainly clearing up the scar tissue and working on the atrophied areas of this Sharingan—are very minor procedures that I do quite regularly for many Uchiha.  Scarring occurs from overuse in general, and Madara’s been in here enough times before he and Izuna switched eyes to corroborate that.”  Kakashi looked up towards Madara, who gave an assenting nod.  

“It will take time, of course,” Tatsumi went on to explain, “because I’m going to be cutting off pieces of scar tissue and using iryou-ninjutsu to re-heal the abrasions—and that’s not something you want to do all in one day.  After a few weeks of that, we’ll work on teaching you how to channel your chakra into those newly accessible areas of the eye, if you don’t show signs of instinctively picking up on them.  Either way, I want to give you some chakra manipulation exercises, which Madara can continue to help you with.  You’ll have to come in biweekly for me to check on the Sharingan and make sure you’re not causing more damage to the eye, but there is very little risk to your life or the eye itself.  By training the eye with these exercises, you will lower the risk of damaging the Sharingan when using it full-tilt in battle.” 

Kakashi was silent for a moment as he absorbed the huge influx of information.  When he was sure he understood the extent of what Tatsumi had outlined, he asked the most obvious question: “Then, where does the risk come in?”

Tatsumi sighed, brushing her hand through her hair with her free hand—the other still holding the icepack above Obito’s eye.  Noticing this, Kakashi went to take the pack from her hand, but she brushed him away. 

“Well,” Tatsumi began with a sigh, preparing herself for another long speech, “splitting chakra channels is always risky, as is any form of surgery—brain surgery even more so.  However”—she smiled reassuringly, one finger in the air to punctuate her point—“it’s not a new procedure.  It’s usually used for shinobi who have had their limbs mangled in some way, or those who have undergone chakra-related accidents in which the pathways fused and need to be re-divided.  In rarer cases, typically due to birth defects—either mild, where a shinobi has trouble sending chakra to certain areas not immediately evident when beginning to learn chakra mastery, or in extreme cases, evident in the appearance of unnatural incidents of necrosis and gangrene in infants—there have been instances when the surgery was used to add chakra pathways to the typical locations.”

Kakashi was feeling really lucky that he was a genius at this point.

“In any of these cases,” she continued, lifting the icepack and putting it below Obito’s eye now, “the necessary tenketsu for the pathways are not created, but instead are moved.  The Sharingan cannot see tenketsu, as you probably know from experience, but tenketsu can be detected when directly infusing charka to a patient.  This would be the riskiest part of the procedure.” She paused to make sure Kakashi was following along.  When he nodded, Tatsumi continued.

“Placement is key, especially since we’re dealing with the brain, and as such, each area currently getting chakra is very important as well.  We would be mimicking the standard Uchiha tenketsu layout.  But, in order to put the tenketsu into the proper place, I would have to use my own chakra to nudge your existing tenketsu into position, or even attempt to split them. 

“I’m not sure which would be a safer option at this time,” Tatsumi confessed, a bit sheepish.  “Typically, moving the tenketsu would be best.  However, since we are dealing with the brain, I’d like to make sure that moving any of your existing tenketsu won’t cause a problem.  If there could be any damage from removing any of your tenketsu from their current area of occupation, then I would have to split them.  Since they’re essentially gated-channels, doing so is both complex and runs the risk of completely ruining the tenketsu.  Losing the tenketsu would then result in either too much or too little charka being fed to that area, both of which hold their own dangers.  As well, any spilt tenketsu would be half the size of the original tenketsu, which would mean you would have to be much more careful in channelling chakra to that area.  So if I can avoid doing that, it would be much better for you.  If not, while not ideal, I do think the benefits gained would outweigh the cost. 

“There’s also the matter of your heritage to take into consideration.  Due to the fact that you are not of Uchihan descent means that my knowledge of my clan’s physiology might not line up with your physiology one-hundred percent.  If I could get access to your clan’s health records—if there were any kept—that would be a big help.” 

Kakashi hummed thoughtfully.  “I see.  Then, what are the chances of successful surgery?”

Tatsumi sighed once more, resting her chin on her closed fist.  “I can’t give you those numbers right now,” she admitted, scratching lightly at her chin.  “I need to do some research, and plan out the procedure.  I have performed chakra pathway splitting in the brain before—on Uchiha who have overused their Sharingan and caused the chakra pathways to fuse, and on those with birth defects.  While not standard procedure, the risk involved is far less than an eye transplant—when the correct preparations are in place.  Most important for me would be getting your Clan’s medical records.  If they have any physiology charts, especially related to the eyes and the brain, those would be a big help.” 

“Maa… I don’t think I could get those for you.  But, I’m pretty sure we’re like any other clan without a kekkei genkai…” Kakashi admitted sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck.  While the Hatake Clan was around at this time, Kakashi couldn’t exactly walk up to them and ask for such records. 

Madara, however, began planning how to extract the information from the existing Hatake Clan.  He had found them located towards the coast of Fire, in the direction of the Lands of Lightning and Water.  News from the area stated that they were planning on joining up with one of the Hidden Villages—likely Konoha, based on what Madara knew of Kakashi’s origins, although rumour had it that they were also considering Kumogakure.  It would be easy to sneak in and steal the records during the move, or to demand access to them as part of their entry to the village.  Scheme after scheme ran though his mind, proving why Madara was not a shinobi one wanted to trifle with.

Tatsumi was unpleased by that information.  “Absolutely sure would be better.”  She caught the look on Madara’s face, and knew what it meant; she would be getting those records, from whatever nook or cranny they tried to hide in, regardless of lock or safe or fortress.  Nothing was safe from a Madara with a Plan.  Tatsumi kept this information to herself, however.  Let the hedgehog figure things out for himself.  She suppressed a smile.  “In that case, I’d like to perform a series of tests on you, before we even think about splitting your chakra pathways.”

Kakashi was wary, but he managed to stay as aloof as always; Gai would be crying tears of dismay at his Hip and Too Cool Attitude™ by now.  That thought brought up a wave of melancholy that was promptly ignored.  “What sort of tests?”

“And how long would they take?” Madara butted in, as impatient as always when demanding information.  He could wait an ungodly amount of time for a trap to spring—well, as long as it was within his projected schedule.  Otherwise he got antsy and impatient.  Not counting the giddiness Madara hadn’t quite grown out of—probably never would, Tatsumi wagered—which overtook him at the penultimate moment before his plan was set to begin.  Tatsumi almost wanted to increase the anticipation by keeping quiet, but she didn’t want to be subjected to an irate—err…more irate—Madara when she really just wanted to go to sleep already.

“Well, some of them I would be able to perform while working on healing this Sharingan,” Tatsumi explained.  “I’d just be tracing your chakra pathways, monitoring chakra levels in different parts of your brain—all pretty standard stuff.  It’s part of the yearly Uchiha physical.  I don’t know what your clan does in terms of eye-care, but it’s very standard for us.  The Hyuuga probably do something similar, I’m sure, considering they’re even more obsessed with their eyes than we are with ours.”

Kakashi rose a single brow at the derision.  He should have known it was coming.  Could any Uchiha go more than a couple of hours without claiming their superiority to the Hyuuga Clan?  Kakashi did not yet know the answer, but he was suspecting it was in the negative.

“Hey, we’re not the ones with a crazy seal keeping our Sharingan from being stolen, and enslaving every member save the current Clan Head and his direct heirs!” Tatsumi defended, slamming her free fist onto her knee in emphasis, cheeks puffing up irately under her glare.  It was too adorable to be considered scary, although her red, spinning Sharingan eyes made the top half of her expression fearsome; it was a polarizing contrast.  ‘This woman is very expressive,’ Kakashi noted.  He was once again struck with the idea that she and Hashirama would get along smashingly.  They were similarly contradictory.  “We love our brethren more than our eyes, and you’re damn right I’m proud of that!”  Hashirama would be in joyful tears at this point.  So would Gai, as a matter of fact.  Kakashi suppressed that thought once more.

“Prissy barbarians,” Madara scoffed in agreement, nose up in the air. 

Kakashi rose two eyebrows at that. 

“Saa… ‘Dara-chan,” Kakashi began, innocently, looking up slightly with his heavy lidded eye, “I never thought I’d hear you calling someone else prissy…”

“HEY!”  Madara yelled, leaning over Kakashi’s shoulder to glare at him.  Tatsumi laughed.

“See?  If even nii-chan can tell they’re prissy, then they must be absolutely prim, puritanical, persnickety prudes!”

Tatsumi was met with four (well, three-and-a-half) sky-high eyebrows over deadpan expressions.

“Oh, you two can just shut up!” she huffed, nose up in the air and head twisted to the side, not unlike the pose Madara had just been affecting.  “Alliteration is a sign of intelligence, just as puns are the highest form of humour!”

Madara’s stoic façade broke first as a smirk overtook his lips.

“Who’s prim, puritanical, and persnickety now?” Madara teased.  Tatsumi turned to level him with her glare for the nth time that afternoon.

“Don’t forget prissy,” Kakashi interjected, causing Madara to nod along sagely, and redirecting her ire.  Changing tactics, as intimidation was obviously ineffective, it was Tatsumi’s turn to raise her eyebrows.

“Reeeeaaaally funny guys.  You’re just a couple of comedians, huh?”

“It was pretty funny,” Kakashi added unnecessarily, hand on his chin in a facsimile of thought.

“Yes, the highest form of humour, as you well know,” Madara just had to add.

Tatsumi did the only thing she had left; she pouted.  “I hate the both of you.”

“You could never hate me, imouto,” Madara rebutted, ruffling her hair.  She swatted at his hand—to no avail—pouting some more. 

“And I’m actually starting to think you like me,” Kakashi piped in, his eyes creasing into happy little crescents.

Tatsumi scoffed, “I’m purposely going to mess up your surgery now.”

“Ah, your pride in your reputation as the Uchiha Clan’s youngest and most—what word did you use…?” Madara trailed off.

“Brightest,” Kakashi helpfully interjected.

“Ah yes, thank you—youngest and brightest Sharingan Specialist and Ophthalmologist will not allow you to blotch such an easy procedure.  Especially if that meant losing the faith of your beloved brothers and sisters,” Madara condescended, the irritating smirk back on his face.  It was Kakashi’s turn to nod sagely, as if he had known her for years instead of merely a couple of hours. 

Tatsumi could see why Madara was interested in Kakashi.  They shared the same humour, and were both quick on their feet.  They made a great team, too.  She wondered over how that translated to the battlefield.  They would be unstoppable, especially if she could mend the gap between Kakashi’s physiology and the donated Sharingan. Tatsumi was beginning to understand just why Madara was insistent on her solving the issue, and was determined to put her all into the project.  It would be interesting getting to know Kakashi better over the next few weeks.  But for now… 

“Oh, just get out of my office already,” Tatsumi commanded, getting up from her stool and nudging it with her foot into its proper corner.  It rolled gently towards its place, stopping with a light thud as she directed her two human migraines towards the exit.  She even made a point of opening the examination room door and walking up to the store’s exit—pouting all the while.  She opened that door with a flourish, and a glare, but—as Madara had teased—her pride as the youngest and brightest Sharingan Specialist and Ophthalmologist didn’t let Kakashi leave on that note. 

“Before you go to bed, ice that Sharingan again—around the eye, not on the actual eye—and then come see me tomorrow for a more in-depth treatment plan.”  She forcibly grabbed one of Kakashi’s hands to place the still cool icepack in it.  “After five this time, if you would.  I need my beauty rest.” 

“That you do, imouto,” Madara teased on his way out the door. 

He really shouldn’t have said that.  As soon as Kakashi was beside him in the street, Tatsumi struck.

“Oh, just go and make-out with your boyfriend already and leave me alone!” she called with a wink, before firmly shutting the door in their stunned faces.  If either had bothered to look at the other, they would have noticed their cheeks had reached matching shades of red.  (Tatsumi, of course, had this image forever etched in her brain, and was cackling gleefully at being responsible for such an amusing outcome).  Neither was eager to show the other the effect of Tatsumi’s words, however, and they both kept their eyes forward—decisively away from the other.

“She—that’s—she’s just—” Madara stuttered.

“Joking—yes, of course—” Kakashi picked up, clearing his throat while rubbing at the back of his neck.  Madara was quick to agree.

“Yes, joking, joking—she’s horrid, that one.”

Kakashi nodded a little too exuberantly as they both turned in tandem to begin walking away from ‘Sharin-go, Sharin-gone!’ and towards nowhere in particular. “Hmm.  And she really shouldn’t be introduced to Hashirama.”

“Noooooo, no-no no, they cannot, under any circumstances, meet.  Ever.”  Madara could imagine the chaos now; Tatsumi with her too cute pout and Hashirama with his depressive aura, feeding off each other and making a fool out of Madara as he apologised just so the duo would cheer up… only to have them insult him some more.  He got enough of that from the two of them separately, he really didn’t want to see the result of their powers combined.  He just couldn’t help but fall into their verbal traps.  Kakashi was just as bad, actually… they shared a rare talent.

“Tobirama on the other hand…” Kakashi brought up, the safer topic brushing away his blush.  Madara, however, wasn’t so pleased.

“You’re not introducing my imouto to that baboon!” Madara yelled, his face getting uncomfortably close to Kakashi’s in his rage.  Kakashi remained aloof as he walked on, ignoring the way Madara’s warm breath had caressed the exposed skin of his cheek and temple.

“I don’t know,” Kakashi began thoughtfully, pulling out his last surviving copy of Icha Icha Paradise and tapping his chin with its spine, “he could be just what she needs to calm down—”

“Don’t you even think of it, Ha—Senju!” Madara had to correct himself at the last second; they were in public and he couldn’t call Kakashi by his actual last name where other people could hear.

“I really think he’d be good for her…”

“That’s not even funny Kakashi!”

“They could bond over science and jutsu theory,” Kakashi added, only to garner a hard stare.  He, of course, soldiered on, flipping his book open one-handedly.  “And just think of how excited he’ll be to learn all about how the Sharingan works…”

Madara’s eyes opened wide, both offended at the idea that his cousin would betray the clan, and that the bastard would get his hands on knowledge of their doujutsu.  His protest was emphatic.  “SHE—WOULD—NEVER!”

“It wouldn’t be forbidden, since he’d be an Uchiha by marriage…”

“ABSOLUETLY NOT!” Madara was now offended by the idea of the bastard joining his clan.  “And besides, that only holds true if he marries into the Clan!  He would have to forsake his name as a Senju, which that proud bastard would never do anyway—not that I’d let him into my clan!”

Kakashi casually flipped a page of his book, a smirk hidden under his mask but not from his voice.  “Just think of it—Uchiha Tobirama—”

Madara was red once more, but this time for an entirely different reason.  “Don’t disgrace my name by attaching it to that—that filth!”

“You’d be his Clan Head, though.  He’d have to listen to you…”

Madara actually paused to think it over for a moment.  But it was a moment short lived.  “Not worth it.”

Kakashi was not deterred.  A part of him just loved riling the other man up.  It was strangely even more fun than the general chaos Kakashi left in his wake.  He couldn’t quite understand why, but found no need to stop.  “Think of all the great things they could accomplish… I truly think it would be a great idea.  He’d probably love how angry it made you, too…”

“That’s ENOUGH, Kakashi!” Madara snarled, standing in front of Kakashi to block his path.  But oh, who would have guessed it?  When Madara reached out to grab Kakashi’s shoulders and shake the annoying man, there was a poof and a cloud of smoke, which revealed a log in his stead.  The actual Kakashi was already half-way down the block.

“Maa... ’Dara-chan gets mad at such silly things~” Kakashi called sing-song over his shoulder, with a playful, two fingered salute.  Madara—in a flagrant misuse of shunshin—caught up.

“I will destroy you if I have to have that—that—worthless Senju scum as a brother-in-law!  Absolutely not Kakashi!  I—will—end—you!” Madara fumed.

“But think of how pretty their kids will be~” Kakashi’s eye smile could be as cutting as any kunai.

“NO!  Don’t you dare!”  Madara’s exuberant denial did nothing to stop Kakashi from daring.

“Tobi’s pretty red eyes, Tatsumi’s pretty black hair… no one will even know when they have their Sharingan on!  It’s actually tactically in their favour…”

“Dammit Kakashi!”

“Think of your nieces and nephews, Madara!  It’d be an unparalleled advantage~”

“DON’T PUT THAT IMAGE IN MY HEAD!”  Madara had a dirty, dirty mind, and was now trying not to imagine Tobirama making love (not fucking, that would be too much) his sweet, delicate, imouto (he was going a little delusional in his rage, to think of Tatsumi—known within the Clan as the Dragon—as sweet and delicate).

“They could name their first ‘Tatsuma,’ isn’t that fearsome?  Uchiha Tatsuma, or maybe Senju Tatsuma… both sound great, but which do you prefer, Madara?”

“RIKUDOU SENNIN’S BEARD, KAKASHI! I SWEAR BY THE SIX PATHS, I WILL TEACH YOU THE MEANING OF PAIN!”

AN: Yeah, so I was bragging before that this baby would be up a week from the posting of chapter 3.  Well, you now know that Kakashi and I have the same policy on deadlines.  I got lost on the road of eye physiology.  This chapter just kept getting more and more technical, and there was an increasing amount of jargon, and then debates with myself on what was too much jargon and what was too little…so yeah.  It’s here now though, so lets all high-five each other for that.  If you want anything explained because it was too technical/complicated, or you just want to talk about Uchiha Eye Bullshit, drop me a line!  I have so many headcanons for those damn copy eye wheels that I could probably talk about them forever.  This is totally not where I thought I would be when I started writing MadaKaka.  Next chapter will probably have some more eye-bs, as Madara and Kakashi have a fun time getting Obito’s eye to work better.  Maybe, idfk yet.  So I reeeeaaaaaalllllllyyyy hope you guys are still interested in ophthalmology.  Because that’s what this story is about now.  I should make one of the relationship tags: Author/Sharingan

[howterrifying]

+sherlolly because...mycroft is love

I think it's no surprise now to those of you who know me that I love Mycroft. This story is basically 90% Mycroft, or what I like to call 'Mycroft-centric', but set to a background of blossoming Sherlolly. It ended up Mycroft-centric because I've always had an issue with the way Mycroft was always made fun of regarding his weight and this rumoured love for cake. I got so fed up that I decided to write this to subvert all the things that had been said about him. I love Mycroft but I also particularly love writing Molly and Mycroft having a sort of real kindred affection for one another and a deep understanding between them. What can I say, they're my ultimate brOTP. :) Still has nice Sherlolly moments tho. So if you've come to read this, thank you so much! xx

:: CONTAINS SERIES FOUR SPOILERS ::

Hunger  ( also on FF.net and AO3 ) The cake place, as Sherlock had called it, was a simple cafe that Molly had picked for its low human traffic and of course, its delicious cake. The three of them, Molly, Sherlock and John, were halfway through their little birthday-do for the detective when John received a call from Mrs Hudson regarding little Rosie.

“It seems she’s running a fever,” said John, returning his phone to his pocket, “Sorry guys but I’d better dash.” After settling his share of the bill with Molly, John rushed out of the cafe and hopped into the first cab he could find. At this hour, the cafe really was quiet. Now that John had left, the number of patrons reduced from three to two. “So, how do you find this…cake place?” asked Molly, smirking slightly at him. “I appreciate the lack of humans,” answered the detective, “So you’ve chosen well again, Molly.” “Are you saying I’m not human, Sherlock?” Molly remarked in mock indignation. “No— No, no, I just meant—” “Relax, Sherlock,” said Molly with a laugh, “I know what you meant.” Sherlock smiled. Of course she would know what he meant. Sometimes, Sherlock was sure she knew him better than he did. He wanted to tell her he particularly appreciated the lack of humans because it meant there was nothing to disrupt his concentration on his time with her. Perhaps he would tell her another time. “I considered inviting Mycroft,” said Molly, taking a bite of cake. “It’s a good thing you didn’t,” Sherlock remarked swiftly. “Why? Would he spoil the mood of this invigorating party?” she said with a laugh. “In a way. For starters, there’d be no cake left,” said Sherlock, smirking as he sipped his coffee. “Food has always been my brother’s weakness. Molly stopped to ponder what Sherlock had said and something did not sit right with her. “Hang on.” Molly said, putting her fork down, “Are you implying Mycroft was greedy as a child?” “Well, obviously. I never imply.” said Sherlock. “You should’ve seen him then.” “I have, actually. He’s shown me pictures.” “Since when?” asked Sherlock, frowning slightly. “Your brother and I have a good friendship, Sherlock,” remarked Molly with a smile. “It’s what saved you that afternoon of your fall, you know?” “As you both never cease to remind me,” said Sherlock, rolling his eyes. “You never cease to forget,” Molly shot back. A tricky silence fell between them for a moment. Sherlock, sensing that he had been callous again with what was clearly a very serious subject matter, poured Molly a fresh cup of tea, intending it as a peace offering. He pushed it gingerly across the table to her, softening his expressions slightly to convey his apologies, causing Molly to laugh. “It’s fine,” she said, accepting the tea gratefully, “I am genuinely curious though, why would you say that about him? I cannot see Mycroft ever having been that way.” “Are you sure you saw the right photos? Because if you had, you would definitely see why,” explained Sherlock, “He was always eating, for as long as I can remember, guzzling everything like his life depended on it. I don’t even think he was hungry when he ate sometimes—” “Ah.” “What?” “You’re absolutely right there,” Molly remarked thoughtfully. “Sorry?” “That he wasn’t always hungry. And certainly not greedy,” continued Molly. “Do you know why he was, as you say, guzzling all the time, Sherlock?” Sherlock paused to look at her, trying to see where she was going with this question. He started thinking back on all his memories of Mycroft polishing food off his plate and constantly reaching for food. “What did your mummy always use to scold you about?” Molly asked quietly, as though coaxing the memory out of Sherlock. Sherlock blinked hard at the question that certainly was not hard at all. There were many answers to that, but what was Molly driving at? “The usual, I suppose. Not wiping my muddy wellies from when I would play pirates at the beach… Or dissecting any dead rats I’d find in the traps using her steak knives…” “You don’t remember, do you?” asked Molly, leaning forward with a curious gleam in her eyes. “Remember what?” “You see, Mycroft did such an excellent job you never got chided for it ever again.” This was a puzzling statement and the detective frowned in response. Knowing Molly was going to continue, Sherlock stayed quiet, knowing that now was not the time to act smart or make possibly inaccurate deductions. Clearly, there was something she knew, and he did not. “Look down at your plate. How many bites of cake have you had?” The detective followed her instructions and stared down at his plate. Depending on the angle one took to look at it, no one would have suspected the slice of cake had had a bite taken out of it. “I ate the cherry. And I had a corner of cake. I might have another bite, seeing as sugar is the only high I can afford now—” “And what would your mother say,” Molly interjected, “if she could see your plate now?”

Memories were a funny thing. Sometimes, they remained buried with no chance of recollection whatsoever. Yet, in some cases, they sprang back to the forefront of the mind once the right switch was turned on. The memory played in Sherlock’s head like a perfect piece of cinematography. All the sights and sounds and smells came rushing to him as he suddenly recalled one particular night at the family dinner table. He could not have been more than four years old, but Sherlock was brilliant after all and had a vast store of memories from a very early age. Dinner had been served and while he had been hungry after a full afternoon playing outside in the garden, he had refused to eat a single morsel of his food. Sherlock’s brilliance had a setback, and that was the frequent and immense sensory overloads he would experience. The great speed at which he processed things was directly proportional to the tremendous sensitivity he felt towards his environment. Suddenly, Sherlock was acutely aware of how repulsed he had felt that one evening at dinner; how the creamed spinach felt too wet; how the boiled potatoes were too yellow; and how the carrots and gravy seemed to merge into the same colour and it just did not feel right. In his attempt to make his food palatable and not disturb him so much, Sherlock had tried prodding at it, rearranging it, mixing the colours or mixing the textures to find a combination that did not send his hairs standing. Then, a huge sharp pain had interrupted his rearrangement of his dinner when Mummy tapped the edge of a wooden spoon against his tiny knuckles. In an equally sharp voice, she had asked him sternly why he had not taken a bite of his food and chided him for being fussy and for playing with his food. The rude shock of her harsh voice and the slight throb in his knuckles had caused tears to well up in the eyes of young Sherlock. He remembered the tears and the frustration behind them because he had truly been hungry at the time but simply could not bring himself to eat the food before him. Such a struggle was something Mycroft had also been all too familiar with. After all, were they not of the same make? An infinitely more brilliant mind like Mycroft’s had dealt with the same battle of his senses and how they affected his experience of life. Everything that had plagued Sherlock as a young genius had also affected him before, except now, with seven years ahead of his younger brother, Mycroft had learned to manage. Whether it was the noise, the people, the food, the scents - Mycroft had learnt to manage. As tears had continued to spill from Sherlock’s eyes, he did his best to obey his mother, not wanting to risk hearing her terribly hard voice or another rap to his knuckles. Reluctantly, Sherlock had begun lowering his fork into what he perceived as neon yellow flesh of the cut potatoes on his plate. However, just as the silver prongs were about to poke through the powdery cube of potato, Sherlock remembered seeing Mycroft deftly reaching over, switching plates with him. Sherlock had stared in shock at the empty plate in place of his, while Mycroft had begun quickly devouring what Sherlock could not.   “He couldn’t have been hungry…” Sherlock murmured as the memories continued playing in his head. Molly merely lowered her heard and smiled. She could tell he had ventured somewhere obscure in his Mind Palace and did not want to disrupt this particular trip down memory lane. Once dinner time had been over, Sherlock was starving but relieved that his brother had saved him. Mummy had seemed pleased that all her children had finished their meals and had cheerfully cleared their plates. Mycroft, knowing that his brother would have been absolutely ravenous by now, had stolen into the kitchen and nicked a few ginger nuts from Mummy’s cupboard. There you are, Sherlock, Mycroft had said to his little brother. Nice and dry, these. And I picked the least lumpy ones of the lot, just the way you like them.You mustn’t go to bed hungry. It seemed this first memory then triggered a whole deluge of similar incidents. All of a sudden, Sherlock remembered not wanting to eat the honey on toast at tea time one afternoon because the honey had not felt ‘ready’ and its colour was all wrong and so had refused to touch it. His piece of toast had gotten so cold that the honey spread on top of it had almost turned to glass. Again, Mycroft had swept in and grabbed the toast off his brother’s plate, leaving it empty before Mummy could return to the dining room, sparing Sherlock another shelling from her. In these memories, Mycroft was still always eating, always stealing biscuits and cake  and stuffing his face with tremendous speed and almost with a sense of desperation. Except, it was neither hunger nor greed which motivated those responses. “You’ve spoilt my appetite now, Molly…” muttered the detective, as his recollection of his childhood slowly began to clarify. “Because now you remember how much Mycroft loves you?” teased Molly. There came coughing and choking sounds as Sherlock reached for his coffee and took a big dramatic sip, as though it could wash the thought away. Molly suppressed a chuckle but continued to speak.

“I know it’s hard for you, but I just— could not sit idly by and have you think he was some greedy, food-obsessed child,” Molly began. “He merely wanted to protect you. And still does.” Sherlock raised a cynical eyebrow before taking another slow sip of his coffee. “Are you about to suggest I do something about this?” he asked, eyeing Molly suspiciously. “I know that look in your eyes.” “Well, you could just call him, tell him you love him,” joked Molly. “Are you trying to kill me?” asked Sherlock with a smirk. “Would it?” Molly asked swiftly in return. “Would it actually kill you?” Her question was a weighted one, and it made Sherlock sigh quietly. He picked his fork up and took another bite of cake, chewing it slowly and thoughtfully.

“Maybe you should practice,” said Molly with a gleam in her eyes. “Practice?” he asked. “Hello, Sherlock,” she began, smiling at him. “Uh, hello…Molly,” answered Sherlock instinctively but a little unsure. “I would do anything to protect you,” she declared, “Because I love you. Now, what would you say in return?” He glared at her incredulously, amazed at how she was able to say such words so easily. How did she make something so heavy appear so light and effortless? Sherlock shook his head and chuckled softly. “He would never say that to me, you do know that right?” said Sherlock with a laugh. “It’d kill him.” “That is true,” Molly replied, “But you never know, Sherlock. One day, you or Mycroft might find yourselves literally at gunpoint and you’ll wish you’d done something.” Sherlock paused to reflect on her words. He certainly could not deny that his memory of Mycroft had been incomplete, resulting in the present-day misjudgement of his brother. Mycroft had never been greedy, had never enjoyed the taste of honey, and would have never taken more than he was allowed to. It frightened Sherlock that he had gotten something so fundamentally wrong about his brother, about his own history. He shook away the even more terrifying thought that there might be more he could have missed about their childhood. Sherlock made a note not to delete things from his memory too impulsively anymore. “I think you’re right, Molly,” said Sherlock at last, looking up at her. Molly smiled and gestured to his plate. “You going to finish your cake then?” she asked. “Yes, I think I will,” Sherlock replied, smiling as he picked his fork up. — The air was cold and daylight had yet to break. Sherlock stood outside the large mahogany doors and waited. Right on schedule, the doors opened and out stepped Mycroft, decked head to toe in his black running gear and wearing a look of surprise on his face. “What are you doing here?” asked Mycroft, “Has something happened? And why are you in running clothes?” “Same reason you’re wearing them,” answered Sherlock. “What, you’re here for a jog? At five in the morning?” Mycroft exclaimed, still somewhat in shock at seeing his brother, “Aren’t you usually at the morgue trying to show off to Molly Hooper or something?” “She does the day shifts now,” Sherlock answered without missing a beat. “And then you take her out to dinner in the evenings?” joked Mycroft. “On occasion, yes,” Sherlock replied unflinchingly, secretly relishing the look of surprise in his brother’s eyes. “Well, good for you…and good luck to her,” said Mycroft, “Now, if you’ll excuse me—” “Mycroft.” “Yes, Sherlock, what?” Suddenly, Sherlock could not articulate why he had come to see his brother. Perhaps it had not been clear to him either, but after everything Molly had made him realise, he knew he had to do something. “Mind if I joined you?” he asked. “We won’t have to chat, will we?” said Mycroft, raising an eyebrow. “These grounds are quite large and I should like to concentrate on conserving energy for my run, if you don’t mind.” “No chatting, just running,” said Sherlock with a nod. “Then I don’t see why you can’t,” Mycroft replied, nodding in return. It had been a quiet run, the two brothers side by side as they made their way around Mycroft’s entire estate. They returned, panting slightly as they stepped into Mycroft’s equally palatial kitchen. The older Holmes brother opened his refrigerator where its only contents was a single glass decanter of freshly squeezed juice. He poured himself a glass, knowing his brother would not be interested in any. To his surprise, his brother came to join him, pouring himself a glass too. “I brought you something,” said Sherlock, after he had downed half the glass of juice thirstily. “Whatever for?” asked Mycroft with a laugh. “Here,” said Sherlock, tossing a dark brown packet to his brother. “What’s this?” asked Mycroft. “Breakfast,” said Sherlock. “They’re ginger nuts,” said Mycroft. “Exactly,” Sherlock said with a quick smile. “I used to have them for breakfast, remember?” Mycroft paused to look up at his brother carefully. His puzzled frown soon softened into a small, warm smile. Mycroft looked away and stared out of his kitchen window into the green of his estate. “The bacon looked like twigs, you’d said. And the eggs were like ‘monster eyes’,” Mycroft recalled wistfully, “You were so small and frail.” “And you were the opposite.” “Yes, I was,” said Mycroft. “Mycroft.” “Yes?” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Both brothers turned away, both unaccustomed to any such displays of emotion, but were smiling secretly in the knowledge that the other was not looking. Their silence was interrupted by the crackling sound of a plastic packet being opened. “Fancy a ginger nut?” asked Mycroft, holding one out in his hand. “For old times’ sake.” “Seeing as I haven’t had any breakfast…” answered Sherlock, taking the biscuit from his brother. “Yes, I will have one.” Mycroft reached into the packet and took one for himself too. The two brothers stood where they were in the kitchen, quietly crunching on their biscuits. “Remind me, will you, Sherlock?” Mycroft said, suddenly. “To do what?” he asked, gesturing for his brother to pass him another biscuit. “To thank Molly Hooper,” answered Mycroft, hunting for a ginger nut with a texture agreeable to his younger brother. “Of course.” “Maybe I’ll take her out to dinner,” joked Mycroft, eyeing his brother. Sherlock stared back icily at Mycroft, inciting a laugh from him.   “I jest,” said Mycroft, offering his brother another carefully selected biscuit. “I certainly hope you are.” “Well, I wouldn’t want to undo what’s she's managed to accomplish.” “Hmm. Yes.” Mycroft smiled as he put the packet of biscuits down and walked casually to the sink to wash his hands. As the sound of running water filled the quiet kitchen, Mycroft thought about everything that had transpired that morning and could not help but smirk to himself. When he was finished, he turned the tap off and the kitchen went quiet again. “That said, brother mine,” Mycroft remarked, sauntering over to dry his hands on a small towel, “While it’s taken you about thirty years to offer me biscuits, I don’t recommend you take the same amount of time regarding Molly Hooper.” “What, to offer her biscuits?” said Sherlock, scoffing slightly. Mycroft laughed. Sherlock really was the idiot. “I believe it is words you have to offer her,” Mycroft said with a knowing half-smile. “Say them while they still mean something to her.” “Are both of you trying to kill me?” Sherlock exclaimed. “Believe me when I say, Sherlock, that if you didn’t,” Mycroft explained, “That might kill you first.” “Are you speaking from experience?” asked Sherlock, scoffing. “Perhaps,” Mycroft answered coolly. Sherlock stared at his brother, perplexed at his words. What frame of reference did his brother have that he did not? Was there more that he had missed from their childhood? Their adolescence? “It was from my time at MI6,” said Mycroft, answering the question in his brother’s head, “I’ll tell you another time when you feel like we need another…breakfast.” “Hmm, yes.” “Now, please, just take my word for it and go,” said Mycroft, waving his little brother away. With a smirk, Sherlock stole one more ginger nut and turned to leave his brother’s colossal home. With his free hand, he took his mobile phone out and began to text. To his surprise, she had texted him first. How did it go? - M It was fine. - SH Oh, that’s wonderful then. - M Where are you now? - SH On my way to the Bart’s refectory, why? - M Mind if I joined you there? - SH What? For lunch? - M Yes. Lunch. - SH But you never eat. - M It seems I have to once in a while. - SH What made you change your mind? - M My brother said it might kill me if I didn’t. - SH He’s right, there. - M So, the refectory? - SH Yes. See you soon then. - M See you. x - SH !!!!! - M :) - SH

[emcdowell-l3dda-fmp]

Evaluation

Context

For this year’s final major project, I have originally come up with four different initial ideas. I have ended up mixing two ideas together; one idea was related to character design and the other was related to digital illustration of an environment. My project was about creating a digital illustration / painting of a concept environment featuring a concept character.

I think that the purpose of my final piece in the creative industry could be used for a poster of a video game / movie, or my final piece could be used as a front cover for a comic.

Whilst working through this project, I felt that I have understand the specialist area of design my project was about for the most part (which is digital painting), as this was my first attempt at digital painting, but managed to pick up some of the methods and techniques shown on tutorials. I have also understood the specialist area by frequently practicing with shapes, body proportions, perspective and landscapes in my sketchbook.

I plan to build my skills on this area of art by keep on practicing with proportions, perspective, different anatomy poses, etc. by frequently doing rough sketches in my sketchbook as well as watch different tutorials to improve techniques with paint, shading, etc. on art software.

Research

I think that I have done my research well for this project, as I have collected initial research right at the start of the project by looking at some concept art done by some artists which I like the look of. I have collected primary research by uploading photos that I took from my travels that may influence the concept environment of my final piece, collected secondary research by researching different artists who specialise in digital painting, illustration and concept art. For my further research, I have looked at photos of landscapes around the world and written how they could influence the landscape of my concept world. Because I think that a large proportion of my target audience will be members of the furry fandom, I have also written about it and uploaded some photos that I’ve taken at previous conventions. I have also looked at some tutorials online on digital painting as part of my pre-production work.

For my research, especially initial and secondary, I have looked at many different websites featuring the biographies of different artists to collect as much information about the artist for my research.

In terms of using my research for my final project, for me, the primary research I have collected from the photos I took have greatly influenced the type of environment and what the concept world would look like. I also believe that the secondary research has influenced my final piece as the artwork I have collected from artists for my research has been digital paintings and I have created a digital painting piece on a concept environment. I also think that secondary research has influenced the perspective lighting and shading for my final piece.

One of the things that I think will make my research more affective for next year is creating a survey as part of my primary research to collect information from other people who I ask on what they think on the topic of what my project’s about and the specialist area that my project is centred on as well as collecting photos I’ve taken personally that may influence the artwork I create.

Problem Solving

The main problem that I have faced during my final project was the fact that I wasn’t able to start my project till around early to mid-May as I still had a load of coursework to finish off. Another problem that I have faced was towards the end of finishing my final piece, when my computer was running slow whilst screen recording the production of my final piece and it eventually automatically shut down without managing to save it as a Photoshop document. There have also been times where trying out techniques on the software I’ve used didn’t turn out as I wanted, e.g. not smooth enough, wrong highlights and shades, etc.

I have managed to overcome the problem of having to finish of my other coursework and my final project with limited time by attending college on the days where I don’t have any lectures as well as staying in college for extra hours and working in the library at different campuses. I’ve also partially was able to overcome the problem of the crash of the software as I’ve had the software set on autosave with the frequency every 10 minutes, but it was saved as a png image file instead of the software file. I was able to overcome the problem when the techniques didn’t turn out as expected by trying out different brushes on my software and looked at the tutorials to get the image as good enough as I wanted it to look.

During this project, I learnt that there are many different ways to tackle problems during a project like this, e.g. I learnt that if something went wrong with creativity on my final piece, I just keep continuing and try something different to try and get the result I want. If I was to do a project like this again, I would make sure that I got all my previous projects done beforehand before the start of a project and I would also try and tackle the problem with software by saving it as two different documents frequently. One file being an image file, whilst the other being a document file. Again, I will try and tackle the problem of unwanted visuals and appearances of an art piece on software by allowing myself time to watch and concentrate on tutorials and try more techniques on software to get the visual I want.

Planning and Production

I think I have planned the production of my final piece well, as I have been watching online tutorials on features and techniques on digital painting, and using these different videos, I have experimented with one of my sketches by importing them onto my art software and tried to use these techniques and features on my sketch on the software to get similar results. I have attempted different features on digital painting, and there were times where I have started from scratch and tried other features because I think the visual looked rough or didn’t look good enough for the production of my final piece. Eventually I have managed to finish an experimental piece by using the features and techniques on one of the videos and used them for my final piece. I have also been using the hours where I don’t have any lectures by spending extra hours in college to work on my pre-production work and trying different techniques used to produce an experiment.

One of the things that I would probably do differently in future projects is maybe upload the experimental illustration drafts and first tries onto my blog to show how much I have improved with skill and techniques within a few hours. I will also probably look at other tutorials on how to paint certain things instead of a whole image.

Practical Skills

During my experimental and final pieces for this project, I think that I have used more tools and techniques to create those two pieces than I would usually use to create a piece for myself during my spare time. I have also tried out the practical skills I have learnt in one of my projects this year, which is perspective shading; I have had the close up areas of the final piece more bright, but had the areas further away from the character in the distance darkened, as the image is set during dusk.

One of the techniques I have extended on was painting the hair of my character. I have looked at a tutorial a while back on how to paint hair which I got the wanted results from, but I have also extended this technique by using it on the tail. I have also challenged myself during this project by trying out some new techniques after watching the online tutorials I’ve watched as part of my pre-production work. Using the brush techniques, I learnt before the project during my spare time which I’ve used to draw certain things, e.g. hair, tail, etc. And extended the technique by using it to paint and blend the sun glitter / sun reflection on the lake, etc.

During this project, one of the new techniques I have acquired was going straight to painting from digital sketch. Usually I would draw fine line art around the sketch outline and then go to colour and shade, but for this project, I have decided not to use lineart and go straight onto colour to try and create a digital painting. I’ve also tried out a new method of shading by filling the whole of a certain area, e.g. character, trees, landscape, etc. In a black fill colour and using the eraser with a different brush with modified presets to create a shading effect. I have also extended this technique by filling in certain areas in black colour and lowering the opacity to make certain areas darker to make it look more realistic. With the new techniques I have learned, I will plan to improve them by using them in other illustrations I plan to create in the future, and will have will have a look at different brushes and presets to make improvements with the pieces I make in contrast with the ones I’ve created before using these techniques.

Evaluation

During this term, I have evaluated my final project creating a schedule of what tasks need to be completed on my final project for each day from Monday to Friday for every week. I have also written a brief evaluation on my journal about what’s been completed for each week as well as a summary of what’s left to be completed.

I have also written weekly journals for each week from the beginning of this term of what I’ve done and learned for the week, what was successful for that week, what problems I’ve faced and how they’ve been dealt with, what’s left to complete and how I’ve rated that week. If I was to do a project like this next time, I would probably use a more detailed schedule with a more detailed evaluation and reflection of each week.

Presentation

I think that my blog is structured enough as I tried my best to explain the pre-production work and research of my final project and I have tried to explain the process of the final piece in as much detail as I can. I have also shown the process of my final piece via time lapse screen recording, so I’m able to simplify the description of the process of the final piece. I think that maybe the process of my final and experimental pieces could’ve been explained better if went more into depth of what presets of the brushes I’ve used to create my experimental and final pieces, but I think that would be too much words. In terms of presenting my final piece after finishing, I have uploaded my project on Bēhance and written a brief description of what it’s about, what inspired me and a brief summary of the process.

One of the main things that I have learnt doing this project is learning different techniques on software that is out of my comfort zone, e.g. drawing and painting without lineart, shading and higlight techniques I’ve never used before by waching and reading online tutorials, which is what I will hope to do in future projects to improve the appearance / visual of future artwork I create.