#Wish I could have drawn you a proper response instead of using an old on but im just so tired right now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tothemeadow · 4 years

Text

Commissioned by @tanjhero

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

- Being the Flame Pillar’s tsugoku is no easy task; saving his brother, however, proves to be something else entirely. -

warnings: mentions of blood, angst

words: 2.5k

Burning hearts, brilliant eyes, wishes that never come true. There’s almost something beautiful in sorrow, the slight glimpse of light in the vast darkness. To be a demon slayer, one must bury their heart. They have to hide it under lock and key, learn how to forget what crying feels like. You’ve always carried this ideology close to your heart ever since you started your training as a young adolescent.

Six years have then since passed, and the Final Selection is well behind you. Ragged scars cover your arms, chest, and back, all trophies from your brutal battles with blood-hungry beasts. Demons, to be precise; you see ragged, glinting teeth in the night, in the hours of the day when you’re finally allowed to dream. Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, these teeth seek to ravage you, to sink into your skin and rip your throat out.

The world is dark. You’ve long since grown cold, refusing to properly feel anything. To be emotional is to be distracted; if you wanted to survive, for others to survive, you cannot afford to deal with such interruptions. This is the very reason why your mentor – the gracious Flame Pillar himself, Rengoku Kyojuro – always struck you as odd. Like the sun itself, he’s full of light and eternal brightness.

You’ve never been more jealous of someone in your life.

You train by his side, let him whip you into proper shape. Being a tsugoku is no easy task; both mentally and physically draining, you’re often left scrambling for any sensation left in your numb fingertips. Although your body suffers from the constant thrum of pain, you are strong. You don’t take your strength lightly, and neither does your mentor.

As time and his persistent nature eat away at your skeptical brain cells, he’s more or less become a friend. Much to your initial displeasure, you allowed him to root himself to you. However, as you grew stronger, wiser, your heart did so as well. Kyojuro, this dear man, has cracked open the safe of your heart. With each rising sun, you envision him, his dazzling smile, his abnormal irises. It’s the first time in your life you’ve been blessed.

The days grow into something long and dark whenever you train with him. He doesn’t give up, refuses to let you to wipe away the sweat at your brow, keeps going and going until you’re a trembling mess at his feet. He’s to make a slayer of you yet.

Some days, you consider yourself lucky. Kyojuro is a soft man despite the hard cording of muscle covering his skeleton. Sometimes, his gaze melts into something akin to honey, dangerously sweet and tempting. He’ll call training off early, opting to massage your weakened muscles and guide you through breathing exercises. You don’t take these treatments lightly; after all, Kyojuro is a Pillar, a highly respected one at that. To have a pathetically weak tsugoku will only bring shame onto his namesake.

And, if he’s really in a giving mood, he’ll insist you spend the night at his residence.

Already well fed and bathed, you dismiss Kyojuro with a tight-lipped smile and a prayer for his safe return. He explained that he and his father were to travel into town and seek out the beloved liquor his father adores so much. Although his face is stoic, you can see the pain and disappointment in the depths of his eyes. Like himself, Rengoku Shinjuro is a man deserving respect – or at least used to be. Since the passing of his wife, he’s been drowning his sorrows (amongst all other emotion humanly possible) until he sees the bottom of the bottle.

You find solace in your room, wet hair unceremoniously thrown over your shoulder. Like your father and grandfather, you wear your hair long; the one true tradition that’s been passed down your bloodline for generations. Even as shorter hairstyles become widely accepted, your clan refused to do so, following the old rule of cutting hair once one was shunned. You lose yourself in thought, mindlessly combing through hair with a comb made out of bone.

It isn’t the first time you’ve stayed in the Rengoku household, but you always find yourself drawing hesitant. Kyojuro’s own room sits right down the hallway, a silent temptation that you never give into. To do so would be disrespectful to your kind mentor, even downright inappropriate. Mentor and tsugoku was a strictly former relation – nothing more. You’d be damned if you stepped out of line.

A slight knock at the door stirs your curiosity. Kyojuro and Shinjuro have yet to return from their shopping trip despite the sky being cloaked in an ominous purple. Instead, you’re greeted by Senjuro, Kyojuro’s younger brother. Like the other two – and the rest of the males in his bloodline – he sports the fire crackle hair, the robust eyes. The entire Rengoku clan has been blessed by the sun, by fire, since the beginning of time. You’re not good friends with Senjuro, by you’re way past the line of casual acquaintances.

You glance to the cheesecloth in his hands, your eyebrow raising itself in a silent question. Senjuro sends you a cheeky smile, though the edges are tinged with nervousness. It startles you just how much he resembles Kyojuro. As you beckon him to enter, you set your comb down and tell him to join you on the futon.

“Aniki and father aren’t back yet,” Senjuro tells you as he sits down. “And I figured… Well, maybe… If it was okay for us to hang out?”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. Senjuro’s always been like this, awkward yet exceptionally kind. As he unwraps the cheesecloth, you’re greeted by the sight of plump grapes and rice crackers.

“I know we already had dinner, but sometimes Aniki and I sit around with some snacks and talk about everything.” Senjuro’s smile grows at the mention of his brother; you find it extremely endearing. “And you’re always nice to me, so I thought that we could…” His sentence trails off into nothing and he worries his bottom lip.

You promptly pick a grape from the bunch and pop it into your mouth. Its sweet flavor erupts on your tongue and you hum in appreciation. “Thank you for the treat.”

The nervousness in Senjuro’s smile melts away. “I watched you and Aniki train earlier. You’re incredible,” he gushes. “It’s no wonder why you’re Aniki’s tsugoku!”

You wave off his compliment with a dismissive hand. “First you bring me food, then you flatter me; is there an ulterior motive to this?” you tease.

With a slight giggle, Senjuro shoves at your shoulder. “I just wanted to be in your company, that’s all.”

You find the gesture to be incredibly sweet. As you ponder on his words, you realize that Kyojuro must be busy all the time, attending to his work as a Pillar, and Shinjoru spends almost every waking moment getting drunk. “Look at you, being the charmer,” you throw his way. “You definitely take after your brother.”

Senjuro visibly perks up at your words. “Really? You think so?”

You chuckle at his excited response. “Yes, really. I think you’re going to grow up into a wonderful man, Senjuro-kun.”

His cheeks warm up at your praise. “I can see why Aniki likes you so much.”

The cracker you hold stops centimeters away from your mouth. You instinctively lower your hand. “What do you mean?”

Senjuro cocks his head to the side. “Oh, you mean you don’t know? Aniki’s had a crush on you for months.”

The cracker falls into your lap. “He what?”

Something snaps outside the screen door. The hairs on the back of your neck come to a sudden rise; the sharp smell of blood fills the air and your mind kicks into autopilot. Shoving Senjuro away, you quickly grab onto your blade as the door is ripped from its hinges, the sight of bright yellow eyes shining through the dark.

A demon.

“Shit,” you curse, shooting to a stand, drawing your blade from its sheath, and holding it out before you in a defensive stance.

The demon stalks into the room; its body is nothing short of massive, all flexing muscle the color of moss. His head easily brushes the ceiling as he draws himself to his full height, inky, greasy hair falling in his grotesque face. His nostrils twitch as though they’re following a scent. “Where is he?” he growls, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest. “Where is the Flame Pillar?”

Your grip on your blade tightens. While it’s fortunate that Kyojuro isn’t home, that means you’ll have to take out the demon and protect Senjuro at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, you can convince the creature to turn around and leave.

“My apologies,” you say, your voice brisk. “The one you seek isn’t here.”

The demon’s yellow eyes stare down at the blade in your hands. His lips pull back in a snarl, his razor-sharp fangs shining in the light. You sharply inhale at the sight, a slight spark of panic traveling down your spine. “Pathetic little slayer,” he hisses, “thinking you can stop me? I’ll rip your head off and drink straight from your neck.”

You shift your weight on your feet. “Senjuro, get out of here. Now.”

Behind you, Senjuro scrambles to his feet. You can hear him gulp, but you ignore the urge to turn around and see if he’s okay. “B-but what about…”

“Get your brother. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

With another drawn out growl, the demon lowers itself, ready to pounce.

“Run!”

A large flash of green fills your vision and you hastily swing your sword. The battle you engage in is fierce, intense, too quick to be seen by the naked eye. Your body twirls and evades the monstrous demon’s attacks, bouncing off the walls and slithering between his legs.

You don’t necessarily realize it as you move the fight outside, the night’s breeze carrying your hair and whipping it into your face. Biting back a curse, you jump backwards just in time for a clawed hand to slash at the space where you previously stood.

“I will kill you!” the demon roars.

“Breath of Ashes: Shimmering Coal!” you cry out. In a great, fantastic arc, your blade grows to an unbearably hot temperature as you slice through the demon’s chest.

He screams in agony at the searing pain, reeling back and clutching at his chest. His eyes scream murder as he charges you; this time, though, you aren’t so lucky. Your back makes a sickening snap noise as you’re thrown into a nearby tree. Struggling for breath, you quickly get back up, charging at the demon again.

Time is lost. A faint hint at a new moon fills the sky; the only light comes from the inside of your room, leaving you in almost complete darkness. Your movements are bold, swift, straight to the point; you slash and strike at the demon, landing devastating blows, but his neck is too thick. You curse and howl in pain as claws rip at your sides, your arms, your face; blood openly flows down your face and the rest of your body, soaking the material of your torn yukata.

You groan from your spot on the ground; the coppery taste of blood coats your tongue, the back of your throat. Struggling to sit up, your fingers claw into the grass and dirt as you fight off the wave of nausea. It can’t end like this – you can’t end like this. You refuse to give up, to die. Even if this demon spills your guts, you’ll slice off his head and take him to hell with you.

Black fills the outer rims of your vision. There’s a harsh ringing in your ears, ready to steal your hearing away from you. Death is creeping up onto your doorstep, waiting, just waiting for you to answer.

There’s a cry of your name and a swirl of flames. Kyojuro comes seemingly out of nowhere; a war cry spills from his lips as he swings his blade and brings it down on the demon’s neck. Although he’s incredibly fast, your trained eyes follow his every move. The muscles in his back flex as he slices the demon’s head clean off. The demon releases an animalistic sound, spittle flying from his mouth as his head lands nearby.

“Fuck you, Flame Pillar! I’ll see you in hell!” he screeches before his head turns into dust.

A ragged breath punches its way out of your lungs as you slump back onto the ground. Kyojuro rushes to your side, worry etched into his features. You see his mouth move, but you can barely hear the words tumbling out. He gingerly slides his arms under you and picks you up, holding you close to his chest. The rest of the world passes by in a blur as he carries you back inside, instead of stopping in your room, however, he continues all the way to his room.

“Can you hear me?” his voice filters into your mind. You nod your head and groan as he places you onto his bed. “Gods, (y/n),” he breathes, pushing the damp strands out of your face. He gulps at the sheer amount of blood coating your face. “Hang on,” he tells you.

Rising from the bed, he fetches an abundance of medical supplies and gets to work at cleaning you up. Both his eyes and movements are gentle as he wipes away the blood, revealing your exhausted face. As he removes your yukata, he averts his gaze and hastily covers your privates up before working at your exposed arms and stomach.

“To do what you did,” he starts, his voice hoarse. He sounds suspiciously close to crying. “You saved him. You saved Senjuro.” His voice shakes as his hands begin to tremble. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Flicking your eyes to him, you notice how he’s biting hard onto his lip, desperate to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never seen such a pained look on his face a day in your life. His eyes shift between the two of yours, tears welling up and clouding the surface. Your heart jumps to your throat.

“You saved my baby brother,” he spews. Tears rush down his handsome face. “You risked your life to save him. It’s just… I…” He frantically rubs at his eyes with a sleeve. “I didn’t want to lose you, too.” Despite his tears, Kyojuro manages a tiny smile. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if you died,” he confesses.

“Kyojuro-san…?” you croak.

Taking your hands in his, he swiftly brings them to his lips and presses kisses to your knuckles. “I was so scared.” He frantically shakes his head. “I couldn’t live with myself if you died.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence. “You see… I- I love you, (y/n).”

Your breath stills in your throat. He… He loves you? Rengoku Kyojuro, a man blessed by the gods themselves, loves you.

Leaning down, he gently presses his forehead to yours. “I love you with my very being,” he mutters. “And to know that you’ve saved Senjuro… It makes me love you even more.”

Before you have time to register it, your hands link around his neck. This man was the one to melt the ice surrounding your heart; he was the one to make you feel again. You smile weakly at him. “Kyojuro-san… I… I love you, too.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku senjuro #kyojuro rengoku #senjuro kyojuro #kny kyojuro #kny senjuro #rengoku brothers #commission #tanjhero

519 notes · View notes

nanamikentcs · 3 years

Text

SIREN’S SONG

word count: 1.7k

genre: fluff (??), reader meets diluc for the first time, mutual admiration

warnings: none (gn!reader, not proofread)

summary: god isn’t some bigshot in the sky. god is a redhead playing the violin against the setting sun, while you watch in complete admiration. inspired by that new official art where diluc plays the violin.

Of the tasks undertaken this particular week, this seemed the least burdensome and most straightforward to you. One of the employees of Dawn Winery—presumably Charles (whose name you only learned recently), since he was within the immediate vicinity of the Adventurer’s Guild—put forth a commission to deliver a set of documents to the Winery itself, somewhere along the city outskirts. For a myriad of reasons—most revolving around the relatively low appeal of the commission, given that adventurers were drawn to more thrilling tasks—none had yet accepted the job.

You wonder if, perhaps, another reason for the lack of interest in the request involved an unexpected run in with the Winery’s owner.

By no means was Diluc Ragnvindr an unpleasant man. The reputable former knight was known for his courteousness, his polite nature most likely spawned by the esteem upheld by families of old. His demeanor was, nonetheless, off-putting, to say the least. He often kept to himself, speaking rarely to others beyond business and smiling even less often. Shrouded by an aura of both invulnerability and power, the young Ragnvindr’s unapproachable nature served as an effective ward against not only those he explicitly opposed, but perhaps against those who longed to forge a connection with him as well.

But, you were here for matters relating to work. Even if he hadn’t been aware of the commission, the documents you carried in your pack must’ve been important enough for a commission to be issued in the first place. Of course, having only encountered the redhead a couple of times—and oftentimes with a mind half-buzzed thanks to an alcoholic spell—your image of him was less intimidating than that of the locals’.

The sweltering heat of the sun receded into gentler warmth. You kept your eyes trailed on the road ahead of you, watching how the path changed from pavements to rough roads as you neared your destination. Hailing leagues away from the City of Freedom, you appreciated Mondstadt for the little details that solidified the beauty intrinsic to the region. Fontaine—a place you once called home—was a city known for its artistry and innovation; but Mondstadt, in its simple yet unrestrained nature, called to your heart in ways you did not understand.

By the time you arrived at the Winery, the sky had settled into a yellow-orange hue, denoting the incoming arrival of sunset. A signpost indicating the Winery’s location seemed unnecessary, considering the visibility of the vineyard from miles away. This was the first time you’d step foot onto a property so large, so busy with the duty of sustaining an entire city’s economic stability. Still, your business lay ahead of you, and you would much rather be done with your tasks before nightfall.

“Are these from Charles?” A white-haired man questioned as he sifted through the papers you handed him, addressing you but not looking away from the documents.

“Ah, I didn’t get to check who posted the commission,” you admitted, slightly embarrassed to overlook such a detail. “But it was posted in the afternoon, so it must’ve been someone in the city.”

The man—his name was Elzer, if you caught it correctly—hummed at your response, staying silent for a few moments. You shifted awkwardly, half-wondering if this was your cue to leave, yet half-expecting a proper dismissal, as though you’d still been a student awaiting your teacher’s approval.

After a brief period (which frankly seemed like a lifetime to you), Elzer finally looked in your direction, promptly thanked you for your service, and assured you that your remuneration would be facilitated through the Guild.

As you turned to leave, however, he called after you. “Ah, wait,” the tone that laced his voice betrayed just the slightest hint of exhaustion. “Could you perchance hand these over to the young master himself? These documents should’ve been given to him directly anyway.”

You stopped in your tracks, wondering if you’d heard him right. Your only instructions were to deliver the documents to the Winery. You didn’t know that they had to be given to Master Diluc himself.

“He’s at his study at the moment. First door to the left, once you ascend the stairs.” Elzer added, and, despite not having accepted the sudden request, you moved forward to retrieve the documents you’d just handed over. Following the directions he gave, you made your way to Diluc’s study, knocking once, knocking again, knocking twice for a third time, and knocking thrice for a fifth. No answer. Frustrated at the delay and the impending approach of the dark, you turned to find Elzer once more. You’d done your job. They couldn’t hold this against you, right?

Then you heard it: music created by a bow against steel strings, and for a moment you recall the endless symphonies composed by one frustrated musician after another in your hometown. Each was beautiful in their own right, but never seemed to meet the standard of perfection that greatness demanded. This song, however, was not perfect nor was it especially great—but it was indubitably beautiful.

Your feet moved by their own accord, following the direction of the violin and the mystery musician—not at all considering who’d dwelt there and who were expecting to find in the first place. The melody drew you in by some invisible thread, and before you knew it, you stood openmouthed by a door left ajar.

This was the first time you saw Master Diluc without his typical bravado. You watched as he nestled the violin in the crook of his neck, his right hand moving with grace as he shepherded the bow upwards and down, and the fingers of his other hand gliding with deftness across the violin. The sight of him and the sun setting through the window behind him was enough to root you into place. You did not understand why your heart leapt, but perhaps it was because it had not witnessed anything more beautiful.

He stopped. You wish he hadn’t but he did. His senses were keen, and though you had been too silent to make a sound, he knew he was in the presence of another. Turning to face you, an intruder in his personal area, he regarded you with an expression that furthered your surprise: he did not seem the least bit annoyed, nor did he appear to be upset at your sudden arrival. The glint in his eyes betrayed some curiosity, but beyond that, his face remained neutral.

“Was there something you needed?” He asked, as though your presence was a natural occurrence.

“Oh, I...I was on a commission...and well,” You managed to stammer out, electing to present the documents in your hand instead of relying on your ability to form a coherent sentence. “Th-These are for you.”

Diluc glanced at the papers in your hands, noticing the slight tremble to them, and sighed before setting his instrument down. As he took the documents, you immediately pulled your hand away, eager to hide both the tremor and incoming clamminess. You knew you should’ve apologized for your intrusion, thanked him for his patience, and left at the soonest possible moment. Instead, the more irrational part of your brain decided to blurt out: “That was beautiful. The way you played, I mean. I’ve heard a lot of violinists back in Fontaine but you...I mean you could easily outclass them.”

The pair of you seemed shocked by your profuse compliment. Diluc gathered himself first (and fairly quickly), clearing his throat before offering a small yet gentle smile. Strange, you thought. I’ve never seen him smile before.

“Thank you. Do you recognize it?” He asked, a faintly amused lilt in his voice. You shook your head in response. He nodded, as though expecting it. “It’s a composition from the olden days of Mondstadt. Not many recognize it anymore, more so if one were from another place. You mentioned Fontaine, yes?”

You did not understand why you could not use your voice. You only nodded, hoping he charged your nervousness to introversion. He paused to consider your response, turning to the violin he’d set down earlier, then returning his attention to you.

You watched as he opened his mouth to say something, then abruptly close it as though he changed his mind midway. Shifting his eyes away for a brief moment, he turned his gaze back towards you, asking, “Do you play?”

“The violin?” You inquired, rather dumbly now that you’d said it. “Oh, no, I don’t. I mean, I played for a little while then stopped. Hardly learned past the basics.”

He hummed at your response, unexpectedly content to hear your voice.

“I play the piano a little bit better, though.” you added, after a moment’s quiet. Perhaps it was to impress the clearly impressive man in front of you, or perhaps it was your pride in your own abilities. Either way, you felt compelled to add that detail.

Diluc considered your words, scrutinizing you in a private silence he shared with you. To both your surprise and his, he raised the question: “Would you like to play together, then?”

The invitation was extended like a hand requesting one’s own before a dance. You wanted to take that plunge, accept the invitation and waltz a symphonic dance with the man before you. But, enrapt in allure and the desire to prepare for a more impressive showcase of your talents, you said instead: “I’m a bit out of practice, and it’s going to be night soon. But next time...I’d love to, next time.”

Had you not directed your gaze towards your shifting feet and the wooden floors, perhaps you would’ve noticed the flash of disappointment in his eyes.

“Next time, then.” Diluc said, again with a small smile that rarely graced his features. He thanked you for fulfilling the commission, and watched as you turned to leave, unable to understand how one interaction could ignite so many emotions within him. With a sigh, he returned to his abandoned violin, absentmindedly plucking at the strings.

Diluc Ragnvindr, in all his acumen and knowledge of the workings of the world, could not pinpoint what it was about your exchange and what it was about you that stupefied him so much that he--only much later did he realize--had not asked for your name.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnivindr x reader #diluc x y/n #diluc x you #**mine

44 notes · View notes

chillwithaster · 3 years

Photo

SUMMARY: “Wo ho ho there, Kaedehara, where do you think you’re going?” Venti and Xiao moved to grip each of his wrists. If Kazuha had not known any better, he would think they were shackles by how deathly their holds were.

Venti gave him a light smile. As if he’s going to let this bleach-streaked, toothpaste-hogger fiend anywhere close to his date to the-

“Your date?” Xiao started.

Whoops, did he say that out loud?

RELATIONSHIPS : Albedo/Kong | Aether (Genshin Impact) || Kong | Aether/Xiao | Alatus (Genshin Impact || Kong | Aether/Venti (Genshin Impact) || Kaedehara Kazuha/Kong | Aether

Please consider supporting me on Ko-fi because im kind of in a need for extra cash to help out my family during the pandemic ! every little bit helps and I'm giving out incentives for donations ! A dollar for a personalized reviewer and study guide or a genshin fanfiction of your choice !

AO3

“Well, this is most unfortunate.”

Venti could already feel the caffeine in his systems fuel his flight-or-fight response as he saw not one but two of his roommates standing outside the library.

He really needed a drink and pronto.

This was supposed to be his shining moment; the ballad to end all ballads; the righteous bard’s claim to a golden prince’s heart after their loveless rendezvous.

Venti had finally gotten the courage to ask Aether out to the Ludi Harpastum Dance – one of the most anticipated events in the entirety of their university. It was known as a Mondstadtian custom that he himself absolutely adored for its flowers, games, cuisines, and especially romantic atmosphere.

It was going to be perfect, really.

But no, Barbatos above and mighty, these – unsultry fiends decided to rain over such a wonderful parade.

“Agreed.” He shot a half-hearted glare at the white-haired male next to him, who had decided to dress-up from his usual plain tees and jeans.

Instead, Kazuha was wearing a half-buttoned black blazer (one that Venti swore was his, mind you) with black skinny jeans and a white polo-shirt. His hair was tied tighter than his usual lopsided ponytail, and Venti swore the other’s glasses had never been cleaner.

Now, though Venti was quite ecstatic to see his friend out of his usual horrendous fashion-style, he was visibly irked by the bouquet of Carnations in Kazuha’s arms.

“Move. You’re blocking the entrance.” The other two broke from their staring contest to find slitted amber hues.

For as long as Venti knew Xiao, even the Contemporary Music major knew his roommate looked good in a turtleneck.

And unfortunately for him, Xiao knew that too.

Sporting a sleeveless dark green turtleneck and a black leather jacket fastened firmly around his waist, Xiao glared from behind the brown, large toy dragon plushie he was hugging.

“Uh excuse me.” Venti chirped, a hand to his hip to assert his dominance as their senior. “I was here first, mind you. Now buzz off.”

Xiao cocked a brow at him. “Don��t tell me you’re bringing in food to a library.”

The braided boy gawked at him before guiltily looking down at the two boxes of doughnuts in his hands. Boxed in pastel green and white, his warm, delicious, better than what his other roommates could ever bake in their entire life, homemade desserts stared back in shame at the thought of being left behind.

“Of course not!”

Kazuha and Xiao did not believe him.

“Of course…” The Inazuman began before moving past Venti. “Now please excuse me, I need to speak with-“

“Wo ho ho there, Kaedehara, where do you think you’re going?” Venti and Xiao moved to grip each of his wrists. If Kazuha had not known any better, he would think they were shackles by how deathly their holds were.

Venti gave him a light smile. As if he’s going to let this bleach-streaked, toothpaste-hogger fiend anywhere close to his date to the-

“Your date?” Xiao started.

Whoops, did he say that out loud?

Venti turned to his supposed ally as he released Kazuha’s hand. However, despite his fumble, the Cheshire grin on his lips still slashed through. “Yeah. My date to the Ludi Harpastum Dance.”

If looks could kill, Venti would be six feet under.

“Isn’t it quite bold of you to assume he’d want … you?” Kazuha began, scanning him up and down.

“I am offended!” Damn, the senior could feel ten years being subtracted from his time on earth. “And yes I do! Unlike both of you, I’ve known Aether the longest. From all the way ever since he moved here, so that makes me his best friend.”

The other two were not convinced.

“Yeah. Friend.” Venti wanted to hurl something hard into Xiao’s smirk. “And aren’t you more mature than that? For such an old man, you’d think you’d be past using the length of a relationship to measure its worth.”

“I agree with Xiao.” Kazuha hissed from behind, and Venti almost held a high grin at knowing why he was so defensive. Kazuha only had a month in his little pool of Aether interactions, so he knew he stood no chance if that was the criterion. “One’s closeness mustn’t be measured by how much – but rather how well – that time spent together was.”

Venti rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever.”

Honestly, he had not expected this. Especially not from these two.

Venti had always assumed that Xiao wanted nothing to do with relationships, especially since Xiao had made it quite crystal clear to anyone that had tried making moves on him that he was not interested. Same goes for Kazuha, who seemed to be more inclined to pour his focus into his studies in Literature rather than pursuing a love life.

But alas, here they are.

“Excuse me.” The three snap out of their heated staring contest to find a mop of kempt blond hair behind them.

Albedo stared at the three suspicious figures with a raised brow. As the junior librarian of the campus, it was his job to make sure students were not loitering outside to cause a mess.

“You’re keeping others from entering. If you have no business here, could you please go back to your dormitories.” His eyes shift to the pastries in Venti’s arms. “No food inside.”

Venti could just hear the snickers from behind him.

“Right, of course.” He started. “Sorry, Albedo.”

The three would have moved to allow the blond entrance had Kazuha not seen the striking figure painted diligently on the canvas in Albedo’s arm.

“Wait.” The albino held a hand to Albedo’s shoulder. “That painting…”

The bright crimson on Albedo’s cheeks was already a dead giveaway.

Venti and Xiao stopped in horror before peering over Albedo’s shoulder. Ah shit.

Drawn with the precision only the famed Kreideprinz could attain was a figure basked in golden locks. The figure’s face was turned away ever so slightly from the viewer, framed by light bangs as soft eyes gazed longingly into the sunset behind them. But even without seeing any other details, the two already knew who this was.

Suddenly, a plushie and a batch of doughnuts just felt sad.

Albedo turned to face the trio, shamefully hiding the portrait behind his figure.

“You like Aether?” Venti began.

“Yes, and what of it?” Albedo brought his jacket’s sleeve to his mouth, covering the bright blush he was harboring. “I don’t believe that I have any reason to be quite ashamed of such…and for you to be so scrutinizing…”

The three stared at him like kicked puppies.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Albedo stopped and looked at the gifts in their hands.

“Ah.”

The weight of the situation just immediately dawned on the four.

“It seems the captor of ours hearts knows no restraint.” Kazuha sighed wistfully.

Xiao said nothing, but a nod was sufficient.

“…Are you all here to also ask him to the dance?” Albedo leaned on the door.

Even without an answer, he already knew.

“We can’t just go in there.” Xiao sighed. “It’ll end in a disaster, trust me.”

“But we cannot just let such an opportunity pass.” Venti saw how Kazuha was almost ready to barge in the doors for himself.

“Right, right, calm down there, he’s not going anywhere.” Venti offered.

Albedo moved to turn around, and the three watched him peer through the library’s wooden doors.

There seated amongst several stacks of books was their culprit. Aether had a textbook over his head and a whale pillow under his folded arms. With how slow his chest was rising, the four knew he was asleep.

“I should scold him next time. The library is not his bedroom.” Albedo smiled fondly at the figure, and the other three could only stare in defeat.

There was no way they could just barge in there and disturb his peace like that. Especially not when he looks so exhausted. Aether would just be overwhelmed by all their invitations, and the last thing they wanted was to be a burden to their beloved.

“So, now what?” Venti moved out of the way, glancing in confusion at the other three.

Kazuha and Xiao shared a look, but it was Albedo that first opened his mouth.

“We should take him to a date. A proper one. One from each of us. And one where we could help him alleviate his stress and show him a good time.”

The three stopped in consideration.

Albedo continued. “Think about it. He’s quite exhausted. If our feelings for him are genuine, then we should be willing to console him when he needs us the most. And only then – perhaps - he can decide who he wishes to take to the dance.”

Venti had wished his first date with Aether were under different circumstances.

But at the same time…he isn’t against the thought of spoiling Aether silly. Even if it is shared sentimentally with three other people.

After a moment, it was Kazuha that gave an opinion. “But we should set ground rules. If the purpose of this date to help Aether unwind, it is imperative that none of us ask him to the dance.”

“Why?” Xiao crossed his arms. “Then wouldn’t that just render our dates pointless?”

“Not quite.” Kazuha offered a smile. “Aether’s happiness should come first.”

Xiao agreed in a heartbeat.

“Okay, let’s go with that.” Venti smiled at the prospect.

Yeah, Aether’s happiness is the topmost priority. And if none of them could provide that for Aether, then Venti thinks that none of them (himself included) are worthy of Aether’s kindness!

“But…” His thoughts blank. “Can I go last?”

“Why?” Albedo raised a brow.

“My paycheck doesn’t come until next Thursday.”

If his peers had one thing in common, it was how stupid they could make someone feel just by staring.

“I had to cut back time for my classes, okay? Sheesh!” Venti argued.

“Then that’s settled.” Albedo sighed.

“May I go first?” Kazuha offered, and though none of the other males seemed to object, Xiao was quick to reply with a sharp ‘why’. The albino bashfully chuckled. “There is a musical I have been meaning to bring him to that is in three days. It would be a shame to miss it.”

There were no objections.

Albedo raised an open palm, only to be met with several blank stares.

“A form of contract. May the best man win.”

The blonds lips were quirked upward slightly, and though apprehensive, Venti shook his hand.

Venti wasn’t the smartest person, but he wasn’t dumb either.

He may not know a lot when it comes to studies, but he knows one thing.

When these three wanted something, they would break the earth just to get their way.

“Indeed! May the winds guide you in your endeavor.”

But it also takes one to know one.

#genshin impact #fanfiction #albedo #albether #xiao #xiaoaether #aether #kazuha #kazuhaether #venti #aeventi

34 notes · View notes

fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

Text

Contending the Flame VII

Author's Note: Not much to say here, but the story's content will start to go up in rating after this, so prepare yourself for some wild changes coming! Thanks as always for being such a fantastic audience :)

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2336

Warnings: language, mentions of blood, master/servant dynamic

Victory had been claimed for the sons of Ragnar. They managed to secure their hold over York, banishing the idea from the Saxons' minds that they could ever again rule the city. Hostages had been taken, and through the blood and the rain, they had seen themselves suffer their share of wounds. All battles came with a price.

Ivar had acquired his injuries, most being from arrows. After he had been tended to by healers and cleansed of blood, the damage had taken its toll and the pain had set in. He was carried to his chambers by Ubbe and another warrior. Hvitserk had not been able to lend a hand as he had sustained a spear to the leg. When first brought the news of his brother's injury, Ivar had felt a stirring of worry, and hatred towards the dead Saxon soldier. For a moment he had wished for Hel to raise the dead once more if it meant he could feed the Christian his axe. He did not want to lose another member of his family, not after his mother or even Sigurd.

The pains of war felt like a bizarre punishment after the glorious charge he had led. His body betrayed him, reminding him of his humility as a cripple once the agony of his legs joined with the burning of his battle wounds. He remembered little of the healers prodding at him and had fallen into a restless sleep, halfway between consciousness and oblivion.

When he came around again, he was roused by the smell of flowers in the dead of night. A fire was burning low in the hearth, and as he turned his head towards the table at his side, a clay vase had been filled with those familiar purple blooms. They had a delicate, sweet smell, the likes of which he had never seen around Kattegat. The harsh winters of home were something he doubted they could have withstood.

Ivar shifted carefully, trying to sit up when he took notice of the dip in the bed beside him. You were above the furs, sitting upright with your back against the wall at the head of the bed. Ólaug, or Catherine; he wasn't certain what to call you. You must have meant to sit down only for a moment but had fallen asleep instead. His eyes traced over the restful look on your face, a pleasant change from the terror that had been there the last time.

Remembering everything Hvitserk had told him, he was brought back to a state of frustration. He didn't want your fear, he wanted your admiration. You had passion when you spoke with him, something that had been driven out by this treacherous spy.

Ivar brought his attention back to his sleeping nun, taking in the rest of you. His gaze was drawn to the particular detail of your exposed calf. Your frock had ridden up to your knee, leaving your lower leg open to the air. He often found himself mesmerized by the beauty of women's legs, admitting only to himself that it was because of his disgust for his own. The smooth curve of your calf met a delicate ankle, that extended to a long, narrow foot.

He wanted to feel the heat of your soft skin, and there was no battle with temptation as he brought his hand towards the exposed flesh. His rough knuckles dragged down on your smooth skin like hail against a silk sheet. The sensation was heady, and the walls of the room felt closer from the rush of lust. Ivar was emboldened. He wrapped his hand around your ankle, forgetting from your time as his thrall that you were a light sleeper.

Your head that had been tucked into your chest jerked up, and you lurched forward, startled awake by his hand. Your eyes met and Ivar could see the same fear there that took hold of an animal before it was about to bolt away. He wasn't going to tolerate that. In no mood or condition to chase you, Ivar tightened his hold on your ankle and tugged you down on the bed with harsh force. You let out a sharp gasp, unable to collect yourself before he had you trapped below him. Everything hurt, but he struggled through the discomfort as he held himself up by his arms above you.

"I did not invite you to share my bed, Christian."

"My apologies," You sputtered. "I'm only here because your brothers do not know which slaves they can trust."

Ivar let out a huff of annoyance, unadjusted to his brothers' concerns for his well-being. It was behaviour he had come to expect from his mother, and maybe Floki. "Right, a spy who is a threat to my life, and whispers in your ear."

Your eyes that had been downcast returned to his face. "Hvitserk told you?"

"My brothers tell me everything. You were mistaken to think otherwise."

He reached for your arm between them, the one covered with the cloth bandage. You were quick to snatch it away, your face coloured in shame. Ivar brought his hand up to your cheek instead, stroking below the bruise that he had yet to get a full explanation. "Stop that, please," You whispered.

"You believe I'll hurt you, even after I've shown to be generous towards you."

"But I am only a slave, and I mean nothing to you. If you killed your brother, what chance do I have of being spared?"

Ivar frowned. It seemed the spy had filled you in on more than just the Bishop. "You know about Sigurd?"

You nodded. "I know you murdered him, like Cain slew Abel."

He did not know of these men for whom you spoke of, but he had the unfortunate feeling that the comparison was not of flattery. Now that you knew things about him that he would not have shared likely, he felt at a disadvantage. He eased away from you, only for you to let out a cry of surprise as he pulled back.

"Ivar," You exclaimed, shoving your palm at the center of his chest so he would lie back down.

He spotted or rather felt what you had seen. It seemed one of his wounds had opened up on his side, the blood leaving a cold, damp stain on his tunic. You leapt up and over him, setting to work on filling a bowl with water. Your fast pace that you had set was dizzying. Ivar watched as you opened up the leather pouch that had been abandoned on the table until now. It contained healing supplies. Your lack of hesitation for what you grabbed proved you were capable, and you were back at his side without pause.

"Off with this, please," You instructed him to shed his tunic, and you had water touching skin the moment he had discarded the soiled clothing. "Look what you've done."

Ivar had never seen you look so disapproving. It was endearing. That you had scolded him by name had not slipped past his notice. "Ivar?"

You paused long enough in your work for your eyes to widen with understanding. "Oh, forgive me. I should not have been so bold."

He turned more towards you while you continued to work, giving a small shrug in response. "It is my name, and I am no longer your master. Perhaps you should cease with formalities."

"No, it wouldn't be proper. You are still a Prince, and leader of an army."

"Then I must insist on calling you Ólaug."

He let out a hiss as you took the needle to his skin, halting only a moment to let him adjust to the discomfort before moving to close the wound. You shot him a small smile, and he grunted from time to time with each passing of the point through his flesh.

"But that's not my name," You insisted as you tied off the end of the stitch, cutting away the remainder of the loose thread with a small knife.

"And it isn't Catharine," Ivar shot back. "So tell me, who are you?"

You sat back on your chair, resting your hands in your lap. They were pink and red from his blood, with dark grime under your short nails. A healer's hands. His own were rough and stained with blood, but from taking lives, not saving them.

"Why is my old name so important? This is the second time you've asked it from me."

"I've never known someone to abandon their name. Your God asks strange things of you."

"As I'm sure yours do as well," You said with no unkindness in your tone. "May I ask about the markings on your back?"

"Your men do not have tattoos?"

You shook your head, eyes wide and full of curiosity. "The body is meant to be untainted, and we should be satisfied with what God gave us."

And yet they made women cut their hair before entering a nunnery. Ivar did not say as much. You were finally allowing your guard to slip, falling back into another one of your conversations that he'd missed.

"We do not read or write in books as you do, but we preserve our stories in runes and symbols. Tattoos are just another way to honour the Gods."

"Did they hurt?"

Ivar let out a gruff laugh. "I was born into suffering. I hardly remember what it felt like to have the colours bleed under my skin. But any sacrifice to the Gods is a privilege, be it in pain, or a life."

"I don't understand how your gods could demand the life of their people," You said, a distraught look falling over you.

"And I don't understand why you Christians nail your people up on crosses."

"It is an act of punishment and humiliation for the criminal. It should dissuade others from committing the same sins."

Ivar smirked. "But we're the savages?"

"I don't claim to be a delegate for all Christians, but I don't believe you are savages. I sometimes think we are similar."

Viking and Christian alike; impossible. "You are naive to think that."

"Maybe so," You said, coming to a stand as you started to clean up your supplies. "But this fighting for York could have been prevented if the King had settled on negotiations with you and your brothers. Our holy Father blessed us all with free will, and we chose to fight and kill, just as your people have."

"A war is a strange place to search for peace," He retorted.

You let a chuckle escape, turning to him with a face flooded in pink. It was beautiful. "Indeed."

There was a prolonged stretch of silence, neither one of them filling it until you returned to sit at the foot of the bed. Ivar liked to think you were comfortable enough in his presence for the moment that you had not felt the need to fill it with empty words.

"Is peace what you want for your people?" He prodded while shifting underneath the furs.

"I'm not in a position to speak on such matters as this is the most exposure I've seen of battle. I suppose peace is better than tending to bloody men, and women waiting at home for husbands and sons who will never return."

"And what about you? If you could wish for anything in this world, what would it be?"

Your face turned to weariness, and for a moment he suspected he had offended you. He would have offered to take the words back if it would have helped, but you chose to answer.

"I wish I was happy," You said in a voice so low that Ivar had almost missed what you had said. But he had heard, to which he frowned in confusion. "You thought I would ask for freedom?"

"Isn't that what all those in enslavement hope for?" He rebuked.

"Before I was captured by you heathens, I was still a prisoner. This is just a different cage."

"I thought being a nun was an honour?" He couldn't help but sneer the words, but you did not appear dismayed.

"When I joined the convent, it was for a sense of duty. It brought me contentment, but there was no joy in my days."

You brought your legs up onto the furs, settling in without regard of whom you were close to. Ivar was pleased by your unintentional behaviour, mesmerized by your fingers as you trailed them through the thick pelted covers.

"I don't understand," He spoke up eventually, long enough to break his concentration on your stroking of the furs.

"Of course you don't. You are a man, a Viking, and a prince. Your life was marked with freedom of choice the moment you drew breath. If I was granted freedom this very moment, where would I go?"

'With me', he thought but did not say the petulant thought aloud. If it was happiness you desired, then he would give it to you.

"I've intruded on you long enough. Would you like me to leave?" You enquired, moving to stand.

"No, stay," he commanded without thinking, and the harshness of his voice caused you to flinch. Taking a quick breath through his nose, he tried again. "Tell me about Cain and Abel."

You eased back onto the bed, choosing to stay out of arm's reach as you delved into your tale. Ivar listened, enraptured by the passion that took over you in the telling. His own heart was beating with a different excitement, and he wondered how much longer he could keep his adoration from you. You were a Christian disguised in heavy frocks and gaudy crosses, but beneath all of that lurked a free woman longing to burst forth, and Ivar was going to draw her out.

Taglist

@pomegranates-and-blood

@siren-queen03

@peachyboneless

@didiintheblog

@soleil-dor

@zuxiezendler

@pieces-by-me

@xbellaxcarolinax

@heavenly1927

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur

@youbloodymadgenius

@xceafh

@strangunddurm

@shannygoatgruff

@1950schick

@tgrrose

@castielsangelsx

@rose1729

@ladynightshade30

@mlchael-guerin

@dangerouspsychicgardenflower

@ritual-unions-gotme

@readsalot73

@lonewolf471

@poisonous00

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x you #ivar lothbrok #vikings imagine #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #history vikings #ivar imagine #vikings

119 notes · View notes

notapaladin · 4 years

Text

Obsidian and Blood, an overview

Do you like fantasy? Do you like mysteries? Do you like Mesoamerican mythology? Do you like ALL OF THOSE THINGS TOGETHER, set against the lush backdrop of Tenochtitlan in 1480? (Or maybe you just want to know more about the series I have been going feral over since August.) Then buckle up, because oh boy have I got a series for you!

*drumroll, please*

OBSIDIAN AND BLOOD, written by Aliette de Bodard (better known for her Xuya and Dominion of the Fallen series)

There are two kinds of people: Those who see the words “Aztec fantasy/murder mysteries set in very well-researched 1480s Tenochtitlan BUT WITH MAGIC, investigated by the HIGH PRIEST OF THE GOD OF DEATH” and immediately ran off to buy them, and those who clearly need convincing. So here I am, shamelessly plugging my new hyperfixation!

Obsidian and Blood consists of three semi-standalone novels and three (free!) prequel short stories, all featuring 30-year-old Acatl as our first-person POV mystery solver. Acatl is not, however, your average historical detective; aside from being set firmly in Tenochtitlan in 1480 with all that implies re. the acceptability of slavery and human sacrifice, he also is the High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli in a universe where the gods regularly meddle in mortal affairs and magic spells are powered largely by rituals and blood—animal, human, or your own. You’d think this would make Acatl really, really good at solving murders, but you’d be wrong. He is the least of the Triple Alliance’s three High Priests, and his god doesn’t come at his servant’s beck and call. Not to mention the other gods, who have their own deadly agendas. That’s not even getting into the people around him, who might be the most dangerous of all. Luckily, he has more allies than he thinks—if he has the strength to actually reach out to them and admit he could use the help!

(He doesn’t need to reach out to his student Teomitl. Teomitl, a confident young warrior of imperial blood, keeps volunteering. This gives Acatl roughly one heart attack per book.)

You will like them if…

I did just say “magic murder mysteries in 1480s Tenochtitlan,” right? It’s real Precolumbian Mexico hours up in here! The history of the Aztec Empire and their Triple Alliance actually forms multiple key plot points throughout the series!

you’re into Aztec history/culture in general

if a DnD fan, you are REALLY into the Raven Queen

you think blood magic is super cool and wish it wasn’t treated as the realm of The Bad Guys

you get incredibly hyped over lesser-known mythologies treated respectfully but also very awesomely (the thing where the Aztecs thought human sacrifice kept the sun in the sky? Yeah, in this universe it is literally true and plot-relevant)

you are big into chaste heroes, lots of snarky asides, highly opinionated narrators who let their own prejudices destroy them, “from an outside perspective this is cosmic horror but for the characters it is a Tuesday,” mysteries with twists you will NOT see coming, and themes of trauma/memories/family legacies

you love reading about dysfunctional family relationships in various states of repair/further destruction

you’ve ever thought “hey this historical mystery is cool but what if there was MAGIC”

you like noir detective stories but want them with magic

you like urban fantasy but want them to have historical settings instead of vaguely modern-day ones

Plot/character summaries below!

SHORT STORIES (prequels to the novels, blurbs by me)

Obsidian Shards

Warriors have been found dead in the town of Colhuacan, obsidian shards embedded in their hearts. Acatl, priest of Mictlantecuhtli, suspects a creature of the Underworld—one he already calls a foe, for it slew his first and last apprentice.

Beneath the Mask

In the Tenochtitlan suburb of Coyoacan, Acatl’s childhood friend Huchimitl begs him to save her only son’s war captive; the man whose sacrifice will make the boy a proper warrior is paralyzed from an unknown curse, unable even to rise from the floor. But who could have cursed him, and is it connected to the mask Huchimitl now wears?

Safe, Child, Safe

A toddler is slowly wasting away, the mark of the Underworld on him, and Acatl is tasked with finding the cause. But no creature of the Underworld kills so slowly, and so Acatl must turn his investigation to the living.

THE BOOKS (blurbs taken directly from the book listings, you don’t HAVE to read them in order but I do recommend it)

Servant of the Underworld

Year One-Knife, Tenochtitlan; the capital of the Mexica Empire. Human sacrifice and the magic of living blood are the only things keeping the sun in the sky and the earth fertile. A Priestess disappears from an empty room drenched in blood. It should be a usual investigation for Acatl, High Priest of the Dead—except that his estranged brother is involved, and the more he digs, the deeper he is drawn into the political and magical intrigues of noblemen, soldiers, and priests—and of the gods themselves...

(Neutemoc: I didn't mean to sleep with her! It was an accident! Acatl: I don't understand. Did you trip?) (Acatl: I don't want a new apprentice! Teomitl: :D? Acatl: ...I will make an exception)

Harbinger of the Storm

The year is Two House, and the Emperor of the Mexica has just died. The protections he afforded the Empire are crumbling, and the way lies wide open to flesh-eating star-demons—and to the return of their creator, a malevolent goddess only held in check by the War God's power. The council should convene to choose a new Emperor, but they are too busy plotting against each other. And then someone starts summoning star-demons within the palace, to kill councilmen...Acatl, High Priest of the Dead, must find the culprit before everything is torn apart.

(Teomitl: I've only had Acatl and Mihmatini for a year, but if anything happens to them I'll kill everyone in this room and then myself) (Quenami: Playing With The Big Boys.mp3)

Master of the House of Darts

The year is Three Rabbit, and the storm is coming. The Mexica Empire now has a new Emperor, but his coronation war has just ended in a failure: the armies have retreated with a paltry forty prisoners of war, not near enough sacrifices to satisfy the gods. Acatl, High Priest for the Dead, has no desire to involve himself yet again in the intrigues of the powerful. However, when one of the prisoners dies of a magical illness, he has little choice but to investigate. For it is only one death, but it will not be the last. As the bodies pile up and the imperial court tears itself apart, dragging Teomitl, Acatl's beloved student, into the eye of the storm, the High Priest for the Dead is going to have to choose whom he can afford to trust; and where, in the end, his loyalties ultimately lie...

(Teomitl: I am no longer Baby I want Power) (Acatl, to Teomitl: What have you got there? Nezahual, gleefully: A coup! Acatl: NO!)

THE MAIN CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)

ACATL “By my face and by my heart, I’ll bring you justice.” High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli, god of death and the underworld. As such, his duties include both the obvious ones of arranging funerals and standing vigils for the dead, and the less obvious ones of investigating magical crimes and keeping the boundaries between the heavens, Earth, and the underworld intact. When Servant of the Underworld begins, he’s only recently been promoted and hates it. Has a strained relationship with his living family, due largely to not having lived up to his (dead) parents’ desires for him to become a warrior like his brother Neutemoc. Bitter, cynical, and grumpy, but devoted to justice and fairness.

Has an official character sheet.

CEYAXOCHITL “Everyone has to grow up and take responsibilities. Even small, humble priests.” Guardian of the Sacred Precinct and wielder of the power of the Duality (Ometeotl), which makes her the sworn protector of the Mexica Empire and its Revered Speaker from all sorts of mainly-magical threats. Somewhat past middle age but still very strong in her magical abilities, and something of an antagonistic mentor to Acatl. (She nominated him for the position of High Priest. He is not appreciative.) Serious and devoted to her duty, with a keen eye for potential in others. Dies in Harbinger of the Storm and you WILL cry.

NEUTEMOC “Priests hide and run away. Warriors don’t.” Acatl’s older brother, a Jaguar Knight with five children and a failing marriage. Resents Acatl for not helping to support their aging parents by becoming a warrior like he did. The central suspect during most of Servant of the Underworld’s plot, though by the end he and Acatl have begun to repair their relationship. He is strict, stern, and bitter, but truly loves his family. (In the case of his younger brother, that love is buried very deep down.)

TEOMITL “If we don’t believe in ourselves, who is going to?” Acatl’s student, an enthusiastic warrior who yearns to prove himself worthy of his power and noble rank, as well as live up to the memory of the mother who died birthing him. During Servant of the Underworld he swears himself to Chalchiuhtlicue, goddess of fresh water and lakes, gaining (among other things) command over the man-eating water monsters called ahuitzotls. He is courting Mihmatini during Harbinger of the Storm; by the time Master of the House of Darts takes place, they are married. He is abrasive and proud, but also honest, loyal, and brave. And very, very ambitious. You will want to punch him several times. This is normal. (Also, I will swear that it's not just my ship-goggles being on too tight that has me thinking his relationship with Acatl is much more weighty and personal than the one he has with his ACTUAL WIFE.)

MIHMATINI “Better laugh, and smile at the flowers and jade. Life is too short to be spent grieving.” Acatl and Neutemoc’s youngest sister, a powerful magic-user who finds herself thrust into the position of Guardian during Harbinger of the Storm. Though she has no great ambitions herself—she mostly just wants to be a mother and raise children—she is ferociously protective of her family and will fight anything that threatens them. Even themselves. (Especially themselves.) Kind, caring, and light-hearted, but her acid tongue and sharp temper are not to be dismissed. "Fuck Around And Find Out" given human form.

ACAMAPICHTLI “We have always endured.” High priest of Tlaloc and a reoccurring thorn in Acatl’s side. Though he’s primarily out for his own gain and has no patience for Acatl’s refusal to play on the field of Imperial politics, they eventually form something like an uneasy truce following the end of Harbinger of the Storm. He is snarky and sardonic, but truly cares for his clergy. During Master of the House of Darts he somehow became one of my favorite characters.

TIZOC "I've always known that priests couldn't be trusted. You have just exceeded my expectations." Teomitl’s older brother, first Master of the House of Darts and then Revered Speaker. (Look, it’s not a spoiler if you can Google it.) He is cowardly, ambitious, and the closest thing this series has to an overarching antagonist. Among other things, tries to have Acatl executed during Harbinger of the Storm. Events at the end of that book only manage to make him measurably worse. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #1.

QUENAMI “Oh, Acatl. Such lack of tact. You are so unsuited for the Court.” High Priest of Huitzilpochtli, appointed by Tizoc between Servant of the Underworld and Harbinger of the Storm. Comes from a noble family, and is much better at diplomacy and playing politics than he is at magic. When push comes to shove, however, he can display some surprising determination. He is arrogant, scheming, and takes joy in cutting Acatl down, but presumably has some good qualities...somewhere. "Ah There He Is, That Motherfucker, What A Tool" #2.

Maps of the series’ primary setting

Setting Primers

Official Character Index

Glossary

#obsidian and blood #aliette de bodard #aliette bodard #servant of the underworld #acatl #teomitl #mihmatini #obsblood primer

89 notes · View notes

frogsmulder · 3 years

Text

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 1 Stop and Breathe

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

4k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

The long desert roads seemed to stretch light-years ahead, no scenery, no landmarks, just flat, arid land in all directions. The baked earth was cool in the grey hue of the early morning. Far out, somewhere along the horizon, the sun started to reach up its first fingers to claw at the dawn sky. Chasing those pale blues and purples, the day would soon bleed bright oranges and yellows and colour the earth below. Daybreak felt like an answer to a prayer; the dawn light lifted the oppressive, starless night sky and had cloaked them. Daybreak filled Mulder with a sense of liberty and overwhelming hope for a second chance as invigorating as the breeze outside. It was a miracle that they had made it this far. Mulder was beginning to think he had been executed after all and was caught in limbo, forever driving towards the end of the cold, dark sky. A lost soul wandering aimlessly as punishment for his crimes.

In his mind, he kept hearing the explosions ring through his hears and the flashes of flame in the rear-view mirror. Always in his peripheral, snapshots of the ruins hurtling his way took him by surprise. He glanced at them but as soon as he chased their sight, the apparitions disappeared.

His father was dead. The smoking son-of-a-bitch should have died a long time ago. Mulder tightened his grip on the staring wheel. Now He haunted his peripheral vision as well, the ghost of his smoke sickly uncurling in the back seats of the stolen car. His fathers, his sister, his mother, Emily, the Gunmen: all dead. How many did he have left to lose?

He swallowed thickly and looked over at Scully in the passenger seat, her head lolled to one side and her lips parted to utter the tiniest of snores. A tiny damp patch on her shoulder marked where she had drooled throughout the night– something she most adamantly didn't do. Caught in the first glowing rays of the sun, Mulder had never seen her so beautiful, frizzy hair and all. He placed a hand upon her knee, a poor substitute for all the embraces he wished to share with her.

Scully stirred from her light sleep, groaning and stretching like old wood as she straightened herself. Her blinks were laboriously heavy, weighed down by the stress of the last twenty-four hours. Mulder hadn't meant to wake her but didn't miss the opportunity to share the day with her. "Hey, Scully, look at the sunrise," he whispered.

She groggily hummed, appreciating the myriad of colours. Voice still thick with sleep, she asked, "Where are we?"

"Not sure," he answered, tapping the dial for the gas to see if the needle was lying.

Scully curled up as much as she could in the seat and turned to gaze out of the window, watching the little rocks and pebbles flew past in a blur along the roadside. "Where are we going?"

He glanced at her, then back towards the horizon racing as quickly away from them as they chased after it. "Don't know. But if we don't know, at least nobody else knows either." It was meant to make her smile, but all she did was frown. With no one and nothing around them, the faux safety of the nowhere between lands scared Scully. As if somehow it was a trap they were being lulled into; a false sense of security. She knew they needed to be wary at all hours, every ticking second of the day and every tock of the clock at night. She reminded herself there was no safe place to hide and no time to catch their breath. But it was all so exhausting.

"How long have you been driving?" She craned her neck to see the bags under his eyes. Mulder had pulled all-nighters before, and it wasn't like he was never subject to bouts of insomnia, but the restless worry was the worst thing. She could see it was eating him up from the inside, not fear for himself but for her, that she had chosen this life with him again. And now he could barely offer her an existence. She wanted to tell him that it didn't matter– she'd make the same decision twice, a thousand times, but that wouldn't allay the worry. Reality had punched him in the face and marked him with two shiners.

"Ten hours or so," he said as if it was still the first half an hour.

Scully sat up in her seat. "You should take a rest. Let me drive."

"No." Mulder shook his head with pursed lips and then chuckled. "You should sleep while you can. We both know me resting is pointless."

She smiled sorrowfully, looking at her hands rested in her lap. She sighed. "None of this feels real does it?"

Squeezing her knee, Mulder spoke honestly, as soft and as mellow as the sunlight on the horizon. "You are real to me right here and now. That's all I need to get through this."

But Scully didn't ask what this was and when it would be over. She only knew she was already counting down the days. But the end was intangible and far out of sight, and counting was hopeless when it felt like starting at infinity. The one thing Scully knew for certain was that an irrevocable change had already occurred and she blinked and she missed it. She had been fighting for them, pleading for them. Just her and Mulder: that was all she wanted. And then this shift they had taken on in the last couple of days– such a short time– and she was not sure she wanted it anymore. She was beginning to get that tangy taste in her mouth like she was mourning the past and who they used to be.

Scully took a deep breath. Willing the sting away from her eyes, she expelled the air caught in her lungs, imagining the ache in her body fused to the carbon dioxide molecules and expelled also. Focusing on the sunrise, she found beauty in its nature, reminding herself of the beauty of them; all the times he had made her giggle, made her cry, made her roll her eyes.

Mulder could see Scully thinking, the lost look in her eye more familiar to him than the back of his own hand. Her silence spoke louder than any response; it whispered to him exactly what was on her mind. He knew it because he felt it too. He gently took one of the hands from her lap and held it.

The touch made Scully gasp softly, breaking her from the melody of her thoughts. It was as if he had somehow heard them. Of course, he had; they might have changed but somethings always stayed the same. Scully realised she needed him close now more than ever if she was to stand a chance of surviving. Squeezing his hand, she let him in. She missed this telepathy of theirs; messages like electricity passed through their neurons and chemically encoded between the synapse of their touch. They operated on the same electromagnetic wavelength. She smiled and squeezed his hand again.

Mulder glanced back to the gas needle, edging steadily lower. "How much money did Walter manage to get for us?"

"I haven't counted, but it won't last long anyway."

Fortunately, Scully had had the sensibility to keep the cash on her person. It was all they had left aside the clothes on their backs. Their coats and the change of clothes that were hastily packed were still in the car that Monica and Doggett had driven away and they all knew it was too dangerous now to risk meeting up.

"The next motel we come across, we'll book in–"

She looked at him cautiously.

"– Just for the night. We won't stay long, just so we can sleep on a proper bed."

"So we can stop and catch our breath," she concluded, though doubtful, running her thumb over every hill and valley of his knuckles.

"So we can catch our breath," he agreed.

The hum of the tires picking up dust and the voice of the engine marked their silence. Their long, drawn-out breaths were comforting, yet the quiet was ominous, allowing thoughts to grow like tumours, hanging uneasily between them. They had each other but what if they weren't strong enough? Mulder would have said something– anything to break the tension, but all his thoughts were made of what-ifs, and voicing them, he feared, would make them real.

Scully curled up again, protecting herself against the miasma of the silence. Concentrating on the tide of Mulder's breathing, she found a calming rhythm, watching his chest rise and fall. Knowing he was there, she managed to find peace enough to steal an hour or so more sleep.

Over the horizon came a small, dark dot, growing in size and detail. Mulder leaned forward, squinting through the dust on the windscreen. As it came approached, he thanked Scully's God for gifting an oasis. The gas station looked beaten and worn down but promised life and provisions. He made the quick decision to stop and top up on gas, water, and something for breakfast. Looking at Scully one last time, he saw her sleeping; the quiver of her eyelashes somehow anxious even during sleep. He killed the engine and got out to check the store.

It was still: quieter than Scully remembered it being. Blinking tiredly, she picked the sleepy dust from her eyes and groaned. She gasped sharply, the sight of the empty seat next to her sending her heart aflutter. She grappled at her belt for the gun she no longer had. Cursing, she ran out of the car. The beat of her feet on the ground rivaled the pound of the war drum on her chest. "Mulder?" she called but was met with no reply. "Mulder!"

Mulder came quickly through the door, a finger pressed to his lips and a brown bag in his hand. "Shh, Scully," he whispered. "It's alright. I was just getting some gas."

It was then that Scully noticed the row of pumps they were parked next to. She looked away and licked the corner of her mouth, embarrassed that she had failed to correctly assess the situation before leaping to conclusions. It was so unlike her. She was frustrated she had let fatigue and worry manipulate her so easily. It had been less than two days.

"I could have got us caught," she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Hey, none of that now." Mulder rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. He guided her back towards the car, his palm at the small of her back like a steady rudder. "We're in the middle of nowhere, nobody is going to find us out here," he calmed her, even though his heart was still racing; the fright in her shouts had shot ice through his spine.

Scully slumped into her seat, the faux safety of no-man's-land nagging at her still. "Mulder, you know better than anybody they have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Let me do the worrying for once, Scully. This one's on me."

She shook her head– she wouldn't let him bare this on his own; they were in this together. It made a small smile creep across Mulder's lips and in return Scully's brow furrowed in confusion.

"How can either of us win when we are both so stubborn?" he laughed, and Scully chuckled too. "I spoke to the owner and he said that if we head southwest, sorta back along the trail, we will end up in Rosswell by nightfall. They'll have a motel–"

"And we can breathe," she nodded, then smirked. "You just wanted to see the UFO sight, didn't you?"

"Maybe," he sheepishly replied. "I got you some of that fat-free yogurt you like for breakfast. And some bagels. You should eat something; we didn't eat all day yesterday."

Scully hadn't noticed. The gnawing of worry in her stomach had sated any appetite she might have had. She still wasn't hungry now, but the doctor in her knew she had to eat something, however hard it was going to be.

Much of the day was spent watching the sun rise overhead and munching on bagels. Scully scolded Mulder when he dipped one of his into the yogurt she had barely touched and Mulder lectured Scully about eating enough. By the time the sun began to set, they had arrived in Roswell and found a motel to stay the night. Clouds were rolling in, covering the skies from the farthest corners, and the threat of rain could be smelt on the air.

Unlocking the door, they both stepped inside a minimal, but pleasant room. Scully clenched her hands around phantom luggage itching her palms. She had the urge to unpack everything into the dresser like she always did, like on their very first case together. She peered around the door to the ensuite, seeing rows of tiny bottles and an inviting robe hung elegantly, yet groaned.

"Mulder, we are going to have to go back out for toothbrushes."

"Oh, hang on..." He rummaged through the paper bag, producing two brushes and a tube of paste. "I picked some up earlier. Sorry, they might have some bagel crumbs on."

She took them with a grin, standing on her tiptoes to press a grateful kiss to his cheek. "You're a lifesaver."

Mulder watched her disappear into the bathroom, giving her some privacy and himself some time to think. He sat on the floor, watching the rain begin to fall and the wind pick up, whipping the trees outside. Gazing out of the window, he imagined the brewing storm an omen, but one of hope. All the good things that had happened to him had been christened by torrents of rain and swirls of wind and wisps of Scully stealing small pieces of his heart: their first assignment together; their first night spent together. The weather brought the ships to port and Scully to him. Beyond the clouds he pictured his sister in the starlight twinkling brightly. He hoped his mother was up there too, keeping a watch over them both.

Suddenly, he smelt the smoke, saw it plume from the chair in the corner. He gritted his teeth. Of all the people that could appear to him...

She's been up there for a long time, you know. I thought you would have figured it out sooner.

Mulder dug his fingernails into his palms, sure the pain would snap him awake.

She saw the world for what it truly was: there's no justice... there's no cruelty either. There's simply survival. In the end, she chose not to survive. She had a choice, Mulder, what do you get?

Maybe it was all in his head. If he tried hard enough, he could make the nightmare disappear.

What did your crusade reap you? The Truth? he chuckled. Was it the truth you wanted; expected? He leaned forward out of the shadow, his dead eyes gleaming in the light. Truth is not power, in fact, it's quite the opposite: truth makes you powerless. It's been quite the burden on me; perhaps that's why I smoke so many. He slyly smiled around a wreath of white cloud. You should try it.

In the end, we all lose. That's the beauty of survival: it's only ever a temporary thing. The date is set, son. Nothing, not even you, can change that.

Fury burning through him, Mulder lept up like a lit match to a gas lamp. "And what would you know?! What did you ever try to do about it?!"

He lunged for the man, desperate to squeeze the last, dying breaths from his corpse once and for all. But as he was about to lay his hands on his sickly throat, the son-of-a-bitch dissipated as thin as the smoke he breathed, elusive in death as he had been in life. It seemed fitting. Curling his fingers through nothing but cool air, Mulder slumped back in defeat. Biting his fingernail, he thought about the truth about who he was. It occurred to him that he was lost without purpose. Although he didn't feel it yet, he recognised the impending dawn of realisation and feared it. He threw his hand out in frustration.

The truth was he had failed.

He hadn't exposed the conspiracy or brought down its organisations. He hadn't found Samantha. He hadn't been a father to William. And he hadn't been there for Scully.

The trees shook their disapproval, condemning the guilty man.

Mulder rested his head back on the mattress like he was treading dangerous waters, but his arms were limp over his knees, merely reticent about his fate. Looking back across the room, he saw Scully walk in smelling sweetly of lavender soap and looking angelic in the pale, dilapidated light. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently running her fingers through his hair and watching the storm in unison. He moved into her touch, shifting to rest his cheek against her thigh. They sat like for a while in companionable silence, reassuring one another through their touches.

When Scully crawled up the bed to lie down, she expected him to follow. When he didn't she asked, "what are you thinking? Mulder?"

"I'm thinking... I'm a guilty man. I've failed in every respect. I deserve the harshest punishment for my crimes."

Hearing the echo, Scully was thrown back to the concrete cell when he first said those words. She could tell, then, there had been a hollow complacency to his tone. Now, she only heard a conviction in his voice. It terrified her. Scully had only just broken him free of where he was being tortured, she couldn't let it live on inside of him. So, she did what she always did: countered Mulder with any sane argument she could think of.

"You don't believe that."

He was sure that he had failed as he was sure of anything. If he told Scully that it was her he had failed, she would refuse to believe him and refuse to let him believe it too. But it was true. And he dared not mention all the ways he had failed their child. Mulder sighed. "I believe that I sat in a motel room like this with you when we first met, and I tried to convince you of the truth. And in that respect, I succeeded, but... in every other way..." He thought of William swaddled in his arms when he held him for the first time– only time. He swallowed the burgeoning lump in his throat. "I've failed."

"You don't believe that either."

"Mm," he disagreed. His jaw was set. Thoughts pounded in his chest but every time he chose something to say it died a whisper caught in his throat. He finally settled for something unimportant, yet still a truth neither of them could refute. "I've been chasing after monsters with a butterfly net." He took a breath and tried again "You heard the man– the date's set. I can't change that." I can't save us. I can't make the world a better place for our son, he didn't say.

Scully wanted to shout at him that this wasn't who he was, he didn't quit so easily, he always found something worth fighting for, but she knew if she did that she would lose him forever. Taking a steadying breath, she composed herself. Keeping her voice measured, she told him what she wanted to be true. "You wouldn't tell me. Not because you were afraid or broken... but because you didn't want to accept defeat."

"Well... I was afraid of what knowing would do to you. I was afraid that it would crush your spirit." He looked into her eyes and saw a pained, mirrored reflection. In some ways, he was glad Cancer-man had told her because he could never bring himself to trample her hope, not when things were already so dire. It would break his heart.

Mulder's gaze held her fast and was as deep and cutting as the love she felt. He looked young and small and innocent like he was clutching those cloth hearts. Even then he was undeterred, never willing to give up hope.

"Why would I accept defeat? Why would I accept it if you won't?" Scully needed him to keep fighting. If he didn't, she would surely give in. "Mulder, you say that you've failed, but you only fail if you give up. And I know you-- you can't give up... It's what I saw in you when we first met. It's why I followed you. Why I'd do it all over again."

"And look what it's gotten you," he murmured.

"And what has it gotten you? Not your sister. Nothing that you've set out for. But you won't give up, even now." She took his hand, gently squeezing, hoping their neurons would connect and renew their telepathy. "You've always said that you want to believe. But believe in what, Mulder? If this is the truth you've been looking for, then what is there left to believe in?"

He glanced at the chair still coiled in that foul aroma, thought of his sister living on as bright starlight, or else he had become the thing he feared: delusional, proving all the whispered rumours true. He suspected it was the trauma or remnants from his brain disease that caused the visions, but that's not what he wanted to believe.

"I believe that... the dead are not lost to us. That they speak to us as part of something greater than us– greater than any alien force." He thought of Byers, Langley, Frohike, even Krycek. "And if you and I are powerless now, I want to believe that if we listen to what's speaking, it can give us the power to save ourselves."

"Then we believe the same thing."

Taking her cross between his finger and thumb, Mulder examined it twinkling in the streetlight made shadowy by rain. He never considered himself a religious man, could never find any divine meaning to all the heartache he had suffered. Then life had brought him Scully with her science and her faith and her love. Maybe he could believe. His thumb traveled to her lips, marveling in the warmth of her; how alive they were. When she pressed the smallest of kisses to his digit, his world shattered with clarity. He joined her like a moth to a flame, helplessly wrapping himself around her like a life ring. She lay under the crook of his nose and he anchored them together with his knee over her hip.

"Maybe there's hope," he breathed.

Scully brushed her nose along his, nuzzling like she was nodding in agreement. The hand that Mulder had nestled in the hollow of her waist repeated the motion, climbing up the side of her ribs and abseiling down, friction warming the embers of their affection. Trailing his fingers higher, he followed the swoop of her hair behind her ear, tucking the locks into place. The edge of her jaw now held delicately beneath his fingertips, he looked to her eyes, the clear crystal blue pulling that familiar tug on his heartstrings. If it was possible, Scully shifted closer. She tilted her head, lips locking onto his once, chastely making herself known to him again. And then again, he searched her out to reply with his own tender kiss. Settling into one another's arms, their gazes fell upon the smile in each's eyes, finding an easy lull.

Scully witnessed the universe turn around in his beautiful mind. The flick of his eyes now quieter, softening from tiredness and tranquility, belayed newfound contentment. Staving off her own sleep, she saw his heavy eyelids droop and close, his breathing even out, and his form relax. She pulled him closer, buried herself in his comforting smell, watched over him– his protector.

The relentless pellets of rain struck percussion against the thin roof above them. Outside, the wind picked up in moaning gale. Inside, Scully breathed, sinking further into the hold of her partner and into the grips of sleep.

#my fic #Maybe there's hope #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #txf s9 #the truth #on the run #xf fanfic

37 notes · View notes

frecklef0x · 4 years

Text

Mass Effect 1: Playthrough Masterpost

At last, I have finished Mass Effect 1!

I have heard some mutuals say they wish they could play it again for the first time, and you kind of can--through me! I’ve been posting little “episodes” of live-tweet-stream-of-consciousness as I play, and now I’ve compiled them into one post to make my life easier.

Anyway, here’s the first one, the rest are under the cut. :)

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode one

My ass looks great in this uniform, first of all

Impaled robo zombies, yikes

Cheap shot, Saren, smh. How will I pass my spectre test now?!

Why does he have robot eyes? Is he like, Geth-Turian? Why? Is he a robo zombie also? Was it the beacon???

Cool beacon nightmares, I'm sure this is fine

This Kaiden guy has implants? ORTEGA?!??!?

"Call me princess again and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor" lol obliterated

The citadel elevators are very realistic, five minutes of tense silence huh

Ya girl got a PROMOTION and a DOPE SQUAD time to catch a TRAITOR

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode two

First things first, gotta go find the blue scientist to join the gang

This galaxy is HUGE! How many of these places will I actually be able to go?!

Only two friends at a time????? D:

Ah, a distress signal, let's see wha--A DESERT CENTIPEDE NOPE ABORT ABORT

Robo aliens? In MY Theronian mining facility? Its more likely than you think

Running over dudes in my Mako is extremely satisfying tbh

*runs over geth troopers* *runs over geth armature* *runs over geth colossus* ... *backs over geth colossus*

Working elevators in the ancient ruins ✔

Oooooooh man hope this nerd is gay

Wrex, a friend of yours? Nope, not a friend, too murdery

"ShAaaAame about the ruins Shep, sOooOo much collatoral damage, SHEP" stfu Council, "ruthless" was in the resume when you promoted us, 10/10 would shoot lasers through archeological digs again

When Kaiden calls us "ma'am" I am, uh, into it

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode three

Time to talk to the gang! Gotta meet the fam proper

Oh dear seems we got a shmee of racism on board, compatriots

Wow Raina, good foot-in-mouth moment with Wrex there huh...sorry about the eventual extinction of your race, lost this round of Pain Olympics

OH SHIT OH SHIT BLUE HOTTIE BIGENDER? THIS IS NOT A DRILL???

“hi I’m Kaiden wanna hear about my last crush ;)” “hi I’m Liara wanna hear about Asari mating rituals? ;)))” damn we really slidin right into the DMs no chill

Garrus: fuck rules and red tape amiright Raina: oh u right ;)

Guess I’ll actually do a mission now LETS GO LESBIANS LETS GO

Honestly rolling out with Tali and Liara is a mood, squad goals

Raina @ every corporation on Noveria: I would sell you to satan for one(1) corn chip

This reactivation puzzle is some shit

I see some Mistakes were made

We already killing moms at this stage damn BioWare

FUCK FUCK BENEZIA KILLED ME AND I LOST A FUCKTON OF PLAYTIME

THERES LIKE NO AUTOSAVE IN THIS BITCH FUUUUUUUUU

fuck fuck fuck god damn it gotta shoot a bunch of deranged baby bug people again god DAMN IT

Okay we killed Liara’s mom in front of her hope that’s fine

And we let mama bug go free because after talking to Wrex, Raina’s like “this galaxy is a little trigger happy with the genocide, good luck out there bug mama ❤️ be cool please”

I have literally watched the scientist in the hot labs get killed three times now

So far the debreifs with the council have not gone very well

“You let bug mama go?! How many generations until they take over everything???” “My money’s on two :D Place your bets now assholes or stfu :DDD”

Asked Liara if she was okay and she seems pretty Cool With It

I hope to one day return to Noveria and Death Star it into oblivion

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode four

Talked with Tali and this situation with the Geth and the Quarians is giving me an existential crisis

You “inspect” my beautiful ship? You got somethin’ to say about my crew??? Talk shit get hit, bitch I will kill you

Yoooo my old earth gang, yeah what the hell, I’ll help ou—oh nope nvm he’s a xenophobe, you hang him and I’ll shoot his friend in the face, thx for your time

Went to the citadel to finish some assignments, left tasked with twice as many

“dOn’T cUt CoRneRs” fear not dear Kaiden, I have a permit: this piece of paper that says I do what I want

Still with the elevators, I really cannot with this

“You make it all sound so...dangerous...” ;) ;))))))

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode five

Headin’ to Virmire to rendezvous with the Salarian team

A cure for the genophase?!?!?! :D

Oh wait oh no are we for real gonna talk about destroying the cure like Wrex isn’t standing right here omg

SHIT GUYS NO NOT LIKE THIS WREX PLEASE

Phew for a conversation that basically started with guns drawn, it went pretty well... “What Saren has isn’t even a proper cure, he’s just fucking with the Krogans at this point. Are we gonna stand for that? Or are we gonna murder?” “Damn Shep, you right, we gon’ murder”

Okay Ashley, go join the aliens, try not to die

Shadow Team!🎵 tearing through the base 🎶 disabling all the defenses 🎵 (you gotta sing it to the tune of the Trogdor song)

We free the prisoners!!! :)

We shoot the prisoners??? :(

“Raina? How can you shoot them where they stand?” So it’s more merciful to let them explode? NAH FAM

This scientist is responsible for the mind control stuff? For Benezia? Fine I’ll let her go but I hope she explodes

We did not learn our lesson concerning beacons I see

Wait if even Saren is worried about his mind control ship does that mean there are larger forces involved here?

Oh. Oh fuck

Ugh Ashley I EXPLICITLY TOLD YOU NOT TO DIE

(so we really never found any info about that genophase cure huh? disappointing)

Oh Seren, you dumb dumb. You absolute fool. Clown man.

When Raina slings Kaiden over her shoulder to carry him to the ship—mmmmmmmmwoooow I am very bisexual

Bruh Raina takes every council call and she disconnects pissed off every time

WAIT I literally just hung up with the council, ASHLEY is DEAD, and Kaiden needs a DTR RIGHT NOW?!?!? Boy, NO, READ THE ROOM

This has been a stressful day

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode six

Shepard will avoid her feelings and go to Faros instead

Seeing Ashley’s figure greyed out and her locker inaccessible makes me sad

Wrex and Garrus, let’s go shoot some geth 💪

A mind controlling planet—of course!

Shep gets all her renegade points shooting capitalists

Saved, uh, about half the colonists

If I have one more bad acid trip I stg

Oh nope here’s another one

Shep needs a nap

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode seven

Ah, the council. Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal.

At least Liara is good at pep talks ;)

Joker, you cockblock

Haha DUDE we airborne, you THOUGHT

Now that I am exiled from the Citadel, guess I’ll run some galactic errands:

o Killed corporate scientists who though we would rescue them lol

o Destroyed a bunch of geth camps helping Tali on her pilgrimage

o Disabled a nuke and killed some pirates

o Shut down some evil Cerberus experiments

o And illegally traded information!

Okay time to get back on track

So we may or may not be flying to our doom

OH GOD LIARA LOVES ME!!! RAINA, YOU DISASTER, YOU DID IT AAAAAH ❤️❤️❤️

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode eight

You know what I love? Being murdered by geth armatures

All these Ilos ruins be looking the same

Security panel is only kinda helpful

Oh, luckily I know Prothean now!

“CANNOT BE STOPPED” wow very encouraging, thanks

After that super motivating message and disabling security, its time to go down, down to goblin town

Vigil? Oh word?

My girlfriend is GEEKING out

I knew something what wrong with that fucking Citadel

Vigil: information is power. Also Vigil: What does it matter why they do what they do? All that matters is you stop them

“non-essential” personnel die first, huh? GROSS, VIGIL (gotta be honest that hits different in 2020)

Garrus gets it, I knew we liked that guy

Okay, find conduit, save galaxy, break millennium-old genocide cyle, nbd

Ugh Mako you gotta do me dirty one last time I see, I hate this thing

THE CONDUIT STRAIGHT YEETED MAKO

The citadel robot says we’re doomed : )

This shootout is SO fun, seriously

Saren get it toGETHER

Renegade Raina can kill with a conversation apparently, well done then

Concentrate on the Sovereign—why am I gonna save a council that hates my guts, sorry, but I have a JOB to DO that you ACTIVELY HINDERED

Great, zombie husk Saren, just what I needed as I mull over the possible consequences of my galaxy-altering decision

GO JOKER GO

Humanity-only council seems…questionable. Raina didn’t love the council but this sits wrong. Couldn’t we just appoint a more diverse council, including a human?

Anderson seems like a good enough dude, so…we’ll see.

TIME FOR WAR BOYS, GODDAMN WHAT A GAME

62 notes · View notes

puttingfingerstokeys · 3 years

Text

A little something I whipped up for @heamatic with her Shinnok in mind.

No timeline alignment stuff here, just pure gift work based on a thread we’ve got on my RP account @bastardsunlight. Ft. Shinnok being creepy because that’s kind of his thing. Shinlao, because we haven’t come up with a ship name and I am appalled at our laxity.

Also like, I can’t believe I’m saying this but neither writer is in any way under some fucked up impression that this is a good, safe, or non-toxic ship. We use the term to describe people who are involved IN SOME WAY. That way is not necessarily healthy.

This story features no NSFW instances.

The dimly lit corridors of the Bone Temple are familiar passageways to Kung Lao as he moves effortlessly toward the audience chamber where he will soon be needed. Shinnok does not often offer his time, but today, he evidently feels generous. It is therefore his favorite creature’s duty to attend as well. Lao has long since stopped thinking of himself as a monk or even a former one, though his spiritual power is still formidable. That life is behind him. Netherrealm is—if not his home—his territory.

Emerging from a massive double door at one side of the infernal hall, he surveys the emptiness of it, the cavernous opulence of the mad god’s particular tastes. Deeper, under vents in the floor—Shinnok appreciates the screams of his captives—is the dungeon proper, though the audience hall very much resembles it. The high pillars are of dark reds, shining obsidian, and shot through with veins of other colors difficult to distinguish in the Stygian light of the realm of dishonored dead. Everything is bone and sinew and suffering here, fire and brimstone and ugly deception.

“You have kept me waiting, little one,” purrs the Elder God of Chaos from his throne. It is, naturally, constructed of bones—not all humanoid. He leans to one side and regards Kung Lao with those inscrutable eyes characteristic of his kind. “Do you wish to bring punishment down on yourself?”

“No, master,” responds Kung Lao, approaching the dais and then ascending to within reach of the massive entity’s long arms. If Shinnok wishes to pull his guts out and toss him back down like a used doll, he may do so from anywhere; why inconvenience him?

“Yet you offer no explanation…” The Elder God’s finger came out and lifted Kung Lao’s chin before sliding down his neck, over the pretty young man’s Adam’s apple, and down to collar bone and chest. He has left this one alive, appreciating the responsive heat and goose flesh of living skin. It bruises so prettily.

“I offer no excuse, my lord.” Kung Lao meets his eyes with an impertinence he loves and hates and oh he has made the right choice in this one. He had known the moment they met upon the field of kombat that Kung Lao would, indeed, make an excellent addition to his collection.

“You are wise beyond your years, it seems, if a bit pert.” Shinnok retracts his hand and waves it about. “Well, get on with it. I’ve better things to do.”

Quan-Chi materializes presently, late as well, though his arrival receives no acknowledgement whatsoever. His dark lord spares not a glance, instead watching the retreating back of the foolish monk who exchanged his own freedom for the life of his friend. Sentiment is worthless in Netherrealm and soon, the arrogant boy will learn this, if the old soul sorcerer must show him the way with his own two hands. His fists clench with the thought, imagining themselves about Kung Lao’s throat, squeezing until something breaks. The pleasure that arises from the thought sends a shudder down his spine.

Meanwhile, Kung Lao, unaware of this contemplation—or if he is aware, he cares so little, he doesn’t bother sparing the man, if a thing like Quan-Chi can be called a man, a single glance—turns to descend the dais. An oversized bone arm which has sprouted from the stone and bone floor of the mad god’s receiving hall offers itself, open-palmed, to the fallen monk. Kung Lao accepts it gracefully, laying his hand in the much larger one, knowing he has not displeased his lord on this day. The dry, brittle-feeling digits wrap gently about the young man’s hand as he makes his graceful retreat to discharge his duties.

Quan-Chi scowls at Kung Lao’s back until Shinnok actually turns his attention on his favored sorcerer—really the only sorcerer who will competently serve him with true, deep loyalty. It really is pathetic to watch, but sometimes a whipped dog is better than no dog. Shinnok has not even had to whip this one. He’s done it of his own accord.

A strange Netherrealm native (as native as anyone can be in a realm of dishonored souls and demonic constructs born of the mad god’s fits of rage), it had been he who had approached the Elder God of rot and chaos to serve him. If Lord Shinnok could be said to be grateful for anything, he might have chosen that moment when Quan-Chi’s power had drawn him to his lord and master’s prison and set about events which would eventually free and embody him. Of course they have greater plans, but for the time being, this will do.

This will do very nicely indeed, he considers, regarding his little pet’s taut backside as Kung Lao makes his way through the hall, the bone arm now sliding along with him, digging a furrow in the ground which seems to knit itself together just a few feet behind the abomination which now has its hand on the curve of Kung Lao’s lower back. Every sensation the bone arm feels, he also feels and the warmth of living flesh is delightful; he wants to grasp it hard, make the boy squeal with pain, make him bleed a little. Just a little.

Perhaps later.

“You have some… news?” Quan-Chi has been scheming—he is always scheming—to manifest his dark, mad god in Earthrealm and he clearly believes he has hit upon something. Shinnok can see it in the sparkle of the man’s eyes. Oh how he loves me, contemplates the Elder God with absolutely no reciprocity of that feeling.

“I do, my lord,” responds the sorcerer, bowing to one knee and standing to deliver his findings. Shinnok listens patiently, mind elsewhere as it must always be. He is chaos incarnate. There is little order to be had in Netherrealm beyond his absolute rule. Not much can hold the attention of an Elder God, in general, but Shinnok in particular has always allowed his mind to wander where it will. Aside from grand machinations of upset and overthrow which delight him endlessly, there is almost nothing of such magnitude in all of existence—no single object or concept which can so fascinate him. What could possibly be of such import that he, a deity, might need to focus his energies on it for any length of time? The boy, some part of his thoughts remind him sweetly. You’re quite captivated with your new toy, aren’t you? Ah but toys come and go. He will tire of this one… eventually.

That boy is now crossing the threshold of the temple’s audience hall, the doors gliding open before him. The dry heat of Netherrealm has ceased to move him and he walks out into it, ushering in the first petitioner, wondering if his lord and master will listen to this one, or slay it on sight. Any creature, demon, or lost soul who is bold enough to approach the Bone Temple and beg favors of the lord of the Realm is desperate, addled, or too cocksure for their own good. An obliteration by the death god is permanent, it is nothingness, non-existence. Somehow, that void is more terrifying by far than the screaming, burning, howling dimness of Netherrealm.

The first demon in line—he is first by virtue of having killed his way up the queue; the corpses of those before him are littered in pieces here and there as a testament to this, all still twitching and flailing as the death he grants is only pain—is a truly imposing figure, easily ten feet in height, with massive, twisted horns like a ram and a maw full of jagged teeth. His eyes ablaze with contempt. This expression does not soften when it lays its burning gaze (with all four eyes) upon the pretty, behatted monk—Kung Lao may not think of himself as a monk, but they do—but rather hardens to something bordering on obscene. The thing licks slavering lips with an exaggerated motion, clearly aiming to upset the small, soft-looking mortal, who does not respond, only gestures to the hall.

“The master will see you now,” he says in a neutral tone that betrays nothing. “Please, follow me.”

As they enter, the beast’s three-toed feet hit the ground much harder with each step than might actually be necessary, as if to emphasize his weight. Shinnok leans back upon his throne and assumes a semi-attentive posture. There is no real reason for him to pretend he cares; even the pretense is worthless, but for now, it entertains him. Some of the denizens of his realm wait the Netherrealm equivalent of months, even years, if Shinnok is indisposed and simply does not care. Lately, he has been taking more audiences, but then he has only lately had a… secretary. Kung Lao moves swiftly ahead of the demon, braid swinging tantalizingly behind his shapely back. The boy is an hourglass, upon close inspection, broad of shoulder, narrow of waist, and thick of hip and rear-end. The demon is inspecting.

“This is far enough,” instructs Kung Lao. “What are you called?”

The demon splutters with indignation. How could they not know him, the greatest general of the northern armies of Khadul, the god-king of the demons, the true creatures of Netherrealm! He has severely overestimated his importance, a grave error in the Bone Temple. The silent hall rings with its silence. An audience chamber ought necessarily to have an audience, but Shinnok prefers the cavernous immensity. It reiterates just how small his petitioners truly are. He eyes the demon, but has yet to speak. A bone arm sprouts near Kung Lao and it makes a twirling motion with its forefinger.

“Lord Shinnok bids you speak,” says the shapely boy through plump lips that look like they ought to be bruised and bloodied and used, in the creature’s foul opinion.

“I will speak,” he snarls, reaching out toward Kung Lao with the intent to brush past, “but with the lord of this Realm, he in whose temple we stand, not you, little slut. There are things I would do with you, yes, but speaking… it is not one of them.” The demon’s laughter rings out boldly into the hall, bouncing off the skulls and femurs and ribs and myriad other bones which make the walls, floor, and ceiling. Quan-Chi flinches minutely, though more at the brazenness of it than the sound. Shinnok is a statue. The bone arm has dissipated, crumbling like ash and ruin, leaving Lao alone. His lord is watching.

“No,” says Kung Lao, the syllable sharp and clear as a pretty bell rung in a mausoleum—and equally as incongruous next to the obscene, guttural speech of the demon. “No,” he repeats, “you do not speak. You bark like a mangy cur begging for scraps. Heel.”

He rushes the demon with lightning speed as it swings for him. There is a brief moment when it seems he might make a try for the beast’s sizeable testes, which swing visibly behind the scant loincloth one might say he is “wearing”. The idea occurs to him and a strange flash of melancholic amusement jolts Kung Lao’s spine before he disappears beneath his hat in a flash of red light and lotus petals. The creature, having never encountered this particular mortal, looks baffled and squats to examine the hat. Quan-Chi’s mouth opens to warn the beast of its insolence in his master’s presence, but a sharp gesture from said master silences him. His face heats with rage. How dare the boy show off this way? He will be punished—perhaps disemboweled or flayed. How delicious that would be!

As the as yet unnamed demon reaches toward the object to pick it up, the flash occurs once more and the deadly piece of headwear flips upward, turning vertically, its far edge held by the owner, the only man in any realm able to master such a strange weapon. The creature barely has time to cry out as Kung Lao draws the hat up its entirety, bisecting the thing and spilling its steaming insides along the floor. Midair, Kung Lao flings the hat, hard, toward Shinnok. Once more, Quan-Chi blanches, but the mad god catches it easily and holds it, bottom facing downward, toward his knees where he sits. This, he thinks, is the most fun I have had in millennia.

Kung Lao’s form plummets toward the gory mess he has made and for a brief, shining moment, Quan-Chi thinks perhaps he will fall and snap his neck and that will be that, one last escape attempt with the final spark of the monk’s spirit left to him. Lord Shinnok has no need of a broken doll. Of course this is a flight of pure fancy. Shinnok will find a use for that beautiful body, even broken.

Alas, rather than crashing to his death—or maiming, at least—Kung Lao’s body dives into a circle of blood, red light, once more accompanied by a flash and flurry of lotus petals. It takes only half a moment for him to repeat the trick, falling out of the hat and into his lord and master’s waiting lap. Shinnok allows the hat to settle upon Kung Lao’s head and once more tilts his chin upward so that their eyes meet.

“Far too impertinent,” he scolds, shaking his head, running his thumb over his little doll’s full, perfect, soft lower lip. Kung Lao is flushed with the pleasure of his accomplishment and hasn’t a spot of blood on his person. “Who are you to decide who I do and do not address, hmm? Is this not my domain?”

“His master would pretend it is not. One cannot serve two lords and you rule this Realm.” This is not a question, nor is it simpering. Kung Lao speaks cold, hard facts. “I merely saved you the trouble of hearing a dog bark.”

So bold, Shinnok thinks. I must curb this. But he does not punish his little favorite. The unpredictability delights him. Quan-Chi senses this misplaced delight and recedes from the receiving hall unseen, glowering over his shoulder and now hellbent on perfecting his machinations to bring his master to Earthrealm.

#violence #cc #cw #mortal kombat #kung lao #shinnok #shinlao #gift work

9 notes · View notes

nervousladytraveler · 4 years

Text

🥰👀🥰

end of year WIP meme!

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

Thanks @juicybeatles for the ask.

This bit is another modern Poldark AU. I won’t say anything else about it other than it is wholly unfinished and takes place around Christmas. If the Poldark fandom is still alive on tumblr in December 2021, I’ll post the rest (promises, promises...).

Happy New Year Everyone!

---

A Rose in December

They’d been talking for hours.

And in that time the pub had transformed itself more than once. Eerily quiet in the late afternoon, when they’d been the sole patrons in the place, then a round five o’clock someone began playing some crooning Frank Sinatra. That lasted until the after-work horde filed in, then Old Blue Eyes morphed to overly cheerful Christmas music with far too many bells. Now it was loud and crowded and would grow even more so as the night wore on. Everyone seemed to have a heightened celebratory edge as they moved closer to the holiday and a few days off.

Ross noticed she hadn’t raised her voice to be heard over the raucous. Perhaps that was deliberate? He had to lean closer to hear her.

“You know I hate the dark spicy shite breweries put out for winter. Pumpkin and clove and cinnamon--it’s disgusting. I don't want to drink my pudding and if I want mulled wine, I’ll make mulled wine,” she tried to make a disgusted face but couldn’t help laughing at her own joke. Her teeth gleamed white and her lips were inviting but it was her eyes--her bright and smiling eyes--that he found so compelling.

Ross laughed too. He noticed they were coming easier now and from deeper in his gut. With each chuckle out, a deep breath was drawn in. A new breath. He remembered this feeling. But he didn’t shy away from the familiarity. Instead he wanted to move further into it. That feeling of coming home and knowing you can open all the doors--to any room.

---

Ross woke to a blinding morning light coming in through the east-facing window behind him. It was a cold, relentless light--the kind usually found in January, reflecting off the vast expanses of frozen snow. December sunlight was supposed to be softer, more muted. But maybe it was the last night’s drink that was making his eyes so sensitive now.

He sat up and tried turning a stiff neck then stretched his arms above him. He laughed--he hadn’t had aches like these in some time.

He knew he’d be alone--that wasn’t a surprise--but he was struck by how comfortable he felt in her room after only a few hours.

Someone once told him that beds shouldn't be placed against a window--it was bad feng shui, she’d said--but it worked well in this space. There was no headboard only the long white curtains that mingled with the white bed clothes. A tall bookcase--also white--stretched nearly to the ceiling and was stuffed with all manner of books. Some smaller ones were stacked sideways, two deep on the shelf, to make room for as many as possible; piles of overflow books stood on either side. A stuffed armchair that delicately walked the line between antique and rubbish was covered with clothes. It wasn’t untidy, just lived in, inhabited by a body whose mind was perhaps occupied by other things.

On the mirror at the dresser someone had stuck a note.

Someone.

He pulled on his trousers and managed to shuffle the few feet without stumbling or finding himself unstable. That was a good sign.

“Ross--Despite your *best* efforts to keep me busy all night, I somehow managed to get up on time! I think it must be a Christmas miracle. I don’t dare wake you--I think you earned your sleep ;) I have to get to work but if the invitation is still good--and not just a drunken impulse--then I’ll come by your place tonight when my shift ends. Ring me if plans change. Last night was lovely.”

He laughed. It wasn't the drink that had inspired him to invite her over to spend Christmas with him but he had been intoxicated all the same--by her. After hours in her company, in her bed, and so close to her skin. He considered climbing back under the covers so he might find her scent lingering on a pillow.

Yes, inviting her to Christmas had been impulsive. But so was spending the night with her. Technically he’d only just met her that day.

Ross had no regrets. And he was heartened by the tone of her note. It meant he’d be seeing her again soon.

He looked around at the other items on the dresser. A cosmetic case, crammed full of brushes and eye palettes. A hairbrush with long red hairs sticking out of the bristles. An empty eyeglass case--did she wear glasses? Apparently so. A few photographs of herself when she was younger were tucked in the mirror frame. The other people in them must have remained important to her these many years later.

He suddenly felt he was prying and turned away at once. He grabbed up his shirt and went in search of the toilet.

---

“Morning,” a deep voice said without turning from the stove.

“Um, yes, good morning.” Ross tried not to mumble but realised his mouth was dry. He also thought he could taste her on his lips; he tried not to panic at the memory of such pleasure.

“Coffee?” the young man asked then placed a mug on the table in front of an empty chair without waiting for Ross’s response.

“Thank you,” Ross said and after a moment’s pause took a seat. It would definitely be rude to take the coffee and go back to bed.

“I’m frying eggs. Can I make you one too?” Was this man familiar with the routine of entertaining her abandoned guests the morning after?

“Yes, please. I’m Ross Poldark. You live here?” It sounded warmer and more conversational in his head.

“I know you, Ross. We met years ago but I suppose you don’t remember. I’m Sam.” Now Ross saw the resemblance in the eyes, the smile. He also saw the gold cross around the young man’s neck.

Good god, that’s right, he remembered now. She’d said she shared a flat with her brother but didn’t mention it was the religious one. He took a gulp of coffee hoping Sam hadn’t heard what went on behind the bedroom door just hours before.

“Melz said she was going to your place tonight for Christmas,” Sam said as he went back to cracking eggs with expert efficiency.

Melz--a family nickname but not one he’d ever used with her.

“Yes, I’m happy Demelza agreed to come. You should join us.” Another impulsive invitation. And this time it was followed with regret.

“Thank you but no,” Sam said. “We’ve mission work. It’s an important night for us.”

Of course take advantage of the sad and down trodden on the loneliest day of the year in your conversion efforts. That seems fair. He was glad Sam’s back was turned again so he wouldn’t see the undisguised disgust on Ross’s face.

“Last year we fed over 300! In one night,” Sam continued.

Shame spread through Ross’s gut. At least Sam was doing something to help those in need. Who was Ross to be so judgmental?

“Congratulations,” he mumbled. Was that the proper response? He suddenly was feeling less and less certain of himself, of his place, of what he thought he knew about her, and what he now saw he didn’t. “Does Demelza help you...in your work?” he asked tentatively.

“No, she’s too busy and it’s...not really her thing,” Sam laughed then grew serious again.

Ross wished Demelza was there to shepherd him through this conversation. She seemed to know how to frame things so the world made sense. He wasn’t sure what to say to her brother now and grew desperate to push away images from last night that flashed across his memory.

Her face, her body was so lovely as she leaned over him in her moonlit bed. Her voice soft and low yet rich as she purred his name: Ross, Ross.

“Sister works hard, long hours. She deserves to enjoy herself now and then,” Sam slipped an egg onto a plate for Ross, then fumbled to find a clean fork. “It’s nice to see her happy again.”

#WIP not RIP #poldark fanfic #poldark modern au #how long is a snippet?

34 notes · View notes

hqprotectionsquad · 4 years

Text

Dating! For Science (Kuroo x Reader)

this is for my bestie, ate, and just wonderful person to know, io!!! i’ve gotten to know you over the past few months from the network and let me tell you, it’s probably the best decision i’ve made concerning this fandom. i know this isn’t easy, but you take all of your responsibilities with such grace and i’m always inspired by you. i don’t know anyone else who would have their nickname on the server be writeiolite (lara’s #1 fan) and that just makes me so happy. you make me so happy!! because of you, i have true friends from around the world and of different ages and i actually write!! i’m so honored to know you and i just love you so much. thank you for being you, io! i hope you have a wonderful birthday <3

summary: Kuroo’s tweaking his AI program for his senior thesis and he just needs one thing left to make this true to life: a fake girlfriend. After deliberation, you step in so that he can avoid hurting his reputation and another girl’s heart. What could really go wrong? pairing: Kuroo x F!Reader tw: cursing word count: 3010 a/n: lightly inspired by Black Mirror and the episode “White Christmas” even though that episode doesn’t really have anything to do with fake dating? i was more inspired by their ability to go into someone’s mind, thus leading to the AI aspect of this fic!

There's something about Kuroo that has always drawn you to him. Maybe it was his eyes, his height or hair. You still don’t quite know. But ever since your second year of college, your eyes never left that rooster-headed man. Lucky you; he chose the seat next to yours over the other ones in the lecture hall because he claims you had the best spot, so "sitting next to you is the next best choice."

It's been two years since then, and he won't leave you alone. He insists this is for the best because his best friend doesn't attend college near you two and you're the closest friend he has. Over everyone, Kuroo Tetsurou chose you and will continue to choose you, and you don't really understand why.

The moonbeams shoot into the room through the window. Lately, you've been needing to stay over at his apartment, just to make sure he's still alive. He's been begging the world for his artificial intelligence program to work. He wants something fresh and unpredictable to present for his senior thesis, something that his classmates would envy at and the committee would be in awe of. He'll defend his program swinging, you know that for sure. After moments of just sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him hunch over his desktop computer, the chair swishes and he turns to look at you. "(Y/N), can you proofread this for me?"

“What is it?” You stand to get a closer look and you guide the chair back to the correct rotation. Your arm hangs around his shoulders as you slot your eyes to see better. “Is this a—”

“It’s a girlfriend application.”

“Tetsu, what the hell?”

“What?” His palms face towards the ceiling as his forehead creases. “I need to make my AI as accurate as possible. How else am I going to make it realistic?”

Now, you tilt your head. “You...you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

Kuroo’s lips drag into a frown and he shuts his eyes for a few seconds as if he’s shutting off the rest of the world. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“But Tetsu, you’re so charismatic. I thought you must have had a few girlfriends by now.” You think back to all of the times you’ve attended parties with him. He’s essentially been the life of the party and he’s always had people surrounding him while playing beer pong or just funneling drinks down his throat. How could have not had a girlfriend at this age considering his background?

“You don’t have to shove it in my face.” Kuroo drags his fingers down his eyes, nose, and lips.

“You’ve had hookups, I’m sure?”

“Yeah, but a girl sneaking out of my bed at seven in the morning isn’t the same as having a full-on relationship.” Under his breath, he says, “I wish it was because then I’d be having hookups left and right.”

“You’re so weird.” You laugh at his comment and soon enough, he’s laughing along with you. You settle back on the edge of the bed and he follows suit.

His body weight sinks into the mattress, bringing part of you down with him. "It's one of the last parts of the project, and you know I've been working on it for a while now. I just want my program to be as real as it can get. I know it'll be flawed, but I've got to try to make it perfect as I can, you know?"

"Yeah." You mutter, trying to drown out your blaring thoughts. What you're thinking right now...it's absurd and you shouldn't have it on your mind. But if it all worked out, then maybe you'd— "Kuroo, what if I was your fake girlfriend? For maybe a month, give or take. This way, you don't scare people off and you're with someone you already know."

You can tell he's considering it, based on the way his eyes dart in many ways. "But shouldn't the point of dating be that you get to know someone new?" Kuroo's eyebrow slides up and it's hard to believe that he's never had a proper relationship before. "I know you fairly enough."

"You know me as a friend. It's different when you approach someone as a girlfriend and it's different when it's a hookup," you justify. "I don't even know your favorite color, and I'm pretty sure you don't know mine."

"Isn't it purple?"

You'll be honest, you've never really considered yourself as a "favorites" person who naturally sought out what they loved the most. You found better use of your time instead of boring through magazine quizzes to show what you liked the best. But after thinking, you shake your head. "It's red."

“Why red?” He asks and it brings you back to all of the photos you’ve seen of Kuroo in his old high school volleyball uniform. He’s shown you many and when you first saw them, you were surprised he didn’t comment on how you were biting your lip or looking back and forth to see how he’s changed. And he really hasn’t done much of changing except for growing an inch taller and his hair being somewhat neater, but he looked so confident when he was on the court. The red fabric of his uniform hugged his figure in all the right places. The photo where he’s speaking to all of his teammates—would it be wrong to say you swooned?

It’s his color. Even now, if he searches through his drawers and checks his hangers, his current wardrobe will have splatters of red all over. Maybe red wasn’t really anything to you until you met him. Because it is his, it is now yours.

“Because it’s a passionate color. It’s love, anger, pain; it’s everything.” For a moment, you forget why you’re here and you have this stupid grin on your face, and then you remember and reality pulls you back. “I’ll be your fake girlfriend.”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t want this to be the reason why we end up falling apart, because you’re a really great friend to me and I love our friendship—” He’s speaking at a pace of a million miles a minute and you’re lucky you can even hear the words he’s saying.

You nod your head once. “I’m sure.”

While you don’t start off anything that day because Kuroo said he wanted to plan everything out before you begin, you also take that day to just be friends and bask in the current relationship you have with one another. Everything’s going to change from this point on, and you know it and he knows it.

You’ve got to admit it; the next time you meet, you’re scared of what’s to come. How do you greet him? How will he take all of his emotions and collate it into data for his prototype? Don’t you feel like you’re being used?

But you volunteered for this. You told him he should date — fake date — someone he already knows. You just wanted that person to be you. Seeing him with someone else would just be twisting a knife into your side. At least you get to control your feelings in this situation.

“(Y/N), it’s good to see you,” Kuroo greets you as you find him in the restaurant you were meeting in. He stands to hug you and you’ll admit, he’s actually trying to form a meaningful relationship, of some sort at least.

“Thanks for buying me dinner, boyfriend,” you wink as you say the last word. He even pushes in your chair when you go to sit. Kuroo settles across from you. He mentions something about already ordering for the two of you but you can’t really focus because he’s wearing an outfit you’ve never seen before. Yeah, those are jeans and a t-shirt, but his winter coat hugs his sides in a way you’d never expect. Your hope is that he actually dressed up for you.

After a waiter comes by your table to place your plates of noodles, Kuroo unloads his information for the AI prototype and he’s not afraid to release it all at once.

“So I have these guidelines I typed up for you,” he hands over this folder. It’s incredibly neat, as you expected of him, but there has to be over ten pages in here. Guessing by the first page, none of the papers will have blank space. “It’s just outlining my hypothesis, my expectations, all of that. You might not have to read it all because it's mostly for my records, but I highlighted the things that I think would be most helpful."

You wipe your hands with the napkin from the table and sift through the materials. "Tetsu, you highlighted mostly the whole thing," you mutter. Taking a glance at the expectations page, you raise your eyebrows. "You said that you expect to not fall in love with me?"

Kuroo bites his lip. "It's more like if I write that down, then it has a better chance of coming true. You'll only need to date me for as long as I need to collect experiences and data. I don't want to let you go as a friend."

You don't bother to respond because you've moved on to the rest of the page. "Wait, you want us to consummate our relationship?" You say this almost too loudly, and Kuroo taps your hand repeatedly to tell you to lower your voice. You press your palm to your lips and after seeing nobody is looking in your direction, your hand returns to the table. “Are you being serious here, Kuroo?”

Kuroo sighs. "I was just thinking that sex would also help in gaining experience."

“You’ve had hookups before.”

“Well, isn’t sex different if you have it with someone you’re dating?” Kuroo can’t quite meet your eyes when he says this.

“So what, we’re essentially friends with benefits now?” You bite back your silly smile and wait for his reaction.

His mouth opens and closes. Finally, he says, “I don’t want to say yes, but basically.” After a beat, his words rush out, “You’re still my girlfriend. That’s established. Girlfriend with many rules and such. Fake girlfriend.” He emphasizes on the word fake, and suddenly, it becomes your least-favorite f-word.

Still, you smile. “Fake girlfriend it is.”

You’re thrown into everything pretty quickly. He introduces hand-holding, and soon after, kisses. He’ll come pick you up after your classes for dates. “For science,” he says all the time. You really can’t believe he’s not your real boyfriend because he’s such a great kisser and after this all ends, his lips will no longer belong to you. Your heart says you should, but knowing he literally writes down his observations after you do anything romance related, your brain says absolutely not.

Now, it’s been about three months since you’ve began “dating” Kuroo Tetsurou. He blames the duration of time on the project, and now, this contracted relationship has an "indefinite" completion, says Kuroo. Through all of the dates, cuddling, and etcetra, he’s probably the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. That’s not saying too much, but whoever you date next will not be able to match up with Kuroo. There are definitely times when you forget that this is all for his artificial intelligence thesis because it all feels so natural, especially when you hold his hand while walking down the street, and when you catch him smiling down at you just for a few seconds. He’s not perfect and you hate it when he talks with food in his mouth, but everything else is pretty good.

Or at least you thought.

“(Y/N),” he calls out when you’re at his apartment on a Saturday afternoon. Nowadays, you’re at Kuroo’s place. You have study sessions with him, eat dinners, and close off nights with his arm around you when you watch a movie. He’s seen almost all the parts of you and you don’t even mind. He molds a spot for himself in your heart and he doesn’t even know it. All he knows is that you’re the fake girlfriend for his project, and maybe a trial girlfriend before he truly finds the one he loves.

You’re digging into the refrigerator, scanning the shelves and drawers to find a perfect movie snack. Would chocolates and gummy worms go well together? Or maybe fruit for a change...

“(Y/N), come here,” Kuroo reiterates as he’s relaxing on the couch in the other part of the apartment. After you find your snacks — you give into the dark chocolate to pair with the salty popcorn — you make it over to the living room, settling the candy on the coffee table.

“What’s up, babe?” Pet names flow out easy like the water in a river and you don’t know when it started, but it turns out Kuroo has taken a particular liking to this one. You settle in close, tucking yourself into his side with his arm still resting on the top of the couch.

“I was thinking about the AI thing,” Right, because this isn’t supposed to be real. “I think sex is the next thing we have to accomplish and I think that’s essentially all I need for the project.”

You have to blink a few times, just to make sure those were the words that came out of his mouth. You shift your body to face him and you’re no longer pushed to his side. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Kuroo shrugs with his lips pressed together. There’s a chill that rushes through your body. You should have stuck to the contract because you know Kuroo did. You know that he did not stray from it for a second, despite all of the hugs and kisses you’ve shared. You knew this was coming, yet you still don't want to see it in front of your face. The two of you live in this cloud of smoke that this project has forged, and Kuroo will be fanning it away soon.

You don't know what to say anymore. On one hand, it would be simple to ignore your sense of direction and throw away every platonic feeling you have for Kuroo, just to try and work out a relationship without strings. On the other hand, your actions directly affect Kuroo and you'd feel horrible if you messed up his project, whether if it was because you abandoned ship or acted on your feelings and your relationship turned sour.

Any way you think of it, nothing comes out right.

“(Y/N), come on, talk to me.” He pats the hand that rests in your lap, but still, your head won’t get out of this fog. Is this what it’s been this whole time? You should have paid more attention to yourself, to see the exact point where you let yourself go and live in this cloud of smoke.

“I don’t know what to say.” You don’t look at him. “Is it wrong to say that I don’t want to do it? That I feel used?”

“You said this was like friends with benefits when we first began. You saw and read everything in the folder I gave you. This isn’t supposed to be real, we were supposed to be together for this project.” Kuroo sighs. “For God’s sake, (Y/N). You offered. You literally offered, and you did not have to do this.”

If you felt like crying before, well, now you’re really crying. You’re trying to have some sort of semblance of a composure, but with you wiping your eyes with the back of your hands every few seconds, it’s hard to know what exactly you’re feeling.

“(Y/N)...” Kuroo longs to reach for you, but you shift farther from him on the couch, making creases in it. You’re sure he feels like the bad guy now, but this is nothing but your fault, and you’d like to own up to it, if only you’d stop fucking crying. “(Y/N), come here.”

When you finally look up at Kuroo through your oceans of tears, you can’t tell if it’s your currently impaired eyesight or if he’s also shedding a few tears.

“Look, I like you a lot, and I like you romantically. I won’t lie about that. I have for a long time, and when you said you’d be my fake girlfriend, I was scared. I’m not the best at knowing lots of things that aren’t academic, but I know for sure that these things never turn out right.” Kuroo takes your hands when you inch toward him. He rubs the back of your hands, the pads of his fingers sopping up your fallen teardrops. The man here is unfolding the hardened layers he used to have, revealing his softer insides. “Fuck, maybe I thought,” Kuroo stops to stand and pace back and forth in the room you’re in. “Maybe I thought if I threw myself into my work and take everything logistically and treat it like a project with no feelings, then it could all be justified in my head.”

You don’t know what else to think, so you just do.

You mute his next words with your lips and when you release, you’re sure you look like a mess with the tear stains along your face, but he tells you you’re beautiful anyway.

“Be my girlfriend. My real girlfriend. Nothing for the project, though I’m pretty sure I had enough data from the point of two weeks in.” There’s Kuroo’s cheeky self, the one you’ve known and been longing for.

“You’re so stupid.” You roll your eyes. “God, my boyfriend is so stupid.”

He lifts you into a bridal carry, the crook of his elbow caressing the back of your knees. “Do I still look stupid?” But he doesn’t let you answer his question. His lips are on yours. Your hands press against his cheeks and his hair brushes against your face.

“I like you a lot, stupid.”

“And I like you a lot too.”

general haikyuu tag list: @dorkyama @kingkags @clowninfortodoroki @ykchaos @kingkagss @alienvarmint

please let me know if you’d like to be removed from the tag list via ask!

navi! | master list | tag list form

#haikyuuwritersnet #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu writing #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu writer #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu one shot #hq!! fanfiction #kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo x y/n #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo one shot #nekoma #nekoma x reader

144 notes · View notes

jengajives · 3 years

Text

Did a collection of defining moments for my Tolkien OCs a while ago and finally decided to post it. Got eight or nine different characters here depending on how you count.

When Agzil gasped, it brought nothing but a cold ash into his lungs. His limbs trembled. Even on all fours, they nearly didn’t have the strength to support him. An elbow buckled and he fell to a forearm instead, forehead hitting the dusty ground, flooding his eyes, nose, and mouth, with the same thick, grey soot that covered everything here. “You talk back again, maggot, and the Lieutenant won’t be so friendly!” The orc captain had a strong Lugburz accent. She was from here- the land of endless burning and choking and death. Made Agzil’s head spin. He obviously had done something wrong in his non-reaction, though, because the whip cracked across his back again with a blinding white-hot agony that dropped him flat to the earth. “Enough!” he heard Mirci crying, so distant he almost didn’t comprehend the words. “You’ve taught him your lesson, now leave him!” “You keep out of this, tinkerer!” Agzil breathed a lungful of soot so foul it made his lungs spasm. He coughed into the ground, and slowly raised himself to his forearms again. He could go no further. “You keep sticking out your neck for Gundabad trash, one day it’s going to get sliced!” the captain roared in the background. “Master may like your big metal beasts, but they done us no good! Done disrupted our ranks, made us look like fools- don’t you know we’re at war?!” When a voice spoke out from behind them all, somehow Agzil instantly knew it was not the voice of an orc. The Dark Master had Men in his armies, too, but as far as Agzil knew, Men didn’t speak the Black Tongue, and this newcomer used it with a natural and melodic lilt. Agzil wished he knew Black Speech. The captain barked something back in the same tongue, then Mirci spoke up in Common. “It wasn’t his fault, sir. It was my machine what went wild. Drive gears broke and the whole thing-“ She stopped abruptly. Agzil imagined this newcomer raising a hand in the way he’d never known a real general to do, and the fear that shot through him was icy and cold at the idea that this might be the Lieutenant of the Tower himself. Something sharp and cold tucked beneath his chin. Agzil felt a trickle of blood down his throat, and he worked to raise his head with the only strength he had left. His eyes met the empty, blank pits in a mask of iron, regarding him expressionless and still. He’d never seen Garavdúr before, but he knew what the War Wolf was meant to look like, and so of course he knew what he was faced with now. His entire body trembled, waiting, staring. Garavdúr did not speak for a long moment. Finally he lifted his sword away from Agzil’s throat and let his head fall, muttering softly as he did. “Pathetic creatures...” The heavy metal footfalls moved away. Agzil laid in the dust for a while before he raised his face again. Mirci’s head was there, coated now in black blood and ash, a few feet from where her body lay crumpled and lifeless. Agzil put his forehead in the dust again. The captain gave him another taste of lashing when he did not try to get up.

Thet wished her mother would loosen up on her hand so she could get closer to the extremely hot molten metal, but unfortunately, it seemed her parents were somewhat responsible. They were traders and always had been, and Thet had seen so many different types of places- dwarf-keeps and hobbit villages and little towns of Men- but never before had she seen metal being worked. It was stunning. “What is it going to be?” she asked eagerly, reaching out a hand as if she could touch the white-hot goop. The smith paused and flipped back the heavy iron mask to reveal fair golden hair and a beard done into neatly capped braids. Her face was smeared with soot. “Going to be a knife someday, little one,” she said in a kind and rumbling voice. “Maybe you’ll use it to cut up your dinner.” “Could you make it a necklace?” Thet asked instead, very eager. They had one necklace in the family; her father wore it at all times and she would recognize the dull reddish gold anywhere. There was a garnet set into the middle. She really liked the chain- how delicate and yet sturdy every individual link was. It was fascinating every time her father let her play with it. The smith looked at her and gave a friendly smile, then reached down with a pair of heavy clamps and broke one small section of the metal off. She twisted it into a crude spiral, bent a thin loop over the top, and then plunged it into her bucket of water. There was a hiss and a rush of steam went up from the boiling liquid. Quick as could be, the smith pulled the spiral out with another clamp and laid it on her table. She produced a length of thin leather from a pile nearby and slipped its end through the loop, and tied it off to create a loose circle. She held the trinket out in a gloved hand. “You be careful now. It’s hot.” Thet squirmed free of her mother’s grip and scurried forward on her crutch. She wrapped her hand in a length of her cloak so she could accept the gift. It was tarnished and none too shiny; just a simple lump of steel crudely wrought into a pendant of sorts, but to Thet’s young eyes it was the most astonishing gift she had ever received. Something made just for her, only for her. Never had she had anything like it. She gripped it tight, pulled it close and looked up eagerly at the tall smith turning back to her work. “I’m going to be just like you someday!” The smith smiled and rustled a hand through the young dwarf’s hair. “You’ll need a good bit of beard before that, little one. Take good care of your necklace.” And Thet never let that shoddy piece of metalwork leave her side.

There was no silence after battle. Corien could only hear the groans of the dying. Flames crackling cruelly in the grass. Huff of beasts and screams carried far away from the walls of the burning city. Orcs that were not quite dead gurgled when he vaulted past. Men that weren’t quite dead begged and choked and sang in shaking, weepy voices. All of it was blurry. Smeared. Nothing real, no sound registering to his battle-worn ears. The only things he heard were the cries of bowstrings, and a clash of steel on steel and wood on stone and metal creaking and screaming and tearing apart. “Halbarad!” he screamed into the settling night. It was lost amidst the identical calls coming up from other places on the field. Other brothers and sisters found hewn, children lifeless, friend and lover ripped apart. Everyone was out to collect their dead. The ribbon tied to the haft of his spear fluttered lightly in the breeze that swept up from the river. It had been blue this morning. It was splattered now with black and scarlet, bruised and sickly beyond repair. He threw the spear aside when he at last saw the gleam of silver against a cloak of bloodstained grey. It took both hands to roll his brother face-up. The silver star Halbarad had always worn on his cloak was shiny and clean, but it was about the only thing left recognizable. Corien’s fingers trembled uncontrollably as he pushed the earth brown hair out of his brother’s face. Blood caught on his fingers and colored his palm scarlet, so he left red smears on the eyelids when he closed those familiar ice-grey eyes. “Halbarad,” he said. His voice sounded so steady it would have surprised him, had he actually believed it was he himself speaking. There was no way it could be. No way he could form the words. “Don’t.. Don’t be dead. You can’t be dead, I- I need you. Please don’t be-“ His eyes travelled slowly to the gashes that tore his brother from jaw to belly and the words broke on a sob. He thought he might have screamed, but so many others were doing the same thing that he couldn’t pick his own voice out from the roar.

Mosco sat listening to the bees. His back rested against the thick grey bark, and his legs were up on a bough, and around his head bees danced from flower to flower in an endless choreographed routine. They were right smart, bees. His ma always said so. They talked back and forth, spoke in their own special language of waltz. Ma used to say that the Greenhands were honey farmers because they had dancing in their blood, and that they and the bees were one and the same. He’d fallen asleep tucked into the branches of his peach tree. The sun was growing low, and at this rate he’d miss his own nineteenth birthday party, but the woods of the Southfarthing were beautiful at sunset in the summer, and he thought he might go for a walk. The grass felt good on his bare feet, if a little cool. His hair hadn’t grown in all proper yet, so sometimes his toes got chilly and he had to embarrass himself wearing socks, but he just chalked that up to his being a “late bloomer,” as Ma put it. He was just out of season. He’d ripen up someday. The birches that made up the part of the forest closest to the farm soon gave way to wrinkly old pines with boughs hanging heavy and dark over their beds of needles. Mosco hummed a walking song, not at all caring for a track to follow, but wandering aimlessly and contemplating his own infinite nineteen-year-old wisdom. The smell of rot stopped him just before he put his foot into it. Beneath the overhanging crypt of the pines, a deer lay dead. Its skin was drawn thin over bones that poked halfway through, and underneath he could see a red-yellow ooze that leaked out into the forest floor. This, he guessed, was what smelled so foul and attracted the bugs. Beetles crawled in and out of the dead animal’s empty eye sockets and nostrils. Worms pitted the parts of its muscle still intact. Mosco saw eggs peppering the ragged hide like white trees in a minuscule forest. His family didn’t eat much meat. They never slaughtered it themselves if they did. He couldn’t think of a time he’d seen a real dead thing. When he got home, he declined the offer of birthday cake and went right to bed, and dreamt of squirming things that burrowed down to lay their eggs in pits beneath his flesh.

Cypress knelt next to the crime scene and tried very hard not to cry. Stuff like this didn’t happen in the Shire. It wasn’t meant to happen. A whole crowd of people looked at her with big, terrified eyes, expecting her to lead them. To tell them what to do in this moment because she was the mayor and she was meant to know. Blood had never been spilled like this. Woodhall’s history was a peaceful one and nothing like this had ever happened before. She looked at the assembled group. It was hard to seem like she wasn’t completely out of her depth, because her voice squeaked rather loudly. “We... We should bury them, yes?” At once the hobbits broke into cries and murmurs that all laid over each other into a horrific cacophony. “They took half the year’s stock!” “How did they get past the borders?” “Why didn’t we know they were coming?” “Are we going to get my honey back?” The last voice was that of Mosco Greenhand, who looked as devastated as the rest, but with an air of determination in his eyes. Cypress raised her hands to quiet the townspeople. “Look, I know this is a lot to process and we can’t understand it yet. But the first thing we ought to do is give these three brave souls who gave their lives for the good of Woodhall a proper burial, yes?” A general murmur of agreement. Cypress looked down at the fair faces she had known, the throats and bellies split by goblin blades, and it made her feel desperately ill. This horror could not be left unpunished.

Sometimes, when Astorrel went to sleep, she had a nightmare. It was always the same one, and it always came on when she decided to rest like other creatures did and actually close her eyes for hours. So, naturally, she avoided doing so. Rested on her feet and never let her guard down while she did it. She never had liked sleeping anyway. Never had any reason to do so for the better part of an age. Lina changed things, though. Lina liked it when Astorrel was there to share her night and her dawn, sleeping and waking, both together as equals. And of course, Astorrel liked to be there when Lina wanted her, and she liked to be close to her beloved, so of course whenever she could she shared Lina’s bed. Made the nightmares come back though. In the deepest hours of the night, when Lina was still and the moonlight slanted in through the window to paint her brown skin silver, Astorrel would lie stiff with her eyes open and nonseeing, and she’d tremble. She knew that in the dream- at least, in parts of it- she was her father. She carried Mirlach, but the blade was younger and the gem hadn’t yet fallen from its hilt. The whole sword always seemed darkened and scarlet-stained to her, and sometimes it dripped. She would hold the fire of the Silmaril and scream and scream as the agony of it withered her flesh away and the stench of rotting burn rose hotly to meet her nostrils, and she would see everything that Maedhros had done to hold the heirloom of his house in his hand, and how in the end, the reward of the quest became its doom. She would feel the irrepressible heat of smoldering, burning rock, and taste the earth as it pressed in, swallowed, took her and her cursed Silmaril into its throat and entombed them there forever. And the dream let her lie, suspended there in agony, the unseen gem scorching her hand to withered bone and the rock pressing in on her, for the entirety of the rest of the world. When she woke up with her hunting knife in her hand, dangerously close to Lina’s back, she decided abruptly she would not be doing this again. She left the cottage that morning before dawn. The next occasion she saw her Lina was on the day she died.

“You’re doing it again,” Léothain said, pulling Wulfrun’s focus away from the herders leading in a group of freshly adult horses to settle in the city. “You don’t really think she’s going to be there, right?” Wulfrun flushed and went back to sharpening her sword. Behind her, Léo plucked the last piece of laundry from the line and waltzed over with his basket against his hip. He stood next to Wulfrun, who sat silent on the stone step and watched young horses and rough herders pass the house by. They didn’t come into the city much; spent most of their time in the downs and the fields tending to their herds. Wulfrun had heard they were capital horsemen, and they guided the herds well enough through the winding lane of Edoras, riding without saddle on their sturdy, gleaming mounts. The horses they were leading in were meant to be ridden in battle. She could tell from the way they moved; so confident with strength and quiet grace, heads set proudly. She’d have one someday. Her fa made enough as a carpenter, but wasn’t much for travel, and they only had one horse for the three of them. The fat little thing was functional enough, but far from the mighty steed Wulfrun dreamed of. “You’re going to be really lucky if you see her again,” said Léo in an irritating sort of singsong voice. Wulfrun scowled at him. The sharpening stone swept over her worn blade again. Again. When most of the herd had passed, she finally found what she’d been seeking. At the rear of the group, riding a tall, shimmering palomino, came the girl. She looked just a little older than Wulfrun’s proud fifteen. Her face gleamed sunshine golden, and the dark hair that should have been dyed probably yellow was grown out and black down to the ears. She wore sturdy, battered clothes like the rest of the herders, but her eyes shone a brilliant black from her regal face. She saw Wulfrun looking and waved. Wulfrun wished she knew her name. She waved back.

Riston wasn’t his proper name. He didn’t know what it was. Could be Jett. Pierson. Randy. Likely he had a family name, too, though he had no guesses as to what it could be and all the Bree names he’d ever heard seemed bizarre and strangely food-centric. He didn’t want to have a real name. He just wanted to be Riston of the elves. Riston of the Havens. That was who he was. He sat on the big smooth rock on the west side of the harbor and plucked absently at his lute strings. Nothing sounded right. Nothing fit how it was supposed it. He was meant to leave in the morning. Head east and find who he actually was. He didn’t want to go. What’s a name matter? he thought as he crossed his legs and tried to let the waves paint a tempo into his mind. Anything he tried to make manifest withered away. I know who I am. This is my home. A discordant note. He tried to retune, very aggressively. Even if I find my family somehow, it’s not like my Westron is good enough to communicate with them. His fingers clenched. It’s not fair. They can’t just ask me to leave like I’m some guest who’s worn out his- One of lute strings snapped against his fingers and on a deep-gut impulse he slammed his fist into the instrument’s wooden body. A crunch, and he’d broken his most prized possession. Riston sat for a moment, slowing his breathing, taking stock of the fist-shaped hole splintering his delicate elf-made lute, the most beautiful thing he’d ever owned. Then he put his face in his hands and started to cry.

#jenga makes junk #fic #tolkien oc #agzil #garavdur #thet #corien #halbarad #mosco #cypress #astorrel #wulfrun #riston #tw gore #tw death #tw rot #i have so many ocs it is not fair

6 notes · View notes

halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

TLTNL- NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE

"I'm sorry," Harry said at once, dying to know the name of this brother as he felt entirely sure he'd heard of for some strange reason. It was odd though, as he was confident he'd never even met another Black besides his godfather, but there was something he was missing in that connection-

This was clearly the wrong response though, as Sirius snorted softly and shook his head, waving the apology off and muttering, "nah, just surprised me a bit. We were only close before I started school, then I think we never had more than one proper conversation." His face twitched for a moment as 'conversation' was not the right word to describe his last real meeting with his brother.

Quickly forcing himself to stay on track he smirked, "Thinking about making a toast my deranged parents have finally gone beyond the veil though. Just, you know, thought my brother really was smarter than what I knew he was going to do." Really, the blow wasn't hitting anywhere close to him finding out he was going to lose James. It wasn't even that hard to imagine, as Sirius had told Regulus this was his fate when he went to join Voldemort's crew. Still, the thought wouldn't quite hit the smug feeling he thought he'd have at being right. He'd said a lot of harsh things to Regulus during their last meeting, and he had in return. Now there was a highly likely chance they'd never even make up for it.

What he was really left wondering was how soon until it happened? Had someone in the Order already done him in without even realizing it? They didn't always take off those Death Eater masks when they did a body count as more often than not they were in a hurry after those kinds of fights happened.

Remus wouldn't let him linger on the thought long though, an odd twisted smile in place as he said, "I'm trying to figure out how this even came about? The last place on earth you'd have a poke around after you got out was this place to even realize you were now the only heir.”

Sirius could only shrug for that, almost wishing Remus was joking, but even now he couldn't imagine the point in looking up where his Death Eater of a brother was staying, Sirius couldn't imagine he'd have bothered looking him up after twelve years in Azkaban.

James was watching Sirius' face become steadily more drawn with confusion as he kept thinking about this, so he butted in saying, "no offense Sirius, but I still can't imagine why the Order wound up there. Last I heard, you weren't even in line to posses such a treasured object as the Black house." The way he said treasured object made it sound like a bomb about to go off.

"I've no clue," Sirius shrugged. "She may have disowned me and blasted me from that stupid wall, but maybe the blood magic binding that house never left, or she couldn't figure out how to erase me from it." Then his eyes brightened as he truly grasped what he was saying, and he full out laughed. "Merlin's Holy Socks, that place is the Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters! Oh this is brilliant! That woman's surely having fits in her grave!" He dissolved into insane giggling that James quickly joined in on.

Remus passed Lily the book and Lily quickly gave her child to James as she went to start, trying to ignore the boys while Remus still had an unfocused gaze. Sirius may enjoy the irony for now, but he'd seen his friend the last time he'd been at that place, and he wasn't looking forward to hearing how Sirius was going to be acting inside that house. He found it funny from the outside, where the description had fallen so far none of them would have even guessed it as the same grandeur place of Sirius' childhood home, but even knowing what it's usages were, he was sure old Padfoot was trying to spend more time out of that place than in it. He probably wasn't even there now when Harry arrived, or maybe he would brave those dank walls again to see his Godson. It was an honest coin toss.

Harry began to ask what the Order was, but Moody cut him off to wait till he was inside.

"Which reminds me," Lily butted in before they could go too far into the story and she could question this now after Sirius had gotten over his shock. "What even was the point of Dumbledore writing you that note just as you were outside the house? Surely if he wanted you to know the address they'd have just given it to you at the Dursleys. What's the point of the note at all?"

"Hope I ask Dumbledore," was all Harry could say.

Moody took the parchment back and set it on fire while Harry reexamined the houses. There was an eleven to his left, and a thirteen on his right, but no twelve in sight.

Sirius blinked in confusion as he again recalled such a disgusting neighborhood that seemed to have fallen well out of shape from his time there. Surely that had all happened after everyone was dead, but what on earth was happening to make the house completely not there? There was already a ton of enchantments set in place so that no one could enter unless they were invited in, how much more had Dumbledore done to the place to make it safe?

Harry again began to ask where this place was, but Lupin whispered for Harry to think of the note he'd just read.

Just as he finished, a battered door appeared from nowhere right in between the two existing places.

"What in the world?" Remus demanded as he studied the book like it too would suddenly grow its own house.

"That sounds like the Fidelius Charm,"* Lily wrinkled up her own brow as she tried to understand this magic she'd never seen used. Her hand automatically sought out her husbands and they held tight to each other for a moment as they remembered all that spell would lead to for them.

Sirius' face had screwed up with the force of his trying not to automatically start screaming and shouting at the mention of that Charm again, what he'd lead his best friend into all because of his mistake. He couldn't fathom a second how he'd ever worked out that rat was in any way a better option than Remus or even himself, this is what he got for trying to be clever with some decoy, his friends death. Merlin they should have just used Harry since he couldn't have given the location to anyone!

Remus gave Sirius' shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, whispering some words of comfort, but still waiting for Sirius' terse nod before waving Lily to continue.

Like someone was inflating a house, walls and struts began spanning into sight, pushing the other two houses away to make room, but the stereo in elven kept thumping on, not a light flickered anywhere, no one seemed to notice such a thing but him.

Then Moody was prodding Harry in the back to get him moving again.

Sirius was now in far less of a good mood as he imagined going back into that house for even a second, not even the thought of his old hag of a mother's angry face could make this amusing anymore and now he hoped he'd just spot Harry coming in and drag him right back out for some quality time.

Harry uneasily followed up the crumbling steps to the shabby black door that only had a serpent doorknocker with no other decoration.

Lupin pulled out his wand and tapped it to enter, and then Harry was pushed inside while being whispered at not to touch anything.

"You guys were starting to freak me out." Harry hadn't meant that to come out as a whisper, but the mention of that charm had seemed to sap all life from the room and he couldn't think of anything better to say.

"That's sound advice though," Sirius ground out for Remus. "That place is a walking death trap if you don't know what you're doing." It wasn't even entirely the house's previous occupants, there were a lot of objects in that place even Sirius had never fiddled with too much after he'd once seen Regulus stick his nose into a box and come back out with it almost scale covered. His mother had fixed him right and then scolded Sirius for letting his brother play in that room.

Sirius couldn't help it, his original good mood on the subject had vanished, and the more he thought about it the more he realized he didn't care of how much good use it was being used for, he really didn't think it was worth it just for all the memories that were sweeping him he'd thought he'd repressed because of this place.

Harry stepped over the threshold into the almost total darkness of the hall. He could smell damp, dust and a sweetish, rotting smell; the place had the feeling of a derelict building.

Harry was watching Sirius growing more and more agitated as this carried on, and Harry was starting to feel the same way. Harry could just feel the emptiness and hatred pouring out of the walls of that house and something of thinking about Sirius in there cut him deep, which was odd when he blinked again and felt like he'd grown used to the old building...

The rest of his guard piled in behind him, though none moved past towards the stairs or the entrance to a lower set of stairs. Instead they waited for Moody to release all of the lights back to the street, and come back inside to break his Disillusionment charm. Then they all still remained quiet and still while Moody got some light going.

"Why are they still whispering when they're inside?" Lily asked in confusion, her own voice sounding a little loud in the suddenly eerie quiet of this room, but she wanted to at least try and keep some level of normal about them.

Sirius wasn't helping, for once he seemed to have no need to voice his opinion about anything as he just shrugged and kept his eyes on the fireplace instead of that book.

The others hushed voices were giving Harry a feeling of foreboding as he kept trying to pick out details in the gloom, from the dusty creaking floorboards do the dust covered chandelier above and the multiple picture frames that hung crooked on the wall.

James watched a smile creep back across Padfoot's face, but it was a twisted looking thing full of mocking hatred that his mother's precious house had clearly fallen into such disrepair.

He could also detect soft scuttling of little feet just out of sight and more serpents shaped into legs of tables.

Then he heard distinct footsteps, and Molly Weasley arrived from the bottom hallway.

Harry at first felt a smile flash across him at her reappearance again, then he blinked and all of those feelings he'd felt over that summer began simmering just under the surface as he muttered, "so Ron's really there, right at Headquarters."

Remus gave Harry an uneasy look for that tone, but had no real response for him. He wanted to say more than likely that their kids were all old enough to be home alone at the Burrow, but even that wouldn't have felt like much comfort to Harry as he could have just as easily been there with them as well.

She beamed at the sight of him, though Harry noticed she looked much more pale than the last time he'd seen her.

Lily sighed in sympathy, she knew she often looked just as strained after Order meetings.

She greeted him at once with familiar kindness, already saying he looked too peaky,

"He always looks peaky after he leaves that place," James grumbled.

after releasing him from a forceful hug, but he'd have to wait for dinner. Then she turned to the others and said that he'd arrived, the meeting had started.

"Finally," Sirius muttered, "I'll consider this whole place worth a visit if you go give Dumbledore a good telling off for your summer."

Harry made some frustrated little noise both in agreement, and depressed that he wasn't even a little convinced this happened.

The trope began heading down the hallway, but when Harry tried to follow Lupin Mrs. Weasley caught him.

"Hey," they all suddenly pouted. Harry'd been left with nothing for a month, how long was he going to keep being held back?

She told this was for Order members only.

"You mean Harry isn't automatically one?" Sirius began glaring at once. "I mean, he's kind of the whole reason the Order exists again, I think that automatically qualifies you."

Lily watched the boys around her automatically agree, but suddenly some of her protesting dimmed as she glanced down at her infant. She of course would be going crazy not knowing what was going on, she certainly was during school with no way to help. That didn't mean she wanted to toss her son into this though, she was fighting now so her little infant never would have to. She couldn't claim she was really against him sitting in on this either, but she just wished he didn't have to.

Ron and Hermione were upstairs and he would wait with them. She'd show him the way, and insisted he keep his voice down.

Harry asked why, and she said she didn't want to wake anything up.

"I meant why can't I come, but that's odd too," Harry rolled his eyes.

He tried to ask what, but Mrs. Weasley said she'd explain later, she was in a hurry, she'd just show him to the rooms.

"So he's going to stay there the rest of the summer?" Lily blinked in confusion, not really wanting to imagine her son sleeping in that place, couldn't he just Floo to the Burrow from there?

Her question was drowned out by Sirius' louder one though.

"Why is Molly even the one doing this at all?" If Sirius' face got out any more sour, he'd have that puckered expression made permanent. "I should be the one up there greeting my godson, and I'd let him down there. What's she think she's doing?" No meeting should be important enough it would stop him seeing Harry again.

Remus could only offer his original idea, "Maybe you're not even there, even now imagining trying to get you inside there would be a living nightmare. It would be easier to train a niffler."

Sirius just huffed and grumbled something as he didn't find this a better answer.

Pressing her finger to her lips, she led him on tiptoe past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains, behind which Harry supposed there must be another door,

James blinked in confusion at that as he told, "I don't remember that." True he'd only been over once, but it had been vivid enough the place had lingered and that object hadn't.

Again, Sirius only shrugged without a trace of care.

and after skirting a large umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a severed troll's leg they started up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken heads mounted on plaques on the wall. A closer look showed Harry that the heads belonged to house-elves.

Lily's face squished up in disgust as she glared at the book, trying to resist the impulse to turn the same look on Sirius as it's not like he'd been the one to do this, but suddenly she realized that Sirius may have taken something from his parents though he'd never claim to. If this was how they treated their old servants, than she suddenly wasn't as surprised if Sirius learned to treat them that same way.

All resembled each other through the same nose.

Harry's confusion for the place grew, what were they doing in a place that look as if it belonged to the darkest of wizard dwellings?

"Well you've got that one right Harry," Sirius huffed.

Harry tried to ask another question, but again Mrs. Weasley cut him off saying Ron and Hermione would explain. She left him at a door on the second landing, and he'd only just turned the doorknob, again a snake heads, and got a glance and more dim walls two twin beds and two owls fluttering overhead before a mound of bushy brown hair tackled him.

"I missed hearing about this," Remus managed to find a smile again at the mention of Harry's friends.

"About time," Sirius seemed to be refusing any good mood right now.

Hermione was squealing in delight, shouting at Ron that Harry was here! Already babbling on about how furious he was with them? She knew he would be, there letters had been useless,

"Well at least she admits it," James actually did get in a grin for this.

but they'd sworn they wouldn't tell him anything because of Dumbledore, and oh those dementor attacks and the Ministry hearing! She'd done her reading on it, and they just couldn't expel him, he was allowed to use magic under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction-

"I've missed hearing about Hermione like this," Lily grinned again for that little first year who'd babbled herself silly about books on their first train ride.

Ron cut in to let him breath. Harry at once noticed he'd gained a few more inches in their month apart.

Hedwig landed softly on his shoulders from the wardrobe above.

"And just where has she been?" James demanded with an eyeroll.

Sirius though narrowed his eyes as he insisted, "no, that's a good question, did someone there really lock up your owl and not let her back? Why! It wouldn't be that big of a difference just to allow Hedwig to come back so at least Harry-"

"Sirius," Lily cut in.

"What?" He barked back.

She met his scowl with a sad little frown before telling him, "it was wrong of them to keep Hedwig away, but I don't know what you're yelling at us for." She thought she did though, when she noticed his eyes tighten at the 'them.' He was clearly wanting to strangle someone for whoever kept messing with his godson, even himself as he clearly wasn't doing any good.

Ron watched the snowy owl with unease as he told his best friend she'd been in a state since she'd been here, pecking their fingers off.

Harry was ashamed to see a deep cut on his index finger.

"Ouch," Lily winced in sympathy. She hadn't actually expected Hedwig to follow through on Harry's threat, but at least was relieved to see Harry looking just as repentant.

Harry began to apologize for that, explaining he just wanted some answers.

Ron agreed at once they wanted to give them, Hermione had been going spare saying Harry would do something drastic if they held back news,

"She was almost right," Harry sighed, knowing if those dementors hadn't attacked he still wouldn't have lasted there much longer.

but Dumbledore had-

made them swear not to say, Harry finished coldly. Suddenly the happy warmth at seeing his friends again had been dumped right out again.

"So I'm guessing this won't be your next Patronus memory about them," Remus muttered uneasily as Lily flipped the page.

All of a sudden - after yearning to see them for a solid month - he felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone.

"Well I get that you're pissed at them," James cocked his head to the side, "but that was just a little cold. They explained themselves in the only way they could."

"Yeah," Harry grumbled, "that didn't make me feel better."

There were all starting to watch him in a way they hadn't before, but they'd never seen this bubbling anger before either. They'd only gotten a hint of it when he was arguing with Dudley, now they were all getting a bad feeling it might make a reappearance, maybe worse if that look on Harry's face was any indication...

There was a heavy silence before Hermione kept trying to say Dumbledore was doing what he thought best.

"And everyone always does what Dumbledore thinks is best," Remus murmured as he watched Sirius already growing as angry as Harry, though still at himself for not having disobeyed Dumbledore already and thinking his pup deserved far more than the Headmaster seemed to think.

Harry gave a snappy agreement as he kept petting his owl and now looking anywhere but at them. Suddenly he looked at the marks on both their fingers again and didn't feel as sorry.

"Harry!" Lily snapped at once.

Harry felt like he'd just been snapped between two worlds, the anger he remembered feeling so vividly at his friends suddenly drowned out by the sound of Lily's voice and now replaced with plenty of real shame for that nasty little comment.

"I really am sorry," he whispered, but it seemed more to himself than her as an aching stronger than ever reared up in him and he wished he had his friends here with him now instead of having no clue where, or even when, they were.

Ron began to say Dumbledore had told them he was safer with the Muggles, but Harry snapped back didn't do him much good when the dementors had showed up.

Ron agreed that's what the Order following you had been trying to stop,

"They knew I was being followed!" Harry suddenly barked, then he groaned in misery as his emotions were leaving him feeling torn in half. At fifteen and angrier than he ever had been in his life at them, and now with a longing so deep it hurt more than he ever would have believed.

"Harry," Sirius sighed at his side. He forced himself to concentrate on his godson rather than his own equally foul mood and instructed, "take a deep breath pup, and just remember it all does work out for you. You'll get your grievances with Ron and Hermione out and then everything will be fine."

Harry struggled for a moment to get his lungs working normally again, but the confident tone to Sirius' voice truly did ease him back and he forced himself to concentrate on one mindset only, this time here and now, and push down the anger for his now absent friends. Then he gave Sirius a winning smile for the reminder.

Sirius returned the grin at once and waited until Harry looked away to throw a guilty look at James, knowing the father would have much preferred to have been able to do this, but then James surprised him by smiling right back with only the smallest bit of tightening around his eyes for having to watch. James had forced himself to come to terms at watching this for some time, and it honestly warmed him seeing Sirius was good at it.

Harry felt a jolt shock him as he realized everyone knew he'd been followed! He had to fight every bit of him to stop from yelling the words that it hadn't done any good, he'd still had to look after himself.

Hermione whispered how angry she'd seen Dumbledore when he heard, it was scary.

Harry blinked in confusion as he remembered back to how Dumbledore had looked at the end of last year, both at the realization of what had been done to his friend and when he'd defended Harry from Fudge. At the time he'd been warmed beyond belief to see his headmaster come to his defense, now it wasn't computing with the same cold man who'd abandoned Harry all summer. What had he done so wrong to change his headmaster's opinion of him?

The others didn't notice Harry's burning silent questions, they were too busy shivering as they easily pictured their anger quantified to Dumbledore's levels over that instance.

Harry snapped back he was happy Mundungus had left, otherwise he'd have probably been left there all summer!

"He, he wouldn't really," Remus tried to protest, as Dumbledore must know how miserable Harry was at that place, surely Sirius would have been vocally against that enough...but there just wasn't anything in him to say any of that was true. He could easily picture Dumbledore doing this if he thought that was what was safest, and if he was using that argument to keep Sirius quiet, well that could actually have worked.

"That's not what happened though," Lily tried to pacify for everyone around her, even herself all going grim at the statement.

"Only because I did what I wasn't supposed to," Harry raised a brow at her, "that hardly makes it any better."

Lily made a disgruntled face at him for the tone but couldn't argue that point.

Hermione's voice lowered significantly as she asked if he was worried about that Ministry hearing?

"Was that an attempt to change the subject?" James cocked his head to the side as he gazed at the book. "Hermione truly needs to read a book on how to do that."

Harry instantly lied no, as talk of that would not put him in a better mood.

He began examining the rest of the room, but the only stand out was an apparently empty painting that Harry swore he heard snickering as he walked past.

Sirius made a noise of disgust, so quickly trying to find any excuse to put off what Harry could just feel pounding through him Harry asked, "what's that?"

"His name's Phineas Nigellus," Sirius rolled his eyes, "you might have spotted him in Dumbledore's office at some point, cause he was once a Headmaster of Hogwarts. There's also a portrait up of him in that house in one of the guest rooms."

Topic of the inside of that house hadn't seemed to make Sirius feel a lick better so Harry let it go, but he still wondered why he felt something significant about a painting of all things.

Harry demanded why Dumbledore had thought he should be kept in the dark? Did they bother to ask?

He glanced over at them just in time to see them exchange a look.

"Wouldn't make anyone feel better to feel looks behind your back," Lily sighed even as she was gazing wearily at the next page where she saw a lot of capitalized letters. She forced her eyes not to skip ahead and tried to pretend like she didn't know where this was going.

Ron insisted they'd told Dumbledore they wanted to tell him, but he's been busy and made them swear not to write anything important in letters because the owls could be intercepted.

"A very real threat," Remus tried to say in hopes to keep the logic up front for them all, but clearly no one agreed as it shouldn't have even been needed.

Harry snapped back owls were the only way to talk to people now?

Sirius wanted to snark that had been his point all along, or even messages shouldn't have been needed and Harry should have properly been with him, but further grumbling of that just wasn't going to do anyone any good.

Then Harry decided no one had trusted him,

"Now you know that's not it," Lily said at once.

"Sure felt like it," he grumbled back.

or that he couldn't take care of himself.

"I still don't see what that has to do with anything," James sighed. "He won't be sending you out on any missions that you're thinking of while you're still in school."

Harry sighed with frustration as his school was mentioned again, so many feelings for that place all jumbled into one a migraine was already threatening to break again.

Hermione tried to interrupt no one thought that, but then Harry blasted then how come he'd been left at the Dursleys while they'd been here all along?

Ron insisted they didn't know much of anything, his mum kept them out because they were too young.

Ironically they might have agreed, fifteen was too young to be dealing with anything involving Voldemort. They hadn't really even known there was anything to do against him until they'd left school, and hadn't started questioning it until their sixth year. Problem was, Harry would be involved, and so would his friends by default. It was just sad all around to realize both how young they were, and how it couldn't be avoided.

But before he knew it, Harry was shouting.

Lily sighed as she looked at what Harry was fixing to belt out, but she just couldn't bring herself to shout that all out. She couldn't even bring herself to raise her voice that much, she knew the others already grasped what level Harry was at by the boys sheepish look at all the feelings pouring out of him at once on his friends.

Every last thing he'd ever been thinking over the past month about how much he'd handled, like the Philosopher's stone, and the basilisk, and the dementors!

"Harry," Lily groaned as she rubbed at her temple, letting the book dip slightly so she could eye him better.

"I know," Harry mumbled without being able to meet her eyes. First his dad, now his mum, he just kept disappointing everyone lately.

She kept staring at him though until he looked up and met her eyes while she told, "it's not as if I can blame you for your temper snapping, no one can control that, I just wish you weren't taking it out on the ones who don't deserve it."

Harry gave her a bleak smile as he still forced himself to concentrate on his every breath, on Sirius at his side shaking his head at Harry's display even while he wanted to do a bit of shouting of his own, to absolutely not think about how angry he'd been at the time so he wouldn't get lost in his mind again.

Every bitter thought that had lingered in him came pouring out now at his loudest volume, causing Hedwig to take flight in shock and Pig to begin zooming around the room even faster.

"You have a knack for scaring your owl away, don't you?" James muttered like he hoped that would stop Lily from continuing for a moment, but it didn't.

He'd been the one to get past every foul thing in that tournament last year, he'd escaped from Voldemort with his life!

Lily's voice hitched as she once again was forced to remember all that Harry had been through, all on his own, always with no one there to help him. It really was no wonder he lashed out because of the summer he'd had to suffer after all that.

Ron was standing there with his mouth half-open, clearly stunned and at a loss for anything to say, whilst Hermione looked on the verge of tears.

Harry kept sinking farther and farther into his cushion as shame managed to burn out any ill will he'd once held towards his friends, for now at least keeping his mind level in the here and now. His mum was right, this really had come out on the wrong people, he couldn't believe he'd done this to his friends.

But why should he be told what was happening!?

Hermione tried to cut in she'd wanted to tell him,

"Brave little one," Lily murmured, it took a lot for someone to interrupt someone else's shouting.

but Harry wasn't done as she howled back that Dumbledore had made them swear! Four weeks he'd been on his own trying to find out anything, and they'd been having a laugh without him!

Hermione tried one last time to cut in how sorry they were, she understood he was furious and she'd be as well if it were her.

"I think I'd fear for my life to hear of her in a furious state," Lily sighed in relief before telling them, "least you seem to be done shouting for now."

Harry hardly looked over at her as he kept flattening his hair and trying to vanish from sight, or more preferably go hunt down his friends and properly apologize to them.

Harry continued glaring furiously, his chest heaving while Hedwig hooted glumly down at him.

When the silence rung though, he demanded what this place was?

"A torture chamber," Sirius grumbled, which seemed to be true even for Harry. He hadn't been inside there five minutes when he was already showing his worst. Sirius had often wondered if that place was enchanted to bring out the worst of people, and this wasn't disproving his theory.

Ron instantly answered Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

Harry began tartly that no one was going to bother explaining to him what the Order of the Phoenix was.

"Well you've hardly given them the chance to do that," Lily couldn't completely stop her rebuke. "You did just walk in there and start this up."

Hermione cut off his sarcasm by explaining it was a group founded by Dumbledore to fight back against You-Know-Who.

Harry demanded who was in it, and she returned a lot of people, probably even more than they'd seen around here.

Then Harry just stood there glaring at them, demanding 'well?'

Ron hesitated before asking hesitantly, well what?

"You really can't start so open ended Harry," James at least tried for a smile while he corrected Harry in a less harsh tone than Lily had managed. "Even I'm not sure what you're asking for and I'm following your head."

"Thought it was obvious," he rolled his eyes at James, honestly wanting to make the father laugh for a moment as just days ago Harry had seemed too afraid to speak to him, now he was literally mouthing off. It was quite a turn to see such a change coming through him so quickly, though it just made him all the more sad this was the closest he'd ever seem to get to watching his son grow up, years taking place over days.

Harry shouted Voldemort at once! What was he doing, what had he been up to?

Hermione reminded they didn't know, the Order was keeping them out, but she had some ideas she finished quickly at the look on Harry's face.

"You weren't really going to start shouting at them for that?" Lily couldn't stop a frown at him now. "It's not their fault they aren't allowed in."

"They certainly made their letters feel a lot more obnoxious than for 'we don't know.'" Harry grumbled back, still not entirely able to replace the bad mood this book was reminding him of it seemed.

Fred and George had invented some Extendable Ears,

At the word invented, everyone finally felt their spirits lifting again. The twins had always been a foolproof way to make them feel better, and their adventures in inventing was the most entertaining thing going on in the background of Harry's life.

and they could be used to eavesdrop on conversations. Only problem was their mum had found out about them and went berserk on her twins, tried to bin the lot of them.

"Really?" Lily demanded, finally turning her sharp eyes off of Harry and onto the book in disapproval. "She's still doing that to them? Mother yes, but I can't really say she has a right to be trashing their things like that."

"I can't believe she's still trying to," James sighed. "At some point it really does boggle the mind how she's still fighting them on something they so clearly want to do, I'd like to think she'd start encouraging them when she realized how badly they want this."

Harry had to resist the temptation to tell them both to knock off Mrs. Weasley, instead he put as much conviction into his voice as he could, "I'm convinced she'll ease up on them in no time." He truly felt it in him the mother would be proud of her boys, but he was weary of saying that in case it caused another spur of pain. He'd managed to keep anyone else from continuing on this for now though.

But they'd gotten some usefulness out of them before they'd been found out, like how the Order was following some known Death Eaters keeping tabs on them, some were trying to recruit more members to the Order, and they talked a lot about guard duty, though they weren't sure what exactly.

"I guess I should be flattered I get discussed at these meetings," Harry scowled, even as deep down he could feel something about that was off...

Harry snidely said that last one couldn't be about him?

Ron agreed that made sense with a look of dawning comprehension.

Sirius couldn't help a mean little laugh Ron really hadn't put that together? What exactly had he really been thinking about all summer for not having realized that? Had he and Hermione been that cozy?

Harry gave him a hard nudge to get him to stop, he already felt bad enough for how he'd reacted to seeing his friends, he didn't want to hear the others picking on them now.

Harry just snorted at him as he resumed his pace, still demanding answers that if that's all they knew, what had those letters been about with them being so busy?

Lily was still frowning at him, wishing he'd drop the tone already.

Hermione insisted they had, they were trying to make this place livable again. It had been empty for ages and now they were trying to decontaminate all the things that had been breeding in here.

Sirius snorted in surprise before starting to giggle like a maniac as he imagined the look on his mother's face if she heard that. It seemed Kreacher had passed away, a blessing he was more than happy to hear as well.

They should be starting on the drawing room tomo- she cut off with a squeal of surprise.

Lily hadn't meant to shout that so loud, but she'd yelped it more in surprise than anything causing the others to jump as well.

With two loud cracks, Fred and George materialized out of thin air in the middle of the room.

Harry just couldn't shut off his spikes of annoyance lately as he grumbled, "is it just me, or is the system really unfair towards Muggleborns? Just because you've got magical parents they can't tell you're doing magic during your summer holidays, but when I do it," he finished with an obvious enough look.

"To be fair," Lily tried, "it is intentionally biased. There's just no way possible to detect a single person's magical energy, though studies have tried. The trace is only set to detect that of magic for underage people, not even individuals. So instead they have to do it by location, and just trust that parents aren't allowing their kids to do so during holidays."

Something of what his mother said tickled in Harry's mind, and suddenly he snapped his fingers and said, "that's it, that's why Tonks and Moody could use magic at my place. Lupin was talking about that to Kingsley when I was coming back into the kitchen, but it didn't make any sense at the time. He said something about how because Mr. Weasley had been using magic before at my place it was going to be overlooked. I didn't know what he meant because Mr. Weasley wasn't even there."

Remus blanched and avoided all eyes for a moment to pretend he hadn't just heard Harry automatically slip back into calling him by his last name again, now right in this room.

"That, kind of makes sense," James frowned in thought, "he was there to pick you up last time, and so long as he forewarned the Ministry again he was going to pick you up, they'd just ignore magical energy at your house for that time period because they'd just assume it was Arthur doing it."

"I wonder why Arthur wasn't there?" Sirius frowned, "he couldn't have been at work, otherwise that wouldn't have worked."

Harry just shrugged for answer, though something of what Ron said tried to bubble to the surface. Guard duty? Had Harry been watched even more closely after the dementor attack? No, that didn't make sense, there wouldn't be a guard on the house while he was being picked up, so what-

"Well I'm just happy you won't be in even more trouble for that," Lily sighed in relief as she went back to the book.

Hermione clutched at her chest in surprise as she snapped at them to stop doing that!

She was ignored as George grinned at Harry, saying he'd thought he'd heard familiar dulcet tones.

"I'm sure it was hard to miss," Sirius grinned.

Fred agreed it wasn't good to have all that bottled up, and be sure to let the rest out. There might be people fifty miles away who hadn't heard him.

Harry gave a sheepish smile while everyone around him laughed, though it did make Sirius wonder if the Order had heard this and no one had come up to check? They might have blocked out the noise outside of the room though in an effort to keep the kids out.

Harry just grumpily surmised they'd passed their Apparition tests then.

"You've been saying everything grumpily lately," James told him pleasantly.

"Can't seem to shake it off when I keep getting annoyed," he snipped.

Fred agreed with chipper, while Ron grumbled at them it only would have taken them thirty extra seconds to walk down the stairs.

"I would just like to take this moment to remind that they were complaining of Percy doing this last summer," Sirius grinned.

"I'm positive the twins have flamboyant answers for that," Remus snorted.

James suddenly blinked as he eyed his two friends, before cracking up laughing.

"You going to share the joke?" Sirius demanded when he'd subsided enough but the baby was still giggling in his arms.

"I'm honestly just picturing their reactions when they realize who they're in the same house with," James stated with a stupid smirk in place.

It only took them a minute before they exchanged impish grins with each other, but Harry shot down the idea at once as he said, "well I never told them that I knew who the Marauders were, so unless Ron did, I don't think they even know."

Sirius was suddenly pouting at him as he demanded to know why.

Harry answered simply, "when would it have come up?" The only scenario he could see was if Sirius or Remus had referred to the other as their nicknames, and while they swapped between the two often enough in here, Harry hadn't once heard Sirius or Professor Lupin do the same in his time.

Sirius and Remus were starting to look disappointed now, after the twins had gone on about them when the Map had first been introduced they'd love to think they got a chance with a real chat to their follow up pranksters.

Harry grimaced as he realized he was just killing everyone's mood of late, and insisted to his brain to cut it out already at least in here. What was it about this year that was putting him in such a foul mood no matter what?

Fred waved that off as he turned to Harry and scolded he was interfering with their reception.

"Harry, how dare you!" James mock outraged as he wagged his finger at him.

Harry forced a smile he didn't really feel at the picking, now struggling with himself to understand why he couldn't just laugh along like he had in the past. This couldn't all be because of his rotten summer and lingering shame for what he'd done to his friends. What on earth was happening to him this year to cause such a resurgence of these bad feelings he was having so many problems shaking?

He showed Harry a long, flesh colored string and better described their new Extendable Ears, that they were trying to use to hear what was going on downstairs.

Ron warned they should be more careful with those, if Mum caught sight of them again-

Fred waved his brother off, saying it was worth the risk as they were having a major meeting.

Sirius sighed in disappointment Fred had skipped a perfectly good opportunity to use his name. Harry clearly needed the laugh he was sure it would have given.

The door opened and a long mane of red hair appeared.

Harry suddenly smiled for what felt like the first time in hours as he chuckled at his own description for seemingly no reason, and the others didn't even care enough to question it, they were just happy to see him fighting to get past whatever mood he was in.

She greeted him casually enough, saying she'd thought she'd heard his voice.

"Apparently everyone could." At least this time his voice had come out more self deprecating than angry. Then his face managed to brighten even more as he said, "I think that's the first time she's outright said hello to me like that."

"Only took her three years to do so," Sirius grinned, "maybe by next summer she'll carry on a conversation."

Then she turned to Fred and George and told it was pointless with the Ears, Mum had put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door.

"Darn mothers who think ahead," Remus pouted.

George pouted as he asked how his sister knew that.

Ginny explained Tonks had told her how to tell,

"Tonks keeps getting better and better though," Sirius smirked at the idea of that little kid growing up to teach kids such valuable things.

just throw stuff at the door and if it bounces off the Charm's in place. She'd flicked a few Dungbombs around but it was a no go.

Fred gave a disappointed sigh as he said he'd wanted to know what old Snape was up to.

"Snape?" They all chorused in disgust. Lily broke free of that first though as she thought back to wondering just what Snape did for the Order, and Dumbledore's rather interesting instructions to him at the end of last year. She remembered distinctly Dumbledore's words in saying Snape had turned spy for them and that's what had kept him out of Azkaban, and while the boys had initially dissed the idea as they refused to trust anything by him, Lily could almost feel hopeful for it even if it didn't make sense. What reason did he have to do this that hadn't been there when he joined in the first place?

Harry yelped his surprised while George agreed that he was downstairs giving a report now, while Fred added on he was a git.

Hermione reproved them, saying he was on their side.

"Doesn't make him not a git," James scowled.

Ron snorted that didn't stop him being a git.

"Here I was wishing Ron would appear here," Sirius smirked, "now I don't have to miss him."

James just chuckled as he agreed, but also said, "honestly though, any sane person but Hermione would say the same."

Ginny agreed Bill still didn't like him like that settled the matter.

"I wonder which brother Ginny looks up to the most," Remus snorted.

Harry wasn't sure if he was still angry or not, but the thirst for information was keeping his continued shouting held back.

"Whatever works love," Lily sighed, still wishing he'd apologize rather than just deciding to blow the matter over.

Harry asked if Bill was around, and Fred agreed he'd officially moved back from Egypt to get a desk job, with benefits.

The grin on his face made Harry question what that meant, and Fred asked if he still remembered Fleur Delacour?

"Oh?" They all muttered with intrigue, having thought nothing of the casual flirt mentioned in Harry's last year.

Well she'd gotten a job at Gringotts to eemprove er Eenglish, George mocked in a fake French accent, while Fred snickered along that Bill had been giving her private lessons.

"Well congratulations to the two, I hope they enjoy those lessons," Lily smirked while the boys outright began giggling as well at the news, or at least the way the twins had delivered it.

Charlie was technically in the Order to, George added on, but he was still in Romania as Dumbledore still wanted some foreign wizards out there and Charlie was making contacts when he could.

"I don't see why Bill couldn't have done that?" Remus said innocently enough, "I don't see how he needed to come back for just a little desk job."

"I'll explain it to you later Moony," Sirius smirked as he patted his friend's shoulder.

Harry asked wouldn't Percy be better for that job.

"Oh yeah," the three Marauders muttered, seeming to forget about him more often than not.

Harry though tensed all over again, a sudden blackening trying to shroud all memories he had of Percy.

Harry had last heard of that Weasley working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry.

"Well I'm happy you brought him up," Lily smiled, "I was curious if he got to keep his job in the department, I'd be really happy for him if he got something so young."

Harry just gave her a sad little frown as he resisted the impulse to start bracing himself for some very bad news.

At Harry's question though, all the Weasleys and Hermione exchanged darkly significant looks.

"Uhoh," James frowned in confusion as he tried to lean around Lily and see what that reaction was. He was no fan of Percy's but that hadn't been a pleasant start.

Ron at once told Harry not to mention him around his parents, while Fred told it was because Dad broke whatever he was holding and Mum started crying.

"What did he do?" Remus struggled to get out in a non-accusing voice, but it was hard to imagine him doing something to cause that reaction in his parents that wasn't terrible.

Ginny sadly agreed it's been awful to watch.

"Look Sirius, she is technically having a conversation with me," Harry muttered just to try and keep that bad feeling from washing over him any second.

"One on one then," Sirius corrected, his eyes still trained menacingly on the book and not to be distracted, even by this.

George agreed they were all shot of him now.

Harry insisted what had happened? Fred explained that his brother and Dad had a row, it was pretty out there, since Mum was usually the one who shouted.

Lily's eyes flipped wide in shock, she couldn't imagine having such a terrible fight with her child it caused that kind of reaction.

Ron went back a bit and said this was during the first week of their vacation, and they'd just been fixing to head over here. Percy had come home all smug because he'd been promoted.

"Wouldn't that be a good thing though?" Sirius' tone was still more icy than confusion, he'd never liked hearing about Percy and he wasn't at all liking how this was starting considering the last thing he'd heard about the Ministry hadn't been a good thing.

Harry was stunned at the news, since Percy's first job hadn't gone over well since he'd managed to neglect the fact that his boss was slowly going insane. (Though the Ministry and Harry differed on why that was.)

"No one noticed, I'd hardly think Percy had been blamed for that," Remus huffed.

George agreed they'd all been surprised since Percy had gotten in trouble for not reporting what was going on with Crouch, he'd gotten a hearing saying he should have told a superior.

"I guess I can kind of see that," James sighed, though he still didn't see how this had to do with having such a terrible fight with his parents.

Harry was still confused why he'd been promoted now, and Ron was almost eagerly explaining this to Harry just to stop him continuing shouting it seemed.

Harry winced with renewed chagrin at what he'd done to his friends, now realizing how his friends had felt all the more because of how his dad had shouted at him this morning.

Explaining he'd been all pleased that Percy was now working right in Fudge's office,

"Oh bollocks," Sirius groaned as he ran a hand miserably down his face. "Fudge didn't really try to do this did he?"

"Percy didn't really fall for this," Remus countered with a calculating look. "It's been made obvious Harry favors the Weasley's, and if Fudge really hates Harry now, then doing something like this for a Weasley doesn't make any sense."

Lily was fidgeting uneasily with the pages before she pressed herself to go on, now sincerely hoping this fight hadn't really been about what she was thinking.

as Fudge's Jr. Assistant.

"Really?" James demanded. "That, that's just so-" he cut himself off as he seemed to run out of words for how idiotic that felt. What was Fudge's game here?

He'd thought his parents would be proud.

"Well yes, if he'd earned it," Lily sighed.

"I don't get it," Harry frowned at them. "Yeah it's weird, but what's so bad?"

"If Fudge's attitude is anything like we last saw," Lily patiently explained, "than Percy getting something at a time like this should raise a red flag for him and his family that the Minister's up to something, putting someone so close to Harry Potter in his office."

"What?" Harry wanted to laugh, though his sinking gut was confirming she was right on point. "You think Fudge wants Percy to spy on me and report my favorite dessert?"

"Not in so light of questions though," Remus agreed grimly while Harry looked back to the book with worry.

They weren't, because Fudge had already been going around the Ministry telling anyone who was in league with Dumbledore to clear out their desk.

"Oh, and now Dumbledore's involved to," James groaned, this going from bad to worse.

Dumbledore's name had been tarnished in the Ministry lately because he kept trying to convince people that You-Know-Who was back.

"I can not believe any sane person would think like that," Sirius sneered.

"I don't understand why they wouldn't believe this," Harry ground out, trying his best not to shout another grievance that had been plaguing him that summer. "Ron said they were all ready to believe it when the Philosopher's Stone was nearly taken from Gringotts."

Lily looked at him sadly as she explained, "The concept is a bit skewed. There's a difference between people speculating and fearing, and outright saying it. I'm sure that if Dumbledore had declared that yes, Voldemort had been the one to do this, then people would have reacted the same then."

Harry still didn't think that made any sense, but stopped arguing the point.

George told how their dad explained Fudge was making it clear Dumbledore was just trying to destabilize their life, and anyone who was in league with Dumbledore could join him in not being welcome here.

"In league with him?" Lily demanded. "He's not the one trying to destabilize life!"

Fudge suspected Arthur of being close to Dumbledore, he always had been friendly, and that dad was a weirdo because of his obsession with Muggles.

"Which really shows more about Fudge than anything," James snapped in outrage, he found Arthur's fascination perfectly understandable and honestly compelling when Lily and Sirius treated him to Muggle education. It really showed how a person thought though when they'd hear the same things and look down on the whole civilization for not being as good as theirs.

Harry still didn't understand what this had to do with Percy, and so they told that their dad thinks Percy was only promoted to spy on the family and Dumbledore.

Harry gave a low whistle as he muttered about how much Percy would love that.

"But, Percy should know that?" Sirius forced himself to phrase it as a question. "He's smart enough to know when he's being played."

"The twins would have done it to him enough," James agreed.

Lily was just blinking slowly down at the pages now, she didn't even want to continue to what she now truly knew the fight had been about, she didn't want to hear about Percy fighting with his parents about this because she knew without a doubt Percy was wrong. The saddest part was though, some part of her still pitied the poor boy. She'd long since noticed he'd always felt ostracized from his family, and earning a promotion like this and going off his past experiences should have taught him his parents would praise him for this like always. Then they went and dismissed him, and Percy would feel shunned. It didn't excuse such a fight it left his parents in the mess they were at all though.

Ron gave a hollow laugh as he agreed, that Percy had started shouting at their dad all sorts of terrible things like how his dad had been holding him back in the Ministry.

"That sounds like completely the opposite though!" Sirius snapped. "Every time we've heard of Arthur he's out there helping someone out and on first name terms with a lot more people than Percy when his own boss didn't even know his name!" Sirius was breathing rather hard at the end, but he couldn't help it. Percy wasn't his family, but he could still feel the reminding sting of betrayal that rat had caused him as he heard of this. It was a different kind of betrayal, but choosing that Ministry over his family could not be worked out in his mind!

Harry was having trouble picturing Percy shouting such a thing when he could far more easily recall Percy splashing into the water just last year in concern for his brothers welfare. What had changed in that time to make Percy like this?

That Arthur was going to go down with Dumbledore's bad name and Percy was going to make it known he was no longer associated with that disloyalty to the Ministry.

Harry wasn't the only one scowling by the end of all that, no one could believe what they were watching Lily spit out in frustration. Of all the times they'd been agitated of hearing about Percy, they still would never have called this!

So now he'd made it clear he no longer belonged to their family.

"It's a good thing they don't know your real last name then, Weatherby," Remus sneered in disgust.

He'd packed his bags and left that night.

Harry swore under his breath at the end. He'd always liked Percy the least of the Weasley's, but even he wouldn't have called this.

"I still can't picture it," James whispered. He'd never imagined that Voldemort's return could manage to pull yet more families apart like it had his own. His eyes flickered to Remus briefly, unable to think yet again what it had implied they'd all be thinking about him in the coming year, and forced himself to listen to Lily go on.

Ron sighed as he explained their mother had been crying so much lately because of it, she'd tried going up to his place but all he'd done was slam the door in her face.

Lily couldn't stop a little hitch in her throat, even with Ron describing it she couldn't force the image into her head of any child turning on their mother like that. Molly did not deserve that for anything, especially as she was most likely only there to let him know she still loved him despite this decision.

Harry still couldn't understand why Percy would do this, he must know Voldemort was back and his dad wouldn't talk like this without proof.

"You would think," Sirius agreed nastily, "but I've never met someone so ignorantly stupid they wouldn't understand the word's Voldemort's back either."

Ron winced as he said Harry's name had been dragged in, that all the real evidence was what Percy had said, and that just wasn't good enough.

Harry watched those around him yelp furiously on his behalf again, making him smile just slightly at the defense.

Hermione sniffed Percy took the Daily Prophet seriously.

Before Sirius could even open his mouth to make his recurring joke, James suddenly half screamed, "how much was Percy told!?"

The baby in his lap let out a wail of protest at something so loud, but even while James began soothing him he had worried eyes on his best friend.

It only took but a moment for the others to realize what that implied, and Sirius lost a shade of color before he got out, "I'm sure if Percy knew anything new about me he'd have gone badgering that right to his new master."

Harry was saddened to see them all so easily flip on Percy, Sirius instantly resorting to those kinds of insults, and then confused at his own confusion as Harry was very sure Percy deserved it for the rest of his life. He was still trying to recall the time Percy had weaved himself through an angry crowd to fight back against those Death Eaters last year as the same guy who'd done this to his family. Something in him was trying to insist Percy must regret this...

"No, most likely it would have been an introduction type thing like what happened with Molly, so if I hadn't been around to their place yet, I'm sure he knows nothing about me."

It was comforting at least for the moment that Percy hadn't gone so far into the Order he would likely know more current whereabouts on Sirius at least. Did he know anything about the Order? Ron had said this had happened right before they'd been going to Grimmauld place, so surely Percy knew his family was fixing to relocate out of the Burrow and where they were headed? Maybe it had been like Harry though, and they'd only been told of the location right before they'd entered, so Percy had no clue of anything.

Harry asked what she meant by that?

Lily had to go back and reread what Hermione had actually said to set her husband into a panic, and then they were all just as baffled as Harry by the comment enough no one interrupted her in hopes Hermione would just explain.

Hermione's anxiety grew as she kept watching Harry, asking how thoroughly he'd been reading the paper?

"Why would he?" Remus began with his eyes narrowed.

Harry defended not cover to cover, just the front cover where any good news would be.

Hermione flushed as she tried to say that once a week they slipped in his name.

"Mention him how?" The others could already hear a growl beginning in Sirius' throat.

Harry tried to protest he'd have seen that, but Hermione corrected not if he'd just been glancing at the front page. They weren't big articles, just little things they'd slip in like he was a standing joke.

"A standing joke about what?" Lily began nastily, but forced herself to continue as she didn't even want to imagine what all was being said about her baby, what was being said would be bad enough.

They were all building on what Rita had said.

"Oh no," James began furiously ruffling up his hair at once. "Please don't tell me-"

Lily cut him off as her voice continued rising in sharpness.

Harry was confused, as he'd thought she wasn't writing anymore.

Hermione had a satisfied smirk in place for that, saying she was keeping to herself for now, not that she had a choice.

"I want to know if she's mentioned that to the twins, earn her a lot of respect in their book," Remus muttered bleakly, looking for anything good for just a moment.

But Skeeter's work was the foundation for what the Prophet was doing, which was how his scar had been hurting and he'd been collapsing last year.

"Could hardly forget," Harry muttered as those articles still stung him now thinking about.

She began saying all of this very fast, like hearing this quickly would hurt less,

Harry felt some distant part of him want to laugh for his friend which was not coming to him now at all of the grim, wide eyed faces.

that the Prophet was taking those old stories, and now every time someone got hurt, they'd make the snippy comment they hoped he didn't have a scar so they'd have to worship him next.

Harry really had been trying to keep himself under control, so it surprised him when his Mum didn't and she exploded a mountain of diatribe on that Prophet and what they were doing to her Hare Bare. The boys watched her vent like they just had about Percy, agreeing with every word she said so much they were just a bit disappointed when Harry gently cleared his throat and tried to cut her off.

"Really Mum, it ticked me off too, but-"

"It's disgusting," she insisted like she thought Harry was trying to argue that point. "The Ministry I work for would never force the Prophet into pulling these stunts, but clearly the editor's right in Fudge's back pocket and I can't believe anyone would do this to you!" She wanted to keep pressing her point right up into Fudge's face, but as Harry continued to look sadly at her she instead turned burning eyes back on the pages.

Harry half began shouting at once he didn't want anyone doing that!

Hermione quickly cut him off, saying they knew that, but the Ministry was telling the Prophet to say all that to keep Harry as a discredited little boy who just wants to keep being famous.

"Has he completely lost whatever a mind he had!" James gaped. "He's only famous because of what Voldemort did to him," clearly the act of saying his own murder still couldn't really get through his mouth, "what possible reason could Fudge think Harry would make that up for!?"

"If I find out, I'll be sure to let you know," Harry sighed, now feeling even more guilty for his earlier anger as he kept trying to curb theirs without success.

Harry spluttered with pure indignity that Voldemort had killed his parents!

Lily too couldn't manage to quite get that out in her tempered voice, but it hardly cooled her either as she kept going venomously.

Ginny cut in saying they knew that, and Hermione flipped to mentioning she was surprised they hadn't mentioned that dementor attack yet.

Remus' brows shot up in surprise at this turn of circumstances.

Some thought they would, because not only were out of control dementors a big deal, but Harry's doing magic would tie in perfectly with this whole image they were painting of him being so above it all. They were probably just waiting until after the trial though so they could really go to town with the scene.

"But he's not going to be expelled," Sirius snarled at once. "So apparently they're just going to sit on that story forever, poor them."

Harry managed a smile for his godfather's utter confidence in that, managing to increase his own in that outcome and increasingly improving his mood about that at least.

Then she corrected herself that's what would happen if he was expelled, but he wouldn't be, the law was on his side.

"If they abide by their own laws half the things I've heard them doing lately wouldn't be done," Lily snapped.

Before Harry had to think of a response to that, conversation was cut short by soft steps on the stairs, and the twins instantly vanished with another crack, their Extendable Ears in hand.

"Because Molly wouldn't be at all suspicious why the twins would choose to vanish as someone approached," James sighed as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wishing he could put more energy into the comment but already feeling strained from so many stressful chapters in a row now. How was this one already worse than the last?

A second later and Mrs. Wesley poked her head in, saying dinner was almost ready and the meeting was over.

Harry still huffed with one last tick of annoyance he'd been left out of that.

They could come downstairs now, though she did ask why there were Dungbombs all across the door?

Ginny said Crookshanks at once.

"I'm so proud," Sirius blinked more in confusion than actual pride though. "She's come so far already."

"Ginny's getting more interesting as time goes by as well," James agreed at once, hoping to stay on a pleasant topic for just five minutes now felt like a miracle.

Mrs. Weasley instantly bought it, though she at first thought it had been Kreacher,

"No!"

The sudden outburst from Sirius had Harry and Remus nearly leaping from their seats in shock, which he clearly took no notice of as he kept going hatefully.

"Of all the rotten luck! My parents kicked the bucket but that nasty little blighter couldn't have gone with them! Just what did I do to deserve having that thing in my sole care!"

"I'd think you'd find it a good thing," James tried to offer up some happy suggestion for this. "Now you can clothe him and just have him out of your life for good." The odd part was though, if Sirius was going to do that he'd have done it already.

Sirius didn't offer up any more suggestions though as he huffed and grumbled a bit more under his breath while Lily tried to ignore the outburst she found uncalled for.

he kept doing odd things like that. Then she reminded they all keep their voices down in the hall.

"Still haven't explained why they have to do that," Remus grumbled as he massaged his ear and glared at Sirius, at least he understood his friends consternation a little better, but now his ear felt like it was starting to ring from all the shouting going on so recently.

Then she spotted Ginny's hands and how dirty they were, and commanded she go wash up before eating.

She made a face at them as she left behind her mother, and then Ron and Hermione exchanged an uneasy look, as if fearing Harry was going to start shouting again now that they were alone.

Harry's mouth went dry as he ducked his head all over again for causing his friends to ever look at him like that, now wishing he could give himself a good kick in the rear.

"At least you clearly regret it," James tried to pacify him, Harry had suffered enough guilt it was time he be comforted at least a bit. "I've only ever had one really bad row with Sirius, and we didn't exactly hug it out when all was said and done. You apologize to them, I'm sure they won't think on it any more."

Harry looked up towards the book hopefully.

The sight of their unease left him feeling ashamed, and he tried to begin saying something, but Hermione cut him off saying she'd expected him to be angry, but they'd only been doing what Dumbledore had thought was best, even though they did try to tell their headmaster-

Harry cut her off shortly.

"Well that could have gone better," Remus chuckled.

"But at least you seem on equal ground again," Sirius sighed as he tried to get that old problem out of his head.

He looked around for something else to say, as talking of the headmaster only made Harry want to shout some more.

"Not a good thing to be lingering on for now then," Lily muttered as she knew that if Harry's temper did break again, it really should be on him.

Then asked who Kreacher was?

"Well that's not helping," Sirius grumbled, wondering what he'd done to have so much of his family being pushed back into his mind all of a sudden.

Ron explained he was the house-elf of the place, a nutter.

Hermione tried to correct he wasn't one, but Ron said back that his life's ambition was to have his head on a plaque with the others.

"At least Walburga taught him something then," Sirius' teeth flashed with that grin in an almost predatory way, "I'm sure I can help with that."

"Sirius, you're disgusting me," Lily snapped at him before reading loudly in hopes he was kidding.

She tried to defend if he was a bit strange it wasn't entirely his fault.

Ron rolled his eyes and told Harry she still hadn't given up on her SPEW stuff.

"I think I'd be worried for her if she had though," Remus chuckled. "Little fighter that she is, I can't imagine she will until she gets what she wants."

"Least she could do is leave that elf out," Sirius huffed.

Hermione at once began defending her Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Even Dumbledore said they should be more kind to Kreacher.

Harry suddenly felt an alarm bell going off in the back of his head, leaning just that little bit closer to Sirius and suddenly very worried for his godfather's behavior towards his house-elf...

Ron brushed her off and lead the way downstairs.

Then he held out a hand on the landing, stopping them all in place as they spotted the crowded hallway below, they might be able to hear something.

Finally they all felt themselves focusing on something they all wanted to hear about again, even the current Order members were insanely curious what was going on in this future.

The three peeked over the banister to see Snape leading towards the door.

James suddenly realized at the beginning that it had in fact ben Snape Molly must have been referring to as having arrived, and his agitation only increased as he realized Dumbledore really wasn't there to give some kind of explanation to Harry for leaving him like that for so long?

Harry leant further over the banisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix . . .

"Well all are," Sirius begrudgingly agreed, his mind still trying to work out just what exactly that was and when it would start taking place. If he started seeing Snivellus at his meetings, Sirius wasn't going to be a happy camper with his Order much longer.

Trickling down in front of their face was a flesh-colored bit of string, and Harry glanced up to see the twins had the same idea and were trying to listen on the whispers.

"Have I mentioned how brilliant those two are?" James' eyes brightened with excitement as he fully appreciated this fascinating device. "As if I needed any more proof they're set for life with all we've heard so far, this is such a cool idea I'd buy a dozen!"

It did not work though, as just as they were in range Snape and most of the others exited out the door.

Ron muttered that at least Snape didn't eat here as he grudgingly took to the stairs.

"As if there isn't enough filth in that house," Sirius sneered even as his mind tried to boggle Snivellus in his childhood home. Well the two did go hand in hand with how filthy they were.

Hermione hissed another reminder at Harry to keep himself quiet as they reached the landing where the drapes were.

"Is anyone going to explain that?" Lily grumped as it just kept being mentioned.

Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Tonks were bolting the door shut after the left members and were turning to head towards the kitchen with the younger ones, when CRASH.

"So that quiet thing didn't seem to work out," Remus blinked in confusion.

It was Tonks, who instantly started apologizing she kept tripping over that umbrella stand from the ground.

"She really is a clumsy little one," James chuckled at the thought.

"Best use that troll's foot ever came to, getting knocked over by that girl," Sirius smirked.

The rest of her words were drowned by a horrible, ear-splitting, blood-curdling screech.

Lily suddenly recoiled into the cushions in shock, and some honest fear as she glanced at her boy and back to the pages with concern. Before anyone could demand, she kept reading anyways.

The curtains behind them had flown open, and the noise was coming from a life size portrait of a horrifying looking woman.

"Oh she didn't," Sirius began, looking almost faint from the overwhelming disgust he could feel at such a thing existing.

Her skin was yellow and stretched tight, with rolling eyes and flyaway black hair, and all along the hall beside her more drapes were flying open to reveal other portraits that began shouting just as loudly.

Mrs. Weasley and Lupin jumped forward at once to try and close the curtains back around the screeching noises and multiple insults.

Remus was almost concerned this didn't seem to be new to him, how many times had this happened? He had a horrible idea who this vile woman was actually a portrait of, as he kept watching Sirius' face as he seemed to be in a living nightmare.

Such things as scum, half-breeds, mutants befouling her father's house!

Tonks was apologizing incessantly behind them, while Mrs. abandoned the large one and began trying to stun the smaller ones instead, while a dark haired man came charging up the stairs behind Harry.

"I think I found Sirius," James whispered to no one as Sirius' mouth was starting to drop open with horror.

He began howling right back at the portrait to shut UP!

The woman's face blanched when she saw him, doubling up her insults to blood traitor, and abomination of her flesh!

Sirius began opening and closing his mouth wordlessly, apparently too appalled for words back, for now.

He roared again for her to shut up, as he and Lupin finally managed to get the curtains closed. Now that her noise had been cut off, the others began silencing as well, as Harry's godfather turned back to face him as greeted him grimly, saying at least now he'd met his mother.

"Chapter's done," Lily sighed as she passed the book to James and took her baby back, all of them still braced for Sirius to crack and some kind of reaction to burst out.

HPHPHPHP

I did not mean to dramatically end with Sirius twice in a row, but I can't resist cutting these chapters off either because I'm a terrible person like that.

*I've had a few people ask me to explain why Lily and James weren't their own Secret Keeper, and I promise I'll bring that up in book seven when Bill mentions he's his own, but for now I couldn't think to make the same rules apply to an empty house that didn't belong to Dumbledore in any way.

#Harry Potter #The Life That Never Lived #HP #fanfiction #reading the books #The Marauders #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

1 note · View note